Chris Gilmour's sculptural works shown here are made entirely of cardboard. Rather than recycling a material, this kind of work is often described as "upcycling". Cardboard, instead of being pulped and re-processed to make more cardboard, is used in a transformative way. Gilmour's constructions shown here are all "life-size", with the exception of the cardboard cathedrals. (There is no sound accompanying the video)
To learn more about Chris Gilmour's work click here.
Saturday, January 31, 2009
Friday, January 30, 2009
Thursday, January 29, 2009
Chrysta Bell, "Trouble, Trouble, Trouble"
Chrysta Bell , the voice in the opening scenes of David Lynch's film, "Inland Empire" (Polish Song) sings a bluesy number in a different context.
Wednesday, January 28, 2009
Amanda Palmer, "Creep"
Amanda Palmer performs a Radiohead classic at the Middle East in Boston. Nice video capture by somebody of Amanda doing it cabaret style.
Tuesday, January 27, 2009
Clapping Music by Six Jugglers
A performance of Steve Reich's minimalist composition, "Clapping Music" ...six jugglers play the score on the floor!
Monday, January 26, 2009
The Circular Ruins, Jorge Luis Borges
The Circular Ruins
A short story by the Argentine master of the art...Borges. "Collected Fictions", as translated by Andrew Hurley, is one of my all-time favorite reads. Published by Penguin, it is one of three volumes of anthologies of this amazing man's writings. (The other two are: "Poetry" and "Selected Non-fictions".) And now, in the dead of winter, I am just beginning to read his biography. ("Borges" , by Edwin Williamson, pub.by Viking). The story below will probably take about 10 minutes reading, so, if you have the winter doldrums...here is an eloquent escape.
The Circular Ruins, Jorge Luis Borges
No one saw him disembark in the unanimous night, no one saw the bamboo canoe sink into the sacred mud, but in a few days there was no one who did not know that the taciturn man came from the South and that his home had been one of those numberless villages upstream in the deeply cleft side of the mountain, where the Zend language has not been contaminated by Greek and where leprosy is infrequent. What is certain is that the grey man kissed the mud, climbed up the bank with pushing aside (probably, without feeling) the blades which were lacerating his flesh, and crawled, nauseated and bloodstained, up to the circular enclosure crowned with a stone tiger or horse, which sometimes was the color of flame and now was that of ashes. This circle was a temple which had been devoured by ancient fires, profaned by the miasmal jungle, and whose god no longer received the homage of men. The stranger stretched himself out beneath the pedestal. He was awakened by the sun high overhead. He was not astonished to find that his wounds had healed; he closed his pallid eyes and slept, not through weakness of flesh but through determination of will. He knew that this temple was the place required for his invincible intent; he knew that the incessant trees had not succeeded in strangling the ruins of another propitious temple downstream which had once belonged to gods now burned and dead; he knew that his immediate obligation was to dream. Toward midnight he was awakened by the inconsolable shriek of a bird. Tracks of bare feet, some figs and a jug warned him that the men of the region had been spying respectfully on his sleep, soliciting his protection or afraid of his magic. He felt a chill of fear, and sought out a sepulchral niche in the dilapidated wall where he concealed himself among unfamiliar leaves.
The purpose which guided him was not impossible, though supernatural. He wanted to dream a man; he wanted to dream him in minute entirety and impose him on reality. This magic project had exhausted the entire expanse of his mind; if someone had asked him his name or to relate some event of his former life, he would not have been able to give an answer. This uninhabited, ruined temple suited him, for it is contained a minimum of visible world; the proximity of the workmen also suited him, for they took it upon themselves to provide for his frugal needs. The rice and fruit they brought him were nourishment enough for his body, which was consecrated to the sole task of sleeping and dreaming.
At first, his dreams were chaotic; then in a short while they became dialectic in nature. The stranger dreamed that he was in the center of a circular amphitheater which was more or less the burnt temple; clouds of taciturn students filled the tiers of seats; the faces of the farthest ones hung at a distance of many centuries and as high as the stars, but their features were completely precise. The man lectured his pupils on anatomy, cosmography, and magic: the faces listened anxiously and tried to answer understandingly, as if they guessed the importance of that examination which would redeem one of them from his condition of empty illusion and interpolate him into the real world. Asleep or awake, the man thought over the answers of his phantoms, did not allow himself to be deceived by imposters, and in certain perplexities he sensed a growing intelligence. He was seeking a soul worthy of participating in the universe.
After nine or ten nights he understood with a certain bitterness that he could expect nothing from those pupils who accepted his doctrine passively, but that he could expect something from those who occasionally dared to oppose him. The former group, although worthy of love and affection, could not ascend to the level of individuals; the latter pre-existed to a slightly greater degree. One afternoon (now afternoons were also given over to sleep, now he was only awake for a couple hours at daybreak) he dismissed the vast illusory student body for good and kept only one pupil. He was a taciturn, sallow boy, at times intractable, and whose sharp features resembled of those of his dreamer. The brusque elimination of his fellow students did not disconcert him for long; after a few private lessons, his progress was enough to astound the teacher. Nevertheless, a catastrophe took place. One day, the man emerged from his sleep as if from a viscous desert, looked at the useless afternoon light which he immediately confused with the dawn, and understood that he had not dreamed. All that night and all day long, the intolerable lucidity of insomnia fell upon him. He tried exploring the forest, to lose his strength; among the hemlock he barely succeeded in experiencing several short snatchs of sleep, veined with fleeting, rudimentary visions that were useless. He tried to assemble the student body but scarcely had he articulated a few brief words of exhortation when it became deformed and was then erased. In his almost perpetual vigil, tears of anger burned his old eyes.
He understood that modeling the incoherent and vertiginous matter of which dreams are composed was the most difficult task that a man could undertake, even though he should penetrate all the enigmas of a superior and inferior order; much more difficult than weaving a rope out of sand or coining the faceless wind. He swore he would forget the enormous hallucination which had thrown him off at first, and he sought another method of work. Before putting it into execution, he spent a month recovering his strength, which had been squandered by his delirium. He abandoned all premeditation of dreaming and almost immediately succeeded in sleeping a reasonable part of each day. The few times that he had dreams during this period, he paid no attention to them. Before resuming his task, he waited until the moon's disk was perfect. Then, in the afternoon, he purified himself in the waters of the river, worshiped the planetary gods, pronounced the prescribed syllables of a mighty name, and went to sleep. He dreamed almost immediately, with his heart throbbing.
He dreamed that it was warm, secret, about the size of a clenched fist, and of a garnet color within the penumbra of a human body as yet without face or sex; during fourteen lucid nights he dreamt of it with meticulous love. Every night he perceived it more clearly. He did not touch it; he only permitted himself to witness it, to observe it, and occasionally to rectify it with a glance. He perceived it and lived it from all angles and distances. On the fourteenth night he lightly touched the pulmonary artery with his index finger, then the whole heart, outside and inside. He was satisfied with the examination. He deliberately did not dream for a night; he took up the heart again, invoked the name of a planet, and undertook the vision of another of the principle organs. Within a year he had come to the skeleton and the eyelids. The innumerable hair was perhaps the most difficult task. He dreamed an entire man--a young man, but who did not sit up or talk, who was unable to open his eyes. Night after night, the man dreamt him asleep.
In the Gnostic cosmosgonies, demiurges fashion a red Adam who cannot stand; as a clumsy, crude and elemental as this Adam of dust was the Adam of dreams forged by the wizard's nights. One afternoon, the man almost destroyed his entire work, but then changed his mind. (It would have been better had he destroyed it.) When he had exhausted all supplications to the deities of earth, he threw himself at the feet of the effigy which was perhaps a tiger or perhaps a colt and implored its unknown help. That evening, at twilight, he dreamt of the statue. He dreamt it was alive, tremulous: it was not an atrocious bastard of a tiger and a colt, but at the same time these two firey creatures and also a bull, a rose, and a storm. This multiple god revealed to him that his earthly name was Fire, and that in this circular temple (and in others like it) people had once made sacrifices to him and worshiped him, and that he would magically animate the dreamed phantom, in such a way that all creatures, except Fire itself and the dreamer, would believe to be a man of flesh and blood. He commanded that once this man had been instructed in all the rites, he should be sent to the other ruined temple whose pyramids were still standing downstream, so that some voice would glorify him in that deserted edifice. In the dream of the man that dreamed, the dreamed one awoke.
The wizard carried out the orders he had been given. He devoted a certain length of time (which finally proved to be two years) to instructing him in the mysteries of the universe and the cult of fire. Secretly, he was pained at the idea of being separated from him. On the pretext of pedagogical necessity, each day he increased the number of hours dedicated to dreaming. He also remade the right shoulder, which was somewhat defective. At times, he was disturbed by the impression that all this had already happened . . . In general, his days were happy; when he closed his eyes, he thought: Now I will be with my son. Or, more rarely: The son I have engendered is waiting for me and will not exist if I do not go to him.
Gradually, he began accustoming him to reality. Once he ordered him to place a flag on a faraway peak. The next day the flag was fluttering on the peak. He tried other analogous experiments, each time more audacious. With a certain bitterness, he understood that his son was ready to be born--and perhaps impatient. That night he kissed him for the first time and sent him off to the other temple whose remains were turning white downstream, across many miles of inextricable jungle and marshes. Before doing this (and so that his son should never know that he was a phantom, so that he should think himself a man like any other) he destroyed in him all memory of his years of apprenticeship.
His victory and peace became blurred with boredom. In the twilight times of dusk and dawn, he would prostrate himself before the stone figure, perhaps imagining his unreal son carrying out identical rites in other circular ruins downstream; at night he no longer dreamed, or dreamed as any man does. His perceptions of the sounds and forms of the universe became somewhat pallid: his absent son was being nourished by these diminution of his soul. The purpose of his life had been fulfilled; the man remained in a kind of ecstasy. After a certain time, which some chronicles prefer to compute in years and others in decades, two oarsmen awoke him at midnight; he could not see their faces, but they spoke to him of a charmed man in a temple of the North, capable of walking on fire without burning himself. The wizard suddenly remembered the words of the god. He remembered that of all the creatures that people the earth, Fire was the only one who knew his son to be a phantom. This memory, which at first calmed him, ended by tormenting him. He feared lest his son should meditate on this abnormal privilege and by some means find out he was a mere simulacrum. Not to be a man, to be a projection of another man's dreams--what an incomparable humiliation, what madness! Any father is interested in the sons he has procreated (or permitted) out of the mere confusion of happiness; it was natural that the wizard should fear for the future of that son whom he had thought out entrail by entrail, feature by feature, in a thousand and one secret nights.
His misgivings ended abruptly, but not without certain forewarnings. First (after a long drought) a remote cloud, as light as a bird, appeared on a hill; then, toward the South, the sky took on the rose color of leopard's gums; then came clouds of smoke which rusted the metal of the nights; afterwards came the panic-stricken flight of wild animals. For what had happened many centuries before was repeating itself. The ruins of the sanctuary of the god of Fire was destroyed by fire. In a dawn without birds, the wizard saw the concentric fire licking the walls. For a moment, he thought of taking refuge in the water, but then he understood that death was coming to crown his old age and absolve him from his labors. He walked toward the sheets of flame. They did not bite his flesh, they caressed him and flooded him without heat or combustion. With relief, with humiliation, with terror, he understood that he also was an illusion, that someone else was dreaming him.
A short story by the Argentine master of the art...Borges. "Collected Fictions", as translated by Andrew Hurley, is one of my all-time favorite reads. Published by Penguin, it is one of three volumes of anthologies of this amazing man's writings. (The other two are: "Poetry" and "Selected Non-fictions".) And now, in the dead of winter, I am just beginning to read his biography. ("Borges" , by Edwin Williamson, pub.by Viking). The story below will probably take about 10 minutes reading, so, if you have the winter doldrums...here is an eloquent escape.
The Circular Ruins, Jorge Luis Borges
No one saw him disembark in the unanimous night, no one saw the bamboo canoe sink into the sacred mud, but in a few days there was no one who did not know that the taciturn man came from the South and that his home had been one of those numberless villages upstream in the deeply cleft side of the mountain, where the Zend language has not been contaminated by Greek and where leprosy is infrequent. What is certain is that the grey man kissed the mud, climbed up the bank with pushing aside (probably, without feeling) the blades which were lacerating his flesh, and crawled, nauseated and bloodstained, up to the circular enclosure crowned with a stone tiger or horse, which sometimes was the color of flame and now was that of ashes. This circle was a temple which had been devoured by ancient fires, profaned by the miasmal jungle, and whose god no longer received the homage of men. The stranger stretched himself out beneath the pedestal. He was awakened by the sun high overhead. He was not astonished to find that his wounds had healed; he closed his pallid eyes and slept, not through weakness of flesh but through determination of will. He knew that this temple was the place required for his invincible intent; he knew that the incessant trees had not succeeded in strangling the ruins of another propitious temple downstream which had once belonged to gods now burned and dead; he knew that his immediate obligation was to dream. Toward midnight he was awakened by the inconsolable shriek of a bird. Tracks of bare feet, some figs and a jug warned him that the men of the region had been spying respectfully on his sleep, soliciting his protection or afraid of his magic. He felt a chill of fear, and sought out a sepulchral niche in the dilapidated wall where he concealed himself among unfamiliar leaves.
The purpose which guided him was not impossible, though supernatural. He wanted to dream a man; he wanted to dream him in minute entirety and impose him on reality. This magic project had exhausted the entire expanse of his mind; if someone had asked him his name or to relate some event of his former life, he would not have been able to give an answer. This uninhabited, ruined temple suited him, for it is contained a minimum of visible world; the proximity of the workmen also suited him, for they took it upon themselves to provide for his frugal needs. The rice and fruit they brought him were nourishment enough for his body, which was consecrated to the sole task of sleeping and dreaming.
At first, his dreams were chaotic; then in a short while they became dialectic in nature. The stranger dreamed that he was in the center of a circular amphitheater which was more or less the burnt temple; clouds of taciturn students filled the tiers of seats; the faces of the farthest ones hung at a distance of many centuries and as high as the stars, but their features were completely precise. The man lectured his pupils on anatomy, cosmography, and magic: the faces listened anxiously and tried to answer understandingly, as if they guessed the importance of that examination which would redeem one of them from his condition of empty illusion and interpolate him into the real world. Asleep or awake, the man thought over the answers of his phantoms, did not allow himself to be deceived by imposters, and in certain perplexities he sensed a growing intelligence. He was seeking a soul worthy of participating in the universe.
After nine or ten nights he understood with a certain bitterness that he could expect nothing from those pupils who accepted his doctrine passively, but that he could expect something from those who occasionally dared to oppose him. The former group, although worthy of love and affection, could not ascend to the level of individuals; the latter pre-existed to a slightly greater degree. One afternoon (now afternoons were also given over to sleep, now he was only awake for a couple hours at daybreak) he dismissed the vast illusory student body for good and kept only one pupil. He was a taciturn, sallow boy, at times intractable, and whose sharp features resembled of those of his dreamer. The brusque elimination of his fellow students did not disconcert him for long; after a few private lessons, his progress was enough to astound the teacher. Nevertheless, a catastrophe took place. One day, the man emerged from his sleep as if from a viscous desert, looked at the useless afternoon light which he immediately confused with the dawn, and understood that he had not dreamed. All that night and all day long, the intolerable lucidity of insomnia fell upon him. He tried exploring the forest, to lose his strength; among the hemlock he barely succeeded in experiencing several short snatchs of sleep, veined with fleeting, rudimentary visions that were useless. He tried to assemble the student body but scarcely had he articulated a few brief words of exhortation when it became deformed and was then erased. In his almost perpetual vigil, tears of anger burned his old eyes.
He understood that modeling the incoherent and vertiginous matter of which dreams are composed was the most difficult task that a man could undertake, even though he should penetrate all the enigmas of a superior and inferior order; much more difficult than weaving a rope out of sand or coining the faceless wind. He swore he would forget the enormous hallucination which had thrown him off at first, and he sought another method of work. Before putting it into execution, he spent a month recovering his strength, which had been squandered by his delirium. He abandoned all premeditation of dreaming and almost immediately succeeded in sleeping a reasonable part of each day. The few times that he had dreams during this period, he paid no attention to them. Before resuming his task, he waited until the moon's disk was perfect. Then, in the afternoon, he purified himself in the waters of the river, worshiped the planetary gods, pronounced the prescribed syllables of a mighty name, and went to sleep. He dreamed almost immediately, with his heart throbbing.
He dreamed that it was warm, secret, about the size of a clenched fist, and of a garnet color within the penumbra of a human body as yet without face or sex; during fourteen lucid nights he dreamt of it with meticulous love. Every night he perceived it more clearly. He did not touch it; he only permitted himself to witness it, to observe it, and occasionally to rectify it with a glance. He perceived it and lived it from all angles and distances. On the fourteenth night he lightly touched the pulmonary artery with his index finger, then the whole heart, outside and inside. He was satisfied with the examination. He deliberately did not dream for a night; he took up the heart again, invoked the name of a planet, and undertook the vision of another of the principle organs. Within a year he had come to the skeleton and the eyelids. The innumerable hair was perhaps the most difficult task. He dreamed an entire man--a young man, but who did not sit up or talk, who was unable to open his eyes. Night after night, the man dreamt him asleep.
In the Gnostic cosmosgonies, demiurges fashion a red Adam who cannot stand; as a clumsy, crude and elemental as this Adam of dust was the Adam of dreams forged by the wizard's nights. One afternoon, the man almost destroyed his entire work, but then changed his mind. (It would have been better had he destroyed it.) When he had exhausted all supplications to the deities of earth, he threw himself at the feet of the effigy which was perhaps a tiger or perhaps a colt and implored its unknown help. That evening, at twilight, he dreamt of the statue. He dreamt it was alive, tremulous: it was not an atrocious bastard of a tiger and a colt, but at the same time these two firey creatures and also a bull, a rose, and a storm. This multiple god revealed to him that his earthly name was Fire, and that in this circular temple (and in others like it) people had once made sacrifices to him and worshiped him, and that he would magically animate the dreamed phantom, in such a way that all creatures, except Fire itself and the dreamer, would believe to be a man of flesh and blood. He commanded that once this man had been instructed in all the rites, he should be sent to the other ruined temple whose pyramids were still standing downstream, so that some voice would glorify him in that deserted edifice. In the dream of the man that dreamed, the dreamed one awoke.
The wizard carried out the orders he had been given. He devoted a certain length of time (which finally proved to be two years) to instructing him in the mysteries of the universe and the cult of fire. Secretly, he was pained at the idea of being separated from him. On the pretext of pedagogical necessity, each day he increased the number of hours dedicated to dreaming. He also remade the right shoulder, which was somewhat defective. At times, he was disturbed by the impression that all this had already happened . . . In general, his days were happy; when he closed his eyes, he thought: Now I will be with my son. Or, more rarely: The son I have engendered is waiting for me and will not exist if I do not go to him.
Gradually, he began accustoming him to reality. Once he ordered him to place a flag on a faraway peak. The next day the flag was fluttering on the peak. He tried other analogous experiments, each time more audacious. With a certain bitterness, he understood that his son was ready to be born--and perhaps impatient. That night he kissed him for the first time and sent him off to the other temple whose remains were turning white downstream, across many miles of inextricable jungle and marshes. Before doing this (and so that his son should never know that he was a phantom, so that he should think himself a man like any other) he destroyed in him all memory of his years of apprenticeship.
His victory and peace became blurred with boredom. In the twilight times of dusk and dawn, he would prostrate himself before the stone figure, perhaps imagining his unreal son carrying out identical rites in other circular ruins downstream; at night he no longer dreamed, or dreamed as any man does. His perceptions of the sounds and forms of the universe became somewhat pallid: his absent son was being nourished by these diminution of his soul. The purpose of his life had been fulfilled; the man remained in a kind of ecstasy. After a certain time, which some chronicles prefer to compute in years and others in decades, two oarsmen awoke him at midnight; he could not see their faces, but they spoke to him of a charmed man in a temple of the North, capable of walking on fire without burning himself. The wizard suddenly remembered the words of the god. He remembered that of all the creatures that people the earth, Fire was the only one who knew his son to be a phantom. This memory, which at first calmed him, ended by tormenting him. He feared lest his son should meditate on this abnormal privilege and by some means find out he was a mere simulacrum. Not to be a man, to be a projection of another man's dreams--what an incomparable humiliation, what madness! Any father is interested in the sons he has procreated (or permitted) out of the mere confusion of happiness; it was natural that the wizard should fear for the future of that son whom he had thought out entrail by entrail, feature by feature, in a thousand and one secret nights.
His misgivings ended abruptly, but not without certain forewarnings. First (after a long drought) a remote cloud, as light as a bird, appeared on a hill; then, toward the South, the sky took on the rose color of leopard's gums; then came clouds of smoke which rusted the metal of the nights; afterwards came the panic-stricken flight of wild animals. For what had happened many centuries before was repeating itself. The ruins of the sanctuary of the god of Fire was destroyed by fire. In a dawn without birds, the wizard saw the concentric fire licking the walls. For a moment, he thought of taking refuge in the water, but then he understood that death was coming to crown his old age and absolve him from his labors. He walked toward the sheets of flame. They did not bite his flesh, they caressed him and flooded him without heat or combustion. With relief, with humiliation, with terror, he understood that he also was an illusion, that someone else was dreaming him.
Sunday, January 25, 2009
Carole Laure, "Danse Avant de Tomber"
Canadian actress and singer Carole Laure performs "Save the Last Dance for Me" in French. An enjoyable music video also featuring Louise LeCavalier of LaLaLa Human Steps.
Saturday, January 24, 2009
LaLaLa Human Sex Duo No. 1
Lalala Human Steps is a Canadian dance group founded by Edouard Lock. Lock puts dancers in his company through rigorous physical training that includes running, acrobatics, and even martial arts. He was one of the choreographic innovators to evolve the "dance film" as its own art. In dance film, performances are designed from conception to be filmed from multiple points of view and creatively edited to create the final work. Dancers of Lalala Human Steps have been seen performing on tours world wide. They have also performed in conjunction with such music notables as David Bowie, Frank Zappa, Skinny Puppy, and others. Here, in a short dance film entitled "LaLaLa Human Sex Duo No.1", Louise Lecavalier, one of the most militant dancers performs with an unidentified male partner, to the music of Marco Aldendorff. I love the music! And Lecavalier shows off some horizontal pirouettes that are almost scary.
Thursday, January 22, 2009
Deep Frozen Post-Christmas Prayer
Note: If you are a person of faith - meaning religious faith, you may fund this writing sacrilegious or offensive. ..and perhaps should skip this entry. I am not a person of such faith, but I do believe everyone has the right and freedom to believe and worship as they see fit. It is my sincere wish that all faiths could co-exist peacefully. This satirical writing is based on a factual incident in which I was caught in the middle of two angry people and a loaded shotgun , and it seemed for a moment as though time stopped.
Deep Frozen Post-Christmas Prayer
I
Oh, my God! He's got a gun! Hello? I call upon Thee in my...YOW!. .. Are you there?! Pick up if You can hear me. Hello? Hello? Oh, this is serious. I am out in the barn, and there's trouble.....Big Trouble! Can You understand what I am saying, even though I am not moving my lips? I do not want to be here. Hello? Are You screening your calls? I don't want to be here. With them. And with it....the gun! I promise this is not a crank call. This is about to be dead serious! This is already cocked and loaded! It is MAYDAY! here in the barn.
II
Oh, God! No one is moving. I can't tell if you are on the line or not. There's a funny ringing in my ears. Is that You? Hello? OK, So don't pick up. But surely You saw?....surely You heard? He said, "Not this time, Buddy!" And then Buddy said, "Do you really think I am afraid to die?" And then I said, "Oh, My God! He's got a gun!" And You know the rest. That's where we are God. Here in the barn. And the gun is leveled straight at Buddy's heart. And now...it is...as if....we....are....frozen......even....my dog....seems....frozen....with her ears....pinned back....ready...to pounce...with....her fangs...on display....yet....frozen.
III
Nobody is moving. Can it be true? That we are, in fact, frozen? Have You frozen time? Have you stopped all this? But I can hear my own breathing. I think I can hear my heart. And this faint crackling sizzling sound, like my brain is frying. Oh, God! Are we stuck here all by ourselves? Buddy seems to be leaning into the gun. Staring right into the barrel. Will the real God please stand up, and identify Yourself, and tell us where You're from, and a little bit about Yourself? I don't mean to be a smart-ass, but Omnipotence has got to come with a big toolbox. So, can You freeze time or not? You of all people, must know, timing is everything.
IV
Oh, thank You! Thank You! I know nothing has been really solved, but it is such a relief to be frozen for a minute. Just to catch my breath, and try to figure out what happened. Please, don't thaw us out yet. Ok, it's coming back to me. I came into the barn. It was early. A front had moved in over night, and it was cold and rainy. Yet, no one had bothered to fire up the old wood stove in the corner. It was as though we all knew from the beginning, that we wouldn't be here long before we would all be frozen in time. And it wouldn't matter then whether we were standing by a warm stove or not, for the fire too would be frozen.
V
I really need to talk to you, God. I mean, my lips are frozen, but you can read my mind, right? Even my last breath hangs as a little frozen cloud in front of my face. A frozen cloud, my frozen eyes can hardly see through to the frozen gun in the frozen hand. And all the frozen words still hang in the air around us. One big frozen run-on panicky sentence. NotthistimebuddydoyoureallythinkIamafraidtodieohmygodhesgotagunhello? And my dog's frozen growl....Grrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr. I was hoping maybe since we have this frozen moment we could talk. You and I. Mano el Godo. What do You say? Hello? Are You still there?
VI
Ok, so You are not picking up (You must get a zillion calls a day). That's cool. But, I am assuming, since everyone and everything is still frozen, that You are allowing me time to talk. Maybe You will play it back later and we'll play "phone tag". I am just your average mortal guy. Just your Happy-Go-Lucky -Joe in a crisis situation. Frozen in time and thinking these simple thoughts. And , of course I am assuming You are God and All. So Your ego must be under control right? And after all, we are stuck here in the barn with all this "no time" on our hands. Maybe we could come up with something that could be good for both of us. Bottom line: Can I be frank, and You won't hang up?
VII
Actually, I suppose if I said something really stupid right now, it really wouldn't count, seeing as how everything that has happened since you froze time.....hasn't really happened. That's a very strange thought. What is happening now is not happening? Umm...it's what I like about You, God, the paradox stuff. My God, what am I saying? I'll assume I didn't hear myself say all that. I am just nervous, I guess. There are real bullets in that gun. And after all, I have never been frozen in time before, a freeze- virgin . All I really wanted this morning was a good hot cup of coffee. It's all so sudden. Do You get where I am coming from Lord? Are you digging my scene? Of course You are, You are God. As for me, I am just me in a fucked up situation. Pardon that expression, it is just a saying we use down here on Earth when things aren't going quite right.
VIII
God, I need to tell You something. Put my money where my mouth is. Well, actually I'm broke, but You get the idea. Tell it like it is. I don't know what it is, but it seems my thoughts are moving slower. It's like, that watery space between the axons and the dendrites of the nerve cells in my brain have turned to thin ice. And my words are timidly tip-toeing across hoping not to fall through into that murky sea of things I haven't even thought of yet. I guess it's all part of being frozen. Anyway, what I wanted to say is that, I stopped going to church a long time ago. It was like, one day I realized that You had stopped going a long time before that. So, I figured.... what-evvveeeerrrr!!!
IX
So I say, forgive and forget! Let bygones be bygones. But seriously, where do You hang out these days? Do Gods, like people, have there own trends? New restaurants to go to....coffee house to hang out in? Seems like people are looking for You everywhere. There are people here on earth that have reported seeing Elvis. And there are reports of UFO sightings. And two accounts of people (they were identical twins, by the way) seeing Elvis get out of a UFO. And even I, skeptic that I am, admit bumping into Juan Valdez in a grocery store. Of course, I was in a weird state of mind, having run out of coffee. So maybe it was a hallucination. You would make a great photo op down here. I'm not kidding, the Paparazzi would be all over You! Hello? Hello? Uh Oh.
X
This is probably going to sound pushy, especially for someone who might not make it out of the barn when the clock starts again. But if there was ever a do or die situation, I'd say this is it. So, here goes nothing. Here's what I think. I think You might want to consider a whole new attitude about Yourself - and about humanity. More of a take charge, damn it - this is the new millenium - kind of attitude. Just an idea. Just my, oh so humble, mortal (in fact, I must be a complete raving idiot out of my mind to suggest it) myopic opinion, of course. Wow! I am still here! Look, I'm just saying that if You are going to call Yourself God, You've got to get Yourself out there, every morning...rain or shine...and show them who is in charge. Between me and you, are the other Gods picking on You? I hate bullies.
XI
I don't want these things I am saying to demoralize You. But You can't just rest on Your laurels. A few days, maybe...but thousands of years?! People are going to start talking. Hey, by the way, You do have some really great laurels! We just saw the other day, the latest photos from the Hubble telescope, and I for one have got to tell You, those early galaxies You were cranking out right after Your Big Bang Period, were definitely out of sight! Until recently anyway. And even now, some five or six billion years later, they still look so "Now". How did You do that?! Hats off...really great...spell-binding, and very flashy! In fact, I think it would be fair to say You are the Godfather of Pop Art! But that was then and this is now. Surely You would agree, it's time for new ideas. A Divine make-over, so to speak. Hello?
XII
OK. Everything is still frozen. Cool. Look, why don't we start at the beginning. Right about where You had that free will idea, remember? Ummm, You still there? I don't mean to tell You how to run our lives. But, honestly, it appears to "little ol' frozen in time" me, that maybe You should have taken Saturday off too. If I was You, I think I would re-consider those opening scenes. Maybe You had a deadline to meet, I don't know. But now, after two thousand years of reflecting and reminiscing, thinking about the good old days in the garden...doesn't it seem to You that maybe you rushed the whole concept? Like this morning, I was just free-willing myself down the road, minding my own business. Stopped in at the barn and KABLOOEY!!...outa nowhere a gun is in my face. A big gun. A sawed-off, double barreled 16 gauge with pump action. See what I mean? There are some kinks in the idea.
XIII
So, what I have been working on is a modified, or revised free will plan. See what You think about it. You are under no obligation, of course. You are God. You have nothing to lose. If I am out of line in my remarks, it could just be hypothermia, or nicotine deprivation talking. Of course, if You really like my ideas, perhaps we could consider what You might be able to do for me. Frankly, I'd like to leave the barn alive today. So shall we push on? I don't mean start the clock again. But shall I allow my frozen mind to go on this way? If I go too far, start the clock. I am ready to take my chances.
XIV
Ok. Let's back up again. To those first six days of creation. To be really honest with you, I don't have a problem with the first six days. They are a bit vague, perhaps, by the standards of today's inquiring minds. Today, people want all the juicy details. Like what were the dinosaurs really like? And did the fig leaves cause chafing in those sensitive areas? I for one, don't care. So let's go on. Let's go into the garden. The garden was pretty cool. I would have liked to have been there with a cute girl myself. But unfortunately, there were only a few idyllic days before life got forever much more complicated. So, this is the point at which I have a bone to pick with You. A rib bone. What were You thinking? Like I said, I think You should have taken Saturday off.
XV
I mean, put Yourself in a woman's shoes. Not literally, of course. Let me put it this way. How would You like to go around in life thinking you were made as an after-thought...out of some rib bone some guy didn't need anyway? And, on top of that, made because the guy was lonely. See what I mean? That doesn't fly these days God. That's why I am saying, we need to overhaul your image. Up-grade the stories. People want the latest thing these days. The Jahweh 2000. The new Millenial God. The boys and I are still frozen. Standing here staring through our frozen words. So, I take it You are listening. I know You are God and all, but don't feel embarrassed or ashamed for slacking off. I am here to help You!
XVI
Wow! I have never been frozen and hysterical at the same time! It's actually a nice buzz. Let's talk about Adam and Eve. Nothing wrong with those names...nothing whatsoever. Except names, like a lot of things run in cycles. A few decades ago, Desi and Lucy, or Ozzie and Harriet would have worked. But not today. People want the "hot" names. Want me to take a shot at it? Well, not a shot, actually. No need to shoot anything. Or anybody. But for instance, Britney and Prince Andrew in the Garden of Eden. Now you have a story! See what I'm saying? You gotta bring the story up to speed. Of course, it doesn't have to be them. You might want to go more generic and la vida loca. "Bubba and Heather". Bottom line? You've got to change the story up, or You'll never make the tabloids.
XVII
Let's just go with Bubba and Heather for now. We can tweak the details later. "Heather" might have some appeal to the Valley girl surfer crowd (this needs research), ummmm...British Botanists, flower children, and their children, yuppie landscape designers, and so on. As for "Bubba", that goes right to the heart of America. Enough said! Sounds like a girl -meets -boy story to me. (We can change these names later if You want...we are brain-storming here.) So, now let's put Bubba and Heather in The Garden of Eden. Am I moving too fast? Get up, stretch. Let's take five ...and walk on some clouds for awhile. My feet are killing me!
XVIII
Ok. All better now? I hope this doesn't sound too chauvinistic when I say my favorite part of the story is when Bubba gets lonely, and You make this woman, Heather for him. It touches my heart strings...strikes chords in me, and frankly, even makes my hands perspire. (Is that some kind of religious stigmata, or what?! ) Maybe, it's just some kind of male drumming in my head. But it gets to me now, all frozen in time. I think to myself, "Would I rather be here in the barn with an option for maybe a last cigarette before I die? Or would I rather be with Heather in some cozy cafe in the Garden, thawing back into time over a steamy cappaccino?" Am I asking for too much?
XIX
The silence in the barn is deafening. It must be You. No mortal could be as silent as this. Let me paint a picture for You, of a new mythic platform for the remainder of humanity. We don't have to call it that, of course. But basically, we are talking about a divine "do over". A new genesis. Genesis II, The Sequel. No,no...it's not a sequel. Ummmm...Genesis:The Lost Scrolls! Whatever...we'll name it later. Heather and I can handle packaging, marketing, distribution, promotional guest appearances and so on. All those details that You might find boring. So, let's start with a preliminary story-board and construct the new story of Bubba and Heather. It's a simple tale of a first love that begat all love thereafter.
XX
Bubba and Heather live in a garden. A fairyland of delights. And yet, paradoxically, it's not a garden. It's an amusement park. Well,actually, to compound the paradox, it is a big shopping mall too. Yes, genius! Did You think of that or did I? I can just see it! Mostly Bubba and Heather wander around in a kind of moist fuzzy light through flowers, and food vendors, and babbling brooks, and quaint little shops. And they love to shop! They shop 'til they drop, as the saying goes. And then after a short nap, they awaken refreshed and shop some more. And they do all this completely naked. They really dig the no clothes idea, since everything is climate-controlled. And also because, in this new garden You have chosen to eliminate mosquitoes, ticks, chiggers, and sand fleas from the ecosystem altogether. (People will love You for this idea alone!)
XXI
So, that's the wide-angle establishing shot. Bubba and Heather in love. Shamelessly walking hand in hand, hanging out naked in the mall. Like it so far? I know what You are thinking...time to introduce some dramatic tension. I gotta say, You are a Master at that! Like that Big Bang thing, where out of nowhere You exploded the universe into being! Awesome. We still wonder what was going on in the non-universe that led to that dramatic moment. OK, enough with cosmic explosions, but we do need to thicken the plot. Introduce some kind of dilemma everyone can identify with.
XXII
It can't be a snake. No snakes. Why? Well, for one, You have already used that idea. Secondly, we have eliminated snakes from the ecosystem. And thirdly, (and perhaps most importantly), the sub-conscious connection between the snake and the male sex organ? Not cool! (Thank you, Sigmund Freud!) On behalf of all guys everywhere, let's lose the snake from the scene. In fact, let's not take it out on the animals at all. In this day and age of political correctness, You can't just go around making animals, and turning them loose, and then calling them bad when they try to sell people apples on the side. OK, let's think people! We've got to come up with something else. Let's break for lunch, we'll re-group at three. Hey God, what do You think? Sushi? Have You ever tried Thai food? You choose, I'm buying...no,really, I insist.
XXIII
OK. Hear me out. How about this? We give Bubba and Heather a brand new, totally tricked-out Jeep! Why? Because they have been going steady now for almost two weeks, and they also did a great job naming all the animals. It will make a fabulous temptation as they go tooling around this marvelous and infinitely labyrinthian mother of all malls. Can you imagine how many ways they could screw up? Driving without seat belts...failure to yield right of way...refusal to take a breathalizer test after being pulled over for driving under the influence of making out in a hospital zone? There's gotta be a zillion ways we can kick these kids out of the garden! And there's not a snake in the whole idea. That's the beauty of it!
XXIV
OK. So cut to: It's Christmas in the Garden! Yes, yes, I know Christmas isn't until a lot later. But go with me. If we are going to have paradoxes, let's start having them right out of the gate. We've already established that the garden is paradoxical. Besides, Bubba and Heather are cruising the mall in a tricked out Jeep. They didn't even make Jeeps until World War II. But, it doesn't matter. That's the wonder of paradoxes, they suspend disbelief! When people can't wrap their rational minds around something, they get uncomfortable. But they feel a lot better when they think, "Oh, it's a paradox! I get it!" So we have to move the viewer from that uncomfortable feeling to the relief of paradox. So, Christmas! Everybody loves Christmas. They get lots of presents. And then there's the rum balls, mistletoe, spiked punch...so we open here. Move the audience from discomfort into participation and relief. I didn't invent this paradox thing, You did. I'm just saying let's use it as a special effect. The glory and the credit is all Yours. I am just applying it to an opening scene.
XXV
If there is a paradox out there, I could sure use one right now. There is a gun in my face! I know in the original story that electricity had not been invented yet. But let's keep the paradoxes rolling So picture this: It is Christmas time. And Bubba and Heather are practically delirious driving the avenues of the mall and looking around at all the little lights You have strung everywhere. On trees and bushes, on lamp posts and buildings, on the satellite dishes. Even the alleys are strewn with lights...the trash cans, the abandoned old couch by the dumpster; everything is aglow with the magic of Christmas in the Gardens of Eden Mall.
XXVI
Bubba and Heather are bedazzled, mesmerized by this scene. They have never seen anything like this before. Never mind that two weeks earlier, they didn't even exist! They are more in love in this moment than ever before. They impulsively go into a tattoo parlor and get matching tattoos...belly buttons! They return to the Jeep and pause to examine each other's tattoos. It is a tender bonding moment that ends with a kiss and the turn of the ignition key. But no sooner do they take the next corner, but what they run into a Road Closed sign nailed to a barricade. And it has flashing red lights that we see as pulsing reflections on their faces as they look at each other with puzzled expressions.
XXVII
Heather wisely pulls up Mapquest on the Jeep's navigational thingey. She says, "There's some railroad tracks under construction." He says, "What are railroad tracks?" She says, "I don't know." Bubba points to a dot on the other side of the tracks. "What's that?" Heather clicks on it. "Ummm...it says 'You are approaching Will Town'." Bubba says, "I don't know, baby..check out the Road Closed sign." Heather says, "Yeh, that looks like His handwriting...could be a forgery though." They look at each other with that same puzzled expression and fall into silence. They glance at each other's lips as the camera slowly zooms in. We see the kiss in flashes of black and red. Fade to black. Cut!
XXVIII
It is a never ending story, the way love can step into the driver's seat and take the wheel. And it all started with Bubba and Heather at a threshold of sorts. A turning point. A railroad crossing. A convenience market. They pull in to reflect. Bubba talks Heather into asking the guy behind the counter about Will Town. He is of little help, "No know dis pwace 'Will Town'," he says. They sit outside on the curb sipping on a couple of Icees. They are thinking it over. They have never heard of paradoxes before, no less been in the middle of one. But they do know You are known far and wide for Your sense of humor. They reflect back on that long line of crazy looking animals You kept filing in front of them, and how hard it was to keep coming up with names for them. They knew You were capable of anything!
XXIX
For all they knew You might be the dashboard computer in disguise. You might even be the convenience store clerk. "God could be anything." Bubba says. Heather laughs, "He might even be an Icee!" "Or even two Icees!" Bubba replies, leaning over to kiss Heather's cherry coated lips. They giggle. But it really is all confusing to them. You could be anything. Bubba knew it. Heather knew it. I know it. And You know it too. So, what do they do? They hop into the Jeep, high on cherry syrup, and peel out! "Hey, maybe's He's trying to tell us something." "Yeh, maybe we should go down this road." "Maybe there's a new mall we've never seen before." "Or, a new make-out place!" "Yeh, let's go baby!" And so off they went. Can You blame them, really?
XXX
It's a long winding road once they cross the tracks. And the twinkling lights get fewer and dimmer until at last they are in total darkness. And it seems like they are moving through some long tunnel. At last they see a light ahead. And then some hazy creatures like from another world, waving to them, beckoning them in some way that seemed other-worldly. But no, it's just another mugging at an ATM machine. And lo and behold, Bubba and Heather emerge from the tunnel stark naked in their Jeep, smack-dab in the middle of Manhattan!
XXXI
Embarrassing? You bet. And it gets worse! They get pulled over by a cop on a motorcycle. He issues them a citation for driving without plates on the Jeep. They had never even heard of plates, not even the kind you eat on. Back at the mall, it had all been finger food. They get another citation for public indecency. The Jeep is impounded. and things go from bad to worse as they huddle at day's end on a park bench hugging discarded pages of The Wall Street Journal to their bodies. Oh, they really screwed up this time! They should have stayed at the mall. But it's too late now. Why they screwed up is anybody's guess. Maybe it's just another one of those paradox things. Maybe Attention Deficit Disorder brought on by too much syrup in the Icees. Or the way love can cloud one's thinking. But the real question, God, is what are we going to do about this messy situation?
XXXII
Reconsidering misbehavior and it's consequences. That's what we are talking about here. What should we do about this incident, God? Take the car keys away? Kick them out of the mall? Forever? Bubba and Heather and their future kids...and their kids? And their kid's kids? And their kid's kid's kids and so on, all the way up the who begat who... to me? ,,,in the barn...with a gun in my face? So this is where it gets personal. I really don't care to be shot today. I mean, pardon me, but it seems so ego-maniacal, to decide to damn humanity unless they fall on their knees in front of You. What is Your problem? If You are God, it seems like You wouldn't have this intense need to be worshiped. Are You a Narcissist? Go ahead and kill me if You want. I am sorry if this is hurting Your feelings. But I have feelings too. And one of them is that You are a figment of my imagination, or some other part of my brain.
XXXIII
OK, so go ahead. I am ready to act. And not ready to die. Thaw us out. I will handle this myself. "Buddy! Buddy! Buddy! Put the gun down Buddy. Let's have breakfast. Two over easy? Bacon?" Oh, yes! Every thing is cool...and we don't need You. I have only two requests. Do You have Heather's phone number? And will You see that my grave is kept clean? Actually, I don't care if my grave is kept clean. But, do you have Heather's number?
Deep Frozen Post-Christmas Prayer
I
Oh, my God! He's got a gun! Hello? I call upon Thee in my...YOW!. .. Are you there?! Pick up if You can hear me. Hello? Hello? Oh, this is serious. I am out in the barn, and there's trouble.....Big Trouble! Can You understand what I am saying, even though I am not moving my lips? I do not want to be here. Hello? Are You screening your calls? I don't want to be here. With them. And with it....the gun! I promise this is not a crank call. This is about to be dead serious! This is already cocked and loaded! It is MAYDAY! here in the barn.
II
Oh, God! No one is moving. I can't tell if you are on the line or not. There's a funny ringing in my ears. Is that You? Hello? OK, So don't pick up. But surely You saw?....surely You heard? He said, "Not this time, Buddy!" And then Buddy said, "Do you really think I am afraid to die?" And then I said, "Oh, My God! He's got a gun!" And You know the rest. That's where we are God. Here in the barn. And the gun is leveled straight at Buddy's heart. And now...it is...as if....we....are....frozen......even....my dog....seems....frozen....with her ears....pinned back....ready...to pounce...with....her fangs...on display....yet....frozen.
III
Nobody is moving. Can it be true? That we are, in fact, frozen? Have You frozen time? Have you stopped all this? But I can hear my own breathing. I think I can hear my heart. And this faint crackling sizzling sound, like my brain is frying. Oh, God! Are we stuck here all by ourselves? Buddy seems to be leaning into the gun. Staring right into the barrel. Will the real God please stand up, and identify Yourself, and tell us where You're from, and a little bit about Yourself? I don't mean to be a smart-ass, but Omnipotence has got to come with a big toolbox. So, can You freeze time or not? You of all people, must know, timing is everything.
IV
Oh, thank You! Thank You! I know nothing has been really solved, but it is such a relief to be frozen for a minute. Just to catch my breath, and try to figure out what happened. Please, don't thaw us out yet. Ok, it's coming back to me. I came into the barn. It was early. A front had moved in over night, and it was cold and rainy. Yet, no one had bothered to fire up the old wood stove in the corner. It was as though we all knew from the beginning, that we wouldn't be here long before we would all be frozen in time. And it wouldn't matter then whether we were standing by a warm stove or not, for the fire too would be frozen.
V
I really need to talk to you, God. I mean, my lips are frozen, but you can read my mind, right? Even my last breath hangs as a little frozen cloud in front of my face. A frozen cloud, my frozen eyes can hardly see through to the frozen gun in the frozen hand. And all the frozen words still hang in the air around us. One big frozen run-on panicky sentence. NotthistimebuddydoyoureallythinkIamafraidtodieohmygodhesgotagunhello? And my dog's frozen growl....Grrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr. I was hoping maybe since we have this frozen moment we could talk. You and I. Mano el Godo. What do You say? Hello? Are You still there?
VI
Ok, so You are not picking up (You must get a zillion calls a day). That's cool. But, I am assuming, since everyone and everything is still frozen, that You are allowing me time to talk. Maybe You will play it back later and we'll play "phone tag". I am just your average mortal guy. Just your Happy-Go-Lucky -Joe in a crisis situation. Frozen in time and thinking these simple thoughts. And , of course I am assuming You are God and All. So Your ego must be under control right? And after all, we are stuck here in the barn with all this "no time" on our hands. Maybe we could come up with something that could be good for both of us. Bottom line: Can I be frank, and You won't hang up?
VII
Actually, I suppose if I said something really stupid right now, it really wouldn't count, seeing as how everything that has happened since you froze time.....hasn't really happened. That's a very strange thought. What is happening now is not happening? Umm...it's what I like about You, God, the paradox stuff. My God, what am I saying? I'll assume I didn't hear myself say all that. I am just nervous, I guess. There are real bullets in that gun. And after all, I have never been frozen in time before, a freeze- virgin . All I really wanted this morning was a good hot cup of coffee. It's all so sudden. Do You get where I am coming from Lord? Are you digging my scene? Of course You are, You are God. As for me, I am just me in a fucked up situation. Pardon that expression, it is just a saying we use down here on Earth when things aren't going quite right.
VIII
God, I need to tell You something. Put my money where my mouth is. Well, actually I'm broke, but You get the idea. Tell it like it is. I don't know what it is, but it seems my thoughts are moving slower. It's like, that watery space between the axons and the dendrites of the nerve cells in my brain have turned to thin ice. And my words are timidly tip-toeing across hoping not to fall through into that murky sea of things I haven't even thought of yet. I guess it's all part of being frozen. Anyway, what I wanted to say is that, I stopped going to church a long time ago. It was like, one day I realized that You had stopped going a long time before that. So, I figured.... what-evvveeeerrrr!!!
IX
So I say, forgive and forget! Let bygones be bygones. But seriously, where do You hang out these days? Do Gods, like people, have there own trends? New restaurants to go to....coffee house to hang out in? Seems like people are looking for You everywhere. There are people here on earth that have reported seeing Elvis. And there are reports of UFO sightings. And two accounts of people (they were identical twins, by the way) seeing Elvis get out of a UFO. And even I, skeptic that I am, admit bumping into Juan Valdez in a grocery store. Of course, I was in a weird state of mind, having run out of coffee. So maybe it was a hallucination. You would make a great photo op down here. I'm not kidding, the Paparazzi would be all over You! Hello? Hello? Uh Oh.
X
This is probably going to sound pushy, especially for someone who might not make it out of the barn when the clock starts again. But if there was ever a do or die situation, I'd say this is it. So, here goes nothing. Here's what I think. I think You might want to consider a whole new attitude about Yourself - and about humanity. More of a take charge, damn it - this is the new millenium - kind of attitude. Just an idea. Just my, oh so humble, mortal (in fact, I must be a complete raving idiot out of my mind to suggest it) myopic opinion, of course. Wow! I am still here! Look, I'm just saying that if You are going to call Yourself God, You've got to get Yourself out there, every morning...rain or shine...and show them who is in charge. Between me and you, are the other Gods picking on You? I hate bullies.
XI
I don't want these things I am saying to demoralize You. But You can't just rest on Your laurels. A few days, maybe...but thousands of years?! People are going to start talking. Hey, by the way, You do have some really great laurels! We just saw the other day, the latest photos from the Hubble telescope, and I for one have got to tell You, those early galaxies You were cranking out right after Your Big Bang Period, were definitely out of sight! Until recently anyway. And even now, some five or six billion years later, they still look so "Now". How did You do that?! Hats off...really great...spell-binding, and very flashy! In fact, I think it would be fair to say You are the Godfather of Pop Art! But that was then and this is now. Surely You would agree, it's time for new ideas. A Divine make-over, so to speak. Hello?
XII
OK. Everything is still frozen. Cool. Look, why don't we start at the beginning. Right about where You had that free will idea, remember? Ummm, You still there? I don't mean to tell You how to run our lives. But, honestly, it appears to "little ol' frozen in time" me, that maybe You should have taken Saturday off too. If I was You, I think I would re-consider those opening scenes. Maybe You had a deadline to meet, I don't know. But now, after two thousand years of reflecting and reminiscing, thinking about the good old days in the garden...doesn't it seem to You that maybe you rushed the whole concept? Like this morning, I was just free-willing myself down the road, minding my own business. Stopped in at the barn and KABLOOEY!!...outa nowhere a gun is in my face. A big gun. A sawed-off, double barreled 16 gauge with pump action. See what I mean? There are some kinks in the idea.
XIII
So, what I have been working on is a modified, or revised free will plan. See what You think about it. You are under no obligation, of course. You are God. You have nothing to lose. If I am out of line in my remarks, it could just be hypothermia, or nicotine deprivation talking. Of course, if You really like my ideas, perhaps we could consider what You might be able to do for me. Frankly, I'd like to leave the barn alive today. So shall we push on? I don't mean start the clock again. But shall I allow my frozen mind to go on this way? If I go too far, start the clock. I am ready to take my chances.
XIV
Ok. Let's back up again. To those first six days of creation. To be really honest with you, I don't have a problem with the first six days. They are a bit vague, perhaps, by the standards of today's inquiring minds. Today, people want all the juicy details. Like what were the dinosaurs really like? And did the fig leaves cause chafing in those sensitive areas? I for one, don't care. So let's go on. Let's go into the garden. The garden was pretty cool. I would have liked to have been there with a cute girl myself. But unfortunately, there were only a few idyllic days before life got forever much more complicated. So, this is the point at which I have a bone to pick with You. A rib bone. What were You thinking? Like I said, I think You should have taken Saturday off.
XV
I mean, put Yourself in a woman's shoes. Not literally, of course. Let me put it this way. How would You like to go around in life thinking you were made as an after-thought...out of some rib bone some guy didn't need anyway? And, on top of that, made because the guy was lonely. See what I mean? That doesn't fly these days God. That's why I am saying, we need to overhaul your image. Up-grade the stories. People want the latest thing these days. The Jahweh 2000. The new Millenial God. The boys and I are still frozen. Standing here staring through our frozen words. So, I take it You are listening. I know You are God and all, but don't feel embarrassed or ashamed for slacking off. I am here to help You!
XVI
Wow! I have never been frozen and hysterical at the same time! It's actually a nice buzz. Let's talk about Adam and Eve. Nothing wrong with those names...nothing whatsoever. Except names, like a lot of things run in cycles. A few decades ago, Desi and Lucy, or Ozzie and Harriet would have worked. But not today. People want the "hot" names. Want me to take a shot at it? Well, not a shot, actually. No need to shoot anything. Or anybody. But for instance, Britney and Prince Andrew in the Garden of Eden. Now you have a story! See what I'm saying? You gotta bring the story up to speed. Of course, it doesn't have to be them. You might want to go more generic and la vida loca. "Bubba and Heather". Bottom line? You've got to change the story up, or You'll never make the tabloids.
XVII
Let's just go with Bubba and Heather for now. We can tweak the details later. "Heather" might have some appeal to the Valley girl surfer crowd (this needs research), ummmm...British Botanists, flower children, and their children, yuppie landscape designers, and so on. As for "Bubba", that goes right to the heart of America. Enough said! Sounds like a girl -meets -boy story to me. (We can change these names later if You want...we are brain-storming here.) So, now let's put Bubba and Heather in The Garden of Eden. Am I moving too fast? Get up, stretch. Let's take five ...and walk on some clouds for awhile. My feet are killing me!
XVIII
Ok. All better now? I hope this doesn't sound too chauvinistic when I say my favorite part of the story is when Bubba gets lonely, and You make this woman, Heather for him. It touches my heart strings...strikes chords in me, and frankly, even makes my hands perspire. (Is that some kind of religious stigmata, or what?! ) Maybe, it's just some kind of male drumming in my head. But it gets to me now, all frozen in time. I think to myself, "Would I rather be here in the barn with an option for maybe a last cigarette before I die? Or would I rather be with Heather in some cozy cafe in the Garden, thawing back into time over a steamy cappaccino?" Am I asking for too much?
XIX
The silence in the barn is deafening. It must be You. No mortal could be as silent as this. Let me paint a picture for You, of a new mythic platform for the remainder of humanity. We don't have to call it that, of course. But basically, we are talking about a divine "do over". A new genesis. Genesis II, The Sequel. No,no...it's not a sequel. Ummmm...Genesis:The Lost Scrolls! Whatever...we'll name it later. Heather and I can handle packaging, marketing, distribution, promotional guest appearances and so on. All those details that You might find boring. So, let's start with a preliminary story-board and construct the new story of Bubba and Heather. It's a simple tale of a first love that begat all love thereafter.
XX
Bubba and Heather live in a garden. A fairyland of delights. And yet, paradoxically, it's not a garden. It's an amusement park. Well,actually, to compound the paradox, it is a big shopping mall too. Yes, genius! Did You think of that or did I? I can just see it! Mostly Bubba and Heather wander around in a kind of moist fuzzy light through flowers, and food vendors, and babbling brooks, and quaint little shops. And they love to shop! They shop 'til they drop, as the saying goes. And then after a short nap, they awaken refreshed and shop some more. And they do all this completely naked. They really dig the no clothes idea, since everything is climate-controlled. And also because, in this new garden You have chosen to eliminate mosquitoes, ticks, chiggers, and sand fleas from the ecosystem altogether. (People will love You for this idea alone!)
XXI
So, that's the wide-angle establishing shot. Bubba and Heather in love. Shamelessly walking hand in hand, hanging out naked in the mall. Like it so far? I know what You are thinking...time to introduce some dramatic tension. I gotta say, You are a Master at that! Like that Big Bang thing, where out of nowhere You exploded the universe into being! Awesome. We still wonder what was going on in the non-universe that led to that dramatic moment. OK, enough with cosmic explosions, but we do need to thicken the plot. Introduce some kind of dilemma everyone can identify with.
XXII
It can't be a snake. No snakes. Why? Well, for one, You have already used that idea. Secondly, we have eliminated snakes from the ecosystem. And thirdly, (and perhaps most importantly), the sub-conscious connection between the snake and the male sex organ? Not cool! (Thank you, Sigmund Freud!) On behalf of all guys everywhere, let's lose the snake from the scene. In fact, let's not take it out on the animals at all. In this day and age of political correctness, You can't just go around making animals, and turning them loose, and then calling them bad when they try to sell people apples on the side. OK, let's think people! We've got to come up with something else. Let's break for lunch, we'll re-group at three. Hey God, what do You think? Sushi? Have You ever tried Thai food? You choose, I'm buying...no,really, I insist.
XXIII
OK. Hear me out. How about this? We give Bubba and Heather a brand new, totally tricked-out Jeep! Why? Because they have been going steady now for almost two weeks, and they also did a great job naming all the animals. It will make a fabulous temptation as they go tooling around this marvelous and infinitely labyrinthian mother of all malls. Can you imagine how many ways they could screw up? Driving without seat belts...failure to yield right of way...refusal to take a breathalizer test after being pulled over for driving under the influence of making out in a hospital zone? There's gotta be a zillion ways we can kick these kids out of the garden! And there's not a snake in the whole idea. That's the beauty of it!
XXIV
OK. So cut to: It's Christmas in the Garden! Yes, yes, I know Christmas isn't until a lot later. But go with me. If we are going to have paradoxes, let's start having them right out of the gate. We've already established that the garden is paradoxical. Besides, Bubba and Heather are cruising the mall in a tricked out Jeep. They didn't even make Jeeps until World War II. But, it doesn't matter. That's the wonder of paradoxes, they suspend disbelief! When people can't wrap their rational minds around something, they get uncomfortable. But they feel a lot better when they think, "Oh, it's a paradox! I get it!" So we have to move the viewer from that uncomfortable feeling to the relief of paradox. So, Christmas! Everybody loves Christmas. They get lots of presents. And then there's the rum balls, mistletoe, spiked punch...so we open here. Move the audience from discomfort into participation and relief. I didn't invent this paradox thing, You did. I'm just saying let's use it as a special effect. The glory and the credit is all Yours. I am just applying it to an opening scene.
XXV
If there is a paradox out there, I could sure use one right now. There is a gun in my face! I know in the original story that electricity had not been invented yet. But let's keep the paradoxes rolling So picture this: It is Christmas time. And Bubba and Heather are practically delirious driving the avenues of the mall and looking around at all the little lights You have strung everywhere. On trees and bushes, on lamp posts and buildings, on the satellite dishes. Even the alleys are strewn with lights...the trash cans, the abandoned old couch by the dumpster; everything is aglow with the magic of Christmas in the Gardens of Eden Mall.
XXVI
Bubba and Heather are bedazzled, mesmerized by this scene. They have never seen anything like this before. Never mind that two weeks earlier, they didn't even exist! They are more in love in this moment than ever before. They impulsively go into a tattoo parlor and get matching tattoos...belly buttons! They return to the Jeep and pause to examine each other's tattoos. It is a tender bonding moment that ends with a kiss and the turn of the ignition key. But no sooner do they take the next corner, but what they run into a Road Closed sign nailed to a barricade. And it has flashing red lights that we see as pulsing reflections on their faces as they look at each other with puzzled expressions.
XXVII
Heather wisely pulls up Mapquest on the Jeep's navigational thingey. She says, "There's some railroad tracks under construction." He says, "What are railroad tracks?" She says, "I don't know." Bubba points to a dot on the other side of the tracks. "What's that?" Heather clicks on it. "Ummm...it says 'You are approaching Will Town'." Bubba says, "I don't know, baby..check out the Road Closed sign." Heather says, "Yeh, that looks like His handwriting...could be a forgery though." They look at each other with that same puzzled expression and fall into silence. They glance at each other's lips as the camera slowly zooms in. We see the kiss in flashes of black and red. Fade to black. Cut!
XXVIII
It is a never ending story, the way love can step into the driver's seat and take the wheel. And it all started with Bubba and Heather at a threshold of sorts. A turning point. A railroad crossing. A convenience market. They pull in to reflect. Bubba talks Heather into asking the guy behind the counter about Will Town. He is of little help, "No know dis pwace 'Will Town'," he says. They sit outside on the curb sipping on a couple of Icees. They are thinking it over. They have never heard of paradoxes before, no less been in the middle of one. But they do know You are known far and wide for Your sense of humor. They reflect back on that long line of crazy looking animals You kept filing in front of them, and how hard it was to keep coming up with names for them. They knew You were capable of anything!
XXIX
For all they knew You might be the dashboard computer in disguise. You might even be the convenience store clerk. "God could be anything." Bubba says. Heather laughs, "He might even be an Icee!" "Or even two Icees!" Bubba replies, leaning over to kiss Heather's cherry coated lips. They giggle. But it really is all confusing to them. You could be anything. Bubba knew it. Heather knew it. I know it. And You know it too. So, what do they do? They hop into the Jeep, high on cherry syrup, and peel out! "Hey, maybe's He's trying to tell us something." "Yeh, maybe we should go down this road." "Maybe there's a new mall we've never seen before." "Or, a new make-out place!" "Yeh, let's go baby!" And so off they went. Can You blame them, really?
XXX
It's a long winding road once they cross the tracks. And the twinkling lights get fewer and dimmer until at last they are in total darkness. And it seems like they are moving through some long tunnel. At last they see a light ahead. And then some hazy creatures like from another world, waving to them, beckoning them in some way that seemed other-worldly. But no, it's just another mugging at an ATM machine. And lo and behold, Bubba and Heather emerge from the tunnel stark naked in their Jeep, smack-dab in the middle of Manhattan!
XXXI
Embarrassing? You bet. And it gets worse! They get pulled over by a cop on a motorcycle. He issues them a citation for driving without plates on the Jeep. They had never even heard of plates, not even the kind you eat on. Back at the mall, it had all been finger food. They get another citation for public indecency. The Jeep is impounded. and things go from bad to worse as they huddle at day's end on a park bench hugging discarded pages of The Wall Street Journal to their bodies. Oh, they really screwed up this time! They should have stayed at the mall. But it's too late now. Why they screwed up is anybody's guess. Maybe it's just another one of those paradox things. Maybe Attention Deficit Disorder brought on by too much syrup in the Icees. Or the way love can cloud one's thinking. But the real question, God, is what are we going to do about this messy situation?
XXXII
Reconsidering misbehavior and it's consequences. That's what we are talking about here. What should we do about this incident, God? Take the car keys away? Kick them out of the mall? Forever? Bubba and Heather and their future kids...and their kids? And their kid's kids? And their kid's kid's kids and so on, all the way up the who begat who... to me? ,,,in the barn...with a gun in my face? So this is where it gets personal. I really don't care to be shot today. I mean, pardon me, but it seems so ego-maniacal, to decide to damn humanity unless they fall on their knees in front of You. What is Your problem? If You are God, it seems like You wouldn't have this intense need to be worshiped. Are You a Narcissist? Go ahead and kill me if You want. I am sorry if this is hurting Your feelings. But I have feelings too. And one of them is that You are a figment of my imagination, or some other part of my brain.
XXXIII
OK, so go ahead. I am ready to act. And not ready to die. Thaw us out. I will handle this myself. "Buddy! Buddy! Buddy! Put the gun down Buddy. Let's have breakfast. Two over easy? Bacon?" Oh, yes! Every thing is cool...and we don't need You. I have only two requests. Do You have Heather's phone number? And will You see that my grave is kept clean? Actually, I don't care if my grave is kept clean. But, do you have Heather's number?
Tuesday, January 20, 2009
Obama's address
Text of President Barack Obama's inaugural address on Tuesday, as delivered.
OBAMA: My fellow citizens:
I stand here today humbled by the task before us, grateful for the trust you have bestowed, mindful of the sacrifices borne by our ancestors. I thank President Bush for his service to our nation, as well as the generosity and cooperation he has shown throughout this transition.
Forty-four Americans have now taken the presidential oath. The words have been spoken during rising tides of prosperity and the still waters of peace. Yet, every so often the oath is taken amidst gathering clouds and raging storms. At these moments, America has carried on not simply because of the skill or vision of those in high office, but because we the people have remained faithful to the ideals of our forebears, and true to our founding documents.
So it has been. So it must be with this generation of Americans.
That we are in the midst of crisis is now well understood. Our nation is at war, against a far-reaching network of violence and hatred. Our economy is badly weakened, a consequence of greed and irresponsibility on the part of some, but also our collective failure to make hard choices and prepare the nation for a new age. Homes have been lost; jobs shed; businesses shuttered. Our health care is too costly; our schools fail too many; and each day brings further evidence that the ways we use energy strengthen our adversaries and threaten our planet.
These are the indicators of crisis, subject to data and statistics. Less measurable but no less profound is a sapping of confidence across our land — a nagging fear that America's decline is inevitable, and that the next generation must lower its sights.
Today I say to you that the challenges we face are real. They are serious and they are many. They will not be met easily or in a short span of time. But know this, America — they will be met.
On this day, we gather because we have chosen hope over fear, unity of purpose over conflict and discord.
On this day, we come to proclaim an end to the petty grievances and false promises, the recriminations and worn out dogmas, that for far too long have strangled our politics.
We remain a young nation, but in the words of Scripture, the time has come to set aside childish things. The time has come to reaffirm our enduring spirit; to choose our better history; to carry forward that precious gift, that noble idea, passed on from generation to generation: the God-given promise that all are equal, all are free and all deserve a chance to pursue their full measure of happiness.
In reaffirming the greatness of our nation, we understand that greatness is never a given. It must be earned. Our journey has never been one of shortcuts or settling for less. It has not been the path for the faint-hearted — for those who prefer leisure over work, or seek only the pleasures of riches and fame. Rather, it has been the risk-takers, the doers, the makers of things — some celebrated but more often men and women obscure in their labor, who have carried us up the long, rugged path towards prosperity and freedom.
For us, they packed up their few worldly possessions and traveled across oceans in search of a new life.
For us, they toiled in sweatshops and settled the West; endured the lash of the whip and plowed the hard earth.
For us, they fought and died, in places like Concord and Gettysburg; Normandy and Khe Sanh.
Time and again these men and women struggled and sacrificed and worked till their hands were raw so that we might live a better life. They saw America as bigger than the sum of our individual ambitions; greater than all the differences of birth or wealth or faction.
This is the journey we continue today. We remain the most prosperous, powerful nation on Earth. Our workers are no less productive than when this crisis began. Our minds are no less inventive, our goods and services no less needed than they were last week or last month or last year. Our capacity remains undiminished. But our time of standing pat, of protecting narrow interests and putting off unpleasant decisions — that time has surely passed. Starting today, we must pick ourselves up, dust ourselves off, and begin again the work of remaking America.
For everywhere we look, there is work to be done. The state of the economy calls for action, bold and swift, and we will act — not only to create new jobs, but to lay a new foundation for growth. We will build the roads and bridges, the electric grids and digital lines that feed our commerce and bind us together. We will restore science to its rightful place, and wield technology's wonders to raise health care's quality and lower its cost. We will harness the sun and the winds and the soil to fuel our cars and run our factories. And we will transform our schools and colleges and universities to meet the demands of a new age. All this we can do. All this we will do.
Now, there are some who question the scale of our ambitions — who suggest that our system cannot tolerate too many big plans. Their memories are short. For they have forgotten what this country has already done; what free men and women can achieve when imagination is joined to common purpose, and necessity to courage.
What the cynics fail to understand is that the ground has shifted beneath them — that the stale political arguments that have consumed us for so long no longer apply. The question we ask today is not whether our government is too big or too small, but whether it works — whether it helps families find jobs at a decent wage, care they can afford, a retirement that is dignified. Where the answer is yes, we intend to move forward. Where the answer is no, programs will end. Those of us who manage the public's dollars will be held to account — to spend wisely, reform bad habits, and do our business in the light of day — because only then can we restore the vital trust between a people and their government.
Nor is the question before us whether the market is a force for good or ill. Its power to generate wealth and expand freedom is unmatched, but this crisis has reminded us that without a watchful eye, the market can spin out of control — and that a nation cannot prosper long when it favors only the prosperous. The success of our economy has always depended not just on the size of our gross domestic product, but on the reach of our prosperity; on our ability to extend opportunity to every willing heart — not out of charity, but because it is the surest route to our common good.
As for our common defense, we reject as false the choice between our safety and our ideals. Our founding fathers ... our found fathers, faced with perils we can scarcely imagine, drafted a charter to assure the rule of law and the rights of man, a charter expanded by the blood of generations. Those ideals still light the world, and we will not give them up for expedience's sake. And so to all the other peoples and governments who are watching today, from the grandest capitals to the small village where my father was born: know that America is a friend of each nation and every man, woman, and child who seeks a future of peace and dignity, and that we are ready to lead once more.
Recall that earlier generations faced down fascism and communism not just with missiles and tanks, but with sturdy alliances and enduring convictions. They understood that our power alone cannot protect us, nor does it entitle us to do as we please. Instead, they knew that our power grows through its prudent use; our security emanates from the justness of our cause, the force of our example, the tempering qualities of humility and restraint.
We are the keepers of this legacy. Guided by these principles once more, we can meet those new threats that demand even greater effort — even greater cooperation and understanding between nations. We will begin to responsibly leave Iraq to its people, and forge a hard-earned peace in Afghanistan. With old friends and former foes, we will work tirelessly to lessen the nuclear threat, and roll back the specter of a warming planet. We will not apologize for our way of life, nor will we waver in its defense, and for those who seek to advance their aims by inducing terror and slaughtering innocents, we say to you now that our spirit is stronger and cannot be broken; you cannot outlast us, and we will defeat you.
For we know that our patchwork heritage is a strength, not a weakness. We are a nation of Christians and Muslims, Jews and Hindus — and non-believers. We are shaped by every language and culture, drawn from every end of this Earth; and because we have tasted the bitter swill of civil war and segregation, and emerged from that dark chapter stronger and more united, we cannot help but believe that the old hatreds shall someday pass; that the lines of tribe shall soon dissolve; that as the world grows smaller, our common humanity shall reveal itself; and that America must play its role in ushering in a new era of peace.
To the Muslim world, we seek a new way forward, based on mutual interest and mutual respect. To those leaders around the globe who seek to sow conflict, or blame their society's ills on the West — know that your people will judge you on what you can build, not what you destroy. To those who cling to power through corruption and deceit and the silencing of dissent, know that you are on the wrong side of history; but that we will extend a hand if you are willing to unclench your fist.
To the people of poor nations, we pledge to work alongside you to make your farms flourish and let clean waters flow; to nourish starved bodies and feed hungry minds. And to those nations like ours that enjoy relative plenty, we say we can no longer afford indifference to the suffering outside our borders; nor can we consume the world's resources without regard to effect. For the world has changed, and we must change with it.
As we consider the road that unfolds before us, we remember with humble gratitude those brave Americans who, at this very hour, patrol far-off deserts and distant mountains. They have something to tell us, just as the fallen heroes who lie in Arlington whisper through the ages. We honor them not only because they are guardians of our liberty, but because they embody the spirit of service; a willingness to find meaning in something greater than themselves. And yet, at this moment — a moment that will define a generation — it is precisely this spirit that must inhabit us all.
For as much as government can do and must do, it is ultimately the faith and determination of the American people upon which this nation relies. It is the kindness to take in a stranger when the levees break, the selflessness of workers who would rather cut their hours than see a friend lose their job which sees us through our darkest hours. It is the firefighter's courage to storm a stairway filled with smoke, but also a parent's willingness to nurture a child, that finally decides our fate.
Our challenges may be new. The instruments with which we meet them may be new. But those values upon which our success depends — hard work and honesty, courage and fair play, tolerance and curiosity, loyalty and patriotism — these things are old. These things are true. They have been the quiet force of progress throughout our history. What is demanded then is a return to these truths. What is required of us now is a new era of responsibility — a recognition, on the part of every American, that we have duties to ourselves, our nation, and the world, duties that we do not grudgingly accept but rather seize gladly, firm in the knowledge that there is nothing so satisfying to the spirit, so defining of our character, than giving our all to a difficult task.
This is the price and the promise of citizenship.
This is the source of our confidence — the knowledge that God calls on us to shape an uncertain destiny.
This is the meaning of our liberty and our creed — why men and women and children of every race and every faith can join in celebration across this magnificent Mall, and why a man whose father less than sixty years ago might not have been served at a local restaurant can now stand before you to take a most sacred oath.
So let us mark this day with remembrance, of who we are and how far we have traveled. In the year of America's birth, in the coldest of months, a small band of patriots huddled by dying campfires on the shores of an icy river. The capital was abandoned. The enemy was advancing. The snow was stained with blood. At a moment when the outcome of our revolution was most in doubt, the father of our nation ordered these words be read to the people:
"Let it be told to the future world ... that in the depth of winter, when nothing but hope and virtue could survive...that the city and the country, alarmed at one common danger, came forth to meet (it)."
America, in the face of our common dangers, in this winter of our hardship, let us remember these timeless words. With hope and virtue, let us brave once more the icy currents, and endure what storms may come. Let it be said by our children's children that when we were tested we refused to let this journey end, that we did not turn back nor did we falter; and with eyes fixed on the horizon and God's grace upon us, we carried forth that great gift of freedom and delivered it safely to future generations.
Thank you. God bless you. And God bless the United States of Americ
OBAMA: My fellow citizens:
I stand here today humbled by the task before us, grateful for the trust you have bestowed, mindful of the sacrifices borne by our ancestors. I thank President Bush for his service to our nation, as well as the generosity and cooperation he has shown throughout this transition.
Forty-four Americans have now taken the presidential oath. The words have been spoken during rising tides of prosperity and the still waters of peace. Yet, every so often the oath is taken amidst gathering clouds and raging storms. At these moments, America has carried on not simply because of the skill or vision of those in high office, but because we the people have remained faithful to the ideals of our forebears, and true to our founding documents.
So it has been. So it must be with this generation of Americans.
That we are in the midst of crisis is now well understood. Our nation is at war, against a far-reaching network of violence and hatred. Our economy is badly weakened, a consequence of greed and irresponsibility on the part of some, but also our collective failure to make hard choices and prepare the nation for a new age. Homes have been lost; jobs shed; businesses shuttered. Our health care is too costly; our schools fail too many; and each day brings further evidence that the ways we use energy strengthen our adversaries and threaten our planet.
These are the indicators of crisis, subject to data and statistics. Less measurable but no less profound is a sapping of confidence across our land — a nagging fear that America's decline is inevitable, and that the next generation must lower its sights.
Today I say to you that the challenges we face are real. They are serious and they are many. They will not be met easily or in a short span of time. But know this, America — they will be met.
On this day, we gather because we have chosen hope over fear, unity of purpose over conflict and discord.
On this day, we come to proclaim an end to the petty grievances and false promises, the recriminations and worn out dogmas, that for far too long have strangled our politics.
We remain a young nation, but in the words of Scripture, the time has come to set aside childish things. The time has come to reaffirm our enduring spirit; to choose our better history; to carry forward that precious gift, that noble idea, passed on from generation to generation: the God-given promise that all are equal, all are free and all deserve a chance to pursue their full measure of happiness.
In reaffirming the greatness of our nation, we understand that greatness is never a given. It must be earned. Our journey has never been one of shortcuts or settling for less. It has not been the path for the faint-hearted — for those who prefer leisure over work, or seek only the pleasures of riches and fame. Rather, it has been the risk-takers, the doers, the makers of things — some celebrated but more often men and women obscure in their labor, who have carried us up the long, rugged path towards prosperity and freedom.
For us, they packed up their few worldly possessions and traveled across oceans in search of a new life.
For us, they toiled in sweatshops and settled the West; endured the lash of the whip and plowed the hard earth.
For us, they fought and died, in places like Concord and Gettysburg; Normandy and Khe Sanh.
Time and again these men and women struggled and sacrificed and worked till their hands were raw so that we might live a better life. They saw America as bigger than the sum of our individual ambitions; greater than all the differences of birth or wealth or faction.
This is the journey we continue today. We remain the most prosperous, powerful nation on Earth. Our workers are no less productive than when this crisis began. Our minds are no less inventive, our goods and services no less needed than they were last week or last month or last year. Our capacity remains undiminished. But our time of standing pat, of protecting narrow interests and putting off unpleasant decisions — that time has surely passed. Starting today, we must pick ourselves up, dust ourselves off, and begin again the work of remaking America.
For everywhere we look, there is work to be done. The state of the economy calls for action, bold and swift, and we will act — not only to create new jobs, but to lay a new foundation for growth. We will build the roads and bridges, the electric grids and digital lines that feed our commerce and bind us together. We will restore science to its rightful place, and wield technology's wonders to raise health care's quality and lower its cost. We will harness the sun and the winds and the soil to fuel our cars and run our factories. And we will transform our schools and colleges and universities to meet the demands of a new age. All this we can do. All this we will do.
Now, there are some who question the scale of our ambitions — who suggest that our system cannot tolerate too many big plans. Their memories are short. For they have forgotten what this country has already done; what free men and women can achieve when imagination is joined to common purpose, and necessity to courage.
What the cynics fail to understand is that the ground has shifted beneath them — that the stale political arguments that have consumed us for so long no longer apply. The question we ask today is not whether our government is too big or too small, but whether it works — whether it helps families find jobs at a decent wage, care they can afford, a retirement that is dignified. Where the answer is yes, we intend to move forward. Where the answer is no, programs will end. Those of us who manage the public's dollars will be held to account — to spend wisely, reform bad habits, and do our business in the light of day — because only then can we restore the vital trust between a people and their government.
Nor is the question before us whether the market is a force for good or ill. Its power to generate wealth and expand freedom is unmatched, but this crisis has reminded us that without a watchful eye, the market can spin out of control — and that a nation cannot prosper long when it favors only the prosperous. The success of our economy has always depended not just on the size of our gross domestic product, but on the reach of our prosperity; on our ability to extend opportunity to every willing heart — not out of charity, but because it is the surest route to our common good.
As for our common defense, we reject as false the choice between our safety and our ideals. Our founding fathers ... our found fathers, faced with perils we can scarcely imagine, drafted a charter to assure the rule of law and the rights of man, a charter expanded by the blood of generations. Those ideals still light the world, and we will not give them up for expedience's sake. And so to all the other peoples and governments who are watching today, from the grandest capitals to the small village where my father was born: know that America is a friend of each nation and every man, woman, and child who seeks a future of peace and dignity, and that we are ready to lead once more.
Recall that earlier generations faced down fascism and communism not just with missiles and tanks, but with sturdy alliances and enduring convictions. They understood that our power alone cannot protect us, nor does it entitle us to do as we please. Instead, they knew that our power grows through its prudent use; our security emanates from the justness of our cause, the force of our example, the tempering qualities of humility and restraint.
We are the keepers of this legacy. Guided by these principles once more, we can meet those new threats that demand even greater effort — even greater cooperation and understanding between nations. We will begin to responsibly leave Iraq to its people, and forge a hard-earned peace in Afghanistan. With old friends and former foes, we will work tirelessly to lessen the nuclear threat, and roll back the specter of a warming planet. We will not apologize for our way of life, nor will we waver in its defense, and for those who seek to advance their aims by inducing terror and slaughtering innocents, we say to you now that our spirit is stronger and cannot be broken; you cannot outlast us, and we will defeat you.
For we know that our patchwork heritage is a strength, not a weakness. We are a nation of Christians and Muslims, Jews and Hindus — and non-believers. We are shaped by every language and culture, drawn from every end of this Earth; and because we have tasted the bitter swill of civil war and segregation, and emerged from that dark chapter stronger and more united, we cannot help but believe that the old hatreds shall someday pass; that the lines of tribe shall soon dissolve; that as the world grows smaller, our common humanity shall reveal itself; and that America must play its role in ushering in a new era of peace.
To the Muslim world, we seek a new way forward, based on mutual interest and mutual respect. To those leaders around the globe who seek to sow conflict, or blame their society's ills on the West — know that your people will judge you on what you can build, not what you destroy. To those who cling to power through corruption and deceit and the silencing of dissent, know that you are on the wrong side of history; but that we will extend a hand if you are willing to unclench your fist.
To the people of poor nations, we pledge to work alongside you to make your farms flourish and let clean waters flow; to nourish starved bodies and feed hungry minds. And to those nations like ours that enjoy relative plenty, we say we can no longer afford indifference to the suffering outside our borders; nor can we consume the world's resources without regard to effect. For the world has changed, and we must change with it.
As we consider the road that unfolds before us, we remember with humble gratitude those brave Americans who, at this very hour, patrol far-off deserts and distant mountains. They have something to tell us, just as the fallen heroes who lie in Arlington whisper through the ages. We honor them not only because they are guardians of our liberty, but because they embody the spirit of service; a willingness to find meaning in something greater than themselves. And yet, at this moment — a moment that will define a generation — it is precisely this spirit that must inhabit us all.
For as much as government can do and must do, it is ultimately the faith and determination of the American people upon which this nation relies. It is the kindness to take in a stranger when the levees break, the selflessness of workers who would rather cut their hours than see a friend lose their job which sees us through our darkest hours. It is the firefighter's courage to storm a stairway filled with smoke, but also a parent's willingness to nurture a child, that finally decides our fate.
Our challenges may be new. The instruments with which we meet them may be new. But those values upon which our success depends — hard work and honesty, courage and fair play, tolerance and curiosity, loyalty and patriotism — these things are old. These things are true. They have been the quiet force of progress throughout our history. What is demanded then is a return to these truths. What is required of us now is a new era of responsibility — a recognition, on the part of every American, that we have duties to ourselves, our nation, and the world, duties that we do not grudgingly accept but rather seize gladly, firm in the knowledge that there is nothing so satisfying to the spirit, so defining of our character, than giving our all to a difficult task.
This is the price and the promise of citizenship.
This is the source of our confidence — the knowledge that God calls on us to shape an uncertain destiny.
This is the meaning of our liberty and our creed — why men and women and children of every race and every faith can join in celebration across this magnificent Mall, and why a man whose father less than sixty years ago might not have been served at a local restaurant can now stand before you to take a most sacred oath.
So let us mark this day with remembrance, of who we are and how far we have traveled. In the year of America's birth, in the coldest of months, a small band of patriots huddled by dying campfires on the shores of an icy river. The capital was abandoned. The enemy was advancing. The snow was stained with blood. At a moment when the outcome of our revolution was most in doubt, the father of our nation ordered these words be read to the people:
"Let it be told to the future world ... that in the depth of winter, when nothing but hope and virtue could survive...that the city and the country, alarmed at one common danger, came forth to meet (it)."
America, in the face of our common dangers, in this winter of our hardship, let us remember these timeless words. With hope and virtue, let us brave once more the icy currents, and endure what storms may come. Let it be said by our children's children that when we were tested we refused to let this journey end, that we did not turn back nor did we falter; and with eyes fixed on the horizon and God's grace upon us, we carried forth that great gift of freedom and delivered it safely to future generations.
Thank you. God bless you. And God bless the United States of Americ
Our Heros by Safa Joudah (The Gaza Diary)
Our Heros
by Safa Joudeh (See earlier entries)
The Israeli incursion in, and invasion of the Tal el Hawa neighborhood at the end of my street on Wednesday night and Thursday morning had many devastating consequences, especially given that it is the furthest Israeli incursion into the city so far. Many buildings in Tal el Hawa were raided, many buildings, including mine, were bombed, many civilians were killed, injured or arrested. Thousands of families were forced to flee. Phosphorus bombs rained down on the city and our eyes are still burning from the fumes. The UNRWA headquarters was bombed and the fire caused by the fuel kept burning till the next day.
It was these consequences that Alaa, Palestinian resistance fighters in his late 20’s, was trying to prevent. I will not mention which of the various resistance factions he is affiliated with because that is irrelevant. Alla and his fellow fighters were out in the battle front, facing Israeli aircrafts and tanks with their rudimental weaponry, their bodies and their faith 2 days before the invasion.
Alaa, his parents, his wife and 2 daughters live in my building compound. Alaa’s wife is pregnant with a baby boy. It was her husband’s wish that their unborn child and his young daughters would be given the opportunities he himself was deprived of growing up. He was a doting father and husband, and a favorite of all among the residents in the area. He was especially adored by Haja Na’oom, an old lady who lives alone on the fourth floor. Alaa would buy her groceries, fix anything that needed to be fixed in her apartment, and keep her company on a regular basis.
And so as the attack of the Israeli Occupying forces on Gaza began, Alaa said goodbye to his family and disappeared to join the lines of other fearless young men who had traded in their lives to defend us. In was understood that the risk was high, but that is by no means a deterrent for any of them. Do you understand why we value our resistance so much?
Alaa kept in touch with his family. Calling every night to make sure they were safe and to let them know he was still breathing. The girls stayed up to talk to “baba” (daddy), Alaa’s wife was heartbroken, and his parents were in a constant state of panic
It was a few nights ago that Alaa called his parents to let them know he was in Zatoun, the neighborhood right behind Tel el Hawa, and that witnessed the heaviest bombardment of all. Alla spoke to his mother, and she immediately knew that there was something different about his voice. It was weak, full of emotion…full of pain. Alaa finally told her.
He had been shot in the stomach. He was bleeding, hiding by a wall of some building. His friends had called the Red Cross, but many injured civilians had been waiting all day too, and yet Israel denied the Red Cross entry into Zatoun.
Alaa’s wife and parents stayed up all night, calling him, talking to him on his cell phone and the cell phones of his friends. As the son rose, Alaa’s voice got weaker and weaker. All of a sudden he stopped responding.
His wife shrieked, his parents frantically tried dialing again, and then they got a call from Alaa’s friend. Alaa had died, slowly, quietly and without complaint he had bled to death.
It wasn’t until 4 pm that the ambulance was able to retrieve Alaa’s body. We saw men carrying him up the stairs, as we stood watching at the door of our apartment. His face looked so peaceful, so picturesque, so beautiful. He had died a hero’s death, a martyr, and seeing his face you would understand that without even knowing the full story.
The funeral was held in the outside opening in front of my father’s clinic. The men had taken our permission to hold it there and we were honored.
Today, Alaa is buried, perhaps he’ll live on in our memories for a while, but time dims such memories. For his family, his life, his spirit, his smile, his touch will live on in their thoughts and hearts forever. For the rest of us, he and others have given us a gift, a sense of pride and loyalty, a sense of gratefulness and unbound ability of sacrifice, a sense of connection to each other that surpasses any physical memory no matter how deeply ingrained it is in our minds.
by Safa Joudeh (See earlier entries)
The Israeli incursion in, and invasion of the Tal el Hawa neighborhood at the end of my street on Wednesday night and Thursday morning had many devastating consequences, especially given that it is the furthest Israeli incursion into the city so far. Many buildings in Tal el Hawa were raided, many buildings, including mine, were bombed, many civilians were killed, injured or arrested. Thousands of families were forced to flee. Phosphorus bombs rained down on the city and our eyes are still burning from the fumes. The UNRWA headquarters was bombed and the fire caused by the fuel kept burning till the next day.
It was these consequences that Alaa, Palestinian resistance fighters in his late 20’s, was trying to prevent. I will not mention which of the various resistance factions he is affiliated with because that is irrelevant. Alla and his fellow fighters were out in the battle front, facing Israeli aircrafts and tanks with their rudimental weaponry, their bodies and their faith 2 days before the invasion.
Alaa, his parents, his wife and 2 daughters live in my building compound. Alaa’s wife is pregnant with a baby boy. It was her husband’s wish that their unborn child and his young daughters would be given the opportunities he himself was deprived of growing up. He was a doting father and husband, and a favorite of all among the residents in the area. He was especially adored by Haja Na’oom, an old lady who lives alone on the fourth floor. Alaa would buy her groceries, fix anything that needed to be fixed in her apartment, and keep her company on a regular basis.
And so as the attack of the Israeli Occupying forces on Gaza began, Alaa said goodbye to his family and disappeared to join the lines of other fearless young men who had traded in their lives to defend us. In was understood that the risk was high, but that is by no means a deterrent for any of them. Do you understand why we value our resistance so much?
Alaa kept in touch with his family. Calling every night to make sure they were safe and to let them know he was still breathing. The girls stayed up to talk to “baba” (daddy), Alaa’s wife was heartbroken, and his parents were in a constant state of panic
It was a few nights ago that Alaa called his parents to let them know he was in Zatoun, the neighborhood right behind Tel el Hawa, and that witnessed the heaviest bombardment of all. Alla spoke to his mother, and she immediately knew that there was something different about his voice. It was weak, full of emotion…full of pain. Alaa finally told her.
He had been shot in the stomach. He was bleeding, hiding by a wall of some building. His friends had called the Red Cross, but many injured civilians had been waiting all day too, and yet Israel denied the Red Cross entry into Zatoun.
Alaa’s wife and parents stayed up all night, calling him, talking to him on his cell phone and the cell phones of his friends. As the son rose, Alaa’s voice got weaker and weaker. All of a sudden he stopped responding.
His wife shrieked, his parents frantically tried dialing again, and then they got a call from Alaa’s friend. Alaa had died, slowly, quietly and without complaint he had bled to death.
It wasn’t until 4 pm that the ambulance was able to retrieve Alaa’s body. We saw men carrying him up the stairs, as we stood watching at the door of our apartment. His face looked so peaceful, so picturesque, so beautiful. He had died a hero’s death, a martyr, and seeing his face you would understand that without even knowing the full story.
The funeral was held in the outside opening in front of my father’s clinic. The men had taken our permission to hold it there and we were honored.
Today, Alaa is buried, perhaps he’ll live on in our memories for a while, but time dims such memories. For his family, his life, his spirit, his smile, his touch will live on in their thoughts and hearts forever. For the rest of us, he and others have given us a gift, a sense of pride and loyalty, a sense of gratefulness and unbound ability of sacrifice, a sense of connection to each other that surpasses any physical memory no matter how deeply ingrained it is in our minds.
Thursday, January 15, 2009
"The Gaza Diary"
I must thank a friend in Portland, Oregon for alerting me to this personal first-hand account of events in Gaza. The writings are of a young girl, Safa Joudeh who is presently living amidst the conflict with her family.
Posted: 11 Jan 2009 01:56 PM CST
La Repubblica in Italy has been publishing the diary entries of an extraordinary young girl from Gaza City under the heading of “The Gaza Diary”. It has rapidly become one of the most popular items in the national press. Here are three entries from Jan 3 (musicorig), Jan 8 (rain), Jan 11 (Jalal). This is how she was presented to me by someone at La Repubblica:
She writes in perfect English! She studied in New York, she is a candidate for a master in Public Policy at the Stony Brook University of New York. She returned to Gaza in 2007. Her father is a doctor, specializes in in-vitro fertilization! he keeps doing it even under these tough circumstances, because as she explained some women started the treatment a couple of days ago by taking very expensive medication, therefore they can not stop.
We communicate by phone, land line, her family has a generator, they must keep it to run the clinic, they turn it on for themselves one hour in the evening. That is when she sends her text. She speaks brilliant English with an American accent. You would never think she is anything else but American. Very nice family, including her brothers who sometimes come to answer the
phone.
I am adding you two more texts, one is a lengthier diary on “a day in the life of a family under the bombs” published Jan 6, the other on when their house was bombed, published Jan 10.
January 1 2009 (published Jan 3)
It’s interesting how, at the most terrifying and horrific of times, we still manage to make light of the events, and even enjoy a dark sense of humor that surprisingly comes out not inappropriate and even the more amusing given the constant state of tenseness and apprehension.
My 10 year old cousin was eating a sandwich, when my younger brother, 12, looked at him and, quoting a line from one of his favorite video games in his dead on imitation of the characters voice, while being extremely amused by the fear in the younger boys eyes, said “enjoy it, it could be your last!” I looked at him for a second and began laughing almost hysterically.
On another occasion, we looked around for my twelve year old and 14 year old brothers during an intense bout of air strikes and realized that they had snuck back to the living room, the room directly in front of the area being bombed, and were watching a sports channel. “But we had to see the scores” they retorted after being severely reproached”. They’re becoming desensitized, I thought, I went through this before while living in Ramallah in 2002. I laughed so hard, they had become totally oblivious!
I’ve had a lot of time to contemplate, the last few days, and looking at my siblings, I wonder how the rest of the world envisions the people who occupy the most despondent and unruly military zones in the world.
My younger brothers spend their free time out with their friends, or playing basketball and soccer at youth clubs. They are passionate about sports, play station, and music. They play the guitar and are exceptional students. My brother who’s in collage is obsessed with computers and gadgets, he’s an engineering student who comes up with the most ingenious projects for his classes. He listens to music and plays the guitar and prays regularly. He’s an honor student who has big goals and big dreams.
So please understand why I am infuriated when I see how we are portrayed on television. Hordes of bearded, teeth-gnashing, stone throwing blood thirsty savages in rags and tatters. And please don’t blame me for feeling utter rage against the state of Israel, that has been intentionally targeting the unwary, guiltless, promising children and youth of the Gaza Strip in its vicious attacks over the past 5 days. Already, between 40 and 50 children are dead while hundreds lie in the hospitals, seriously injured or disabled for life.
The people of Gaza have been suffering for decades under systematic and tyrannical oppression by Israel, the latest of its measures has been the siege and closures imposed on the strip that have completely devastated the livelihoods of Gaza residents and caused the economy to fall into an unprecedented and crippling depression. The people of Gaza have long been denied the means that have been afforded to the residents of countries with the same, possibly less, resources. And yet the amount of resourcefulness and zeal we demonstrate is a testimony to the potential of progress and advancement that lies within us.
To the rest of the world, Israel represents the democratic, civilized, patriotic, western, state whose representatives are well groomed, clad in smart suits and silk ties and talking all sorts of political correctness, stringed with terms such as self defense, civilian population, Palestinian terrorists and middle east peace.
And so after Israel launched its military offensive against Gaza 5 days ago, claiming that offensive was a retaliation against Hamas’ firing rockets into Israel following the cessation of the period of calm, to many, the Israeli attacks were justified. Never mind that Israel failed to at least ease the siege that has been slowly killing us over the past year (to be more precise over the last 3 years.) Never mind that Israel continued its incursions into the strip and its murder of innocent civilians throughout the truce. Never mind that compared to Isaeli gunships, war planes, tanks and other weaponry, Hamas rockets seem like toys. Never mind that our children are robbed of anything that resembles a normal life and future.
And yet we are continuously accused of being on equal terms with one of the strongest military forces in the world.
So while being cooped up in the house, watching local news stations when we have electricity, still in a state of disbelief, I wonder if the rest of the world would be so harsh in its judgments if they had the opportunity to understand. I wonder if people would as easily accept the unsubstantiated claims that the engineering faculty building of the Islamic university, which has been flattened during the attacks, was a workshop that produced qassams, if they had seen my brothers reaction. When he came back from a walk to the university building the next day, his face was white as a sheet and he had tears in his eyes. “Its all gone he said, even the project (electric car) we’ve been working on all semester.” We’d seen pictures, I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. Did he seriously have any hope that the car had survived.
A few hours ago, the home of one of Hamas’ senior leaders, Nizar Rayan, was struck by 4 missiles. Not only was the entire building flattened, killing all who were in it, but several other buildings surrounding it looked like they were about ready to collapse. It is said that there were over 19 deaths, most of them women and children, and scores of injuries. The entire street was littered with debris and rubble. We saw the images on tv, children being lifted from beneath the rubble, headless corpses loaded into plastic body bags, the whole works. We sent a taxi to pick up my aunt, whose home lies 100 meters away from the Rayan building, and had caved in due to the attack. She and her children arrived, shaken, but all in one piece.
Today the temporary halt of rocket fire coincided with the restoration of power to our home, at least for a few hours, at about 5pm. My brothers went to their rooms and played their videogames, I sat on the couch and read, and my sister went to take a nap. We tried to busy ourselves with regular daily activities in a situation that is anything but commonplace.
—-
Much rain and little hope (7 January 2009: 12th day of the attack)
[Israel began a ground invasion of the Gaza strip on 3 January, 2009, eight days after the first air strike on Dec. 27.]
We prayed for rain, and at last rain came tonight. A heavy, tumbling shower of clear refreshing beautiful rain.
We prayed for rain hoping that it would blind the visual capacity of Israeli warplanes and Israeli gunship for the night. We prayed for rain to combat the fires that have been rising from homes, due to the attacks. We prayed for rain to wash away the heavy layer of sooty residue from rocket fire and debris that coated our building and our balcony, and to clean away the ashes and dust that lay heavily on the street.
We also prayed for rain to cleanse our street of the sewage water that has started to seep from the drains near the pavement. For over a week now, waste pumps have stopped working in Gaza city because of the lack of electricity. If it hadn’t been for the cutting off of running water, our streets would be flooded with sewage water. As it is the sewage water is already beginning to rise. We don’t know whether we should close the windows to keep out the stench or open them so they don’t blow in, in case of an attack.
Israel announced a 3 hour ceasefire today, in order to allow trucks of aid to enter Gaza, loaded with food and medicine. Our joy at 3 hours of peace was unbound, and we quickly began to ready ourselves to go to stores to buy some necessary items and some not so necessary, such as chocolate and chips. The time allotted was from 1:00 pm till 3:00 pm.
Our hopes began to fall as we heard continuous artillery fire at about 10 minuets to 1, in the close by Zatoun area. They almost dissipated (our hopes) when I called a friend from that area and he told me that he had barely escaped the shelling.
We stayed put, but at about 2:00 pm we went into our rooms and changed back into our sweat suits and heavy sweaters. Within the first hour of the ceasefire, Israel had launched 8 attacks. 2 homes were destroyed, collapsing over the residents in Rafah. 3 more homes sustained heavy damages due to artillery fire. A warplane bombed a civilian car in Jabalia, in it was a man who was driving taking his 3 sons and one of his relatives to buy bread, in what they had supposed, was the safety of the ceasefire. The drivers name was Khaled Kahlout. The ages of his children were between 10 and 15. In Beitlahia, warplanes struck a residential area while shelling could be heard in the distance.
Today is the 12th day of the attack and the only change we have witnessed throughout this period is the steady rise in the intensity and ferocity of the attacks. Israel is solely targeting residential buildings, houses, civilian cars and farming fields, and on a much wider scale.
We spent the rest of the day trying to get over the disappointment and wondering at the state we have been reduced to. To become overjoyed at the opportunity of walking in the street and shopping for necessities, and to lose faith to the extent that makes you feel your not worthy of even that, is a sad, sad thing indeed.
—-
Jalal
We all sat in my brothers room this morning listening to Jalal recount his story. He is one of my brother’s close friends and colleague in the engineering faculty. For the past week my brother had lost touch with Jalal, who’s home lies in the most dangerous neighborhood in Gaza city, al Zaytoun. This neighborhood has been closed off by the Israeli military with earthen barriers, even ambulances aren’t allowed in, while houses are being demolished over the residents’ heads. Tens, if not over a hundred people have already died there, and that’s why my brother was so worried about Jalal, being unable to reach him by phone.
Jalal called my brother yesterday evening to tell him he was ok, and came over to see us this morning. Let me tell you a little about this incredible young man.
Jalal comes from an extremely poor family, who’s situation was aggravated after his father lost his job due to the Israeli siege imposed on Gaza 19 months ago. Jalal is a very distinguished student, one of the top in the entire university, and professors marvel at his intellect, manners and perseverance. He walks an hour and a half a day to the university, and walks back home because he can’t afford public transportation. Unlike his fellow students, he can’t afford new cloths or even shoes, and wears old sandals in the middle of the cold winter. Yet he manages to continually get high grades and would have been able to finish his 5 year degree in 4 years, if he could afford to pay for the extra credit hours each semester His small scholarship and what money he can muster up already leaves him short of part of the tuition.
Therefore, when Jalal told us his story, it broke my heart to see such horrendous circumstances inflicted on such an undeserving and already afflicted person.
Jalal, his brother, 4 sisters and mother had spent the last 4 days in a UNRWA school, that has been turned into shelters for Gazans who were forced to flee their home (15000 people) and where 48 people have already died due to attacks on these schools. The second day of the Israeli ground invasion a family was massacred in their home (the samouni family) only meters away from Jalals parent’s house. 30 people died that day. The next day Israel began to bomb the area with the internationally banned cluster bombes, large bombs that explode into smaller bombs once they hit the ground, “balls of fire” as Jalal called them, As the bombs fell the area was under heavy shelling that penetrated the asbestos roof of their home, they had to sleep in the kitchen, the only room with a concrete roof.
The ground attacks began on Sunday. The next morning as Israeli warplanes were striking with their cluster bombs, a “ball of fire” came in through the open back yard door and rolled past his sister. Another set their barn on fire.
The family left their home on Monday. Jalal’s father stayed behind fearing that if no one was there the house may be taken over by the military. He’d rather die there than allow the invaders to enter.
Jalal proceeded to give us a description of the school. “We are staying in a classroom, 4 families in each class, that’s between 30 - 40 people. We can’t sleep from the cold, and we all sit around a small radio, listening to the reporter, hoping that tomorrow we might be able to go home. We know we won’t but we have to hope. My mother goes to our house every day, walking through the shelling, risking her life, to check on my father and make sure he has enough food, we don’t receive regular meals, the first couple of days we went 45 hours without food.”
“What happened to the animals?” my younger brother asked.
Assuming a news reporter voice Jalal replied, “well the animal casualties are as follows: 2 donkeys were set on fire when the barn went up in flames, we managed to extinguish the burning donkeys and they are alive, but seriously burned. Another donkey was coughing up blood, the location of the injury is yet unknown, a camel was shelled and unfortunately died, another camel lost its leg in one of the attacks.”
It’s all true, Jalal sighed as we all stared dumbfound, thinking for a moment that this performance was meant to make us laugh.
—-
A calm day (Published Jan 6)
I woke up to the smell of freshly baked bread, at around noon today. I stay up most of the night and catch a few hours sleep after the sun rises.
The house was freezing cold, as it has been for the past few weeks. I put on a number of heavy sweaters and a robe and wrapped a scarf around my neck, readying myself for yet another day if incessant drones and constant nearby explosions.
My mother has taken to making homemade bread the last ten days. Thanks her careful management of the small amount of cooking gas we have, and to her idea of buying a gas oven in anticipation of an Israeli invasion only days before the attacks began, she is able to bake occasionally. Furthermore, we had found a store with its doors partially open in our area a couple of days ago and were able to stock up on flour.
Having lunched with my younger siblings and my parents on bread, cheese, eggs and some leftover pasta, we all went out onto the balcony, and what a beautiful sunny day it was! The iciness had dissipated somewhat with the early day sun, the few trees outside were green and luminous and birds were singing!
We all stood for about half an hour, looking out through the metal railings like caged birds. We could hear an occasional explosion in the distance but that did not deter us from standing there breathing in the fresh air we so longed for.
It was time for the daily chores. My 3 brothers took 3 containers downstairs, where the residents of the 14 floor building we live in crowded around a small tap that had running water. Luckily we are on the second floor, most of the others had the task of walking up and down the stairs. All of our area has been without water for about a week. When they got back me and my sister poured some of the water into pails in the bathrooms and in the kitchen, and tried to tidy up the house as much as we could.
My father, a physician who’s medical center is located on the ground floor of our building, went down to see a few cases. During this time his patients try to keep in touch with him via phone only, but some emergency manage to make it to his clinic.
The first few days of the attack we were all glued to the radio, but for the past few days, being confined to our home, we have begun to become restless and agitated. I have started to read again, and write using a paper and a pen instead of my laptop. My brothers are spending time with the neighbors kids inside our building and my sisters try to keep the phone occupied for as long as possible (very inconvenient) . We have also began to spend a lot of time together, and value each other as people, friends and companions instead of just family.
Later that evening we all gathered around are television, after turning on the power generator, which we do for only an hour a day, due to the extreme shortage of fuel. Today was different however. There was non of the usual excitement, the rushing to charge cell phones and check emails, the flipping between TV channels… The atmosphere in our home, which had come close to being gay earlier in the day, was somewhat downcast and gloomy. We all understood what the other felt, we had lead the exact same life for the past 11 days, we had grown into the exact same state of mind, and we were experiencing the exact same emotions. Instinctively, and by the collective mentality of a people living under tyranny, not to mention the feelings communicated by family and friends, and the surprisingly similar courses of speech and action we knew that the state we were in was reflective of every single household in the entire strip at the moment.
It was a state of unease, a state of nervousness, disquiet, dissatisfaction and need to experience life again. It was a state that made you feel lost in limbo and wandering if the real world ever existed. It was a state of wanting to be anywhere but here, wishing that the clock would turn back and things were as they had once been before. It was a state of missing your school, your friend who you will never see again, your office that had been destroyed and the corner store that has been turned into a pile of rubble.
My mother looked at us all and, in a soothing and understanding voice said “its ok, at least we have our home, at least we’re together, at least we’re safe”.
“But what does that mean if you’re entire life has been taken away from you” asked my 13 year old brother.
At that moment a news report was telling the story of the the Samouni family in Alzaytoon area of Gaza city. 60 people living in one large building Several families, brothers, their cousins their children and their nephews and nieces, their elderly parents. 60 people. Israeli tanks entered Alzaytoon last night and called on the family to stay within the building through microphones after posting a tank outside their front door. 60 people in the house. Israel proceeded to bomb the house, striking it through artillery fire. At least half of the 60 people died, the rest were seriously injured One young man who had survived was sobbing hysterically as he lay in the hospital bed and the camera rolled.
I looked at my younger brother, I admit I was a little hard on the young boy but I couldn’t help saying somewhat distastefully, “that’s what it means”
That morning our relatives had left in order to clean out the rubble from their home and try to make it as inhabitable as possible. We worried for them, but the activity on the street told us people were ready to resume their lives, at least partially, despite the ongoing offensive against the city and its people.
—-
A taste of destruction. (Published Jan 10)
Today we came close to experiencing the destruction and disposition experienced by 15 000 Palestinians in the past 13 days. As we sat down to a dinner made from scratch we heard a loud explosion that seemed to come from right above of our heads. We sprang up and didn’t know what to do. Should we go outside? If the building was being targeted that would be dangerous. In a matter of seconds tempers had flared and we proceeded to argue over the next course of action. Our argument was cut short by a banging on the door and shouts coming from outside “The building has been hit!! Evacuate the building”.
It took us a few seconds to gather ourselves, and we immediately sprang to action, gathering small bags containing our official documents, pulling on jackets and shoes, grabbing cell phones and rushing to the door. We made our way downstairs along with the residents of our 14 floor building and ran across the street, gathering in front of the gate to the UNRWA headquarters.
Everywhere you looked people hung on to each other, young children stared open eyed and infants wrapped in blankets began to wail. A fight arose between two men from the building and an UNRWA guard. The guard refused peoples request to open the gate and allow them to take cover inside. “If anything happens our children’s blood will be on your hands” screamed the impassioned father. “Go to the UNRWA shelters”, the guard screamed back, there’s one 10 minutes away. 48 people have already been killed in these shelters and we all new that.
We found out what happened as an ambulance pulled up to the curb. “It was just a small rocket” someone said. “There was just one injury, a small boy on the 12th floor, a block from the wall fell on his back, the rocket came through the window. Small rocket, everyone can go back to their apartments”.
Were we supposed to be relieved?? Because we weren’t. I prayed for the boy as we made our way down the street, each 2 at a distance from the next. We have learned from walking in a group is dangerous, we walked about 300 meters and decided to head back. Where were we going to go?
Reaching the entrance of the building we saw that some people were walking away with bags, perhaps going to shelters or relatives homes. Other’s were angry and vowed never to leave their homes, or smiled and made light of the situation. A few were afraid that this “small rocket” meant that a larger one was coming.
There was much debate among my family. My mother wanted to take my siblings to a friends basement apartment, my brothers and father, always the biggest jokers, said that since we were on the first floor, if something happened, we would just jump out the windows and make a run for it.We walked into the building together and decided to go to our home. Before going in I took a look at the night sky. The stars were beautiful....I counted five Israeli warplanes in the sky.
Gaza Diary 2
Posted: 13 Jan 2009 05:48 PM CST
Safa Joudeh is the girl behind the Gaza Diary. She has a Facebook page and this is her latest diary entry:
Last night the intense bombardment of nearby areas caused one of our windows to Break. Usually the windows are left open day and night despite the bitter cold for fear of them blowing in from a nearby explosion. But last night, the young children staying in the house were sick and we decided to close some of the windows to stop the air draft. We were glad that the window only cracked and wasn’t shattered, or it could have harmed the little 2 year old boy sleeping on the bed beneath it.
The heavy bombardment came as Israeli tanks pushed farther into Gaza. They’re not very far off now, only about a five minute drive away. We’re afraid, because the Israel military has been warning that it will implement phase 3 of the assault: a full scale invasion that entails bringing their tanks into the streets of Gaza, backed of course, by the Israeli Air force: destruction at a point blank range. In such an event, the over 900 people already dead will constitute only a portion of the civilian losses, and the already disfigured streets of our city will be turned to dust.
Furthermore, Israel has employed some unnerving and terror-spreading tactics in the Gaza Strip that have caused Gazans to break down with helplessness.
The IDF have infiltrated the air waves of local radio stations and TV channels. As we watch the news all of a sudden the screen goes black and an IDF message appears: “You will witness the unleashing of our wrath!!’. We turn off the TV and turn to the radio, moments later the broadcasting is interrupted and a harsh voice comes through the speakers: “Leave your area and gather in the center of your town! We are warning you for your own safety! This is the IDF”
Where are people supposed to go? Those in the center of the city such as my family are already being bombarded, and each home is already accommodating at least 1 or 2 families that have fled their areas. UNRWA shelters are already full and the streets aren’t safe. So we are people are being forewarned when in reality, they have no option but to stay put. Many people feel that it would be more merciful not to be warned of the imminent deaths.
In other areas, Israel is throwing thousands of flyers from planes in the residential areas, threatening that more attack methods will be practiced against the population, and asking the residents to come forth with information about Hamas fighters, information which, obviously, civilians don’t have.
In my home we are taking in as many of our relatives, who live in more dangerous areas, as we can. At mealtime, several people gather in a couple of circles at 2 tables to eat, as others wait their turn. We eat in 3 shifts. When its time to sleep, some people sleep on couches, others in chairs and others on blankets on the floor.
During the last 16 days, along with the entire people of Gaza we have learned how to live with the most minimal aspect of comfort, and have experienced the hardships of an impoverished life to their fullest. When the power lines were fixed 2 days ago, electricity and running water were restored to our homes for 6 hours a day. The moment the power came on in our neighborhood, you could hear the cry’s of happiness and celebration coming from every apartment and house within hearing, despite the ongoing bombardment.
Posted: 11 Jan 2009 01:56 PM CST
La Repubblica in Italy has been publishing the diary entries of an extraordinary young girl from Gaza City under the heading of “The Gaza Diary”. It has rapidly become one of the most popular items in the national press. Here are three entries from Jan 3 (musicorig), Jan 8 (rain), Jan 11 (Jalal). This is how she was presented to me by someone at La Repubblica:
She writes in perfect English! She studied in New York, she is a candidate for a master in Public Policy at the Stony Brook University of New York. She returned to Gaza in 2007. Her father is a doctor, specializes in in-vitro fertilization! he keeps doing it even under these tough circumstances, because as she explained some women started the treatment a couple of days ago by taking very expensive medication, therefore they can not stop.
We communicate by phone, land line, her family has a generator, they must keep it to run the clinic, they turn it on for themselves one hour in the evening. That is when she sends her text. She speaks brilliant English with an American accent. You would never think she is anything else but American. Very nice family, including her brothers who sometimes come to answer the
phone.
I am adding you two more texts, one is a lengthier diary on “a day in the life of a family under the bombs” published Jan 6, the other on when their house was bombed, published Jan 10.
January 1 2009 (published Jan 3)
It’s interesting how, at the most terrifying and horrific of times, we still manage to make light of the events, and even enjoy a dark sense of humor that surprisingly comes out not inappropriate and even the more amusing given the constant state of tenseness and apprehension.
My 10 year old cousin was eating a sandwich, when my younger brother, 12, looked at him and, quoting a line from one of his favorite video games in his dead on imitation of the characters voice, while being extremely amused by the fear in the younger boys eyes, said “enjoy it, it could be your last!” I looked at him for a second and began laughing almost hysterically.
On another occasion, we looked around for my twelve year old and 14 year old brothers during an intense bout of air strikes and realized that they had snuck back to the living room, the room directly in front of the area being bombed, and were watching a sports channel. “But we had to see the scores” they retorted after being severely reproached”. They’re becoming desensitized, I thought, I went through this before while living in Ramallah in 2002. I laughed so hard, they had become totally oblivious!
I’ve had a lot of time to contemplate, the last few days, and looking at my siblings, I wonder how the rest of the world envisions the people who occupy the most despondent and unruly military zones in the world.
My younger brothers spend their free time out with their friends, or playing basketball and soccer at youth clubs. They are passionate about sports, play station, and music. They play the guitar and are exceptional students. My brother who’s in collage is obsessed with computers and gadgets, he’s an engineering student who comes up with the most ingenious projects for his classes. He listens to music and plays the guitar and prays regularly. He’s an honor student who has big goals and big dreams.
So please understand why I am infuriated when I see how we are portrayed on television. Hordes of bearded, teeth-gnashing, stone throwing blood thirsty savages in rags and tatters. And please don’t blame me for feeling utter rage against the state of Israel, that has been intentionally targeting the unwary, guiltless, promising children and youth of the Gaza Strip in its vicious attacks over the past 5 days. Already, between 40 and 50 children are dead while hundreds lie in the hospitals, seriously injured or disabled for life.
The people of Gaza have been suffering for decades under systematic and tyrannical oppression by Israel, the latest of its measures has been the siege and closures imposed on the strip that have completely devastated the livelihoods of Gaza residents and caused the economy to fall into an unprecedented and crippling depression. The people of Gaza have long been denied the means that have been afforded to the residents of countries with the same, possibly less, resources. And yet the amount of resourcefulness and zeal we demonstrate is a testimony to the potential of progress and advancement that lies within us.
To the rest of the world, Israel represents the democratic, civilized, patriotic, western, state whose representatives are well groomed, clad in smart suits and silk ties and talking all sorts of political correctness, stringed with terms such as self defense, civilian population, Palestinian terrorists and middle east peace.
And so after Israel launched its military offensive against Gaza 5 days ago, claiming that offensive was a retaliation against Hamas’ firing rockets into Israel following the cessation of the period of calm, to many, the Israeli attacks were justified. Never mind that Israel failed to at least ease the siege that has been slowly killing us over the past year (to be more precise over the last 3 years.) Never mind that Israel continued its incursions into the strip and its murder of innocent civilians throughout the truce. Never mind that compared to Isaeli gunships, war planes, tanks and other weaponry, Hamas rockets seem like toys. Never mind that our children are robbed of anything that resembles a normal life and future.
And yet we are continuously accused of being on equal terms with one of the strongest military forces in the world.
So while being cooped up in the house, watching local news stations when we have electricity, still in a state of disbelief, I wonder if the rest of the world would be so harsh in its judgments if they had the opportunity to understand. I wonder if people would as easily accept the unsubstantiated claims that the engineering faculty building of the Islamic university, which has been flattened during the attacks, was a workshop that produced qassams, if they had seen my brothers reaction. When he came back from a walk to the university building the next day, his face was white as a sheet and he had tears in his eyes. “Its all gone he said, even the project (electric car) we’ve been working on all semester.” We’d seen pictures, I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. Did he seriously have any hope that the car had survived.
A few hours ago, the home of one of Hamas’ senior leaders, Nizar Rayan, was struck by 4 missiles. Not only was the entire building flattened, killing all who were in it, but several other buildings surrounding it looked like they were about ready to collapse. It is said that there were over 19 deaths, most of them women and children, and scores of injuries. The entire street was littered with debris and rubble. We saw the images on tv, children being lifted from beneath the rubble, headless corpses loaded into plastic body bags, the whole works. We sent a taxi to pick up my aunt, whose home lies 100 meters away from the Rayan building, and had caved in due to the attack. She and her children arrived, shaken, but all in one piece.
Today the temporary halt of rocket fire coincided with the restoration of power to our home, at least for a few hours, at about 5pm. My brothers went to their rooms and played their videogames, I sat on the couch and read, and my sister went to take a nap. We tried to busy ourselves with regular daily activities in a situation that is anything but commonplace.
—-
Much rain and little hope (7 January 2009: 12th day of the attack)
[Israel began a ground invasion of the Gaza strip on 3 January, 2009, eight days after the first air strike on Dec. 27.]
We prayed for rain, and at last rain came tonight. A heavy, tumbling shower of clear refreshing beautiful rain.
We prayed for rain hoping that it would blind the visual capacity of Israeli warplanes and Israeli gunship for the night. We prayed for rain to combat the fires that have been rising from homes, due to the attacks. We prayed for rain to wash away the heavy layer of sooty residue from rocket fire and debris that coated our building and our balcony, and to clean away the ashes and dust that lay heavily on the street.
We also prayed for rain to cleanse our street of the sewage water that has started to seep from the drains near the pavement. For over a week now, waste pumps have stopped working in Gaza city because of the lack of electricity. If it hadn’t been for the cutting off of running water, our streets would be flooded with sewage water. As it is the sewage water is already beginning to rise. We don’t know whether we should close the windows to keep out the stench or open them so they don’t blow in, in case of an attack.
Israel announced a 3 hour ceasefire today, in order to allow trucks of aid to enter Gaza, loaded with food and medicine. Our joy at 3 hours of peace was unbound, and we quickly began to ready ourselves to go to stores to buy some necessary items and some not so necessary, such as chocolate and chips. The time allotted was from 1:00 pm till 3:00 pm.
Our hopes began to fall as we heard continuous artillery fire at about 10 minuets to 1, in the close by Zatoun area. They almost dissipated (our hopes) when I called a friend from that area and he told me that he had barely escaped the shelling.
We stayed put, but at about 2:00 pm we went into our rooms and changed back into our sweat suits and heavy sweaters. Within the first hour of the ceasefire, Israel had launched 8 attacks. 2 homes were destroyed, collapsing over the residents in Rafah. 3 more homes sustained heavy damages due to artillery fire. A warplane bombed a civilian car in Jabalia, in it was a man who was driving taking his 3 sons and one of his relatives to buy bread, in what they had supposed, was the safety of the ceasefire. The drivers name was Khaled Kahlout. The ages of his children were between 10 and 15. In Beitlahia, warplanes struck a residential area while shelling could be heard in the distance.
Today is the 12th day of the attack and the only change we have witnessed throughout this period is the steady rise in the intensity and ferocity of the attacks. Israel is solely targeting residential buildings, houses, civilian cars and farming fields, and on a much wider scale.
We spent the rest of the day trying to get over the disappointment and wondering at the state we have been reduced to. To become overjoyed at the opportunity of walking in the street and shopping for necessities, and to lose faith to the extent that makes you feel your not worthy of even that, is a sad, sad thing indeed.
—-
Jalal
We all sat in my brothers room this morning listening to Jalal recount his story. He is one of my brother’s close friends and colleague in the engineering faculty. For the past week my brother had lost touch with Jalal, who’s home lies in the most dangerous neighborhood in Gaza city, al Zaytoun. This neighborhood has been closed off by the Israeli military with earthen barriers, even ambulances aren’t allowed in, while houses are being demolished over the residents’ heads. Tens, if not over a hundred people have already died there, and that’s why my brother was so worried about Jalal, being unable to reach him by phone.
Jalal called my brother yesterday evening to tell him he was ok, and came over to see us this morning. Let me tell you a little about this incredible young man.
Jalal comes from an extremely poor family, who’s situation was aggravated after his father lost his job due to the Israeli siege imposed on Gaza 19 months ago. Jalal is a very distinguished student, one of the top in the entire university, and professors marvel at his intellect, manners and perseverance. He walks an hour and a half a day to the university, and walks back home because he can’t afford public transportation. Unlike his fellow students, he can’t afford new cloths or even shoes, and wears old sandals in the middle of the cold winter. Yet he manages to continually get high grades and would have been able to finish his 5 year degree in 4 years, if he could afford to pay for the extra credit hours each semester His small scholarship and what money he can muster up already leaves him short of part of the tuition.
Therefore, when Jalal told us his story, it broke my heart to see such horrendous circumstances inflicted on such an undeserving and already afflicted person.
Jalal, his brother, 4 sisters and mother had spent the last 4 days in a UNRWA school, that has been turned into shelters for Gazans who were forced to flee their home (15000 people) and where 48 people have already died due to attacks on these schools. The second day of the Israeli ground invasion a family was massacred in their home (the samouni family) only meters away from Jalals parent’s house. 30 people died that day. The next day Israel began to bomb the area with the internationally banned cluster bombes, large bombs that explode into smaller bombs once they hit the ground, “balls of fire” as Jalal called them, As the bombs fell the area was under heavy shelling that penetrated the asbestos roof of their home, they had to sleep in the kitchen, the only room with a concrete roof.
The ground attacks began on Sunday. The next morning as Israeli warplanes were striking with their cluster bombs, a “ball of fire” came in through the open back yard door and rolled past his sister. Another set their barn on fire.
The family left their home on Monday. Jalal’s father stayed behind fearing that if no one was there the house may be taken over by the military. He’d rather die there than allow the invaders to enter.
Jalal proceeded to give us a description of the school. “We are staying in a classroom, 4 families in each class, that’s between 30 - 40 people. We can’t sleep from the cold, and we all sit around a small radio, listening to the reporter, hoping that tomorrow we might be able to go home. We know we won’t but we have to hope. My mother goes to our house every day, walking through the shelling, risking her life, to check on my father and make sure he has enough food, we don’t receive regular meals, the first couple of days we went 45 hours without food.”
“What happened to the animals?” my younger brother asked.
Assuming a news reporter voice Jalal replied, “well the animal casualties are as follows: 2 donkeys were set on fire when the barn went up in flames, we managed to extinguish the burning donkeys and they are alive, but seriously burned. Another donkey was coughing up blood, the location of the injury is yet unknown, a camel was shelled and unfortunately died, another camel lost its leg in one of the attacks.”
It’s all true, Jalal sighed as we all stared dumbfound, thinking for a moment that this performance was meant to make us laugh.
—-
A calm day (Published Jan 6)
I woke up to the smell of freshly baked bread, at around noon today. I stay up most of the night and catch a few hours sleep after the sun rises.
The house was freezing cold, as it has been for the past few weeks. I put on a number of heavy sweaters and a robe and wrapped a scarf around my neck, readying myself for yet another day if incessant drones and constant nearby explosions.
My mother has taken to making homemade bread the last ten days. Thanks her careful management of the small amount of cooking gas we have, and to her idea of buying a gas oven in anticipation of an Israeli invasion only days before the attacks began, she is able to bake occasionally. Furthermore, we had found a store with its doors partially open in our area a couple of days ago and were able to stock up on flour.
Having lunched with my younger siblings and my parents on bread, cheese, eggs and some leftover pasta, we all went out onto the balcony, and what a beautiful sunny day it was! The iciness had dissipated somewhat with the early day sun, the few trees outside were green and luminous and birds were singing!
We all stood for about half an hour, looking out through the metal railings like caged birds. We could hear an occasional explosion in the distance but that did not deter us from standing there breathing in the fresh air we so longed for.
It was time for the daily chores. My 3 brothers took 3 containers downstairs, where the residents of the 14 floor building we live in crowded around a small tap that had running water. Luckily we are on the second floor, most of the others had the task of walking up and down the stairs. All of our area has been without water for about a week. When they got back me and my sister poured some of the water into pails in the bathrooms and in the kitchen, and tried to tidy up the house as much as we could.
My father, a physician who’s medical center is located on the ground floor of our building, went down to see a few cases. During this time his patients try to keep in touch with him via phone only, but some emergency manage to make it to his clinic.
The first few days of the attack we were all glued to the radio, but for the past few days, being confined to our home, we have begun to become restless and agitated. I have started to read again, and write using a paper and a pen instead of my laptop. My brothers are spending time with the neighbors kids inside our building and my sisters try to keep the phone occupied for as long as possible (very inconvenient) . We have also began to spend a lot of time together, and value each other as people, friends and companions instead of just family.
Later that evening we all gathered around are television, after turning on the power generator, which we do for only an hour a day, due to the extreme shortage of fuel. Today was different however. There was non of the usual excitement, the rushing to charge cell phones and check emails, the flipping between TV channels… The atmosphere in our home, which had come close to being gay earlier in the day, was somewhat downcast and gloomy. We all understood what the other felt, we had lead the exact same life for the past 11 days, we had grown into the exact same state of mind, and we were experiencing the exact same emotions. Instinctively, and by the collective mentality of a people living under tyranny, not to mention the feelings communicated by family and friends, and the surprisingly similar courses of speech and action we knew that the state we were in was reflective of every single household in the entire strip at the moment.
It was a state of unease, a state of nervousness, disquiet, dissatisfaction and need to experience life again. It was a state that made you feel lost in limbo and wandering if the real world ever existed. It was a state of wanting to be anywhere but here, wishing that the clock would turn back and things were as they had once been before. It was a state of missing your school, your friend who you will never see again, your office that had been destroyed and the corner store that has been turned into a pile of rubble.
My mother looked at us all and, in a soothing and understanding voice said “its ok, at least we have our home, at least we’re together, at least we’re safe”.
“But what does that mean if you’re entire life has been taken away from you” asked my 13 year old brother.
At that moment a news report was telling the story of the the Samouni family in Alzaytoon area of Gaza city. 60 people living in one large building Several families, brothers, their cousins their children and their nephews and nieces, their elderly parents. 60 people. Israeli tanks entered Alzaytoon last night and called on the family to stay within the building through microphones after posting a tank outside their front door. 60 people in the house. Israel proceeded to bomb the house, striking it through artillery fire. At least half of the 60 people died, the rest were seriously injured One young man who had survived was sobbing hysterically as he lay in the hospital bed and the camera rolled.
I looked at my younger brother, I admit I was a little hard on the young boy but I couldn’t help saying somewhat distastefully, “that’s what it means”
That morning our relatives had left in order to clean out the rubble from their home and try to make it as inhabitable as possible. We worried for them, but the activity on the street told us people were ready to resume their lives, at least partially, despite the ongoing offensive against the city and its people.
—-
A taste of destruction. (Published Jan 10)
Today we came close to experiencing the destruction and disposition experienced by 15 000 Palestinians in the past 13 days. As we sat down to a dinner made from scratch we heard a loud explosion that seemed to come from right above of our heads. We sprang up and didn’t know what to do. Should we go outside? If the building was being targeted that would be dangerous. In a matter of seconds tempers had flared and we proceeded to argue over the next course of action. Our argument was cut short by a banging on the door and shouts coming from outside “The building has been hit!! Evacuate the building”.
It took us a few seconds to gather ourselves, and we immediately sprang to action, gathering small bags containing our official documents, pulling on jackets and shoes, grabbing cell phones and rushing to the door. We made our way downstairs along with the residents of our 14 floor building and ran across the street, gathering in front of the gate to the UNRWA headquarters.
Everywhere you looked people hung on to each other, young children stared open eyed and infants wrapped in blankets began to wail. A fight arose between two men from the building and an UNRWA guard. The guard refused peoples request to open the gate and allow them to take cover inside. “If anything happens our children’s blood will be on your hands” screamed the impassioned father. “Go to the UNRWA shelters”, the guard screamed back, there’s one 10 minutes away. 48 people have already been killed in these shelters and we all new that.
We found out what happened as an ambulance pulled up to the curb. “It was just a small rocket” someone said. “There was just one injury, a small boy on the 12th floor, a block from the wall fell on his back, the rocket came through the window. Small rocket, everyone can go back to their apartments”.
Were we supposed to be relieved?? Because we weren’t. I prayed for the boy as we made our way down the street, each 2 at a distance from the next. We have learned from walking in a group is dangerous, we walked about 300 meters and decided to head back. Where were we going to go?
Reaching the entrance of the building we saw that some people were walking away with bags, perhaps going to shelters or relatives homes. Other’s were angry and vowed never to leave their homes, or smiled and made light of the situation. A few were afraid that this “small rocket” meant that a larger one was coming.
There was much debate among my family. My mother wanted to take my siblings to a friends basement apartment, my brothers and father, always the biggest jokers, said that since we were on the first floor, if something happened, we would just jump out the windows and make a run for it.We walked into the building together and decided to go to our home. Before going in I took a look at the night sky. The stars were beautiful....I counted five Israeli warplanes in the sky.
Gaza Diary 2
Posted: 13 Jan 2009 05:48 PM CST
Safa Joudeh is the girl behind the Gaza Diary. She has a Facebook page and this is her latest diary entry:
Last night the intense bombardment of nearby areas caused one of our windows to Break. Usually the windows are left open day and night despite the bitter cold for fear of them blowing in from a nearby explosion. But last night, the young children staying in the house were sick and we decided to close some of the windows to stop the air draft. We were glad that the window only cracked and wasn’t shattered, or it could have harmed the little 2 year old boy sleeping on the bed beneath it.
The heavy bombardment came as Israeli tanks pushed farther into Gaza. They’re not very far off now, only about a five minute drive away. We’re afraid, because the Israel military has been warning that it will implement phase 3 of the assault: a full scale invasion that entails bringing their tanks into the streets of Gaza, backed of course, by the Israeli Air force: destruction at a point blank range. In such an event, the over 900 people already dead will constitute only a portion of the civilian losses, and the already disfigured streets of our city will be turned to dust.
Furthermore, Israel has employed some unnerving and terror-spreading tactics in the Gaza Strip that have caused Gazans to break down with helplessness.
The IDF have infiltrated the air waves of local radio stations and TV channels. As we watch the news all of a sudden the screen goes black and an IDF message appears: “You will witness the unleashing of our wrath!!’. We turn off the TV and turn to the radio, moments later the broadcasting is interrupted and a harsh voice comes through the speakers: “Leave your area and gather in the center of your town! We are warning you for your own safety! This is the IDF”
Where are people supposed to go? Those in the center of the city such as my family are already being bombarded, and each home is already accommodating at least 1 or 2 families that have fled their areas. UNRWA shelters are already full and the streets aren’t safe. So we are people are being forewarned when in reality, they have no option but to stay put. Many people feel that it would be more merciful not to be warned of the imminent deaths.
In other areas, Israel is throwing thousands of flyers from planes in the residential areas, threatening that more attack methods will be practiced against the population, and asking the residents to come forth with information about Hamas fighters, information which, obviously, civilians don’t have.
In my home we are taking in as many of our relatives, who live in more dangerous areas, as we can. At mealtime, several people gather in a couple of circles at 2 tables to eat, as others wait their turn. We eat in 3 shifts. When its time to sleep, some people sleep on couches, others in chairs and others on blankets on the floor.
During the last 16 days, along with the entire people of Gaza we have learned how to live with the most minimal aspect of comfort, and have experienced the hardships of an impoverished life to their fullest. When the power lines were fixed 2 days ago, electricity and running water were restored to our homes for 6 hours a day. The moment the power came on in our neighborhood, you could hear the cry’s of happiness and celebration coming from every apartment and house within hearing, despite the ongoing bombardment.
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