Impersonal Times

Sadly, we now live in such lonely and impersonal times that it has become too invasive of our time and privacy to dedicate a message to only one person. Instead we choose to ironically broadcast our most sincere thoughts and wishes to a network of "friends" or even a blog of anonymous readers who have no intentions of ever expressing any empathy, even the most empathetic, in times like this.

This year, I snail mailed my wishes to the very residencies of a selection of family and friends.

I wish 2012 and the years to follow, connect us better!

PS. A Parisian street wall reads: "Time is an invention by people incapable of loving".  

When does a Tree stop being a Tree?

a
cedar,

is it a tree?
and is any tree a tree?

is the reflection of a tree also a tree?

how about the image of a reflection of a tree?

how about your reflection on an image of a reflection of a tree?

is it a tree?
is "it" a tree?
is this a tree?

This has been a GREAT year

This has been a GREAT year.

Indeed, so great I am not looking forward to bid it farewell tonight.

This has been a GREAT year on so many levels.

On a professional level, I "survived" a long PhD roller-coaster and accepted a postdoctoral position in Paris, where life is promising and the morrows are bright.
On an artistic level, I had two successful exhibitions, one in the States and another in Paris. Needless to mention the crazy photoshoots and the 1001 faces project that will be completed and announced next year.
On a soul-searching level, I traveled for more than 4 months in 4 continents to finally find a couple of places to accommodate my restless soul, arts and science -- a place that welcomes both sides of the brain and all races, backgrounds and beliefs. The US and its folks will always be remembered and missed.
On a soul-union level, I was reunited with family and good friends and it feels so great to spend time with them.

This has been a GREAT year.

It will be hard to beat it by the years to come. However, if there is something I learned from the previous years it is that life can be lived by the imposed social norms and traditions but much more so when these limits are pushed and redefined. So I invite you all to have a dream if you do not already and dare pursue it till the very end. Otherwise, do what you are best at until your vision becomes clear. Do not let others tell you what is impossible. Associate with positive people and dissociate with the rest.

This has been a GREAT year.

Thank you all for contributing to its success. I hope to be seeing more of you this year.

This has been a GREAT year.

I hope the same for you and wish you GREATER forthcoming years of joy and success.

PS. I made a calendar  based on my photography exhibit in Paris, "Couleurs de mes Voyages" if interested in marking it with splendid days and traveling each month to memorable places.

mi vida es un paradojo

hoy, un día de diciembre, el 26, me encuentro no solo con una camiseta afuera pero corriendo también. El primero paradojo entre diciembre y la camiseta afuera es objetivo pero el segundo entre mi y correr es mas subjetivo y al nivel personal. Verme correr es algo de milagroso como puede describirlo un de mis amigos, mejor, la frase "Al correr" es una oximoron. La conclusión: mi vida es un paradojo.

Reptiles

Happy Holidays

• ˚ •˛•˚ * 。 • ˚ ˚ ˛ ˚ ˛ •
• ˚Happy★* 。 • ˚ ˚ ˛ ˚ ˛ •
•。★Holidays!★ 。* • ˚。
° 。 ° ˛˚˛ * _Π_____*。*˚
˚ ˛ •˛•˚ */______/~＼。˚ ˚ ˛
˚ ˛ •˛• ˚｜ 田田 ｜門｜ ˚ 
˚ ˛ •˛• ˚˚ ˛ •˛• ˚˚ ˛ •˛• ˚

Il profumo del passato

Perduto in un centro commerciale, disperatamente in cerca di qualcosa da comprare per giustificare la mia visita al centro... Di colpo, mi trovo davanti una selezione di profumi femminili non cari persino scontati con l'idea di magari regalarne uno alla ragazza che sto conoscendo. Il primo profumo a colpirmi era Seveline Vanille Chocolat che poi a sentirlo mi e' tornato in mente piu' di un anno di una storia con una ragazza ormai dimenticata. Cmq, ho resisto addirittura a spruzzarlo adosso e subito sono tornato a casa col pensiero e la nostalgia... Oggi al negozio di Carrefour ho trovato lo stesso profumo ma stavolta mi sono arreso a spruzzarmi e in seguito odorarmi nostalgicamente tutto il giorno... Adesso che ho fatto la doccia mi sono disinfettato del passato, della sua nostalgia, e delle sue promesse false di un futuro inesistente. Evitero' quei negozi del passato perche sono debole... 

ser famoso precisa ser famoso

ironicamente, ser famoso precisa ser famoso o pelo menos fingir de se-lo. Os meus amigos e fãas d'arte vão ajudar a divulgar a minha fama so quando achem que sou ja famoso. Um livro com #1 best seller sera leito e divulgado muito mais d'um outro talvez muito melhor. Pode ser que a gente tem meido da sua opinhão e não quer a responsibilidad de gostar duma coisa e não da otra talvez porque estamos infinitamente mudando ou somos muito inseguros!

Les fous normaux

Today, I almost started this post bragging about its composition in a metro train via 3G technology, which however failed me and did not allow for any of this to happen. The means of typing this note or sending it through internet packets of bits and bytes is of no interest or importance, especially when the excessive elaboration of French native speakers is the topic of choice.

It is intrinsic to all French speakers, even those that acquire it as a second language, to speak endlessly in loops of  unimaginable consequences and exit strategies. I can clearly see how Proust was effortlessly able to compose a page and a half of a full phrase before reaching a period. Besides the use of tautological and unnecessary adjectives such as "notamment" which means "notably",  "justement" and "precisement" both meaning "precisely" and both used excessively as a gap filler, there is a dark play on words with a twist of oxymora that could seamlessly pass unnoticed by nonnative speakers. I am often honored the endless opportunities in which utterly elaborative francophones manifest their surreal redundancy and rhetoric when interpreted in English. For example, I precisely choose a systematic system in which I could identify a methodological method that describes not the system per se but any system in general. This sounds flawless in French especially with the rhyming of adjectives and alliteration of redundancies... In addition, it is common to pause and take a deep breath after each conjunction thus allowing for much more to be said before a sentence has been concluded.

Chapeau bas! No satire intended!

 

Too much love will kill you iff

Albeit the sun not shining today, I am extremely motivated and carefully  counting every second I can spare for the 1000000 projects I am merely involved in.

There must be an aspect of lightness and elation in spreading oneself too thin that a great mind like that of Milan Kundera did not explore in his unbearable lightness of being. I ponder...

I am worried about my ever euphoric state that has not peeked ever since I settled in Paris. I am close to free-hugging strangers off the street and for no reason besides the dissipation of too much energy that is beyond the realm of adrenaline. Too much love will kill only who has never loved or been loved.

Ideas

hoy habia un monton de ideas mientras exploraba paris en bicicleta pero ya no me recuerdo de nada y no me importa tampoco. Si no matas las ideas revulocionarias mueres de haberlas y de muerte lenta.

Buongiorno Principessa

Ogni tanto mi sveglio aspettando che la principessa mi cada dal cielo... ma puo' darsi che debba cercarla altrove... magari alla stazione dove aspetto la metro anzhiche' sotto l'albero laddove futilmente aspettai godot...

E chi non ha visto questo film, non so che altro faceva in vita sua!

Not sure what fills my HE❤RT with j☺y and ears with ♫elody. Your ra☂n, your s☀n, or is it just ♍♐?

 

☧☩☮☪☦

Serai-je heureux aujourd'oui?

Serai-je heureux aujourd'oui? la reponse est bien dans la question tautologique... Par contre, eux, les autres, sont-ils heureux?

P A R I S

Paris, je ne te hais plus, je ne te hais point!

Sinking Venice

Going to Venice is exciting but I had already been there trice.
The biennale is an amazing biannual art festival but I had seen many of those.
What touched me in Venice was addressing more than 80 representatives from all European countries  in the Biblioteca Marciana and feasting under its renaissance ceilings. I was utterly honored.
However, what really chilled my spine and gave me goosebumps was when I witnessed Venice sinking as I was rushing my way through piazza San Marco.

While millions of you might sympathize or regard my observation as interesting, very few are the ones who will act against global warming and save the most unique and beautiful Venice from disappearing but I would be very happy if proven wrong.

avant hier je me suis leve avec les bateaux mouches metamorphises en gondoles.
Stasera comunque le gondole si trasformano in bateaux mouches sotto la luna piena.

Tra Odio e Amore

Parigi, la capitale rinascimentale per gli amanti dell'arte, della musica e degli idee, e il destino romantico per tutti gli amanti nel mondo, colpisce tutti sia per odio che per amore. La sindrome di Parigi descrive la malatia di tanti giapponesi solitamente delusi dopo quel che imparano e idealizzano su parigi nel loro paese, invece, la sindrome di Stendhal descrive gli altri estremisti che rimangono colpiti della sua "charme" d'arte, di cultura e di musica fino al punto di svenire.

 Mi vedo come uno appena guarito dalla sindrome di Parigi bensi troppo per tangermi dall'altra estremita' della sindrome di Stendhal! Prevedo svenirmi se continuo a guarirmi cosi' eccessivamente ...

A la plus belle fille de la residence

j'ai tant de belles choses a te dire mais je ne sais meme pas comment tu t'appelles.
c'est avec toi que je partage mon toit  ou celui de notre residence quoi que ce soit,
mais partagerais-tu plus qu'un toit avec moi, or si j'etais roi, or s'il n'y a pas de loi?

Fast and Furious

From being chased by the ticket controllers in a metro station to shooting a Russian model in lingerie in another metro station, so I have spent the last couple of days in Paris. I am fueled by adrenaline and anxious for more! 

Today the police arrested the Indian man that sells me 4-5 avocados for 2 euros in front of the cite universitaire. My heart almost broke into avocado seeds.

On a different note, the crazy stories I am not telling are becoming cliched by my chronic exposure to craziness at an astounding rate...

a la fille du metro et les filles d'ailleur

on s'est vu il y a exactement une semaine dans le metro, ligne 6. Rappelle-toi comment nos mains se sont aprochees subtilement l'une vers l'autre et on s'est touche, ni vu ni connu. Je m'attendais de te voir tous les jours apres mais tu n'es plus venue. Je m'attends de te voir toutes les semaines apres mais aujourd'hui t\y n'etais point. Je m'attendrai de te voir tous les mois, sinon, les ans et les decades qui feront parte de ma vie et la tienne aussi. Avec le temps on oublie le visage mais non pas les plus chouettes rencontres.

"Tu es aveugle. Je suis sourd-muet. Que ta main touche la mienne et que la communication soit". -- Gibran Khalil

Aujourd'hui j'ai envie de disparaitre, de m'enfuir, d'epanouir si cela n'est pas deja le cas. Essaie de me joindre telephoniquement et tu verras que je suis absent, essaie de m'envoyer un mel avec quelques mots et tu verras qu'ils seront perdus dans le neant de l'infosphere, essaie de me trouver en personne et si t'y arrives jamais, dis-moi ou je suis.

desayuno real

A mi no me gusta la gordura -- me cae gorda. Sin embargo al avogado no puedo resistir y tampoco a su variaciones gastronimicas como cuando en un bocadillo con peru o pollo o milkshaked con azucar o miel, pero nunca imagine un bocadillo de avocado y jamon iberico o serrano en el pan frances semillano ayyy que delicia!

A muchos parece una locura como cuando insine el calzon de mozarella y chocolate a los italianos y difidentemente urlaban MA CHE CAZZO FAI pero  a probarla olvidaran las dudas...

Bureaucracy followup ad infinitum

Finally, with a written permission from my General Practitioner, stamped signed and translated, I was allowed  to join the sports and Tango program at the cite universitaire.

I thought I should not waste a single day after the week I sacrificed for bureaucracy so I wore my swimming suite and rushed to the pool very excited.

Suddenly, I learn from a staff member that I am not allowed to the pool and for two reasons, not only one! WTF?

First, the bonnet is required for everyone regardless of hair length or gender. Second, non of my two short swimming suits met the standards for the French pools. I laughingly asked for a reasoning from an immigrant staff member thinking he will sympathyse with my shock and rediculize that theatre of absurdity. However, the man firmly confirmed that tighter swimming suites are more suitable for hygene. Again WTF? Are they worried someone might smuggle some organic disposal between his balls or are they suspecting a bivillus infiltration and bifurcation in their quarter olympic pool???


Apart from the mysterious laws that govern such a putatively romantic city and from my healing from the paris syndrom, there is some charm in the open-endedness of such a huge city tjat never sleeps

When rats guarded ancient prostitutes

I am stunned by the wiki fact that my hospital  office in the immunology, immunopathology and immunotherapie lab was once prison for prostitutes and home for rats and I am not sure what to make out of the gunpowder factoid, possibly immunition for the rats guarding the prostitutes?

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Piti%C3%A9-Salp%C3%AAtri%C3%A8re_Hospital

pic of my office

Bureaucracy and shitocracy

Bureaucracy in France has reached a surreal state that is laughably beyond being deplorable and the very term begs for being redefined urgently. I really have no other choice than to visit the 100th bureau office) for the 1000th signature, that unless signed carefully within the barely visible inner green signature borders, my submission will be re-rejected.

I enter every bureau with all my forms and proofs of existence but with great hesitance declaring: ca fait une semaine que j'essaie... or ca fait 3 semaines que je cherche...

one of the most mysterious forms is a birth certificate which cerifies nothing more than being born in a certain hospital somewhere. I wonder how could a being come to existance if not ever born with the putative exception of being Jesus Christ. All cerificates must be translated to French and signed separately with photos, stamps, signatures and all unreasonable hassles.

one other ridiculous form is required from my GP to prove that I have no physical or medical issues that impede me from dancing Tango. I see it takes two to Tango even before one Tangoes.

Pauvre riche

C'est bien possible en france de mourir de faim avec une piece de 500 euros dans la poche parce que personne ne l'accepte, ni les banques et ni le marches. Donc j'ai du m'empreter 10 euros aujourd'hui parceque j'avais trop faim.

j'ai note que la fille qui m'observait de la fenetre en face hier, se defilait en lingerie dans sa chambre aujourd'hui. J'avoue qu'elle le faisait expres. J'imagine elle est francaise.

Can we erase borders?

I aspire to a border-free world that is not ruled by paranoid capitalists, that invest in fortifying political, economical, national and social boundaries to protect their fortunes from the unknown, that they have ignorantly and selfishly prejudged and secluded. The capital corps have huge responsibilities that will decide who live or survive the next decades.

And war does not determine who is right -- only who is left!

Where do we go now?

I am disgusted by all political parties that are incessantly dividing the leftovers of our 10,452 km² and multiplying the ignorance of 30 years of civil war. I am nauseated by hypocrate politicians, unrighteous religious men and pretentious patriots that add to the nation's debts, doubts and dirts and subtract from the ruins of bravery, faith and honesty. I have had enough of all religious sects that rather than seeking union through similarities, are in favor of being reduced to anti-national and even anti-relegious individuals with identity and existential crises to the point of irreducible self-hatred and suicide. I am sick of the political parties that have infinitesmaly partitioned a minute nation and everything that its citizens could ever discuss or enjoy. Calendrical dates that are marked by political events, usually of disastrous nature, automatically used to refer to specific parties and historical mishaps. However, the greedy parties are not fully satisfied with mere dates from the calendar; they also claim colors from the spectrum of light in order it to label each citizen and in a way claim him or her as their own property. Even if you do not know it, when you're dressed in orange in this country, then you belong to this party, and when your hat or watch is blue then you belong to this other party... Where is this ridiculous modern dark age going to end? Are we going to wake up one day in favor of a vegetarian meal just for the sake of supporting a certain party, that has not had the chance to claim meat or animals for its supporters?

A couple of nights ago, Nadine Labaki made my day, in a movie that creatively and passionately expressed hyge concerns about this minute country, with tears of joy. Without any further due, I invite you to watch it at your nearest theater:

Thank you Nadine!

War does not determine who is right -- only who is left.

What we learned from 5 million books | Video on TED.com

What we learned from 5 million books | Video on TED.com

Entre Paris et le Ch'nord

Il n'y a pas un mois, j'étais a paris a la recherche de logement, de paix et de liberté. C'était ma 3eme visite a Paris sauf que cette dernière fois c'était pour un postdoc que a paris 6 et a l'hôpital de la pitié-salpêtrière que je revenais avec beaucoup d'hésitation. Par contre, les deux première fois, c'était par curiosité ou par hasard mais jamais par désir.  J'étais dégoûté avant que la première semaine finisse, je me balader entre les auberges de jeunesse pour ne pas dépenser ce qui restait de ma fortune.

Il y a 3 ans, je suis venu a paris et j'ai présenté un ami français d'indiana qui m'hébergeait, a une amie parisienne que je connaissais des EU. Trois ans sont passes et Nicolas et Eve sont toujours ensemble. Leur co-existence me rappelle toujours de quel drôle de cupide solitaire j'étais, je suis et sans doute je serai toujours.

Il y a quelques jeudis, j'ai écrit a Nicolas en lui disant que j'étais sur paris. En suite, il me répond en m'invitant chez lui au nord, entre calais et boulogne. J'attendais n'importe quelle excuse pour quitter paris. Sa maison sur mer donne l'impression d'être dans un bateau pas loin du matelot et d'un fort visible de toutes les fenêtres. On était 8, 3 couples et deux mecs. Au moins un de ces couples est grâce a un des mecs! A part les jeux sociaux, les jolies promenades, les bons barbecues et les Welch traditionnelles aux restos, on est allé cueillir les moules, les nettoyer et les cuisiner. 10 kilos de moules excessivement bonnes pour 7 personnes peut facilement résumer le nord pour moi et avec le vin blanc j'hallucinais! J'hallucinais!

Les moules sur les rochers au nord

Andalucia

Mi ultima vez en Andalucia, hace 3 anos, fue en Sevilla en vez de Granada por un error de reservacion en vez de navegacion. En un café de Internet en Barcelona, he hecho la reservacion de 80 EUR con vueling por el mes de julio en vez de junio por ir en Granada. Solo al aeropuerto he descubierto la mala suerte y la mala gente, o sea el capitalismo, que no me podía ayudar. Mi única salvación relativamente económica era de coger un trenhotel entre barcelona y sevilla gastando solo 75 EUR por la noche y el viaje. En mi cuartito de 4 camas había un colombiano y un cubano que me caerán muy bien. La noche paso' sin dolor, sin rumor --- he dormido como un nino.

Tres anos después, Granada, tierra sonada por mi, su cantar mi vuelve gitano... Me fue a sacar los tickets del bus a granada en bilbao. Muchas horas después llegamos al centro y pasamos muchas noches de musica, baile, amigos..etc. La terzera noche fue mi ultima a Granada y con un amigo frances de la calle y sin plata nos acabamos en un bar donde la cerveza cuesta 1.5 EUR y lleva una tapa. Ah, cuanto quería pasar por Francia antes de ver Granada y no vice versa.

Luego, tenia que pasar 2 noches mágicas en Sevilla antes de coger un vuelo de 12 horas por la Francia. Salimos con los propietarios argentinos del hostal (hostel one) y pasamos noches increíbles de cerveca, tapas, y risas! En el hostal, yo nunca dormí en mi cama. Dormí a la terrassa mirando las estrellas y el sol de la mañana no me molesto' hasta las 10.30. Nunca he dormido así bien!!

La andalucia, puede ser el país mas parecido a mi, con su rica historia de conquistas entre el oriente y el occidente, entre su religiones anecdóticas pero al mismo tiempo iguales, con su arte arabesca y infinitamente barroca con cada detalle, aun platonicamente simétrica y harmónica.

Una iglesia sevillana

Proustian Retrospection leads to interesting Introspection

My inevitable frequent visits to my native land are resulting in a proustian retrospection that is consequentially deciphering my present through a long forgotten past. The Madeleine that awakened many reminiscences from Proust's childhood had no effect on mine when savored in Paris, however, many of my mom's recipes and family reunions bring back to memory traces from the recycle-bin of oblivion. Toe-curling home-made recipes, that I have missed for a decade, are latently associated with afternoon naps and dreams that are followed by family reunions and discussions over coffee. Deja-vus take me back to a tough childhood that survived many years and tears of civil war. It must have been impossible to forget the war without suppressing related memories from my childhood. Therefore, I can hardly recall anything from when I had less than 12-15 years old. I almost feel that I never existed before I was 12. I must have been born or reborn at 12 give or take. A huge bokeh of my childhood is barely the picture I have thanks to old family photo albums and stories from the past. Hence, I wonder: Does my putative nonexistence explain my life at such an astounding pace as some kind of compensation? If so, when will I settle down or give in to a relatively normal pace?

Retrospective Glance

Speechless Travels

My pilgrimage nears its end for another one to follow. I am concluding 4 months of wandering, this time less futilely than ever. It is almost impossible to touch on such a rich and diverse trip in words so I will post a descriptive picture for now and hope to dive into some unique reminiscences retrospectively in the posts that follow.

Alhambra Facism

My trip fom Bilbao to Granada went smoothly until I misplaced the Alhambra ticket. The controller recognized me at the door ofthe pakace but refused to make an exception and let me in. The customer service did nothing but apologize for the mishap even when I provided picture evidence of having accessed some of the palaces. I am extremely furiated by ignorance, especially when abundant and commonky practiced. Raising this issue to the UNESCO will only add insult to injury so I will let time heal and reveal things...

Vagues teleportatives

A biarritz j'ai du choisir entre mes senses biologiques et celles extensives comme les objectives de mon appareille numerique. Enfin, j'ai laisse mes appareilles artifcielle dans la voiture de mes potes pour jouir la mer basque et francophone. Les vagues etaient tellement fortes qu'elles teleportaient tout ce qu'elles touchaient. Au bout du contacte avec les vagues, je me perds au fond, pas sur si pour quelques segondes ou pour longtemps, et d'un coup je me reveille ailleur entoure d'autres victimes que j'ai jamais vu... les vagues me teleporte chaque fois et je n'y pouvais rien comme si je vivais ma vie d'une facon acceleree.

si viaggiare...si rinascere

E da un giorno che non dico niente a parte un paio di euxaristw al supermercato. Quel silenzio divino, accompagnato discretamente da canzoni di uccelli e ... puo darsi che l'aqu che mi ha riempito gli orecchi mi ha lasciato sordo tanto i greci li capisco a stento. ho mangiato una pesca, e con la boccia ho umidito la mia faccia stotto il sole. Mangiavo frutta, solo frutta. Oggi, non ho fame. Avevo gia' mangiato tutto, assaggiato di tutto, oggi non ho piu' fame. La solitudine oggi m'e beatitudine. Ieri cercavo l'ostello a Chania ma oggi non cerco piu' niente, non cerco oiu' nessuno. Tutte le strade son uguali e non posso perdermi mai oggi. I cani sempre perduti in cerca di cibo e di compagnia. Cosi' era la mia vita, ma oggi non ho ne fame e non mi sento solo. Il silenzio mi ispira... la citta' e' deserta. Non cercopiu, niente... sono in pace con me stesso e col mondo. Mi chiedo ancora chi sono e che faccio ma oggi non mi interessa molto sapere la risposta, anzi, mi son quasi convinto di essere un nessuno da nessuna parte. Oggi non cerco piu' l'isola che non c'e' non perche l'ho trovata ma perche mi son convinto che non c'era stata mai e non ci sara' e x il resto non sono piu di un perpetuo di neuroni e sogni...

la turca

Ue cumpa,

Ti ho pensato ieri quando ho trovato un paio di posti incredibili in istanbul per mangiare troppo bene e per troppo poco.

ti ricordi del dorado portoghese che mangiavamo per 9 euro pensando sia un buon affare? Qui il dorado turco si trova per 6 euro se non di meno.

Secondo giorno in Turchia, ho visto piu cose in un giorno che abbia mai visto in vita mia. Ieri, venendo da NY, avevo il fuso orario ed oltre confuso ero anche stanco e perduto e quindi quel che ho visto ieri non conta.

Questa e la prima volta che nessuna lingua delle 7 che parlo bene mi serviva --- anzi, ad un certo punto ho smesso di parlare l'inglese per quanto inutile era persino cercare di dire una parola basica come acqua o bagno... E davvero frustrante limitarsi alla lingua dei muti soprattutto da poliglotta.

Un'altra cosa che non ho mai capito, sono i tirchi che urlano x le strade per vendere ai turisti che non capiscono il turco. Poiche vendono la roba piu' assurda nei posti piu assurdi, per esempio calzette verso mezzanotte a taqsim, il posto dei locali e delle discoteche.Ho chiesto a uno come arrivare ad un posto e lui mi risponde la solita risposta al cazzo ' up then right. Poi ho detto che ci sono stato e lui mi risponde con YES ed io but this is not a yes and no question e lui si arrende e si mette a parlare in turco.

Oggi ho preso la nave per il bosforo. Durante il viaggio ho visto gente incredibile. Ho visto per strada proprietari di bilance che vendono ai passanti curiosi informazione sul loro peso. Sara magari il mestiere piu incredibile al mondo che abbia mai percepito. Poi prova a chiedere informazione a qualcuno e sarai stupito di come ti han convinto senza capire l'inglese che il posto che cerchi ancora era facilissimo trovarlo...

Tuttavia, il cibo e buono e costa poco. Un buon pesce fresco come il dorado si trova per 12 lire turche, l'equivalente di sei euro.

Tornando dalla crociera, avevo un bisognino, grosso. Ho corso verso i bagni, per fortuna disponibili ma a pagamento per capire che i maschi si servono della turca, un buco di merda... il dispiacere puro di quel posto immondo mi ha fatto subito pensare all'imperialismo americano che cerca di colonizzare il mondo con la scusa di civilizzare tali paesi del terzo mondo. Mi e venuto in mente anche l'uso del termine turca, per dire cesso, e anche pozziginori, se non simpatica, per definire una persona non molto bella ma con molto stile.


Da quando sono arrivato in aereoporto mi sono perso piu di quanto sapevo dove ero. Cio mi ricorda di una canzone di ligabue : la strada dove ti porta lo sa soltanto lei... e troppo facile perdersi quandonessuno parla nessuna lingua utile, eppure le strade, tutte marcate in turco. E viva l'ignoranza, come direbbe toto'.





Pardon the tablet-induced brevity and typos -- Al

NY is busy

...NY is busy, busy with cabs, cabs that'll hit you, you must run, run for work, work for food, food like gyros, gyros with no yogurt, yogurt is expensive, expensive is an understatement, understatement in NY, NY is busy, busy with cabs...

Extension

I still cannot decide which of the followimg is more laughable: my cancellation of my ticket to Istanbul 4 h prior to the departure due to mixed feelings about irreversibly leaving the US or trying to make the most of my stay by attempting to sell MOMA and starbucks my coffee art...

End of the U, S and A

Dear USA,

In the past two weeks I have traversed your land by bike, plane, car, bus, train and boat. I have traveled with family, friends, strangers and a tom tom navigator -- in fact, I am currently in one of your greyhound buses from Boston back to NY to conclude a US era of 7.5 years (on june 4). I have stayed at family, friends, strangers (couchsurfing), hostels, BB, inns, apartments, motels and hotels...

However, the restless nomad is tired and burdened by all his belongings in the absence of a fixed destination in your nation, the expiration of his visa and bureaucratic complications for getting alternative ones. The nomad is repulsed by all your thunderstorms simultaneously targeting beach and natural resorts. The nomad is homesick for a home yet to be found and eventually inhabited.

After tomorrow, I take a plane to Istanbul before hitting Beirut. I will be relaxing, planning, reading, writing and applying for visas in a much affordable environment. After all, your east coast is a beast in terms of cost. My stay here only aspires for a business plan that produces nothing more than $$ where life is reduced to a darwinian survival of the fittest and fellow humans are all regarded as cold-blooded competitors.

I hate farewells so I shall end this note with a thank you for all you taught me and made out of me...

Until our paths coincide again, take care of your children, many have become good friends.

Yours,
Alaa -- but you can call me Al

Homesick Nomad

Couchsurfing w/ modelmayhem & carpooling w/ craigslist on US-1 South from Bar Harbor, ME to Cape Cod, MA. Sounds like the ideal vacation but not for a traveler who travels in vain. The fact that I was interviewed by MIT created a catch 22 situation with tremendous hopes and no job. I can barely imagine anything near MIT

as I am sickened by all alternative possibilities -- not that I was in favor of any before the MIT false hope. I am homesick but not sure for which home nor am I sure of how accurate is my sentiment or description of it... I keep exploring new dimensions of vanity that only time reveals to the extremely curious...

The inevitable futility from nowhere to nowhere

Hello from a train from a train from Boston heading southwards--not sure where exactly it will stop, if at all. Regardless, the wi-fi deal it offers is cheaper than most dealsin airports. I might take it for a long long ride.

Pardon the tablet-induced brevityand typos -- Al

Un attimo x riflettere su una vita

Non e mica facile ridurre 7 anni della mia esistenza in un posto a due bagagli per prendere il treno e vagare per il mondo, una settimana, un mese, ossia una vita... senza destinazione e senza nozione del tempo.

In quel attimo effemero di mancata solitudine, nonostante la maggioranza asiatica dell'mit che mi circonda dovunque vada, riesco a concentrarmi un po dopo mesi di tesi, trasloco, famiglia e problem I di visit imprevisti. Addirittura mi sono convinto finalmente di voler passare un anno qui.

Tuttavia, questo lo decide domani, senno, il giorno dopo, ad mortem.

Un po mi dispiace per il romanticismo dentro di me che man mano morira coll'imperialismo Americano lontano dall'EUROPA MAGNA e quel che resta oggi del CAPUT MUNDI e del vecchio mondo.

Musique pour l'âme

Happy Easter and Happy Wester

for the eastern believers and the western nonbelievers -- isn't how the world is divided today?

Chi va piano va lontano

Chi va piano va sano, e chi va sano va lontano. Oggi mi rimane solo il 0.27% di un settennio che fino ad un paio di mesi fa, era una battaglia persa. Provo attimi di strafelicita' anormale. Non vedo l'ora di guardarmi nello specchio e riconoscermi dopo essermi rincoglionito per un lustrone davanti ad uno schermo di tali pollici e tanti numeri. A chi si e' dottorato e pensa che io stia esagerando, dubito che l'abbia fatto negli stati uniti o in informatica. A chi invece si e' dottorato qui in informatica, dubito che sia stato anche un artista o un poliglotta con la voglia di conoscere tutto ad ogni costo!

A Minha Geração

uma decada depois da academia, a minha geracao...



...e a comida estava óptima! O que vamos fazer?

Recently

When people ask me about how am I doing, I just giggle or laugh hysterically depending on my mood. It might have to do with the Permanent head Damage (PhD)

Hoje soube-me a tanto

Portanto
Hoje soube-me a pouco, e ontem tambem...

1800 colinas, baby

Extremidades Semánticas Mexicanas

"Que padre" y "padrisimo" no son las unicas palabras o expresiones mexicanas. La expresion "no hay pedo" (Eng there is no fart) quier decir simplemente "no hay problema" donde el pedo parece la cosa mas problematica en mexico. Entonces, la palabra pedo es la mas alegorica de problema como padre es la palabra mas alegorica de bondad. La tercera extremidad es el rato (de raton?) que no significa nada o quier decir poco. Por ejemplo, "espera un rato" o "espera un ratito" quieren decir, espera poco en el dialectico mexicano. Paradojicamente, un animal como el raton tan inutil sociologicamente puede ser util semanticamente solo en Mexico!   

Fig 1. Las tres Extremidades Semánticas Mexicanas 

Sois Belle et Tais-Toi

J'en ai marre du paradoxe feminin qui m'offre soit la jolie bete, soit l'intellectuelle laid. C'est vraiment injuste que les muses soient belles et se taisent toujours. J'aimerai bien, pour une seule fois, me surprendre par une de mes muses et par sequence, peut-etre m'enamourer, mais helas, ca m'arrive jamais. En plus, c'est plutot le cas de "sois belle et je me tais" puisque je n'ose pas provoquer une autre conversation banale comme deja prevu...


      

La Relatività

Ieri ho dormito 13 ore dalle 9 di sera fino alle 10 di mattina. La mattina, stavo da dio! Comunque, era grazie ad una settimana impietosa di lavoro che univa le notte colle mattine. Il sentimento dopo 13 ore di sonno era paragonabile a mangiare dopo giorni di fame, o bere dopo tante ore di sete... Tuttavia, non mi ricordo mai di aver dormito cosi tante ore o di aver conosciuto un dormiglione che supera 11 ore di sonno. E comunque sbaglio adesso che mi viene in mente "il bombarolo" di Fabrizio de Andre che addirittura dorme al giorno 14 ore.  In somma, sarebbero anni di sonno cumulativamente parlando...

Certe volte mi dimentico di riaccendere il riscaldatore a casa e pian piano si raffredda la casa ma senza rendermi conto. Man mano mi intossica il freddo le ossa, mi sento solo, mi raffredda l'anima, ossia il cuore (non ho mai capito qual'e' quale), e in qualche modo inspiegabile mi svuota lo stomaco ma senza affamarmi... E' un sentimento strano, forse paragonabile alla rana quando messa in acqua e poi scaldata piano piano ad mortem invece di essere buttata nell'acqua bollente laddove si potrebbe salvare istantaneamente.

Ho letto una volta che uno dei peggior modi per morire era di buttarsi in una fossa senza fondo. Mi chiedo spesso quanto diversa sia la nostra vita di quella fossa infinita?
        

Padrisimo

Padrismo es una palabra Mexicana  (intensificador de la palabra "Padre" o la expresión "Que Padre") que en mexicano quier decir, "que bueno" o en ingles literalmente sea "how fatherly". La intensificación del patrimonio mexicano puede ser util para describir muchas cosas lindas en este mundo como por ejemplo mis vacaciones en México la semana pasada. Con la palabra "padrisimo" puedo decir lo que sigue:

El primero dia en cancun, vi un italiano que habla en espanol con un espanol que habla en italiano (era claro del accento). Asi, fue mi amistad con Luca, un marinero/capitano italiano.

El segundo dia, fui al supermercado del chedrawi para comprar flip-flops porque deje mis flipflops en indiana y regresar para llevarlos no mi paso por la cabeza. Pero lo nuevos flipflops (180 pesos) me molestaran los pies hasta no poder caminar, entonces el tercero dia fui a un negocito cerca la playa para comprar flipflops nuevos. Con mucha negociacion pague 120 pesos (11 USD) y deje mis chingos flipflops chedrawicos en el negocito para descubrir que sostituiran los nuevos flipflops. Marche por la playa dejando el absurdo "flipflopiano". Sin embargo, necesitaba regresar en el nogocito despues de perder mis nuevos flipflops de solo 20 minutos de uso. No se exactamente donde en la playa los deje mientras estaba tomando fotos, no se si algiuen paso con un deseo tan irresistible para mis flipflops, no se si el mar con todo lo que contiene necesita mis flipflops.... mi vuelta al negocito fue mas absurda que mi primera visita. Esta vez la nueva senorita que trabaja alla, cuando le pregunte cuanto cuestan mis flipflops solo por curiosidad, no hesito' un segundo para decirme que valgan 150 pesos. Sin embargo mi explicacion que fue tan futil ella insisto' pero en el final, he comprado nuevos flipflops (los terceros en 2 dias) esta ves por 100 pesos (~9 USD). En el aeropuerto de atlanta una de los flipflops pasa por extra seguridad y un de los hombres del TSA me dice que un de mis flipflips tiene una pluma! Jajajjajajja! Nunca mas surealismo en mi vida!

Regresando a playa del carmen de Tulum en el coche de mi amigo (en mexico guey) Jim, nos para la policia despues 3 minutos de entender que tenemos que parar. Despues descubrimos que fue per velocidad pero lo que sigue es mas interesante sin embargo las carreteras mexicanas as veces sin senos de velocidad por 5 kilometros y otras vezes con senos de velocidad diferentes cada 50 metros. Lastimosamente,  la policia nos para subitamente despues mi decision de consumar mi gelado fundiendo. Despues de desculparnos infinitamente porque no vimos senos de velocidad, yo con mi gelado en mano y as veces en mi boca, negocie una solucion con 100 pesos. A la polocia no gusto' eso y el declaro' que la multa sale 1000 pesos con la "license" de mi amigo (o carnalito en mexicano). 200 pesos (18 USD) declaro' la policia y nos aviso' que la policia federal que no accepta soluciones similes jajajajaj.  Yo, con el ultimo sabor de mi gelado exotico agradece la policia con 200 pesos y un sonriso muy simpatico.
   
En isla mujeres, pagamos 10 USD por noche (col desayuno) y mi cama fue a solo 3 metros de la arena blanca de la playa. En cancun era como 18 USD pero con desayuno, cena muy buena y un shot de tequila, en la casa de una artista. En playa del carmen era 10 USD y la playa mas linda a solo 3 minutos, y el centro nocturno animado a solo 3 minutos tambien.

Un mexicano a todo eso puede decir algo como "no mames" o "no manches" o no decir nada porque le parece todo normal!

Hay mucho mas patrimonio (padrissimo), quizas demasiado pero tengo que parar aqui.

I worked

I worked 


till my eyes bled
till my soul fled
cause it was dulled
as I was culled
with a death rate
much worse than fate

Ephemeral Perfection and Perpetual Incompleteness

Extreme is my social ineptitude
Dm
so I treat it with some fine solitude
Am

So sublime is my procrastination
Dm
sometimes...
Am

I AM COMPLEX

I am not perfect

C                     Am
I am not perfect when compared to a fish underwater
C                     Am
I am not perfect when compared to a bird off a cliff  (who said it has to rime?)
F                      Em
I am not perfect when my patience is compared to that of a stone
F                      Em
I am not perfect when my love for you is compared to that of your own




           G
So I am perfectly imperfect
Em                             D
Why waste your time on me
       G
I am nothing but imperfect
Em                            A   D
Why not forget about me




C                     Am
I am not perfect when it comes to remembering your special days
C                     Am
I am not perfect when it comes to entertaining you in all possible ways
F                     Em
I am not perfect when I have to deal with all of your friends
F                     Em
I am not perfect when I'm sick of life and the movie ends




           G
So I am perfectly imperfect
Em                              D
Why waste your time on me
       G
I am nothing but imperfect
Em                            A   D
Why not forget about me

The thin line between salvation and starvation

A decade of my life is on the verge of salvation from regrets \emph{via} a checkpoint called PhD, which calls for decades of longer commitments if not experimental starvation with limited regrets as an artist.

‎

"There's no money in poetry, but there's no poetry in money" -- Robert Grave

ecce ego...

Impersonalizing yet another year of personal diaries, photographs, ideas... to become one with nature et cetera

La notte e promettente

Anche oggi faccio le ore piccole piccole, la notte sempre promettente ma visto che sono ancora le 4 di mattina circa, la notte non e' ancora realizzata. Spero di poter scriver e concluder un abstract nonostante la delusione delle notti passate che han promesso tanto ma mantenuto poco. Ci casco sempre perche il futuro invadente e' sempre incerto ma lo scopriremo solo vivendo.

Comincio a ricevere gli auguri di compleanno 2 giorni in anticipo. Se vi chiedete com'e' possibile, come mi chiedevo io, ve lo spiego coi due casi che conosco: il primo ch'e' piu' comune riguarda gli amici che appena vengono notificati del mio compleanno, mi anticipano gli auguri per non dimenticarsi di farlo nel giorno del compleanno, come se fosse un peccato mortale o un dovere pregnante non scrivermi essendo notificati. Il secondo caso si tratta degli amici (finora solo una persona) thanatofobici che temono di non farcela per farmi gli auguri un paio di giorni o settimane dopo... Dato i primi auguri anticipati, prevedo un gaussiano di bombardamenti di auguri con una coda di 4 giorni dopo il compleanno per quelli in ritardo. Comunque sia, vi ringrazio tutti quanti ugualmente, persino quelli che mi augurano tanta felicita senza dirmelo e quelli che mi vogliono bene senza dovermelo dire o volerlo...vvb!

Sto a pezzi, sono esaurito alla frutta... mi prima di crollare vado a frullarmi un po di frutta da mangiare perche la notte e' promettente la lala la lalala la la!

The Sound of Silence

I feel our planet is overpopulated. One way around it, is to alternate shifts with our fellow "Earthians" or live nocturnally. Technically, such a lifestyle might be diagonised as delayed sleep phase syndrome or night owl syndrome and of course pharmaceutical companies will make sure you get some of that medication that is sitting on their pharmacies' shelves...

What I mostly enjoy about my nocturnal lifestyle is the substantial silence, which to a great deal, is an incentive thereof. Silence allows me to meditate, focus and work without being interrupted by undesired distractions that are often involved with inconsiderate human subjects whose avoidance could be immoral.

“I have learned silence from the talkative, tolerance from the intolerant, and kindness from the unkind; yet strangely, I am ungrateful to these teachers” -- Gibran K. Gibran

In Lebanese, there is a somehow poetic way of asking someone to shut up simply by saying: (Bet3eerni skoutak?) "would you lend me your silence?". Also, there is an inoffensive and funny way of saying it: (Leb. Ya reit khrit wla 7kit) "I wish you shit and did not speak"! In French we would say: (Fr. Sois belle et tais-toi) meaning "look good and shut up", and more offensively (fr. ta gueule) "your mouth" thus indicating the origin of malfunction. The Portuguese are not any less romantic than the French when they say (Pr. cala a boca e beija-me) "close your mouth and kiss me"! In Spanish I like to quote a more poetic intervention from Dr. Neruda (Es. Me gustas cuando callas porque estas como ausente) "I like you when you are silent because it feels as if you were absent", however that is only a misleading beginning of a love poem. In Italian, I like the interjection (zitto!). In greek you may say siopa (offensive) or stamata. Finally, in Arabic, the saying goes "If speech was argentine then silence is golden"...

Silently yours,
Al

From ISS to PHD to ICC...

As my PhD in informatics (complex systems) nears its defense (ref. vitae), my artistic journey as a photographer and coffee artist (ref. portfolio)--- not to mention music --- seems to be coming to an end with my failure to support it financially or relate it to my expertise in bio-inspired data mining and complex systems effectively.

Below is a preliminary macro take on my current situation between arts and science using insoluble elements. I have seen science and art overlap everywhere except in my career (lamentably); they are like oil and water no matter what I do. This experimental animation portrays endeavors of scientists/artists who strive to combine both fields incessantly.



Is there any venue, community or event welcoming both sides of the brain?

ISS: Interdisciplinary Singularity Syndrome
PHD: Permanent Head Damage
ICC: Interdisciplinary Career Crisis

A riqueza da "Cerveja"

Durante a minha estadia breve em portugal aprendi um léxico vasto para dizer "cerveja": cerveja, cervejinha, cervejola, bjeka, bjola, imperial, fino (norte), pressão, litrosa, super bock, sagres e acho que ha ainda mais...

"A cerveja nos faz esquecer as amarguras da vida." Albert Einstein

A cerveja, como a musica, nos consola nos momentos tristes e nos ajuda a celebrar os momentos felizes. Esta semelhança entre a cerveja e a musica tem que ser reveladora duma cerveja instrumental ou uma musica alcoólica:

El infinito entre el ser y el parecer

cuantas veces decimos algo que quier decir otro y vice versa?

Por ejemplo, cuantas veces decimos "te amo" pero queremos decir otro?



Y cuantas veces amamos verdaderamente pero nunca lo decimos?



Es que somos mentirosos compulsivos o victimas del paradojo entre el ser y el parecer? Sin embargo, la unica solucion es desparecer! Adios!

Quero uma Bifana

Hoje acordei-me com um desejo incrível por uma bifana com alfaces e tomates, por uma italiana, ou seja um café curto (mesmo ristretto em italiano), um desejo por passageiros anónimos quase mudos porque não precisa dizer nada, porque sabem bem que não vale a pena, que nada conta... Nesta altura, fui ao "Which Sandwich" e pedi uma "roast beef" com alho, alfaces e tomates... Enquanto consumava a minha bifana (mais o menos alguns ingredientes, a italiana e os anónimos mudos), o meu querido passado consumou-me. Tenho saudades dum passado imperfeitamente agravado no meu coração. Talvez e' a condição humana, quando não consegue a encontrar a felicidade no presente nem promessas da felicidade no futuro, a procura num passado uma vez esquecido vem re-construído com memorias falsas de desejos e sonhos nunca realizados...


Tudo parece um filme do Pasolini, uma canção do Fabrizio de André, ou um Jacinto do Alentejo...

Where do all picks go?

Today, I stopped by the music store to buy new picks for my mandolin and guitar. That was the third time I buy picks in the past month. My pick purchase habit is becoming comparable to that of  some dairy products,  like milk. However, afaik, picks are never consumed---at the least, they are lost. The store owner, recognizing me from previous visits asked me: "but where do all the picks go?". I was dumbstruck by her question and by whatever impression  my peculiar chronic picks shopping might have brought to her. I also reflected on whether the picks' affordable price (less than a dollar each) makes them prone to misplacement and mistreatment. Still I wonder where do all picks go...

I shall pose the question in a universal language I have never written before:

C (2)                              Em (2)
Ah, where do all guitar picks go
C (2)                              Em (2)
Ah, where do all mand'lin picks go

Em (3)
At the store of music I always find myself bying new picks
       C (2)
Where do they go?
Em (3)
Our souls after we die, I can't stop thinking if they'll end up where the picks go 
       C (2)
I do not know?

Em7             Em6
All the lost guitar picks
          C          Em
Where could they all have gone?
Em7                Em6
All the lost or dead ones
          C          Em
Where could they all have gone?

The song is based on the Beatles' Eleanor Rigby and inspired by my peculiar chronic picks shopping habits.

Le fabuleux monde des chats

C'est Samedi soir mais je resiste le bordel nocturne pour comparer les femmes aux chats. Aujourd'hui il faisait assez beau pour me promener avec mon appareil photographique et mon oeil aesthete et critique. Ce n'etait pas la premiere fois qu'un chat me suivait, mais justement parce-que je ne lui donnais pas acune attention. Pourtant, le chat fuiait quand je le cherchait pour le caresser ou pour le photographer. La femme chez nous, c'est pareille, suit la elle te fuit, fuis la elle te suit. J'etais tellement distrait que ce(tte) chat(te) qui appartient aux voisins est rentre(e) chez moi. Il/elle se sentait a l'aise. Les modelles que je photographe me disaient qu'elles sentaient toujours a l'aise, parfois c'etait comme si je n'y etais pas mais c'est ca qui les attirait et meme  defiait. A part  mon observation analogique , il y a une autre liaision lexique entre la femme et la chatte. En argot, la chatte c'est l'organe genital pour la femme, e non pas seulement en francais mais en plusieurs langues comme l'anglais (pussy) l'arabe (qotta)...Donc, au lieu d'etudier le monde complexe des femmes, je propose etudier le monde des chats pour mieu comprendre les femmes.

Happy Birthday

CAVEAT LECTOR: May the clarification in this post about the pointlessness of birthdays and similar celebrations not be confused with my sincere wishes of happiness for everyone.

A couple of weeks are to determine whether I make it to the 29th year of a debatable nonexistence. Worse, a nonexistence that is perfectly perceptive and requires food and therefore a job... Perhaps I would have celebrated my 10th or 15th birthday unawarely, but celebrating my 29th seems ironic and pointless. I am not at all debating one's life quality, one's mere survival of another year, or one's nearing the last days of what he or she might consider a wasted life, for all these arguments can be flawed epistemologically. I am arguing about a more rudimentary philosophical savoir-vivre question...

Why should your birthday be any more special than the remaining days of your life? Doesn't this very expectation impose monotony and boredom on the remaining 364 days you were not born on? Can't you have a daily blast or more ad libitum? Your friends, that have received 100 birthday notifications from 50 social networks you are both on, to wish you that "happy birthday" or a minute variation thereof, are they truly thoughtful and sincere. If you're rather judging them based on their gift, have you thought of the non-materialistic, poor or tasteless friends with good intentions? And what about the gloomy ones that are neither faking a smile nor planning to ruin your special day of the year? Therefore, I wholeheartedly vote for abolishing birthday celebrations after one gains full consciousness.

I am not bothered by people celebrating their birthdays, on the contrary, if that makes them happy. However, I find myself often confused by their expectations, especially from the invited guests and the dynamics in between... I wouldn't call myself socially inept but I can't help laughing at bad jokes or smiling to cliche, especially when repeated incessantly by an interdepartmental social group or an intimate click with cryptic nerdy inside jokes. Therefore, with that I conclude that I am not anti-social nor am I a misanthrope.

In fact, when I last turned 27 or 28, I was overwhelmed with all the generic birthday wishes that I was never able to reciprocate. Initially, I felt obligated to respond thanking each and every thoughtful though inconsiderate soul that left a mark on my virtual facebook wall. I felt guilty for never using neither facebook nor other means for casting birthday wishes... I felt bad just because I like to wish my friends and family a happy (even glorious) day every single day and not once every year. I wish to share with them special moments whenever possible, not whenever convenient.

Have a wonderful day!

shu hal bahlaneh aw hablaneh hay?

3ada inno b7ess 7eli mish tabi3i bass iktob bellebneneh, b7ess kamen inno ma ba3ref shu baddi iktob aw la'ayya sababa. bas el shi el mni7 hewwe inno law shu ma katabt ma fi 'wenin aw shourout w feyye iktub shu maken bikil rye7a. El hadaf hewwe inno iktob bi kil legha shi laltanwee3. Ba3dein yemkin shi nhar lebnen ysaytir 3al 3alam bi leghto w 7adarto la'anno el lebnene zaki, yey shu zaki el el-lebnene. Law la el7arb ken yemkin khtara3a, wlaw la el sini ken yemkin khtara3 el baroud wel sini kamen. Khasatan el feni'i la'anno 3endo avantage  el abjadeyyi, la'anno hawdiki ma fi shi 3ala el CV taba3on. Hawdeeki khel'o mbere7.Ya 3azizi el lebnene, ma tekheda personellement, asdi inno lezem nettala3 3al mousta'bal mish 3al madi, lezem nrakkiz 3ala el eshya yalli btejma3na mish yalli betfarre'na. Belneheye, ne7na khle'na metl ba3d, w neheyetna metl ba3d law shu ma ken dinna, 7atta law ma men'emen. Khallini wadd3ak bitibit khater w shufak neje7 w sebe' 3asrak halla' w bel musta'bal la'anno el madi mish la 'elna.   

البحث عن الماضي في لغة ليس لها مستقبل

لقد مر عامين منذ آخر مرة كتبت فيها العربية و تلك ألحين سبقها دهر من  الاعربية  و كانني كبرت على لغة ترعرعت معها و ليس بامكاني أن أتعرف أليها أو ألعب معها. كتابة هذا النص و قرأته يردني الى ماض بعيد من طفولة لا آخر يذكرني بها أو يشعرني حاجة للبقاء فيها. تراودني أفكار و شعور بدون سابق أو مثال و كان هذه الغة محطة فضائية تنقلني لاشعوريا إلى العقل الباطني. أتذكر مدرستي و  معلمتي و  نصوص من القراءة و قصائد حفظت لاشعورين و أتليث مع أناشيد وطنية و مدرسية بدون سبب.  ولكن من منا إعترض أو خالف كان مصيره غير محبذ. وإن أتيتكم اليوم يامعلماتي  و يا أساتذتيأقرع أبوابكم و أسأل عن وظيفة أو معاش مقابل ما تعلمته في مدارسكم وما تحملته من أفواهكم هل أستطيع الاعتماد عليكم؟ أين أذكر تلك القصائد والنصوص مقابل خبزي اليومي و أين إستعمل طول نهر الليطاني أو عمق سد القرعون أو معركة معاوية  في البحث عن لقمة عيشي؟ هل راحت سدن  كل معرفتي مع مصاريف مدرستي و معاناتي للاستيقاظ قبل الفجر للبس ذاك الرداء الردي لالتزام قانون يومي غير صالح لمستقبلي؟ كيف أستعيد حياتي التي لا بديل لها؟  

Je, je, je, jejeje y otros casos sobrenaturales

Querido lector, dejame desculparme por lo que voy a decir. Si algo le parece errado, extrano o sobrenatural, no lo es, es solo apariencia y no es mi culpa. Puedes llamarlo surrealismo, el fin del mundo, la policia y mucho mas... si no puedes llamar a un amigo. La traduccion de google y otros es muy escandalosa y solo puede equivocar el sentido entonces mejor no entender nada que malentender. Adios o hasta pronto!

Queridos hispanohablantes del mundo, no se cuantos sois y tampoco cuantos soy o seremos (ref. Neruda) pero dejamos los numeros y la exactitud a los cientificos para tratarnos de un tema mucho mas interesante.

Quiero empezar esta trasmision con una broma de facebook, quien en 2011 no conoce facebook o caralibro? Bueno A la Bi, es mi nombre caralibresco y lo que sigue es mi estado actual (en ingles):

À la Bi changed his relationship status with Spanish from "In a Relationship" to "It's Complicated". 
Portuguese, Italian, French and English like this.

Eso quier decir que el espanol me cae gordo. [usted posiblemente: gracias por comp/exp-licarlo]. Sin embargo, lo que quiero decir es que me estoy olvidando del espanol, pero como se puede olvidar un idioma nunca aprendido? Dudo que el vino que tomo moderadamente sea capaz de algo parecido... Mi pregunto si hay una diagnosis paradojica o una medicina lobotomica como la bomba atomica que no debe costar mucho ahora con lo que pasa entre Iran y los Estados Unidos...  De todos modos, diagonisarme y curarme inventara nuevas enfermedades para acompanarme hasta mi muerte porque nacimos debiles y moriremos mucho mas. Entonces, no, gritamos NO a las curas, NO a la medicina y a los medicos, NO a la tecnologia, NO a lo que sea...

Cinqo firmas y hago propagando, 2 mas y hago revolucion! Se puede firmar abajo solo comentando con NO!
Hasta siempre,
Al (por Alcoholico)

PS. El castellano es un de los idomas mas alegres que he aprendido (o descubierto) quizas porque siempre lo hablaba  cuando borracho, pero escribiendolo asi no encuentro la alegria prometida, falta algo?
   

γεια σου ζωή μου

γεια σου ρε ζωή, τι κανείς; όλα καλά;
εδώ έτσι κι έτσι. εδώ δεν είναι παραπολή κακά, αν θελήσ μια χαρά...
αλλά περίμενε, θέλεις να ξέρεις γιατί δεν είμαι καλά; σιγύρα;
γιατί είσαι μεγάλη πουτάνα, ρε ζωή, με της μαλακίας, είσαι η χειρότερα, γιατί το παρακάνεις and I swear I would have said more if I knew how to...Αν η ελληνική (είναι) η γλώσσα σου
πες μου, τι θέλεις από μένα; τι θέλεις από ένα άνδρος (όταν/αν) εχεις το κόσμο;;;; σταματά παρά καλό έχω αθυμία και δυσθυμία τώρα και δεν μπορώ να κάνω τίποτα
Θέλω να μάθω κι άλλο ελληνική για να σας πω επίσης στα ελληνικά. έτσι θα ξέρεις κάτι για μένα κάθε μέρα

ένταξη, μπράβο σου και ευχαριστώ παραπολή για όλα...

Cittadino del Mondo o Apolide?

Sin da piccoli, impariamo a categorizzare il mondo intorno per semplificarlo e concepirlo meglio. Questo concetto categorico lo applicchiamo anche per distinguere tra gruppi di amici, compagni, conoscenze, parenti in base alle nostre esigenze e le qualita' interiori ed esteriori dei nostri soggetti (e.g. estetica, razza, paese d'origine, cultura, lingua, intelligenza...ecc). Purtroppo certi stereotipi prematuramente concretizzati e raramente aggiornati potrebbero menare al pregiudizio che da nascita ai fraintendimenti ed all'ambiguita' che contradice il motivo di categorizzare le cose per concepirle meglio.

Avendo viaggiato ed imparato molto e con un cuore sempre aperto per imparare sempre di piu' rinuncio bruscamente ad appartenere ad una sola patria qualunque sia e qualunque siano le stereotipi sottointesi e nondimeno le cattegorie conclusi. Sono contrario ad essere categorizzato come cittadino di un certo paese e non di un altro, di una certa razza e non delle altre. Imperocche, mi presento come cittadino del mondo (cosmopolita), altrimenti mi accontento ugualmente col contrario assoluto, apolide, ossia cittadino di nessun paese (nomado).

Un paio di anni fa ho avuto una crisi d'identita' per pur bisogno di auto-categorizzarmi sia per semplificare la mia identita' e capire me stesso, che per abbreviare la mia risposta a quelli che si chiedono frettolosamente di che "razza" sono, spesso per concludere un discorso appena iniziato. A chi insisteva di etichettarmi o inscatolarmi in una delle loro poche categorie predefiniti, certe volte rispondevo ironicamente che sono cinese o di un altro paese a caso.

Indubbiamente ammetto di aver passato la maggior parte della mia vita finora in libano, il mio paese di nascita, comunque, mi e' impossibile identificarmi come libanese scartando le mie altre cittadinanze e modi di vivere o di pensare. Sarebbe magari paragonabile a parlare della lunghezza delle mie dita per rispondere alla domanda di chi sono, o per non esagerare, la domanda di che misure ho... Dico magari perche la risposta riguardo le dita potrebbe essere buffa ma quella del libano spesso mi riduce ad un terrorista per chi non sa altro. Addirittura mi sono chiesto certo mila volte se una conclusione del genere sarebbe peggio per la mia reputazione o per la sua ignoranza ma non e' mica detto che dobbiamo fare guerra. Anzi, colla mia resistenza a rispondere, o il mio senso dell'umerismo possiamo evitare pregiudizi e fraintendimenti mentre si parla di altre cose fino a quando mi si chiariscono le sue categheorie e la  sua capacita di inventarne altre s'e' necessario. In seguito, mi sbottonerei conformemente ... ecc.

Tuttavia, la mia scelta paradossale tra cittadino del mondo o apolide e' facile spiegarla con la teoria dell'entropia di Shannon, una misura d'incertezza, che giunge il massimo indandicando zero informazione, in entrambi casi di essere cittadino di tutti i paesi o di nessuno. Invece, l'entropia e' ridotta al minimo quando c'e' una risposta definita, nel caso di cittadinanza di un paese solo e in seguito, e' facile categorizzare una persona rispetto all sua unica patria.

A la recherche des mots perdus

Il n'y a pas longtemps, je parlais francais et je me debrouillais pas mal. J'assistais dans un forum des langues pour paufiner mon francais, je m'occuper d'une table francaise dans une universitee ameriquaine, et en plus, je pensais en francais, et donc, dans un sens selon Decartes, j'existais en francais.

Desormais, la plupart des mots m'echape, et les seules fideles, je n'arrive point a les ecrire correctement, donc on peut dire que tout les mots francophones me trahissent mais aux niveaux differentes, soit orthographe, soit expressive. Pire, c'est la vanite pour laquelle j'ecris, et pour laquelle je m'echine a appredre des langues et les perfectionner pour ecrire. Quelle drole d'idee, je m'ammuse enorment a l'articuler!

Par consequant, la recherche des mots perdus, ne changera et ne servira a rien, comme la recherche du temps perdu selon Proust mais non pas a mon avis. puisque son oeuvre au moin a changeait ma vie meme si minimalement et indirecetement a travers "How can Proust Change your Life" par Alain de Botton.

Malgre mon doctorat en informatique et surtout en anglais, j'arrivais parfois a papoter en francais mais avec l'invasion artistique des derniers minutes libres de ma vie, je n'arrive plus a me servir du francais. Peut-etre je m'installerai un jour en france et si j'y serai lontemps peut-etre je me naturaliserai et la recherche des mots perdus sera toute une autre histoir transparente a moi et a vous aussi.

CARALHO!

Bom! Ja disse muito para hoje tambem, vou a deixar qualquer coisa para manha!

A morte do ingles

Peço desculpa ao(s) meu(s) querido(s) leitore(s) que agora precisa(m) traducotres para perceber a inutilidade e a vanidade da minha contribucao electronica. Para muitos, o portugues e mesmo cines, para outros e talvez a unica lingua para comunicar com os outros, para mim e para poucos como o Fernando Pessoa, e' uma patria, uma das nossas.

Entao, vou a escrever a mesma banalidade da minha vida seca, antes articulada em ingles, com palavras ainda nao esquecidas da minha "patria", seja portuguesa ou uma das outras linguas em perigo do esquecimento (como o meu armenho) ou do extincao (como as linguas mortas e.g. latim). Alem disso, a lingua portuguesa e pouco falada aqui e estou farto de falar sozinho.

Hoje nao vou a dizer muito mais do que eu ja disse ontem, entao vou a parar aqui.

Amanha vou a mudar lingua e escrever com uma lingua diferente cada vez ate ter que inventar novas linguas que ninguem percebe, nem mesmo eu!

Dreams, Desires and Other Things I Used to Have

Many years ago, when asked about what items I would carry with me to a distant island, my answer would be too pragmatic (e.g. computer, books...) if not foolishly religious (e.g. bible). In diaries, I kept track of these answers that lacked imagination and audaciousness.

That was until these answers started unfolding into surreal imaginations to quench simple and basic desires that I often tried to express visually but failed immensely. For example, upon my discovering the inexorable satisfaction that the avocado fruit offered in terms of variety of flavors, vital shades of green, and palpable textures, that are unimaginably analogous to women's flavors (also metaphorically), skin tones and textures, I dreamed of inhabiting an island of infinite avocado and women trees, possibly with cross-breeds amongst the two species where women breast-feed, secrete and, but not necessarily, excrete avocado products, such as avocado milkshakes, guacamole and their cousins. I can vaguely remember if that was through a dream or a day-dream, however, I additionally reasoned that pregnancy was unnecessary as women were sporadically inseminated to reproduce asexually via avocado/women trees and other Daliesque elements...

The reason I am writing this leads to the main theme of this monologue.

I have lately been self-diagnosed with a mild chronic depression termed, dysthymia (greek for malfunctioning of emotions θυμία), if any at all (athymia), and anhedonia (also greek for absence of pleasure) and along these come also nihilistic feelings, lack of ambition and desirelessness, which to my great surprise, is considered as the highest state, or the nirvana in Buddhism, regardless of the paradox of having to desire desirelessness, which was never my case anyway.

Perhaps the surrealist "gyneavocado" island was one of the last dreams or desires I can remember or label earnestly as a dream/desire. Then for a long time I was catching up with the real world and its mundane routines, research projects and mislabeled opportunities...


With a PhD about immune-inspired document classification, I feel as if I have traveled lightyears away from the gyneavocado island I have once dreamed of. The path I have chosen was definitely misleading with respect to my ideal island and I have no idea which path, if any, would have lead anywhere towards it...

Happiness in retrospect is its own termite in prospect. It is even the termite of prospection. 2004, 2006 and 2008 promised me great happiness but did they keep it? That is the definition of beauty according to Stendhal. Interesting how even numbered years of the past decade have been significantly prosperous and prominent, but not 2010. I thought I would have graduated by 2010 and that must have thrown my passion to the nadirs.

Mess

My house is a mess, it cannot accept any visitors. Same for my heart. Whoever messed up my heart had hers messed up by another victim ad infinitum. Therefore, I cannot blame anyone but my own lavish passion and restless curiosity, and I can do nothing about it as time proves more and more to me that it is irreversible.

The Ottoman Empire

On 1918 and with the end of the second world war came the end of four centuries of the Turkish occupation of Lebanon and many nearby countries. A more neutral term like colonization comes to mind when I think of our gastronomy that was evolved thanks to the Turks. Regardless of the of term adequacy, I fear that 1918 was not as effective as it seemed about ending the Ottoman colonization and I am not arguing about the cultural, linguistic or culinary influence that it had already made to a certain extent. I am talking about the active invasion of our local media, common talk and even unique identities by Turkish soap opera. The Ottoman Empire is alive and kicking, it is streaming Bollywood of forbidden love stories that are scarily addictive. I am not exaggerating, I am describing a daily experience of solitude when my whole family is gathered in front of the TV between 7pm and 8pm to watch another episode of forbidden love. My solitude is aggravated when the whole nation is petrified for an hour every day by a Turkish soap opera and animated during the day when talking about it as if it were the holy grail. It is said that television is something the Russians invented to destroy American education but my lament is too faint of a sob to be heard, it is overwhelmed by the volume of Television and ignored by generations of couch potatoes. Our poor nation is in constant search of distraction and oblivion after all the wars it survived. Perhaps the miserable lives of our friends the Turks could bring consolation to our souls. Perhaps we can experience vicariously the forbidden love that we cannot live nor dare wish for. If I were asked to give a title to the play we cast on stage every day, it would be "Distraction Ad Mortem" were soap opera is only one minute scene in a theatrical piece about and by mankind.