Z Arabian Big Brothar

The Diarrhea of a Midnight Crawler: Creep

By Homo sapien …. .. ………

– Not suitable for the faint of heart –

Lately I’ve been hitting the bottle a lot. I hit so many bottles last month my knuckles started to ache. Broken glass is never good for your skin, or bones for that matter, especially if you are not wearing gloves.

You’d think I am a boxer!

Well I am not! I am a disillusioned son-of-a-bitch-writer who has been writing for the past six years for an invisible crowd. Does it matter who reads these words? A social media pundit would say yes. I say I don’t know or I don’t give a shit!

For six years he typed words on a slow processor in a disorganized half-empty office. Everyday and like an eager housewife he poured the words that were inside his head, with the visuals he collected from his daily Down Town Amman walks, inside that processor to create the stuffing for meaty stories.

In the end three colleagues moved on, one died from cancer and a broken heart, and he stayed. He stayed there until the very end. It was a great job with great people but he was tired of writing about other people. He simply wanted to write about characters.

Two years ago that journalist decided to pull the plug and flush a six year career down the toilet in pursuit of a Black and White rainbow(C). He didn’t want the pot of gold he just wanted the rainbow; whatever that meant!

Mutual friends tell me that he is still typing words on his spare time; not like before though. Got a call from him the other day; a one minute call.

“How is the bitch – life – treating you?” I asked.

“I have a steady job and that’s something,” he answered.

“So do you have any regrets?” I shoot another question.

“A few … maybe … but you know something Midnight every now and then I’d meet someone who’d faintly remembers my name by association. If you ask me I still can’t get around writing for free. Not that anyone is asking me to write for free, and if they do they want me to write about current affairs, politics and blah blah. Anyway listen I have to hung up! Take care,” he concluded.

I haven’t heard from him since!

“Name by association …” That’s great if you are living on Planet Nepotism a.k.a Amman, Jordan!

Enough talk about writers! Heading to work today I came across what seemed to be an alcohol orgy that was probably organized by two under-aged dipsomaniacs who probably think pleasure and machismo come from the confines of a labeled phallic shaped-glass container the contents of which they swallow like eager prostitutes. A half full beer bottle stood tall next to two empty gin bottles.

Unlike young men whose nights are haunted by Jinn and tonic my nights are haunted by words and sentences.

If you think hitting the bottle is bad for your knuckles think again compadre! Well, if I’ve learned anything from this cruel city in the past few months it is: Excess love and respect are as bad. Don’t love or respect those walking and talking vermin that sell you love and respect between the lines with SpongeBob googly eyes. Bastards! How will you spot them? Don’t worry they will spot you first!

[He lets the cigarette fall to the ground. With the heel of his eroded sole he extinguishes what was the only light in the dark corner of that night.]

To be continued or not …

Macabre

A poster for two characters, Macabre & Zombie, that I created for my غشاوة strip. If you have Facebook you can read the lazily drawn comic, which is more like a pilot: http://on.fb.me/lOVx4j