Only a Brief Time Ago

Sandy skin, auburn eyes downcast in sad resignation... Behija.

Nta douib, Moussa, and there's nothing can be done about it.

Ana douib? Kifash douib?

Fransawi réynard.

Alesh?

But no answer. My fate was already sealed by an untouchable gorgeous woman. Her friend with the giant dark eyes, wide and solemn, was Awadtef. Feelings, it meant. They were from Beni Mellal.

People Are Impossible

Or, why won't the pretty girl at the pizza place go out with me? Probably because she's intimidated by me, and also not actually interested in spending any more time in my company than is necessary. Bummer. Though I don't want to be reminded of this for the next eternity so, out of whimsical indignation, I will write this in ORANGE. Stay posted for further updates.

Alienation is a Friend of Mine

Not sure where to begin... The hackneyed starving artist quotation "A writer writes!" will do as well as anything. Before, I was broke in another country, but hopeful of a job starting at the end of Ramadan... But my shredded nerves had other plans. (Props to the Foreign Service, and all their bustlingly professional sorts in consulates around the world, specifically one Pamela Hack.) When I arrived in the consulate in Casablanca, I was either embarrassingly drunk or else in need of medical attention. But I don't drink. I was perilously dizzy, perpetually falling, and sometimes hitting the ground. My speech was affected, as one might find in a person recovering from a stroke, slurred and mumbled. Three of my five senses were disrupted. But my family (by which I mean my blood, no one else since I'm not yet married, I'm old-school like that) got the message quickly and helped me out. Surely it was a poorly planned trip, and surely the lack of necessary measures was informed by my urgently felt need to escape from where I'd been. Ironic, then, to end up where I began, but in worse circumstances! Often I have felt ignored, overlooked, neglected, swaddled in a silence ostensibly justified by placing me in a safe location. Safe enough, but psychically draining-- easily bored, the only real entertainment I found was in substances. Given their inherent evanescence, obviously a waste. Only what is created matters, and of that, only NOW.

Some Thoughts

Mediocrity. Paranoia. Blindness. Oppression. Identity and its emptiness. Boredom. Sterility. Analgesia. Slavery, but consentual. Anonymity; would you know the difference? It was an idea informed by the environment of its birth in the hospital, and colored by the relative weakness of culture. But I won't let it go, even if it alienates everyone around me. Like that has ever stopped me. But a quote comes to mind, from a woman who works for the Algerian consulate: Never say die. It took me a bit of time to figure it out, but eventually I did.

Back in the _____ Again

God, it was good to be there for a little while... It became quickly apparent that I had prepared poorly. Though it must be noted: if you are going to be broke in Morocco, Ramadan is a good time to do this. True, I have benefited by returning...in some ways. Ways more valuable to others than me, considering I would make the same choices again. I regret that I have chosen rather expensive hobbies, but mektoub as we say. Carry on, and come up with a more sustainable way to serve these ends.

As If Anyone Cares

Finally… a blank paper. I have a notebook, but this vexing condition makes it easier to write by typing. Naturally, my laptop is 1) in America and 2) rather broken… but I found a keyboard still. So what if it’s French ?

Got scrubbed last night. Lost about 10 lbs. of dead skin, felt great ! Man you guys are missing out.

Still a little flared up… I am still mad dizzy and my left side is somewhat numb. But it doesn’t keep from puffing, even during Ramadan.

New gig : Pigier. Seems alright, though Frenchy. Also salary is not fixed, but rather related to the number of students. Sure.

Next: to throw down on some film and put up some good pictures. Maybe.

FUCK ALGERIA!!!

Wow, those people are WAY too paranoid... I was judged as an unprofessional failure before I even left the airport on the basis of my inconvenient luggage and my lack of socks. (Thanks, dear friends.) Well, screw all that. I have arrived in a far more sane land: Morocco!

I will write here again in maybe a week or so when I have more cash. In the meantime, feel free to write me (though I expect you won't) or even call: +212 0.54.48.33.11. Talk soon.