Yesterday, I had an interesting discussion with an acquaintance...

I was at a restaurant/bar that I visit often. He was a waiter that saw me writing quite often, and was wondering whether I was some form of a reporter. His issue was that some foreign reporters (often Western) would make use of people, make them say things that fit his/her political ideals/propaganda, and use it to pursue his/ her own agenda. For some reason, it got into his head that my writing hobby/habbit has to do with those people...

First, I try as much as I can not to be political. I did and probably would still do before I die get involved in potlitics, as I have values to defend, and would do anything I peacefully can to give my ideas (and those who defend the same ideals) a chance. However, I am extremely careful not to let emotions define my opinions. Many times, I am asked about an event or an emotion, and my response is that it is too fresh to comprehend. Ideals are build over time, in a calm and deep analysis of the history, present and perception of future...

Second, even though sometimes I write my opinions, I mostly write my feelings. I have no pretense to hold a greater truth. I only hold my emotions, and sometimes and analysis of my past emotions and thoughts in a cold headed inspiration into what I would like to see happening.

So, be fearless, my friend. The worst that could happen is for one of my poetic ideas to become the lyrics of a bad song...

6/5/2006 10:09:17 PM UTC    Comments [0] 

   Bye Bye Casablanca. Our relationship goes back to my very first day in life, even my very first second. Even though on paper, I am registered as being born in Figuig, my parents home town, on the 16th of February, I actually I was born in Casablanca sometime in late January 1968. I have traveled a lot, and I have loved some cities, hated others, but Casablanca will always hold a special place in my heart.

   Bye Bye Casablanca. I have seen your many faces, and the take time had on your physionomy. I remember when we were children, you and I, and you were already a promise of a metropolitan culture. I remember when your seaside's nights were rocked by Elvis, the Beattles, the Eagles, Jhon Lennon, Bob Dylan, Joe Cocker, David Bowie,  ABBA, Stevie Wonder, Paul McCartney, Simon&Garfunkel, ...etc. At that time, you were still as oriental as ever, and your evenings echoed the songs of Oum Kalthoum, Mohammad Abdelwahab, Abelhalim Hafiz, Farid Al Atrash, Nazim Al ghazali, Sabah Fakhri ...etc. Your beaches in the summer danced Flamenco, your weddings sounded Andalucian tarab, and in the trenches, one could loudly hear the reborn pop music of Nass Al Ghiwane...

   Bye Bye Casablanca. You saw me grow, and witnessed my early successes and failures. You brought me my first loves, my passion for electronics and then for computers, my inability to learn music or dance, my first ink portraits, my first poems. You inspired my dreams, and showed me the stars and the comets.You also saw me part from you for a few years, looking for other constallations, but reclaimed me so strongly I dwindled back in a hurry.

   Bye Bye Casablanca. You were harsh on me when I started my first business. I started in a market with 3 competitors, and 12 more saw the light within 6 months... You were harsh on me as well when you let my best friend and business partner whom I loved silently get killed for the stupidest of reasons. You made me glorious in the culture market, and then in the PR market, but each time letting me down at the highest of my vain glory. Were you just reminding me of my first and truest passions ? You gave me a home for my sweetest moments, gave me a the sweetest of daughters, then turned my life into neverending conflicts. You still gave me a nest from which I could get reborn from my ashes...

   Bye Bye Casablanca. I don't think I know you anymore. While I was busy with my little ambitions and daily troubles, you changed so much on me. You music is no longer mine. You don't even seem to be keen on diversity anymore. Your gardens and parks don't look green anymore. Your dreams seem so far away from mine. I can hardly find anything to tell you anymore... Or maybe I grew up on you, and you don't recognize me anymore.

   Bye Bye Casablanca. I will miss you a lot. Sure I will come every so often and visit. You will always have a precious spot in my heart and  big chunk of my memory, but it is time we part and become friends again...

4/22/2005 5:52:06 PM UTC    Comments [3] 

   I have been puzzled by what has been happening in the US election compaign this past week in Florida. It really looks like the more Bush compaigns there, the more the state leans closer to Kerry (today, Survey USA is giving Kerry 50%, Bush 49%)... Well, maybe the Kerry compaign should send Bush to more battle states...

10/19/2004 11:48:27 PM UTC    Comments [0] 

25.. 26.. 27.. 28.. 28A window... 28C aisle...

“Sorry, Sir ! You have taken my seat...”

The 747-400 takes off !

I close my eyes. When I reopen them, as In a dream, I am driving full speed on the National 1 highway. I wonder what I am doing there... I remember  : I am a hunter ! These ground or air roads are the paths to my prey. A very special prey, and a rare one. An inaccessible prey ! But here I am, like a lover, staking my life to reach it. I turn left, to the roadside, and I see a windmill...

A far away voice starts : "Dear passengers, on your left, you can see the Island of Malta…"

The plane continues its flight over the Mediterranean. I close my eyes again. A turn makes me push the brakes. But isn't hunting the game of creating it own prey ? Can a prey be if it isn't hunted ? Why ask questions, I cannot live without hunting ; else, not only me, but the whole world will cease to exist…

I must hold on, and fight, even against windmills. And my prey, I will not hurt it. I want to seduce it, love it, and satisfy it… Why then hunt it ?

"In few moments, we will land at the Cairo airport. Please fasten your seatbelts !"

Going down… To stop flying… Return to firm land… Is it the end of the road ? Is my prey here ? Far from everything I know, everything I am accustomed to ? But can my prey be contained in one place ? My prey is human, but it is not a person… It is every person ! Every one I may seduce. How will I seduce them without seeing them ? Without talking to them ? Without talking with my own voice ?

I stop the car. I open the window. "Please, Sir ! Can you tell me where I could find the Youth Center ?"

- "Certainly ! Did you come for the debate ?"

- "How did you guess ?"

- "In a small town like Khemisset, such an event makes big noise…"

I look up front, and see a nice looking, well-dressed young man. A nice suit, white shirt, red tie. He was holding a sign. On the sign, my name. I don't understand. I get closer to him, and he asks : "Are you Mr. Kemmou ? The Moroccan publisher that reserved a room at our hotel ?" The customs procedures gave me the time to discuss with the charming man. We talked about tourism, about publishing In Morocco and In Egypt, and about the Cairo Book Fair that looked gloomy this year…

Cairo/Casablanca February 1997

Abdelmalek Kemmou

2/7/2004 9:57:04 PM UTC    Comments [0]