Monday, July 27, 2009
I won't be posting pictures from the vault bt I just got away for a bit to type this out. Ignore spelling mistakes as it's hard to type while in a bathroom stall without incurring suspicion. "that's not keyboard strokes that's just my shit!".
Anyway so we were at the opening and when I think we're going to have a speech by Ghassan Mkhaiber, some 12 random hot chicks with caracalla walk in and start to dance and shit. Apparently It was a dabki thing but all they did was shake their hips and wave their fake plasdtic violins. You can see how this was awkward as we are all wearing suits and sitting in a formal setting, it became especially awkward when Tarek Mitri in a drunken stupor walked up to the stage and started waving 5 dollar bills at them. Jeez! Obviously the organbizers hadn;t thunk this through. We had to sit for 10 minutes as we were assaulted with an array of tits hips shaking tits and asses and colourful ribbons! I felt offended that they actually showed us a show reserved for the black stallion in Mkalles for the dirtiest of old men. What was more these 34 different nationalities which the speaker proudly mentioned to be present now think that lebanese dancing is done by all blonde ukranian girls and one single lebanese mom with bleach blonde hair and fucking killer abs, and that lebanese entertainment is basically crass and vulgar, this was a fucking UN conference on cultural tollerance dickwads! What the fuck were you thinking. Etiquette clearly states that strip shows should be reserved for the closing session after 6 pm not at 11 am when I;m still tryuing to hold down my breakfast after I had all that fucking croatian alcohol from last night.
Anyway I miss you guys, and This place is a lot of fun, I'll be back soon.
Sunday, July 26, 2009
Thursday, July 23, 2009
More proof that this problem is due to some Pheremonal imbalance in my friend and totally not a problem of Levantine men. On her trip to Syria my friend travelling with two of her male friends was solicited for sexual favours by the driver. After she refused, the driver who apparently also hooked them up with the apartment they are renting then told her she could have her rent money back if she went home with him. After she refused his second more generous offer, he then tried to buy her from one of her friends. Fuuuuuuuck. This shit is ridiculous.
original story below
I would like to start by commenting that unlike my fellow blogger I was just thinking the other day how much shit I have to share with you guys. I never seem to have a problem in finding relevant topics to discuss. This is probably because my thoughts are shallow depraved ramblings, and not much effort goes into them really but it's nice to know that at least one of us cares about you.
On to the main event:
I have recently had a Dutch friend visit Lebanon for tourism, espionage, and some counter-terrorism work on the side. We were having a conversation the other day and she relayed to me her first contact in the country with Lebanese men.
Upon arriving to the country the first male specimen she met was the guy checking her passport at the airport. In fact he was the first
He asked her if she wanted a friend to show her around Lebanon, ripped up a visa application, wrote his number on it, and slid it to her with a wink. I especially like the final touch he put to seal the deal, by saying "I promise you will have a really good time".
Taking this first impact of Lebanon as an anomaly she then went out to get a Taxi. 5 minutes into the drive the Taxi driver breaks down and emotionally tells my friend "I love you". He then proceeded to caress her thigh and hold her hand and put it on his lap, all the while repeating the words "I love you".
Instead of going with his suggestion which I assume involved, getting married, and having kids, my friend opted to choose the alternative course of action which involved telling him to "fuck off" and to "keep your hands to yourself". They got to the hotel, and upon her paying him less than the fee he asked the driver heartbrokenly told her, "I don't love you anymore". Needless to say many tears were shed at the end of this beautiful blossoming relationship but sadly they had to part paths.
Her next ordeal was with the boy who tends to the coals at the restaurant, in which once again it seems she had found her long lost lover. He indirectly expressed his undying appreciation to her beauty by telling her that he wanted to marry her. Resisting her impulse to run off with him into the horizon, and despite them having a connection lasting approximately 3 minutes she again chose to look in the opposite direction of love and continue her life of solitude.
As she told me this I thought to myself this could mean one of either two things. The first being that my friend was actually the Greek God of Love Aphrodite, and that men are unable to resist her godly aura of lust and love, or the second that Lebanese men have a serious etiquette problem in which the traditional steps expected in a relationship no longer exist.
But before I could ask her how she felt about this, being the short attention spanned fellow that I am, I lost my train of thought staring at her
From the vault conflicting signs about how to treat women:
Wednesday, July 22, 2009
So far, it happened that something happened everyday that gave me enough meat to throw up a post. But I'm starting to realize that even though I think of a lot of things everyday, I can't bring myself to write down clearly most of it, and also, a lot of the same things re-occur a lot of the time. So I decided that I will start a little experiment. I will be tracing my daily thoughts to find a pattern, because I have been drifting towards a little theory that says that thoughts come in phases depending on our state of mind which in turn is affected by outside circumstances and events in our lives. Also, I have found that thoughts often connect to one other, at times least expected, perhaps through our own associative willing but maybe because of something else as well, and I guess I am trying to find that out.
So I will write down everyday for a week bullet points of thoughts that crossed my mind during the day, and I will do this once a month, so I can trace changes and constancies, and find out what affects the way I think.
I will start tomorrow though, because I don't remember what I thought about today anymore.
Monday, July 20, 2009
Yona Friedman, Spatial City, 1923
Peter Cook / Archigram, Plug-In City , 1964
London of Tomorrow Visual Manifesto AA VSP 2009
Sunday, July 19, 2009
I was in the police station (long story that may or may not involve bestiality) today, when just as I was leaving this guy who I just met a mere half hour ago offered me to join him for Lunch. He said he had prepared fish.
Naturally I politely refused, but I silently wondered what the fuck would this guy have done had I told him. "holy fucktits! I love fish, lead the way!"
I then imagined an awkward lunch with his family as I ate their food, Killed his only child, and proceeded to force his wife to give me fellatio (that's a sciency way to say blowjob!).
I mean, seriously! What the fuck are you thinking! You obviously have not thought the consequences of your offer through.
I mean clearly you do not intend nor do you want to invite me over for Lunch, then why the fuck would you do it. I'm not going to say "oh wow what a thoughtful person". No! I'm going to treat it as the perfunctory remark reserved for only the greatest of the mentally handicapped people who think that by doing so they are somehow being thoughtful as opposed to the great time wasting shit piles that they are.
On an unrelated note, do you guys want a bite of my sandwich?
\I found this in the deep red neck conservative part of the internet.
I like to think that whoever made these has a job somewhere in Homeland Security where he wears a pink fuzzy outfit and spreads joy and warmth to immigrants.
Saturday, July 18, 2009
I present to you Joseph Pujol:
Also known as le fartiste, and le petomane.
I generally look down upon anything French in nature as a product of cheese-eating surrender monkeys. But this guy's genius and talent is of a sort that would incline me to disregard his unfortunate origin.
He plays the flute with his ass, and can make various noises with his instrument. Check his story on Wikipedia.
If you watched the entire four minutes of this video, I suggest you get a hobby, or even better yet, get laid.
Below is a completely unrelated picture of a man shitting himself whilst running a marathon. Extra points for the look on the crowds face. Man that guy's life must suck.
Friday, July 17, 2009
No limits, No composition
Lights and Shadows can hide or reveal
Part and not the whole
Several glimpses of the whole, of many wholes.
The constant background doesn't change.
The objects however have a life of their own.
The thickness of Time reduced to a plane
Shows movement of light,
And multiple facets
Of a same object
Caught in space, time, darkness.
Thursday, July 16, 2009
Here are some of the things it suggests:
1.Determine why you are being tortured. Once you know if they are trying to get something from you, to punish you or if they are just doing it to be sadistic it will help you know how to deal with them. 2.Try to remain useful. In order to survive being tortured your captors must believe that you can help them. If they are torturing you for information, make them believe that you can help them, even if you cannot. If all else fails try to convince them that you provide some type of political or monetary value. Try anything you can think of. 3.Remain hopeful throughout your ordeal. Once you lose the will to live it is unlikely that you will survive being tortured. It is vital that you find something to hang on to that keeps you determined to live.
and a fourth point on how to live on after the ordeal is over.
Let me begin by telling you that advice like this is going to get you killed. Anyone who has sat in a Celine Dion concert can immediately tell that this advice is full of shit.
And since I didn't find any more useful hints I will give you my 4 tips on the matter.
Some of you may be wondering what makes me qualified to write on surviving torture. To you I say suck a nut.
1. From the point of capture assume that you no longer exist. You must remove all hope of rescue, and settle in comfortably with your new-found situation. It's not like anyone is going to want to look for you.
2. You've seen all those action movies where the hero taunts the torturer. James Bond comes to mind as he makes jokes while being beaten by a rope to his balls. If that was real you would see a man crying deep bitter tears as he drowns in a pool of his own blood. What you want to do is avoid such a scenario as you will surely perish. Once you find yourself in any compromising situation start yelling random shit. Confess everything, and blurt out any valuable information you might have.
3. Try and look as pathetic as possible. The torturer is just doing his job and by squealing like a pig on a day when pigs are killed you will make it easier on the both of you. The torturer will appreciate your endearing qualities of honesty and aversion to pain, and you may even make a new best friend.
4. Once all of this is done, make yourself as servile as possible, do not try to resist as that will only make them more annoyed and they will want to hurt you. If they want to kill you extend your neck so that they get a clear shot, if they want tea offer them your services, if they want a human toilet smile whilst they spray you. It's these little things which will see you make it out alive.
Well that's it for now:
Tuesday, July 14, 2009
I have come to the realization that I am not the only one who feels like this country we call ours will never give us what we want, what we need, what we deserve. It seems Lebanon is breeding a generation of dreamers, who think they will be able to grow elsewhere and come back and contribute what they have learned. It seems we all want to leave now, because we cannot possibly stay, if we want to achieve anything, but we are all convinced that we will be coming back to change things one day.
Are we really going to come back? Can we change anything?
I [don't] think I'm staying here.
Anyone else here get excited when they hear mix fm ads. I sure as hell do. That mix fm ad voice is probably the only reason that station is such a success.
With a voice like that I bet that guy is drowning in pussy. No mortal can resist its persuasive hold. He could sell ugly running shoes to a quadriplegic, they’d be fucking expensive running shoes too! He probably fucking sold his soul to the devil in exchange for that voice. Shit he probably IS the devil. That’s one badass motherfucker. This is hard for me to say but once I was on the verge of fucking tears because of him.
I’ve never been to one of those massive parties so I have no idea what goes down there, but when I hear that smooth syrup flavoured sugar coated voice talking about it I nearly wet my pants with anticipation. (That wet is in the present tense deal with it!)
He fills you with all this pride, tells you what a great person you are and how impressive and important you are to the world. You know all those things your parents never told you.
Then when you’re so in love with this man that you would let him stick his fist up your ass he seals the deal by telling you that going to this party is your national duty.
By having fun and spending money you are actually actively helping to make Lebanon a better place! Never has doing nothing been so productive. Going to this party, binge drinking, molesting underage girls, and doing lines of coke in the bathroom, is your fucking debt to Lebanon. By doing so you will be up there with tanios shehine and fakhr eddine, smoking a reefer with the prophets and hitting a bong with Einstein. Fuuuuuck.
In order to protect yourself from this evil influence I suggest writing everything down, and then repeating it back to yourself to realize how retarded it actually is. Everyone knows that the only real way to make Lebanon a better place is by abusing domestic workers. And that’s the final word on that!
nubbies this is for you:
It's funny cause they don't have fingers...
Ah fuck i'll throw in this awesome christopher walken mask for free. Be careful with those scissors or you'll end up as a nubbie.
Saturday, July 11, 2009
I went to my grandmother's house today. Well, the house she used to live in. She doesn't live there anymore. She doesn't live anymore.
Now the house is inhabited by my cousins once a year when they come for the summer. How many lebanese homes share this fate?
I hadn't been there in a couple of years at least. It's so empty, I'm in shock everytime I enter that house. The furniture is still there, some of my uncles and father's old books, books we then read, now collecting dust on an old wooden shelf. No one will be there to read them this time, I think.
Some pictures, a few of teta's necklaces that somehow my aunt managed not to take. The old lamp above her bed, the rocking chair in our room, the round mirror, the wooden piano that now squeaks at every touch, the foot tables.
I've never seen this house with my grandfather in it. He left my grandmother before I was born. I only know this house as hers. Filled with absence, with and without her.
I don't know how my cousins can live here as if nothing happened before. I can't sit on teta's bed without thinking this is where she last breathed, this is where I didn't spend enough time saying goodbye. Telling her she was the strongest greatest woman I knew. That I am who I am because of her and what she taught me. And that even though she's not here anymore and we're all going on as if she never was, she is always in my heart and mind and I wish she could see me now and what she made me become.
That is just fucking retarded.
Anyway I have something new for you to learn today, but before starting I must warn you:
The following post refers to Japanese Language, immediate exposure might have side effects including but not limited to, low self esteem, suicidal urges, homicidal urges, genocidal urges, and that burning feeling you get when you pee.
Remember when you were first learning your ABC’s? That shit was challenging. you’d think you got a hold of those bastards, then you get to J and fuck it up and have to start all over again. Then when you get it right, you find that you forgot how to do the Q part again. Motherfucker!
But with practice we
I havn’t told you why you suck and you’re already getting that sinking feeling that nobody loves you...
If you knew that the Japanese didn’t have a written form of their language and that they had to borrow it from the Chinese you would probably think that they were some kind of fucking retard race or something. Those fuckers only wrote their shit in like 700A.D. or some shit.
Well they made up for lost time like a 60 year old man who just got out of prison.
The Japanese Alphabet has more than 10,000 formal characters, and about 70,000 informal ones.
The average Japanese kid has to learn 1,956 motherfucking letters. Wait up a second. Let me run that by you again in case you missed it. 1,956 ass-raping letters! Do you know how many letters you learnt? … Twenty fucking six! If I were you I would go die in a fucking hole where no one could see me.
A gift to nuns courtesy of the vault:
Today you get an extra tool. An essential instrument for understanding Japanese culture, enjoy this gift:
Thursday, July 09, 2009
I'm in a
It is obvious to me that as a Lebanese citizen all my connections and friendships to this forsaken place have a superficial quality to them. I hold them knowing that at any moment I am willing to give them up to leave.
We're born with the instinctual urge to acquire the first foreign nationality we can. As if our time spent here is all in preparation to our real life which will take place elsewhere. And it is.
I had always taken pride in this instinct, thought of it as the natural order of things. I was constantly itching to get out of here and be free of the base creatures whose foul stench haunts every moment of my existence, and who I'm sure hold mutual feelings.
I was confident and more than happy, knowing that I was willing, nay eager, to give up everything I had here. Which is why from the start I never bothered to invest in any serious family or friend related bonds. The need to get out, to escape was overwhelming.
My friend recently said something that made me think that maybe it didn't have to be this way. "isn't it sad that you will never see these people again" this comment was made after graduation.
I thought about this and remembered my graduation. At the time I was so happy that I would never have to deal with anyone ever again, that all the fucktards from my life were gone and that I could finally leave to realize my full potential, to a land that had burgers in doughnuts, $5 whores, and parking tickets.
I couldn't help but think that maybe I didn't put any effort because I knew it was all going to disappear, had I expected that things would last maybe I would have acted differently. Instead of leaving this hell-hole maybe I could work in it, try to make it better, do it right and polish it's image. Maybe I could take part in making Lebanon a country I could be proud of!
Fortunately any thoughts I had quickly faded after I saw one of the recent graduates light their friend's hair on fire with a lighter.
No it isn't sad I said, it's glorious.
I have to get the fuck out of here.
Yada yada Vault:
Wednesday, July 08, 2009
What if the spaces had released themselves from the ground, from gravity, to set a new way of movement, of experience, one that did not rely on a single plane of reference ( the ground)? Could the pod have become a shelter, a sphere, a movable habitat?
A while ago I mentioned something about creating a world with no reference.
I would like to think that we could think about something without reference to anything previously thought.
Architecturally speaking, I would like to think that we could start to think about spaces in a different way, so that they start to reflect the reality and possibilities of our time, of our lifestyle, of the future.
The traditional method of thinking about space and architecture relied on the plan, a two-dimensional representation of a cut plane. This implied thinking about space more or less as an extrusion of this representation, and reduced the third dimension to height. The modern period pushed space a bit further than the plan, thinking about it in section, and emphasizing on three-dimensional elements, the architectural promenade, the pilotis, the facade, arranged within a larger composition. Architecture was perceived as an accumulation of objects, or rather as an arrangement of objects, creating relationships of void to mass, exterior to interior, yet still within a larger framework that somehow still retained the boundaries of an extruded two-dimensional rectangle, or square. In other words, architecture was geometric, and if we went back to the tiniest element of any space, the third dimension was always an extrusion, the height that transformed a plane into an object. Today, architecture has moved to become concerned with process; it is no longer a static object that we believe can tell the truth about our world. Life has become more dilute than ever before, connectivity, technology, and rapid scientific progress have rendered time immaterial and there are no more limits to what we can achieve.
New tools allow us to think in new ways, and to create spaces that could not have been conceived before.
Yet this potential has not been exploited, and architecture, especially in Lebanon has remained the same for the past fifty years at least. Haphazard buildings grow along the sea front, inside the city fabric, on the hills and mountains, all unconcerned with the way the country is transforming, the way we live, and what we want our country to become. Architecture is reduced to the extrusion of buildings, the arrangement of which we call a city. I would like to challenge this dire state of what has become the city, and think about what living today in Beirut, Lebanon or on Planet Earth really means. To think about a certain lifestyle, and also an added value to life, one that is not centered on working, eating, sleeping, and the appearance of luxury, but rather on real luxury. That is the luxury of time, the luxury of space, the luxury of imagination.
To conceive an imaginary city, not utopian, but inexistent yet, a contemporary city where the mind would be free to live and grow, be exposed and enriched, a city that would reflect the reality of our time. And then build it.
But more on this later.
For now, I will leave you with the puzzle that started the use of the expression.........
Starting from any point, draw four continuous lines (without lifting the pen) so that each of the nine dots has at least one line running through it.
hint: THINK OUTSIDE THE BOX
Tuesday, July 07, 2009
(short update so keep your pants on and the Vaseline in the night-stand)
You guys played prince of persia as a kid right? Sure you did! Doesn't it bring back good memories! you probably loved that game. You also probably fantasized about what happened between the vizier and the princess in the 3 hours it took you to get to her.
Well guess what I found!
No it's not a pornographic adaptation of Aladdin (although that can be aranged, just discretely leave your email in the comment field) I found a short version of the game online!
I forgot how challenging games back then were, no instant head blasting gratification, no walls splattered with blood, no awesome monsters, it was just about you the game and achieving that bad posture that would haunt you for the rest of your life. man those were the days!
On the other hand if you've never played this game as a kid, and you did god knows what with your time, like go outside, or play "sports", or "socialize" then clearly your parents did not love you and your entire life has been a sham.
That's all for now, expect many more links I wish to share with you
As always I leave you in the good hands of the vault:
Monday, July 06, 2009
The reason why so many people have their panties in a bunch about this thing is that the ration of two consecutive numbers in this sequence results in what they called “the Golden Ratio”. With a name like that you can guess what kind of ego this ratio has, the fucker turns up everywhere, in flowers, snail shells, toilet bowls, your fucking face, and your mom’s bedroom after I left last night. The fact that the number, like pi, has no end doesn’t seem to bother anyone. This motherfucker is so imperfect (1.6180339887...) one would wonder why they would call it golden. Sure it pops up everywhere but so does herpes, we don’t call that the golden disease!
What’s worse is this fucking sequence has caught the attention of popular culture, they’re using it in all sorts of movies, and even in games! Nerds would know that Blizzard Entertainment used it in Diablo 3 hidden in the teaser trailer.
However, one thing you have to give this ratio credit for is that it’s useful. It helped me get through some of the most insecure years of my life.
As a young boy in the first stages of puberty you often have the problem of getting a raging hard-on in the most inappropriate situations. Many people tell you that thinking of nasty images does the trick but it very often leaves you with a disturbing aftertaste and can lead to unfortunate fetishes which include a mix of necrophilia, incest, and sadism.
I preferred to count, but I found that simple counting was not distracting enough and sometimes made it worse by pitting me in a race to reach the proverbial finish line. I began with the simple sequence of multiplying by 2, but pretty soon that got too easy and I would have to reach the 10,000’s before my boner turned flaccid. So by trial and error I settled on the fucking Fibonacci sequence before I knew what it was! Turns out it’s one of the most efficient ways to lose wood, truly God has given us the tools to avoid temptation.
If cells had to build shit exponentially this doesn’t mean that this thing is an engineering wonder, just cause we’ve been trained to spot it for mating purposes makes it no less golden than the ring on a pimps hand. It’s troubling that we can’t be creative enough to overcome the limits set upon us by nature.
We need a new ratio one we can call our own. 2 should do the trick, 2 is a great fucking number, man it’s an even prime number, and the fucker divides any other number into two even halves, man 2 is the fucking shit. It’s also the number of people you need to make a threesome! Man I already love this fucking number!
I leave you with this unrelated image from the vault:
Sunday, July 05, 2009
In case of emergency: peanut shells are great diarrhetics. Too much of them will scrape your intestines though, and you will end up with bloody liquid shit. Use with moderation.
On another note, I have decided to share some of my vast image spoils from the Internet. I