Persiflage & Paroxysm

Our similarities as creatures of a divine creator who imbued us with the Holy Spirit that moves our better parts and makes us the envy of all the immortals, being part divine but also tasting and fearing death and therefore cherishing life all that much more, transcend all cultures. Below some Indian philosophy and food for thought: (Courtesy: Wikipedia) Hiranyagarbha, literally the 'golden womb' or 'golden egg', poetically rendered 'universal germ' is the source of the creation of the Universe or the manifested cosmos in Indian philosophy The Hiranyagarbha Sukta of the Rig Veda declares that God manifested Himself in the beginning as the Creator of the Universe, encompassing all things, including everything within Himself, the collective totality, as it were, of the whole of creation, animating it as the Supreme Intelligence. Below is the English translation of the Sanskrit verse: Who is the deity we shall worship with our offerings? It is He who bestows soul-f

From the Play: The Life and Death of Richard the second by William Shakespeare ACT III, SCENE II. The coast of Wales. A castle in view. Richard II: No matter where; of comfort no man speak: Let's talk of graves, of worms, and epitaphs; Make dust our paper and with rainy eyes Write sorrow on the bosom of the earth, Let's choose executors and talk of wills: And yet not so, for what can we bequeath Save our deposed bodies to the ground? Our lands, our lives and all are Bolingbroke's, And nothing can we call our own but death And that small model of the barren earth Which serves as paste and cover to our bones. For God's sake, let us sit upon the ground And tell sad stories of the death of kings; How some have been deposed; some slain in war, Some haunted by the ghosts they have deposed; Some poison'd by their wives: some sleeping kill'd; All murder'd: for within the hollow crown That rounds the mortal temples of a king Keeps Death his cou

I have never loved hating people as much as I love hating these people who call themselves Lebanese. These imposters, these flimflam artists, all talk no action, these are not my people, I have nothing in common with them, in fact, I do not consider them of this world, they are lost souls, empty vessels, collectively they form a dark evil mass, a moral no-mans land, a nation totally lacking scruples, with a few minor exceptions. After living among them these past years I find myself more alienated and more of a stranger than ever, like an alien being fallen to Earth. They are not the people of myth and lore I was raised to believe they were. What is this mythical place my poor misguided long-dead father once spoke to me of, this Lebanon of the 1960s, is it a lie, I think so. Lebanon was always the third world mess it is today, nothing has changed, nothing will change This is the land where you play chess with the devil and he always wins, but he also lets you overturn the chess board,

Blackadder: A man may fight for many things: his country, his friends, his principles, a glistening tear on the cheek of a golden child; but personally, I'd mud-wrestle my own mother for a ton of cash, an amusing clock and a sack of French porn. Blackadder (on Charlie Chaplin): I find his films about as funny as getting an arrow through the neck and discovering there's a gas bill tied to it. Lt. George: If we do happen to step on a mine Sir, what do we do? Capt. Edmund Blackadder: Well, normal procedure, Lieutenant, is to jump 200 feet in to the air and scatter yourself over a wide area. Blackadder: I thinkI’ll write my tombstone – Here lies Edmund Blackadder, and he’s bloody annoyed. Bob (The General’s driver, a woman, Kate, disguised as a man so she could join up and fight for King and country): I wanted to see how a war was fought, so badly. Blackadder: Well Bob you’ve come to the right place. There hasn't been a war fought this badly since Olaf the hairy, King of all th

Archeologists and history professors in Lebanon should step in and take charge and guide the hapless tourists (and us locals too) around old Beirut, teach us about its history, what all the open archeological digs are, what they represent. As it is no public authority has stepped up to put up so much as a small sign telling us what each dig represents or even where the old Roman road was or medieval wall once stood, relying instead on Solidere which is too busy turning dirt to cash to care. There is nothing I like better than walking around old Beirut and discovering its many side streets and ally ways, although most are just too clean and too empty now, not what they once were pre-1975, or so I’m told. What I hate is not knowing what an old crumbling building or ruin once was and there is never anyone around who knows. Cities only die when they pass out of our living memory. We have lost so much of the quaint old, once bustling souks area, the whole of Burj Square is gone, the distric