Monday, September 15, 2008


A crowded place filled with strangers, a soul half asleep numbed by recent events beyond comprehension. Bodies intertwined packed like sheep perfectly groomed within the confines of yet another nameless watering hole.
It has been a while since I ventured within the dark alleys of local debauchery.
‘En connaissance de cause’ I agreed to go down for what was supposed to be nothing more than yet another night out. Half asleep (from lack of interest and not from sleep deprivation), with an inquisitive eye wondering across a two leveled room; my senses were awakened.
It all started with the vision of a bad episode of Dr. 90210, when a clean swoop across the room made me realize that the common denominator amongst the female crowd was that of: nose, lips, tits, and tummy tucks. Little attention was paid, for I was happy just to watch from afar. As the night went ahead, and alcohol was consumed (by me and all the crowed), the vision became clearer; and the “filter” on the “eye camera” was removed. From so called friendly gestures to drooling smiles on perverted faces, the evening progressed , on an even happier tone. Who is with whom, and moreover, who’s returning with whom?

The microphone is being passed from one punter to another, in an attempt to impress; not the one you came along with; but those YOU can pick up and add to YOUR black book of conquests. The song ends (thankfully in most cases) and everyone applauds out of politeness. Your table of four quickly becomes of six, eight, five, nine…for those sharing your euphoria, are sharing it with others as well.
A non intended brush of a skin, a masked smile, a whiff of a smell; transport you for a split second into a not so imaginary world. You try to recollect and auto analyze what was the reason that brought you here.
A sense of guilt which you refute; for you haven’t done anything wrong YET; allows you to enjoy it even further. It is just another boost for the ego you say. But in the back of your head the bitter truth sets in. A voice inside your mind keeps on telling you that although this chapter of your life has come to its painful conclusion, you won’t regain your youth.
So you go back home and scribble your thoughts on paper.

The fourth part of this enclosed song says it all:

"It's getting late, for scribbling and scratching on the paper
Something's gonna give under this pressure
And the cracks are already beginning to show
It's too late
The weekend career girl never boarded the plane
They said this could never happen again
So wrong, so wrong

This time it seems to be another misplaced rendezvous
This time, it's looking like another misplaced rendezvous
With you
The parallel of you, you ."

1 comment:

david said...

rien à voir... tu parles souvent de tall el-zaatar. voici une petite vidéo pour toi (et pour tes lecteurs):