In the Darkness of the Night

Took a lighter out.
Lit a fag.
Stared at it for a long, long time.
Took a drag.

Seduction perhaps,
But really more a duel,
She had eyes like gems,
Any takers were met cruel.

They call it a game,
But you don’t leave unharmed,
Unscathed, unbruised,
Unmercifully charmed.

She’s a witch, not a bitch,
Though it’s all the same thing:
You want her but won’t get her,
When she wants you she’s your king.

So he took one last drag,
Threw the poison while with guile,
He prepared his darling weapon:
And met her with his smile.

For that she was prepared,
Although she must admit:
“At least he’s not a cocky,
I’ll let him live just a little bit.”

He approached her at the bar,
And she laughed as he came,
“So hasty, unromantic,
If only he knew my name.”

But her he didn’t talk to,
Rather he poured a drink,
Took a sip and just stood there,
Having a little think.

She left, but returned,
Once again they remained,
He looking out the window,
Her while the moon waned.

“Show courage; speak to me,
I promise I won’t bite.”

“It’s not that you scare me,
There’s a moment when it’s right.”

“If you wait
I may leave.
I can’t forever stay.”

“And my heart,
You would thieve,
But I shan’t stand
In your way.”

“You’re a poet, Oh I see.
You’ll regret you challenged might.
If you’re really up to it,
You may live through the night.”

And right at that moment
She finished her glass,
Picked up her bag,
And marched off to dance.

The music was strong,
Like his hand on her hip,
And she first unveiled her eyes,
They hooked him with a grip.

For hours they moved,
His angles, her curves,
Music their religion,
Dancing their words.

His lips by her ear,
His hands in her hair,
The pleasure of his desire,
Gushed feelings she couldn’t bear.

From two they formed one,
And they touched without fear,
Though her eyes were shut tight,
She had never seen so clear.



They call it seduction,
But really it’s a fight,
A tigress roared and purred,
In the darkness of the night.

The first mirror, and other existentialist conundrums...

I wonder how the first person to use a mirror reacted. It was, after all, the first time a human being could see as clear and eternal a reflection of her/himself. Sure, before that people could always walk to the pond and look at their reflections on water, or even look at a window and have a semi decent reflection if it was sunny enough. But a mirror... wow, what a revolution a mirror was.

A flawless, perfect, all-reflecting mirror. Think about it. Humans are notorious for spending their lives thinking about themselves, their existence, their evolutionary superiority, etc... Imagine what a stroke of the ego, as well as a confounding riddle, it must have been to look at oneself on a mirror for the first time.

We all used mirrors when we were babies, so we got used to the phenomenon very young. But that first time, it must have been quite something. In all logic the first person would probably have been somebody learned and rich person. You’ve got to have a lot of money to buy silver and put it behind a piece of glass. Probably by the time the person invented this, (s)he was old. Just imagine you’re 40 years old, and almost magically, you’re looking at yourself, the room behind you, the smile that’s creeping out of your mouth just as you’re watching bewildered, and the smile just keeps growing just as you watch it grow. You can see your hands move, your eyes turn, the quality of your beard, etc… Amazing. What’s the first thing a person thought, or noticed? A literary genius might come up with some great pondering question, but I’m ready to bet that one of the first things the first mirror user noticed was that (s)he had a stain on the clothes. Or some stupid, meaningless thing like that.

From an existentialist perspective, do you realize what that means? Even more than ever before, you become somebody important to yourself. You EXIST! Obviously, humans always knew they existed, but for the first time they have a proof of that. A visual representation of themselves. Imagine what a boost on the ego that must have been.

I don’t know. I just think it’s interesting. There must have been a first person to do something. And when it comes to using a mirror, it must’ve screwed up with the person’s brain quite a bit.

However; the first mirror experience isn’t quite my favourite. Think of this. This would actually be a great idea for a book; I might even write it if I find the proper inspiration.

Imagine God. Alright, imagine God is in a room, and there is no other god but God, and all the angels and demons and the rest of the divine court are gone. All gone fishing in the nearby pond. Anyways, God is alone.

Imagine God in his room, and he gets up, and takes a step but slips on the slippery floor and falls crashing head-on on the really hard marble floor. And then God wakes up a good 24 hours later, and has amnesia.

So basically, God is scratchin' ye ole white beard, throbbing red bump on the forehead, squinting around, and wondering, out loud: “What the... where the... Who the fuck am I?”

I’ll let you meditate upon that one. It would be hilarious though, wouldn’t it?, God waking up one day and has an identity crisis. Ha! I say, that would be mighty funny if that happened. Good old God...

Fucking Bouteflika

Most of the time I speak about international politics, terrorists, Bush, seduction, and such non-sense. Once in a while though, I must speak about the title of this Blog: THE SAHARA.

Ladies and gentlemen, the Western Sahara is an integral part of Morocco. It is Moroccan, its inhabitants are Moroccan, it is recognized as Moroccan by Moroccans on both sides of the "divide". The Sahara is not an independent country. It is MOROCCO.

But my dear Mr. Bouteflika, President of Algeria, puppet of its generals, hypocrit-asshole-truthless-piece of shit, I claim that the puppet Sahrawi Republic you have created with the help of Libya in 1976 is pure propaganda. It is bullshit. You will never take it from Morocco. I swear that. Am I clear? I swear to God that the Western Sahara will forever remain an integral part of Morocco, loyal to the Moroccan Monarchy that has to this day protected it as much as any part of Morocco.

Do not tell me that a "country" twice the size of Greece with a population of less than 700,000 is a real country. Especially if ~95% of it recognizes itself as Moroccan. Besides, how do you run a country with as few people, especially if a lot of them are Bedwin, thus nomadic tribes who travel from here to there? How do you defend it? What kind of a country do you make with a population the size of a neighborhood? Bullshit.

There are numerous reasons for Algeria supporting the Sahrawi Republic, and none of them actually benefit the people there. First of all, there's the fact that by continuing to support the Sahrawi Republic you continue to infuriate Morocco, which means your generals can continue to use the threat of war to enrich themselves. Second of all there's the fact that you have no access to the Atlantic, and by creating a puppet-state in the Western Sahara you would gain direct access to the Atlantic without passing through Morocco. Third, there's the fact that you consider yourselves Socialist, and thus enemies of the "imperialist" Monarchy in Morocco. But Algeria is no more socialist than America. It is a Military Oligarchy, which thrives on fear and the threat of war to enrich itself. Finally, the fourth reason is the fact that you have committed so much money, international humiliation, and official support to the Western Sahara that it would be a travesty, a complete disgrace, for you to backtrack and admit your error. Your population would ask you: "What do you mean? For 30 years you've used our tax and petrol money to prop up a state that you now give up on?" You can't afford that.

But listen to me well, get your eyes close to the screen, open them wide, pay close attention: OVER MY DEAD BODY. Never will any other flag except the red and green star fly over a house or building in the Western Sahara.

Algerian brothers, I have nothing against you. Our past is mixed, we helped ourselves achieve independence, we quarreled over a few cities, you got all of them. But when we meet, whether for a soccer game or dinner, we realize we are all brothers. We have a shared past, we sing the same songs, we pray to the same God, we even riot together in France.

But your leaders... Bordel. Vous pouvez aller vous la mettre la ou je pense. Tu piges?

Personne ne touche au Maroc.