I’d like to follow a friend of mine in his search for a real Lebanese mind, in his scratching of the Lebanese quizzical mind. Coming closer to the elections is a big fear I’m harbouring day after day.
Aren’t we done with all the acts and all the plays everyone has been producing so far? After all we’ve been through as Lebanese haven’t we yet, acquired a critical sense to recognize the illusions thrown at us from the left and from the right?
How do I by far come to peace with my people when their community mind is so set afar from mine? Should I alienate myself as a reader of such a text of life? Should invest in a better reading of such a puzzled consciousness? Should I become a barthian living creature? Or should I crumble and retreat to my shell?
Perplexing questions pop into my head. Am I writing a new narrative or just doing a re-reading of the same old book?
What I want to do is become the writerly history of a nation. Don’t we all know that nations are narrations? Thus, I would become the narration of my people. I will incubate my all within any narration but following the status quo of this moment, I think I shall never achieve my goal if I keep on reading and not writing.
We all have the illusion that all nations have their great moments in history, that all people are great. But the truth lies beneath the small, secret and dark lobbies. Seeing the truth with my own eyes has set me on the margins of patriotic people. Should I challenge you to accept and read my discourse or should I dare to tell the part of the truth which I know?
Failing me is not an option and I think that I’ll be fighting to the end. But whoever falls first will suffer greatly. Would it be me or my self....? Does this stir any meanings?
I believe that Sarasine by Balzac holds duplicity in meaning. It is at the same time the life of a castrated persona but also the duality in character within one’s self. The edge of duplicity comes between the lines of the story where little by little the enigma is revealed and the signifiers cross-multiply and generate another signifier. It is the story of the elusive signified. Are we in Lebanon living the same model? Are we on the search of an elusive signified and are we drowning amidst an ocean of signifiers and totally blinded to muffle the rescue calls?
Towards the lighthouse marches the band,
Amidst the gloomy skies lies the rage of gods.
Harvest is coming soon,
But the crops are not bloomed.
Is this the end of the dream?
Is this what I think it seems?