muscle and merel

Another morning …

A morning laden with insignificant events like this absurd existence, in which I immersed myself in sterile discussions, and I prefer to color this festive season with a few transparent tears; Crying on holidays has long since become a ritual of celebration!

I’ll bake this sad for you with a little Najib jam The Berber artist, who always beats me, without pity: Fatima Talgadet. Who will inform her that I am the martyr of her Atlantic side ?!

On a women’s day, I find my morning filled with all these fleeting details, like a wind caressing an arid field, and so much dust of sorrow being scattered in the garden of the heart. Is it because I slept unusually early, sadly woke up early this morning?

Before sunrise, and thanks to this extra hour, which we make in front of the birds in the morning reception, my grocery friend joked that today is Women’s Day. For the woman, I commented on him with my stinging irony: they write on social media: No to compulsory vaccination, or Akhannoush to go away, and just watch football matches and regret that lost goal? ”

My friend knows – already – that I hate football, and I consider it the new opium of the people with whom they intoxicate the people …

I sarcastically continued, “You’re afraid they’ll close your store!”, And avoided responding to a controversial remark to a neighbor who joked that Akhannush Soussi is like him, because I do not recognize such tribal tendencies, even if they would praise me. tribe, I do not recognize the classification of people as if they were commodities: Coptic, Muslim, Arab, Berber, Kurdish, Sunni, Shiite, Assyrian, Egyptian, Brazilian … etc, (and no pride: all this is on me Facebook page), because – simply – we are all children of Adam and Eve!

Yet I am not an angel, I am not a good man. Last night it was cold, as if winter had forgotten its stuff and went back to look for it. I am the grandson of small farmers, therefore I rejoice in this late rain, I rejoice over the simple cattle.

Last night I was ashamed of my wife’s quarrel with me in front of her parents. She always said, “It was so cold …”, and we exchanged bombastic smiles because I was in front of the world celebrating Women’s Day. Yesterday I said to my wife: “The day before today the families, Zweinen, looted me this morning.”

Confused in thoughts and emotions, I had to apologize to her for that innocent joke that I tried to get myself back in any way. I have a strange situation, after writing any new text, especially short stories, which I do not know why I started writing with the same novelist, heavy with reflection and questions … I wanted to get out of the captivity of that text , and I ponder the world through another window, after writing a crazy text about love On life: “Why did not you close the window ?!”.

In that case, you are a man who is not fit for love, not fit for anything. I must have come out of the atmosphere of a text celebrating platonic love, with appetizing madness, and yet I killed that gecko last night, because it crept into the house, to comfort the lonely man, I put him in his place left … his tail writhing in one side and she looks on the other side. I did not want to see blood. I do not like the murderous father Cain announcing his presence in my blood, as if I had a lot of Abel’s blood in my veins, maybe, that’s why tears quickly burst from my eyes, to express this hateful world, and yet I threw a large amount of household disinfectant on the weight, because the armed shoes did not It does its job, as it should …

As usual, I heard that mare glorifying God after the dawn prayer. The tweet indicated that it was hiding among the branches of a tree in the mosque’s garden. I did not have the phone in my pocket, I left it at work, so I fell asleep early and went to pick it up to capture light moments that did not repeat, and it is difficult to carry it during the day to catch .

He flew, I went to look for him in the alleys of the neighborhood. I heard it on a roof. I did not want to raise my eyes. Maybe a neighbor looks out, and misinterprets it, and the sun has not yet risen!

I chose to record a video of an alley covered by the glare of public lighting, and from afar, that old digger arrived, riding a wobbly wind horse, I cursed this miserable coincidence, then I discovered that I had not pressed the record button. It’s okay, I’ve gotten used to the waning space of beauty in my life, day after day, while the desert formation of ugliness relentlessly swallows the green of the age field.

After eating breakfast, last night I tried to hide the traces of the crime while safe in the soul, but rather deceived it, as if it were a child easily misled, by a cut of that trying to pick up blackbird, which I heard two years ago, and think about who will replace him, after his life has expired. .

Yesterday, my daughter Jasmine jokingly asked, “What’s the name of that bird that’s bothering us this morning?” And I would not exaggerate when I say that she may be the only student in her school who may know the name of that bird, the ugly tweet, and she answers me in a confident tone of voice: “Bebebit.”

This is the home study, the one whose expressions I heard alone, when the father of a female student had a dialogue with the director of the educational institution, on the occasion of the first exam day .. If that father loved birds . singing, he would have looked for another place, in which the nightingale or mare sang, or at least, He is content to throw a stone at the bird, so that he ceases to boast of the excess of reproductive hormones, but that father is like those who think nights and nightingales sing like the king of finches. Jasmine knows this bird because I always asked her or her brother to shake hands with it so that it moves away, for fear of spoiling the thistle’s songs.

Now I just harbor my disappointments and sadness in a cage of Moroccan reality, which celebrates ugly.

I’m – now – a man like you, a little man like you, love voyeurism, etc …

Thanks to everyone who killed an area of ​​beauty; Thank you to those who invented the law of possession, and left my daily routine whores who corrupted the morals of our children, destroyed the values ​​of society, and some women did not even resist the temptation of his dollars , and channels opened in it red brothel …

Hey, we’re all going to be professional masturbators!

The ugliness has engulfed me, I am about to lose my innocence; Even my fingerprints were denied to me this morning. The employee in the police department asked me more than once to press my finger.

It seemed boring this time, I was not tempted to write about it again, and that employee admonished me and asked, “Why are you using a cheap disinfectant …?!”.

You got me into a situation that did not deserve to be noticed by the wind, that cried in my bank account … There, who did not feel the suffering of many of us, has been a virus made to take revenge on the economies of big countries, so the world’s poor paid the price for this dirty war … economically, socially and psychologically. There are love stories that have been inflated due to the compulsions of this epidemic. Families sold their furniture so that the children did not go hungry, there were those who committed suicide as a result of the quarantine, and… and… I thought of these things while looking at the employee, who had her hands in her pockets stitch. Coat.

After I returned to work, I ordered a coffee, and congratulated the cafe workers on this holiday, as a kind of joke, in a reality that recognizes nothing … a reality that men and women, children and the elderly crushes. The waiter told me the only woman worthy of his congratulations is his mother because he is not married. I answered him that it is the day of the woman, the woman and not the women: this woman is your mother, your sister, your wife, your girlfriend, your grandmother … the woman is the giver of life.

I noticed that the words of my friend Saeed angered the young woman who was in charge of the coffee brewer.

To my mother, to my wife, to my friends on Facebook and Twitter, to every woman …

Every year you are the sun of this existence ..

Every year and you are the festival.

Leave a Comment