It’s eleven September. The American presidentials are heating up. I’m in a street-side coffee shop in Fez, Morocco where your humble host will be residing for the coming three weeks. Means I pretty much have to write something. Anything. How many years has it been now? One forgets. Move on. Time to get a life, America. Something along those lines. Yes, yes, evil never sleeps. Remain vigilant and all that. Of course. Ask Norway. Get it?
Perhaps, for once, I’ll forgo my feeble attempts at analysis. It behooves one to take a breather every so and again. Every now and often. See what I just did there? Neat. I’ll just look at the donkeys cart past laden with cardamon and animal hides, kids and their iPhones, and the ubiquitous CCTV eyes dotting the medina. Interesting times, my friends. Interesting times. “Tanneries this way!” “Thank you.” Visited one yesterday. I’ve never seen such a terrible thing.
Meanwhile the coffee shop is filling up. Not sure how long I can impose my big-ass laptop on these smallish tables. Then again, whatever. I’m sure there’s a swell juxtaposition here, albeit I wouldn’t be doing justice to all the other poetic whathaveyou’s. Tradition meets computer. Good old coffee meets Power Horse and this huge can-shaped RedBull fridge cramping twelve hundred years of history. Ample-chested, deep-cut-dressed Moroccan anchor lady explains a French industrialist’s shameful tax evasion -to Belgium if my Fusha serves me right, half-naked Israeli teenagers huddled around a single gas mask ready to pounce should Iran or Hezbollah do the uber-likely unthinkable. Update: they switched to bikini beach shots now. Cars, soap, global affairs. Nothing sells that shit like tits. Lots of them. Big ones, small ones. Covered from the nose down, or fully exposed. It does not matter. Man-kind will be hanging from that teet for some time to come. While that may be unavoidable like hair on three week-old yoghurt, guys, let’s not forget they’re not ours. Behave a little. Chill on the war against women. From the streets of Cairo to the US Republican party, back to the souq in Fez where, needless to say, your authors is having the time of his life.
Nobody is free until everybody is free. Nobody is safe until everybody is safe. Oh, and everybody is poor until nobody is poor. Perhaps that’s more slogan than analysis. I sure as shit hope so, because I wasn’t going to analyze, compare, or lecture. And that worked out well, didn’t it. Now a moment of silence, please, in respect for the dead. All of them.
Bush lied. Blair lied. There, I said it. Our generation will see the likes of you in court. Let’s not forget that Saddam, although not the type to fuck you in the asshole and do you the courtesy of reaching around to help a feller’ out as they say, had nothing to do with them towers coming down. A million souls will haunt you. Analyze that.