Jane Birkin And The Lebanese Barbarians

I was about to leave Tripoli for the night.Leave my people who were busy picking up the traces of the last clashes that paralyzed the city.Busy analyzing the situation each from his own sectarian point of view,busy sucking up to their masters those meager leeches,hanging banners promoting some new prophets,creating some illusionary  threats to start a new round of clashes and hate.

I was sitting in a cafe sipping my Americano,re-reading Douglas Coupland’s “Hey Nostradamus” before leaving.Jane Birkin was putting a show in Beirut Downtown’s “Thermes Romains” and I wasn’t going to miss it for the world.It was Jane Fucking Birkin for fucks sake.My Jane B.,Serge Gainsbourg’s girlfriend,Charlotte Gainsbourg and Lou Douillon’s mother.

No one in Tripoli was interested to join me attend this once in a lifetime event.They didn’t know who Birkin was.”Some french Bimbo” one of them told me.The few cultured ones who knew who she was weren’t interested.For them.the ultimate cultural event was a Rahbani play,a Majida El Roumi concert or poetry reading by some old obsolete leftist fart whose job was to criticize the Lebanese bourgeoisie.

I left to Beirut.I left all those grey faces.Those full-of-them,selves teenage faces hardened by the  duty,the obedience to an ephebiphobic  father or society and a lack of understanding of real beauty.

The young adults and adults are gonna sit in their Hookah cafes,cyber games shops or other lame ass place discussing politics or an easy girl they can easily go anal with.

I got to the “Thermes Romains” 30 minutes before the show and the place was almost full with a couple of hundred people who came to witness the English/French Goddess.People that felt and looked different from my peers in Tripoli.Faces more relaxed,more happy,less hardened.You can note that more knowledge,culture and exposure graced their features and they were dressed simply yet elegantly.People from different ages or social ranks starving for knowledge,for culture and for art while my Tripoli people were busy teaching their young sisters to shoot at others or worshiping an illiterate Master making him the new object of glorification.

A kind old dame pushed aside with a smile.and gave me a place to sit next to her.She kept talking to her daughter(she looked a lot like her) about her cats,Dylan and Tadzio,the friend of her daughter(who was studying psychology) was asking her about the cats.

Another elegant old woman with simple beige suit and boyish haircut was standing next to me for there was no more places left(the show was free).She looked European to me.Another woman came  and greeted her as “Madame L’ambassadrice”.I thought to myself what would a very low rank Lebanese politician in her place?but dismissed the idea for no Lebanese politician would come to a Jane Birkin show and sit on the stairs.

At exactly 9:00 pm as advertised Wajdi Mouawad entered and started reciting his prelude.While he was on it rose the voice of the Athan from the mosque nearby,but Mouawad didn’t stop his long prelude.The sound of the Athan was harmless,in harmony with the words of Mouawad.It was a peaceful,beautiful Athan that didn’t intercept your other sonic interests contrary to the Athan in Tripoli that aggressed your ear buds with  the entwined noises of the incompetent Sheikhs.

The Goddess appeared from across the street wearing a silver dress.I knew her from her silhouette her sway,her movements even before she was close.

The closer she got the more her featured betrayed her old age.Man she was the older version of the Birkin of my dreams.The last time I saw her she was fresh and plump,sexy as ever.

Her neck,her hands,her cheeks….The Birkin of my wet dreams.The Birkin of my “Je t’Aime Moi Non Plus” movie on repeat was old now and lost all her sexiness.I never thought muses aged.

Still she was the same gracious Jane B.,the Goddess.She stood on the pedestal to perform the poem Mouawad wrote her.The Goddess looked like a statue in motion or many statues in different position.Every movement was a statue of its own.A masterpiece.

Her face portrayed the anguish,the suffering and the madness of the poem she was performing.The broken french was being spit from her mouth in coarse words that mimicked the bitterness.

The wrinkeled old hands were in permanent motion.Expressing her feelings.

When she moved to a different position her tights were revealed.Oh those tights I always fantasized about,smooth like silk,hot like embers

When she sang,her soothing voice was still the same unchanged,touching.

The show was long,in parts touching,in others a bit lame,still the whole thing was good.

When she bowed her head to the public and smiled at the end of the show .I wanted to hug her tight and tell Jane oh Jane when the hell did you get to grow so old?

When she disappeared the public that stayed totally silent during the two hours of the show started to leave,breaking the silence and sending the echo of Jane B.’s words to the sky

On my way out I bumped into some friends from Beirut and a couple of others from Tripoli that lived in Beirut.I went with my friend Mira to have some Haagen Dazs ice cream then drove all the way to Tripoli after dropping her home,listening to a selection of songs by Belle And Sebastian.

The Wired To My Tired

Few years ago,on a Sunday in a warm spring day,the first of April…..I was waiting in this hospital hallway for your arrival in our lives,and i waited and waited and waited…till someone told me you were finally here,in a certain room and i rushed to meet you for the first time.
The first thing i saw when i laid my eyes on you,was you….the tiny being that i already adored before i met.You were smiling at me,playing with your tiny hands.
My heart skipped a beat and i couldn’t believe my eyes.I was told that i was crying at that time.
Oh my son how i love you.
It was warm,and i went out to get some coffee from a Starbucks nearby,the air was smooth,caressing my face,the sweet spring breeze,i was happy and proud.I had you here.

I watched you grow day by day,your presence filled my life,light up my days.You were the most precious thing in my life,and i knew my life has changed,that it had a meaning,and that it doesn’t belong to only me anymore,it was yours too.
Our house was filled with Angels serenading you and your lovely smile.Everything felt,smelled and tasted better.I always cherished this invisible bond that tied us together,that passes through my blood to my heart.
I’ll never forget our father and son strolls through the city streets.The music we used to rock on(Sum 41 was your favorite band at one year old).This time was grand.

And just around your second birthday,something happened to me.Something hit me hard and tore me apart.I was gloomy and i wanted to die,not wanting to go out,not wanting to see people or to go to work.The bad Karma had found its way to me.Everything was gray around me.
But my boy you were my only solace.The only good time was with you.I kept myself around and close to you and your mum, afraid to be away from you, afraid to lose you.I Couldn’t sleep,couldn’t eat, afraid of the unknown,feeling my life getting destroyed,and that i couldn’t be the father and husband i always dreamed I’d be.I was losing.
And your mum was slipping away from me,bailing out on me,but i refused to believe that her looks,her words,the coldness of her touch were bound to destroy me.I knew i was losing her.
But i never wanted to lose you,i hung around you,i had to be strong for you,and your smile gave me faith.God you were so small.
I stayed with you in the blue room of our then family home,playing with you,singing with you,watching cartoon with you.You gave me hope but this tiny blue room was choking me
And just when i was at my weakest,everything chattered around me.And it killed me.You weren’t supposed to pay the price of our mistakes,our weaknesses and our selfishness.We hadn’t the right to do this to you.We are cruel,we are blind,we are selfish.
I tried my best to make it work for you,for your sake,and for your smile to keep lingering.Nothing worked,your mum had her mind made up,and nothing could change that.She decided to go fly in her own sky.
I was left with only one choice,the hardest choice i had to take in my entire life.
It was inevitable.
It pained me a lot to have you go through this.But then i knew i could do nothing to change the situation,there was only one thing left to do.I had to be strong and to get back on my feet for you.You needed me and i had to be the best father i can be.
And there you were,next to me to help me cope,to be strong.You were my son,my friend,my everything.
Most of the times i stayed home reading,fixated on Douglas Coupland books,and thinking about you,about everything,waiting for the daily few hours i spent with you.And those daily hours where all I wanted to get by,to help me cope.Your smile was my energy.I was bonding with you.And your company was heaven to me.Precious times. Wonderful times.
I know the separation between your mom and me affected you and saddened you.You always tried in your tiny voice and scrambled words to involve us(you,your mum and me) in all your conversations.
Most of the times while you where far from me,I ached for you,your voice and your singsongs echoed in my ears and i so wanted to reach for you,and i couldn’t get my message to you so i let it hang in the air,it was bound to get to you somehow.
I still remember that day while we were passing by the deserted house that we used to live in as a family,haunted by the ghost of a once to be family”Oh papa how beautiful is RayO and mama and papa’s house,how beautiful”.I couldn’t stop myself from crying.Life can be so cruel,people so selfish.Oh the prices we have to pay.And while i was crying you touched my face and told me “poor papa my love my papa to me”and I cried even harder.I couldn’t sleep that night.
My love,my RayO,my all i know well that we took away your family from you,and we are guilty to that,but you know that you have your mum that loves you and that’ll do anything for you,and you have your dad who’ll move mountains for you,who’ll pay his life to see you smile,who you can count on anytime.
And now you’re back to your “RayO’s beautiful house ” with your mum,and i couldn’t be happier for you and i want you to know that i’m always with you in this house,visiting you at night to kiss you goodnight,and watch over your sleep,wake up to your giggles .Watching you play and grow.I’ll be invisible,but be sure i’ll be there.You’ll feel me in every breeze,you’ll hear me in every music,you’ll sit in what used to be my place and smell my morning black coffee.And you’ll know for sure i’ll never fail you.I love you a love that is very special and precious,you’ll know I’ll always be there for you,that i’ll be your guardian angel wherever you go.
My voice will echo in your house,in your school,everywhere you go.And your voice,and when you say papa is cemented in my ears.
Your are growing up amazingly my love.

I never believed I’d live to be blessed to see my angel on earth.You’re my angel.Your smile,your bright sparkling eyes,your smell,your cheeks,your hair…….You are heaven sent,my little angel,my little masterpiece.
I ADORE YOU MORE THAN WORDS CAN EXPRESS MY LITTLE ANGEL,THE WIRED TO MY TIRED.