The Day They Tried To Kill Me Cowardly In The Paris Subway

Like a dog without a bone and an actor out on loan: there's a killer on the road. Today I decided my blog will still be about music insights but it will be based strictly on nonfiction and great imagery.

As a result, all previous posts are archived waiting to be rewritten while I start the 3rd year of that blog with a sense of urgency (from a money point of view).

There's a revolution going on in Lebanon because we're tired of making the same old mistakes. For example, why give the best years of your life for a job that will replace you in a week if something happens to you?

Anyway, let's talk about the day they tried to kill me in the Paris subway. You know who I'm talking about: security dogs and failed artists.

Couldn't Close My Eyes But Was Context Critical?

The stage is set and I'm going to pay the price. Darkness fell on the city and everybody was shining bright. Even the strange face with a scar who wanted to kill me. But there's one more thing.

There was a Sikh Indian in the subway: he was a giant and I thought he was there to protect me. But one thing is strange though: he never talked to me at all. So now I wonder if he wasn't here to also get rid of me.

Someday, after a while, you're not sorry but dizzy. It seems pattern recognition is what humans do best and I wonder why people didn't wear special shirts to identify the teams that were battling.

I get it, it's the banking industry and that kind of sport isn't tolerated by the majority. One shouldn't play with our economies. Darkness fell on the city and now I wonder if drawing a heart in Paris like Gustavo Kuerten at Roland Garros was a good idea.

Can't Stand Losing Myself Because I'm Big Brother.

I was born into a family of two with a big sister. But my father has 3 sisters and I'm lucky enough to have 8 cousins I used to spend the holidays with.

But there's a special person in my heart: my little female cousin. It was like a little sister that was watching me.

And now I'm making a lot of effort to remember some people trust me and want to rely on me. It's the only way you can get your shit together otherwise you will spend your life in strip clubs and drink too much booze.

But the memory of 20 failed assassination attempts in the span of 4 months is making me wonder. How do you end up on the highway to hell? Where are the stairs to heaven?

It's Only Mystery And I'm Not Sure I Like It.

There you have it: a child is not the answer. The answer is testosterone. When the big boss yells nothing works at all and he's looking to cut cost and uses nice Asian to do the work, you know you have to get out of hell quickly.

After all, hell is very simple to define: monsters have enormous health bars. Millions or maybe billions. As an astronomy fan, I shouldn't get too excited about this.

Are we that insignificant? If I stop working for this firm, will they replace me in a week? After all, I'm the grandson of the first polytechnician of Lebanon. Someone called him the father of Lebanese engineers.

The truth might rely on the path that led me to that place. I know a lot of people still talk about me and they sit and wait. All will be revealed: sorry to insist but I'm tired of the toxic artwork of Alois Brunner (WW2).

They Wanted Me To Be Jesus And It Might Be True.

I'm a big smash but I wear it like a rash. Of course, if I'm not Jesus they will want their money back. They said I was Usama Ben Laden and now they're saying I'm the leader of the revolution in Lebanon. I'm not sure about that but I think I might be Jesus.

I'm 39 now and I'm still not dead even though I experience an awful pain on a daily basis. See America owes me 25 million dollars and they're still hesitating. I have to get married fast before it's too late.

So now I'm spending another night in Tunisia where you wake up and feel more tired than before going to bed. It's a strange feeling and this isn't related to Tunisia. It's just the name of a song.

The day they clearly tried to kill me is a vivid memory. It's like acid for the children. The bassist of Red Hot Chili Peppers wrote a memoir called "Acid for the Children" and I think I will rush to the library and read his book.

But Steve Jobs said a psychedelic experience was the best thing he had done after being fired from Apple. Again with drugs, it's a simple problem: brains and accounting.