Today I visited the Embassy to see what there was to see
Yes… you can finally accept my not dead yet reply to the Hi..Keefik?
But we here on this Blog are looking for the real questions and real answers aren’t we my dear readers?
So what is the real question for today?
It is….Whether or not to go.
Today at the embassy came the feeling…. It was followed by a rattling little quote in my brain. I had told a spinning friend that I wouldn’t be the first to evacuate. Others closer to me would go first… Yup…they went… May God make their voyage swift calm and may they find peace from the sounds that used to fold them over in front of me.
The curved shape of the back and that bitter grappling hook grip their fingers made as they dug into their own shoulders…. I will never forget the look of it… The rockets were hitting in Dahiya… far from where we were… Having been in the thick of it I knew that if you heard it you were fine…
Not hearing it….
That is the kicker… you get the ring hollowed out sound and that sledgehammer ache in your ear. What feels like sweat running down your neck only to reveal itself in a crimson rim on your collar…That is the point you scraped by and the feeling that you’ve had your skin peeled off of you means that you were too close to the window.
These were built to do this to human flesh… with utmost cost effectiveness. The shrapnel and the concussion...
And all it took some punk kid up there thoroughly full of himself and his pretty jet clicks off a shot with a mild quiver of his thumb. There is no thought for this flyboy. They pulled the hesitation from him quite early in training. The key is racking up the effective yield so that when his buddy goes in to take photographic evidence he peels in rapture as he gets a Holy $h*# you really toasted that F*^%er! Of course this may get sprinkled with High Fives and the occasional toast.
Truth of the matter is…QUITE UNLIKE IN IRAQ….This flyboy doesn’t have to worry about getting his butt shot off! He has free reign in the sky. There is not sovereign airspace in Lebanon. I remember as early as my first April seeing the contrail bend over the middle of Beirut. I found it awfully strange that a passenger jet would make a wide turn like that. I hoped there wasn’t a crash imminent. I was assured it was not a commercial anything. That was Israel conducting what other countries consider an act of war. The flying though airspace without permission. Lebanon is a country of fun loving, singers, beach go-ers and food enthusiasts.
But these flyboys wouldn’t believe it even if you showed them Oceana before they bombed Damour. Yup T-back bathing suits and coconut oil. Those have got to be terrorists!
I would agree about some of them… That much silicone anywhere is an explosive entity!
But honestly folks…Lebanon has NEVER been a sovereign state. From the French…To the Syrians…To Israel… Lebanon has never been itself unto itself... It’s always been someone elses…
The IDEA of Lebanon is I grant you something completely different! I mean you can’t mix images of Teta and the great warak anab cook a thon… or that secret thing she does with the arayees with the idea of what a State is.
Lebanon only exists in a state of mind…
And now as the shudder rattles though the building we all wake up in the internet café… The flyboy let loose another one…The dream of Lebanon dies again.
Today I heard the yearning to sleep in the dream of Lebanon. That crawling back under the cover we used to do as Mum pulled us out of bed for school. The cry of a dream lost and the heavy price paid for a view of Southern Beirut ON FIRE…As they left that dream behind
The wave ripples through the earth again and as it comes again I catch myslef calculating...this one smaller and harder… It’s Dahiya they say… but to be honest every hit you don’t feel anywhere but in your core….
I leave you to the sounds of the concussion and echos that role through the city…Not killing me but killing a dream… And removing the homes of what will be more than half a million internally displaced persons…
The news informs us over the phone interview it is Haret Hareik….
Another night of wide eyed children scraping into their shoulders and this little internet café empties and the silence shrouds the night as the cars vanish from the streets.
But we here on this Blog are looking for the real questions and real answers aren’t we my dear readers?
So what is the real question for today?
It is….Whether or not to go.
Today at the embassy came the feeling…. It was followed by a rattling little quote in my brain. I had told a spinning friend that I wouldn’t be the first to evacuate. Others closer to me would go first… Yup…they went… May God make their voyage swift calm and may they find peace from the sounds that used to fold them over in front of me.
The curved shape of the back and that bitter grappling hook grip their fingers made as they dug into their own shoulders…. I will never forget the look of it… The rockets were hitting in Dahiya… far from where we were… Having been in the thick of it I knew that if you heard it you were fine…
Not hearing it….
That is the kicker… you get the ring hollowed out sound and that sledgehammer ache in your ear. What feels like sweat running down your neck only to reveal itself in a crimson rim on your collar…That is the point you scraped by and the feeling that you’ve had your skin peeled off of you means that you were too close to the window.
These were built to do this to human flesh… with utmost cost effectiveness. The shrapnel and the concussion...
And all it took some punk kid up there thoroughly full of himself and his pretty jet clicks off a shot with a mild quiver of his thumb. There is no thought for this flyboy. They pulled the hesitation from him quite early in training. The key is racking up the effective yield so that when his buddy goes in to take photographic evidence he peels in rapture as he gets a Holy $h*# you really toasted that F*^%er! Of course this may get sprinkled with High Fives and the occasional toast.
Truth of the matter is…QUITE UNLIKE IN IRAQ….This flyboy doesn’t have to worry about getting his butt shot off! He has free reign in the sky. There is not sovereign airspace in Lebanon. I remember as early as my first April seeing the contrail bend over the middle of Beirut. I found it awfully strange that a passenger jet would make a wide turn like that. I hoped there wasn’t a crash imminent. I was assured it was not a commercial anything. That was Israel conducting what other countries consider an act of war. The flying though airspace without permission. Lebanon is a country of fun loving, singers, beach go-ers and food enthusiasts.
But these flyboys wouldn’t believe it even if you showed them Oceana before they bombed Damour. Yup T-back bathing suits and coconut oil. Those have got to be terrorists!
I would agree about some of them… That much silicone anywhere is an explosive entity!
But honestly folks…Lebanon has NEVER been a sovereign state. From the French…To the Syrians…To Israel… Lebanon has never been itself unto itself... It’s always been someone elses…
The IDEA of Lebanon is I grant you something completely different! I mean you can’t mix images of Teta and the great warak anab cook a thon… or that secret thing she does with the arayees with the idea of what a State is.
Lebanon only exists in a state of mind…
And now as the shudder rattles though the building we all wake up in the internet café… The flyboy let loose another one…The dream of Lebanon dies again.
Today I heard the yearning to sleep in the dream of Lebanon. That crawling back under the cover we used to do as Mum pulled us out of bed for school. The cry of a dream lost and the heavy price paid for a view of Southern Beirut ON FIRE…As they left that dream behind
The wave ripples through the earth again and as it comes again I catch myslef calculating...this one smaller and harder… It’s Dahiya they say… but to be honest every hit you don’t feel anywhere but in your core….
I leave you to the sounds of the concussion and echos that role through the city…Not killing me but killing a dream… And removing the homes of what will be more than half a million internally displaced persons…
The news informs us over the phone interview it is Haret Hareik….
Another night of wide eyed children scraping into their shoulders and this little internet café empties and the silence shrouds the night as the cars vanish from the streets.
posted by otterinaround at 9:30 PM
2 Comments:
I know you promised people you wouldn’t be the first one to leave, but hey we are forced to stay because we don’t have any other choice, don’t you think that life would be lot more difficult after the foreigners leave Lebanon? Now that you have the chance to leave, try saving your skin otherwise you’ll get infront of the palm trees without being able to drink any water……..
shattered dreams, damaged houses, panic attacks, all these make up the package that comes with the WAR, you should see how many people are being admitted to the hospital due to traumatic psychological problems, if this war doesn’t destroy people from their existence it will cause permanent damage to their psychological state, lot of people will develop PTSD, you’re not forced to live with all these, now that you have the chance to flee just do it, later on it might not be possible.
I never promised anyone I would stay... I told them that I wouldn't be the first to leave. I told them that they would be first. There was no promise it was just one of those strange things that spills out in conversation. Sentences like this pop out in my life and mark time in a wide gash like a giant crack in a granite slab. I knew it when it came out of my mouth that this meant something. I repeated it but the first instant those words tumbled from my lips it felt prophetic.
I understand PTSD. Yes I have seen it. I am not one to think that things get easier in war. I am in no way deluded into that this is a picnic. I chose to do what I did in order to help. Those of you that know my "swiss army" personality will understand...
and as for saving skin....I thought the whole bike accident showed you guys how little regard I have for my poor birthday suit.
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