ما عرفتن كبار

today is April 13th 2011 . on this day, 36 years ago, the Lebanese Civil War erupted and reshaped lives, cancelled others, morphed into many different forms, and i wonder if it really did end.
On this day, 1 year ago, for this occasion, i wrote the following (in lebanese ) but didn't post, a song that i don't intend to record but maybe play on  my guitar , alone,once a year till i figure out what really happened but then again maybe i'll never do. here are the Lyrics only, no tune for You ! #TuneNazi

آخر مرّة مرقت عبيتن

ما دقّيت

مطرح ما كن في باب

ما في باب

مراياتو تسألني عليهن

ما رديت

وخبيت وجي

تخبّي جواب

ودرجات مانسيت بعد

قعدتنا بالسهرات

وشباك الدرفاتو خضر

المنّو نتنئوز عالقمر

عاولاد بساحة يلعبوا

بصواتن الضحكات

وخزانة خشب ختيار

للوقت عم تنحني

مخبايي صبيان زغار

بصورة منّا ملوّني

بتعز عليي الدني

ما عرفتن كبار

البالساحة كانوا يلعبوا

عم يلعبوا و هنّي كبار

بصواتن فرخ حقد

العابن بتضوّي نار

ندهوا عليهن بلإسم

وخفيوون أسرار

آخر مرّة مرقت عبيتن

ما دقيت 

مطرح ما كان في باب

ما في باب

TAWARI2 - podcast episode 1 (pilot) from ENFISAM serie

After a relatively Long hibernation, i thought we raise the Bar a bit and offer something new,
and since Lebanonaggrgator.com ("The" Lebanese bloggers directory...do yourself a favor and bookmark it) presented a new feature of Duo blogging , Here we are riding this wave
with a twist , always with the same Sarcastic Schizolax spirit , but with an upgrade.

This will be our first podcast, in arabic (lebanese) , and it really wasn't easy to do (but REALLY FUN), since it is sort of a cross-continent work.
Part of it was recorded in the U.K out of a written script and the other part in Lebanon and the lines were later on merged together , no live interaction no rehearsals were done, no double takes or modification.
we wanted this "pilot" to be spontaneous and keep the fun spirit within .

this Podcast features :
Emilie Hasrouty (UK) of loubnaniyat.blogspot.com
Simone
Archangelus

…or save as (download link)

script / editing by Archangelus

Enjoy !

caught "Wet" handed …

For the second year in a row i'm taking part in the "blog action day", with "Water" as a 2010 Topic, and again using the "graphic" expression as i believe it has more chance than words in delivering the message of awareness in the fight for global causes …

P.S: artwork is an [ abstract ] creation . copyright 2010

Bookmarked at page 35

Although a bit old and sounding shaky, its memory is still sharp as ever. That vintage 70’s alarm clock never fell behind and still reports to duty on schedule. That night wasn't an exception.

At 20:10 it fulfilled its chore and retrieved him from his usual nap.  The alarm eased but the sounds kept aggressing. He tried to ignore their existence and engage in his daily routine, like the endless search for a remote that he’ll never find and the deceased corridor bulb he’ll never change. A cup of coffee In hand he slips in his comfy chair geared up with reading glasses, and a book, bookmarked at page 30.  The few sanctuaries that silence ruled were overtaken by the loud angry reverberations; he had barely gone through 5 pages, before leaping to that window, with the intention of cursing this transparent gap in his cocoon for being too tolerant.

Since that window was unbiased, it had a 2 way tolerance. It offered him a glance of the outer world. He recognized the voices and matched them to the faces. He knew them from a lost far childhood. Back Then, they were little boys, had flashing toys with annoying sounds. Although they shared the same underground shelters and their shadows roamed by the light of the same candles, He never played with them, they played rough but somehow his evading maneuvers didn’t seem to matter, since they used to find their way to play in his corner, on his mattress, spill his water, slay his moments…

And here they are now, still little boys with gray hair, they have even bigger flashing toys with agonizing sounds; they made holes wherever they flashed their gadgets. Some of them going down, turning to dust, blown to names on a wall. Walls where filled with names, some of similar letters, but that didn’t matter since they have built new walls to write upon. They kept going down, and toys kept getting bigger and sounds reached divine heights …

He never did understand their logic, and even lead a silent rebellion against whoever governed Time and Mythologies for awarding them the ability to influence others' journeys in this life.

New names were being written on new walls.

He didn’t want to take part of this, they still play rough but somehow his evading maneuvers don’t seem to matter.  One of these boys dancing with rejoice with his new plaything, flashed it towards a gap in a cocoon, it went right through it, he was right, it was too tolerant.

The old shaky alarm reported to duty the minute sunlight broke through a shattered glass window… he didn’t wake up, floating in his own crimson “elixir” flowing from a window through his heart , crawling to all corners of this space , passing by a chair, patting a dusty lost remote under an unstable wooden desk, over which a night lamp still seeks to warm up a cold cup of coffee, and an open book bookmarked at page 35.

[this post is dedicated to sane people (if any)  in my homeland ]

تصريف الأفعال ، المنهج الحديث، ليحيا العلم

بما أن مدوّنة سكيزولاكس ايدها طايلة (بالعاميّة) ، أستطاعت الحصول حصريّا و قبل النشر على صفحة من كتاب قواعد اللغة العربية، المنهج والنهج الحديث الصادر عن دار الطرشة ، الذي طُوّر من أجل مواكبة العصر وتظهر الصفحة أدناه قائمة تصريف بضعة أفعال و أمثلة عنها ، ليحيا العلم  

Finally ! i figured it out ! In Your face Einstein!

Eureka! I guess I figured it out, Oh yes I did… *does victory dance*

It has been tormenting me, all this conceptual change in time perception, throughout the years …

I knew it, I felt it, but had no reason or proof to build a case upon …

Time was slower as a Child, everything lasted longer, a year seemed to stretch forever …

If I tried back then to remember my last birthday, I would have scratched my head, asked questions, and invested huge efforts in it since it seemed very distant, and when referring to photos, I would barely recognize myself, noticing the change that happened to me, and change needs time, real slow meticulous time …But currently, I find it hard to believe that my last birthday was almost a year ago, I could swear it was a couple of months ago, I’m still the same , didn’t have the time to change … weird huh ?

I remember Christmas was a season, weeks and weeks of joy sprinkled all over the place,With more authentic vintage tones , from tree decoration to gift wraps .Even blinking lights blinked slower … Now, Christmas is a day , its lights blinking so fast that you almost don’t notice they do.

I remember that the little red riding hood used to walk distances and roamed forests to get to her grandmother’s house…now it seems to me like she’s living on the 4^th floor , her granny on the 2^nd and the big bad wolf is waiting for her on the 3^rd floor's stair platform. What next? Will they all move in together ?

Even when I dreamt, it lasted longer. I used to go through detailed and fascinating scenarios and adventures that could inspire never-ending seasons of TV series.Now if I’m lucky enough to avoid the classical wake-up fall, my dream wouldn’t fit the time for the opening credits during the previously mentioned series.

I can even swear that Grendizer took a whole lot of time to defeat Vega’s monsters, but now when nostalgic and I replay it, it seems easier and faster, like he got the hang of it …although it’s the same episode.

Time is still slipping away faster than ever, and i'm not having some to do a thing, i sometimes wonder what boredom used to feel like, but somehow I’m satisfied simply because I get it now…

Not time as a concept, since it was and will remain my ultimate Arch nemesis till I run out of it , but time’s mathematical relation with age, events and our perception of it.

Legend:

T= time

e=events

a=age

So here it is T=e/a

So by age “a” increasing in value , the Time length “T” of a certain event “e” will have a decreasing value and be shorter .

In your face Einstein! *still doing victory dance*

Note concerning macateeb blog

dear readers,

i'm posting just to inform you that macateeb.blogspot will be locked and invite only starting today .
while Schizolax will remain public .

thank you ,

Macateeb - new blog in town

In my twisted logic, i concluded that the reasonable thing to do when you don't even have time to post to your blog (referring to dear old schizolax) is , well, start yet another blog . yeah i know i'm messed up ;).

so here it is folks , www.macateeb.blogspot.com was born as a spin-off from schizolax .

Macateeb is a display of a rare collection of fictional letters sent by fictional characters (...or not) to other fictional characters (...or not) and returned to sender .
since it portrays a fictional dialog between 2 characters other than the author, it will have a wider approach on issues that schizolax was avoiding .


i'll be linking to posts of macateeb in here ... and to start , here's the first letter i found ;) :
From John Blat to John Bolt-OFF  #english #sarcastic #politics #leb

Once Upon a Time In Beirut

HI, KIFAK , ça Va ?

Actually,i'm not here to dispute

et j'apprecie que tu m'écoutes

هيّ فشّت خلق للمظبوط

Once Upon a Time In Beirut

Following ,like rats , a magical flute

Les sources,les plus sûres que toutes

"الحايك , الفغالي و الأخ "طبوط

Once Upon a Time In Beirut

how the hell do we commute

j'ai completemnet perdu ma route

جيت لتلفن , ما في خطوط

Once Upon a Time In Beirut

went out with a girl, very cute

on ne voulait pas se quitter sans doute

بس جينا نتجوّز , ما في بيوت

Once Upon a Time In Beirut

If u felt like wanting to shoot

tout ce qui est celeste dans cette voûte

نطرلك خطاب , قوّص و فوت

Once Upon a Time In Beirut

You want me to quit mode "mute"

De nommer les architectes de la banqueroute

لأ خيّي , هيدا مش فيلم والبطل هون بيموت

Once Upon a Time In Beirut

that said , i know , chaos is absolute

mais on y a tellement vecu q'on s'en foute

و ما منبدل شبر بالملكوت

Once Upon a Time In Beirut

Hi, ça va , w enta ??

Biographie d'un des nôtres

Il n’entendit que ses propres cris lors des premières réflexions sur sa rétine, tout était flou, il ne savait ni où il était ni ce qu’il était.

L’image proclamait sa netteté, les couleurs et les allures le rendaient plus éveillé. Il savait déjà qu’il fallait cheminer autour de ces silhouettes et éviter ces marionnettes géantes allogènes … il serpentait.

Il n’était pas seul, il le savait, ayant déjà vu d’autres, même taille et mêmes soucies… ils serpentaient.

Les couleurs se réveillaient pour redormir, pourtant il le faisait aussi.

Les images se répétaient, ces sosies ressemblaient de plus en plus aux marionnettes qu’il avait connues…les miroirs lui chuchotaient que sa mutation était presque accomplie.

Pour confirmer les rumeurs miroitées, il sculptait de petits cris et contemplait leurs tentatives de cheminer autour des silhouettes et de l’éviter … ils serpentaient

Il voulait admirer le déploiement de leurs caractères, il y était un jour mais presque rien retenu, d’ailleurs ils les aimaient.

Il parcourut les années, escaladât des jours difficiles, franchit des moments de joie et de souffrance…il serpentait.

Les petits cris se reflétaient marionnettes et se dispersaient dans toute direction comme le faisaient les gouttelettes d’une des ses larmes en heurtant la fermeté des lois de vie…ils serpentaient.

Tout seul, Il talonnait les minutes mais réalisa qu’il était pourchassé par des chevaliers malades et contagieux, fidèles de sa majesté « l’âge » roi du temps, il poussait des cris, mêmes plus forts que ses premiers, personne n’y était … il essayait de les fuir …il serpentait.

Ils étaient plus rapides, plus forts, plus nombreux … il fut prisonnier

L’image dépossédait sa netteté, les couleurs et les allures se rendaient plus confuses, pourtant de sa cellule pourrie, à travers des barreaux de poussières, il reconnut ses sosies, ils étaient tous claustrés, solitaires … torturés par des promesses de lois chimériques inexistantes, hologrammes de gardes…qui serpentaient

Les couleurs se réveillent toujours pour redormir, lui…non.

(cet article est dedié a tous ceux qui ne trouvent ni loi ni personne pour recolorer la fadeur d'un 3eme âge ...surtout au liban )