The Midnight Crawler: Crawling

Posted: November 17, 2009 in The Diarrhea of a Midnight Crawler


The Midnight Crawler: Crawling

By Homo sapien …. .. ………

– Not suitable for the faint of heart

I left my big rotten apple, my New York, for a glossy one. No visa is required I was told.

Don’t worry for I haven’t turned into an Arab expatriate. Well, not yet…

What happened? Finally someone realized that before the bloody Brits and Frogs cut the cake there were no borders between us; between the countries that once were known as Bilad Al Sham.

After a few hours ride, a day’s rest, and another few hours ride I found myself wondering in Al Hambra Street.

I left my hotel room keys with the redhead that had a big heart tattooed on her arm before setting out into the unknown.

Al Hambra? Yes, Al Hambra! No, I wasn’t in Spain, and I don’t speak Spanish for that matter but Al Hambra sounded exotic. From a two years minor Spanish course Al Hambra is one of few Spanish words that stuck in my mind. There were other sentences like Hijo de puta, El madre de es idiota una perra de un perro rabioso and La hermana de es tonto es puta; don’t be offended as these are the sentences that spring to my weary mind when I am driving around my New York, my Amman, when I am thinking of Parliamentarians who are not only screwing light-bulbs. And there was light…yeah right…take a hike…

I sort of was in an exotic land: Beirut. The women there looked different than our women, the men looked different than our men, and the children looked different than our children.

Even their bookshops looked different. The letters were in French.

Would you blame them for having French letters inside such marvelous books?

They had a different experience than ours; they have experienced; they are still experiencing; they are experienced.

A veracious reader broke down in tears as he found himself surrounded by thousands and thousands of books that were written in a language that he learned for six years but barely remembered.

Must go to the French Cultural Center and revive a dead tongue. So what was I doing in Beirut?

The young man whose mind is my loft, where two more characters live, went there to learn how to draw successive panels with a team of nice salamanders and a samandalena.

I am proud to proclaim that I happen live in a windowless loft. No view at all: Yes, I am referring to the bleeding scab that exists in civilization’s head, and which is known as politics.

Good fences make good neighbors a colonialist often said or was it Robert Frost? Well, someone took this sentence very seriously, and out of context and mended a wall; a separating wall decried by a sheepish international community.

On the same level good lines separate one panel from the other. It was a good experience, my trip to Beirut, and very educational: I discovered that I understood French but could not speak it. Merde!!!

Upon my return to another big city, where I covered my cold body with a length of Damask, I discovered that I caught Dysentery from somewhere. It was probably from that delicious four thousand pound salad.

At 3:00 a.m. past midnight an unfortunate doctor awoke from his deep sleep to gaze at an asshole upon the request of a frightened spouse.

His name should have been mumbly as all he could do was mumble angrily at me. If I was in his shoes—he was wearing slippers—I would have done the same. Only I would have shoved more than a finger up there.

“Who is this idiot calling at this hour to reveal his asshole to me? Is this why I learned medicine for!” he probably thought as his eyes lazily searched for a pair of latex gloves from an old black suitcase that he nervously rummaged through.

Well, I left him to his thoughts and headed back to the toilet where I shat not only shit but blood.

No cockroach in sight. The bathroom must be clean or why would a cockroach venture into a bathroom devoid of shit. It needs something to dabble in like many idiotic humans, who make our lives shitty.

“La Cocaracha es muerto con la bien ideas des hombres valiente,” I thought in Spanish as I wrote these words. You go get a Spanish-English dictionary now!

Ever upgraded shit? It becomes shitty and some say that with a shitty online ADSL connection provided by a shitty company it becomes shittier.

Never complained about the net or how slow it is. I worked with Windows 1997 for two years on a lousy PC at a lousily painted office, where my own paint was scraped to reveal a tough metal by a gray and wise reader between the lines called: Good’ol Wylie Kal. If I learned one thing as my computer took 9 whole minutes to boot it was patience.

Impatience drives me impatient especially when I am around impatient people, who end up being patients at a hospital ward suffering from hypertension and blood pressure that I am going to end up with as a result of my impatience from such people.

Complicated, hah! Nah, it is pretty simple. Just shoot the idiots. Then again I don’t want to go to jail so I just shoot them with my mental gun using my mental bullets. Mental blood is splattered on the mental white wall along with a few mental bodies. Better then ending up in a mental hospital if you ask me.

Why waste a real bullet on an idiot when you can shoot him or her in your head with a thousand mental bullets?

The bodies keep piling up and the silence becomes less and less audible.

Yesterday I reached down to my pocket. A jingle and jungle of coins silenced his monotone plea. “For the love of God help me,” a teenager wearing nothing but a t-shirt in a late November night pleaded.

Did I give him the change to make him feel good or to make myself feel good? Will he change by my change or the change that other sickened individuals gave him or will he remain the same unchanged?

Will I change and stop giving people change? I have no idea.

I curse the bastard who impregnated the poor whore who gave birth to this youth, who is not blessed with a better life like so many of us.

You are probably wondering at this point if anything this guy is writing is real or fiction. It is a little of both as the line is thinning the same way the black and gray hairs on my head are.

A guy on television swings his head boastfully showing a head full of gleaming hair. A sad young woman sitting behind a design desk on television discovers that the only way to move ahead in her job is by lightening the color of her complexion; apparently climbing the career ladder with both your feet on the steps is possible again thanks to Fair and Ugly.

Never knew how some people were able climb such a ladder with their legs uncrossed and wide open!!!

How about you let your own work speak on your behalf instead of your itchy and moist skin?

An asshole sitting at a photography shop plays with the color degree of my newborn daughter’s photo.

“What are you doing?” I ask.

“I am making her skin fair,” He says.

“Why you piece of shit motherfcuker son of whoring bitch who was raped by 900 hundred horny bastards conceived by a demon impregnated by a flea that once lived on a three headed dog called Hades, the II?” I thought.

Wish I could have said it in his face but I couldn’t. Why does my little girl have to have a snow white skin complexion? So that one day an envious witch of a bitch offer her a poisoned apple.

No sir. This is one man who won’t yield under the weight of the artificial velvety crucifix that we all have to bear as a result of gluttonous greedy jesters, who try to bleach our skins, fill our heads with hair, dress us up in designer clothing and drown our natural odors with exotic bottled perfumes the price of which is over 50 JDs.

I shower and shave! That’s all that a man needs to do in addition to being a gentlemen at a time where greeting strangers sadly is no longer in fashion.

Two men standing at the opposite sides of a corridor are paralyzed by fear. “Should I or shouldn’t I” one man thinks.

“Should I or should I not,” the other man thinks.

As they pass each other a sickening feeling overcomes them.

“I am beginning to feel sick. Something is coming out of my mouth. Oh God,” one man thinks.

“What is happening? He is looking at me. Will he do it? Should I do it” the other man thinks.

As their heads align like two orbiting planets a meteor of words rush out of their black holes that are lined with stars made out of yellow ivory.

“Good morning …” one man says.

“Good morning to you too,” the other man says.

Now that wasn’t so hard was it! Damn…Exchanging a greeting is becoming harder and harder with the passing of each day.

“Al Salam Aleekom…May Peace be Upon You,” was a sentence that strangers used to greet each other with.

The hypocrites refuse to even look in the eye of each other even as their shoulders collide. They seem to forget that they are all related, and are next of kin by one thing, which is the will to live.

It is the will to live. It is not religion, not nationality, not ethos, not race and not blood but the one thing that is more inherent in us all than any other thing in this worldly and ephemeral existence: Humanity.

Then again some wills never see the light. They are buried under the rubble and metal debris left behind by cowardly A and Z fighter jets that only bomb buildings filled with families and individuals, who believe they are safely tucked in their moderately warm beds.

An eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth that’s what an ancient forgotten god dictated to an ancient Hemar-rabi (Mind you the exact spelling in English is Hammurabi and the one that you just read before the 1st bracket in Arabic means an Ass).

Times have changed Sam proclaims and you are not supposed to go around gouging out the eyes and breaking the teeth of other people!

You are also told that you must not turn the other cheek. Hmm, well, if a sleepy mumbly doctor asks you to do so as he shoves his finger up there…where…there…turn both cheeks and don’t press so hard for this will only take an embarrassing minute.

Now what was I saying? I forgot. Alas all is lost or is it?

To be continued…or not…


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