Solo/s

Dragons, a Tribute.

As published on The Purple Haut-Parleur:

distributed for free at Cafe Younes, Bread Republic, Papercup, Beirut Art Center, Plan B, Tawlet Souk elTayeb, Ashkal Alwan, Bodo Hamra, and other culturally fertile places across Beirut

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They were on the pavement, two of them; one girl bent towards her knees reciting words repeatedly. Her hair, long, black, covered her face. And it didn’t scare me. Her thighs got off from underneath her skirt, rendered by the colours of signs. Her friend sat towards her, knee to knee. Black stockings, and a glittery red dress. One of this posse land’s great offerings is the match between black and red. “There are no dragons”, she said. Dragons? what fucking psychotic miserable situation of a human breed would question the existence of dragons at three in the bloody morning! But there aren’t any, that’s true. Maybe there is no Syria neither. Just maybe - why not.

36. 31. 25. 14. 18. 37. 22. 41. 21. I never got to outdrink the number of martyrs each day in Syria since the beginning of this trip in mid March. One day last week, I thought it was my chance; 6.00 at night and only 12 people killed. I could outdrink a dozen martyrs. Easy. No sweat. By the time I got to my 10th whiskey 10 more were killed. And I was doomed. It is inevitable and bound to happen. You don’t get a way with having the women of Syrian refugees, trucked back by Hizbullah, stripped down and serving Araq to the soldiers, naked, at a mosque converted to a military bunker. Certainly won’t get away with it when its done so often, while a Nation is martyred. Dragons! Girls usually like to hear about fun things. I can’t give examples since I’ve rarely been fun. But I’m quite an expert of what’s not. Syrian martyrs are not. But I’ve noticed if I talk about it in a manner like that of Keith Richard’s; an old weary pirate, liquored to miserable circumstances, it tends to be more fun, appealing - and even tempting perhaps. Would she kiss me and ask me to go on about the Hama massacre in 82, or tal al zaatar? Perhaps. If she did, that would be fantastic. As fantastic as it would be to finish this joint for Raafat’s deadline. Which I’ve already passed. Dragons would exist before this makes any acceptable sense. But we can call this a tribute. And tributes tolerate such absurd insanity and would morally obligate the editor to accept this. Beautiful. Strategic. I admire what comes up of such a miserable and depraved situation, one as aimless, fatalistic, ill-purpos/ed, and doomed as I am could bring. Dragons, a tribute.