Tag: writing

After the Vacation

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After the vacation comes
the brain fog,
the arduous task to reaccept the status quo,
and the quicksand that gradually swallows you
back into the routine you escaped from.

Even though you’ve come back (refreshed) to conquer,
You’re procrastinating still, snoozing, postponing
the great battle.
The warrior’s armor waits for you in the closet.
Your heart still hasn’t synchronized with
the rhythm of the hammer striking the anvil.

But you must get up anyway.
So, you get up now.
You get out of bed.

There’s work to be done.

A cold shower,
then coffee.

You wear your armor.

The sun rises to meet a clear, blue sky
that appears to have never met dark, grey clouds.
But you remember the winter storms.
You remember every war you’ve won.

If God wills it,
you will win this one, too.

And when you’re done,
the boulder will rest on the top of the hill,
and it will never roll back down.


Wine of Adyar Monastère de Rechmaya 2012

Lebanese Wines: Adyar Monastère de Rechmaya

Chris Khatsch1 Comment

Name: Monastère de Rechmaya 2012
Type: Red Wine
Grapes: Cabernet-Sauvignon, Syrah, Merlot, Cabernet-Franc
Year: 2012
Country: Lebanon
Region: Chouf
Date Consumed: December 9, 2023

It was cold outside,
not as cold as it should have been,
but cold enough for wine to be drunk
to warm our spirits.

“Such a lovely restaurant,” one of us said
as we let the waiter lead us to our table.
Our table faced the fireplace —
“Such a lovely fireplace!” —
where the gentle fire performed
a belly dance.

We ordered arak first,
and then wine,
and then mezze.

And we talked until
our stomachs were full.

I must say,
This is the kindest December I’ve ever met.
It has rained a few times
but not enough times to convince people
that a new season has come.


September 26, 2020: Maybe I should start reading less

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In the morning, I read the last pages of Nietzsche’s The Use and Abuse of History — now the 32nd book I read in 2020. I was happy at first, but, when I entered Goodreads to add it, I saw that I was three books behind schedule to hit my target of 48 books in 2020.

I went to the pile of unread books I have in my bedroom to choose the next book, but I got a little depressed.

One can never read enough. There is always more to read. It’s impossible to become Faustus.

And why am I reading? Why am I trying so hard to consume as many books as possible? Who am I racing or competing with? There are few people I know who read more than I do anyway. So what am I trying to achieve here?

Maybe I should slow down, read less but more carefully, write more… Think more, live more…

To acquire knowledge has been my only goal in life so far. I always wanted to know everything about everything, which is kind of — childish.

What is knowledge good for? (Foucault would say, “for cutting.”) Moreover, what am I good for?

Who do I want to be?