Wednesday, September 19, 2012


the love/hate.

Whether you've been to Beirut or have seen this city in any interpretive medium, there must be a thing or two that make it flawfully unforgettable, 'circa' blood, the seventies, haifa, aesthetic activism and all that jazz.

Apparently I am one of those who 'stayed'. I look around, very convinced. I look around, and not so much. The ticket that would lure me out would not need to be golden. I think I am still lubed of impotent yesterdays and never-happened's.

This city, Beirut, the love/hate, houses my goods and my bads between its remains. Until each and every one of us leaves, I take pictures of us so I remember that we once tried.

Lea and Yasmine hanging around with other people on my bed.

Waiting, like hungry hound-dogs, for Asterix to re-open after its summer break.

Le Chef, Gemmayze, enjoying the smoking ban.

The view from my bed as I re-initiate my Murakami sessions.

Lea decides to move our Murakami sessions to the train station. They kick us out. We use someone else's private space as our public space. 

Lea has wonderful neighbors. 

On Lea's abandoned rooftop with fine rose wine and Niggaz in Paris.

At Sporting club with Ibrahim and Frida dancing to Jade's C U NXT SAT marathon. 6 a.m.

Another 6 a.m. walking home from Horch Tabet.

Corniche elNahr. Poetry and longing on the walls. 

I am meeting Omeia in a bit before she heads to band practice. We could go to the corniche, but I think we'll end up on a pedestrian bridge near my place drinking some form of espresso, watching the cars slide under us in and out of Beirut.

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