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foto by smith
lady k’s 3rd marrakech assemblage, gifted to hamid

we bought two gallons of water. the store keeper only charged us for one. lady said that’s not right – called him back, showed him the 2 bottles, showed him the excess change. he took back the correct amount and thanked us. this one small action could swell large if he dwells on it, or shares it with others.

it’s funny – if he’d cheated us, we may have kept quiet – minimize bad, trumpet good. lady did a good thing. sometimes i come across as her cheerleader, but the act of the factor is she’s beautiful, smart, talented, has a just soul, a good heart… plus she has fine taste in 2nd husbands.

i told her my list of her sins and shortcomings are written on an etch-a-sketch, and each night i shake it clean. god knows what she does with her list of mine… maybe that’s why her backpack is so heavy. mom always said she felt sorry for anyone who married me.

wild complex dream. fell in with an underground moroccan hippie bohemian enclave run by brad pitt in his wild “12 monkeys” persona, only not quite as crazy. they kept making fun of me, testing to see if i were worthy. they stuffed a huge hunk of hash up my right nostril, told me it’d get me high. i put it in my pocket for later. they loaned me a cell fone to call lady to come on over and thought it hilarious i didn’t know how to use it (i don’t). told them we’d be in morocco 3 months, they said don’t count on it – you’ll be here at least 6. it was a cool group with naked couples bathing in the sitting room, but it would never work for me in real life because i don’t do sycophant well… i’m more the equal but separate outlaw weirdo, and group leaders always want compliant underlings. on my way awake, i realized all i had to do was give them our calling card (the church of not quit so much pain & suffering – the irreverend smith and his beloved lady presiding) and they would have immediately welcomed us. my dream kept on developing as lady awoke and told me her dream of us being homeless and checking out an abandoned building by the sea in which we were going to squat. perhaps dreams mean something (jung and freud think so), perhaps they don’t. but they’re sure a fun way to pass the night. free movies.

my dreams are in color with exquisite detail – stitching in the patterned material on the couch, knick knacks on the shelves, bunches of buttons and lights on the phone, nails in the wood, dust bunnies in the corners, correct scent and color to the hash, pubic hair on the bathing couple, complete streets on the city map. my dream life is richer than my real life, and my real life is really rich. i’m not sure my brain needs my body – which is good because my body is rickety… i abused it too much along the way. my spirit, brain and soul have thrived, but my body’s bent and crumbled. lady’s going to have to get a little red wagon to pull me about – or one of those boxes catherine deneuve kept david bowie in in “the hunger.”

saw a movie scene being filmed when we went for our morning bread. the bread looks and tastes like an english muffin, but is an inch tall and 8 inches across. the scene consisted of a child riding his bike past a dancing line of protesters singing “o morocco.” cop made two horse drawn carts carrying earth u-turn. also saw a film being shot in leeds england last august. that scene was sparse and glum, this one celebratory. our bread is cooked on gas canister operated open-faced stoves standing in the street. noticed all the beggars gone from the street this morning – wonder if it’s due to the film crew.

we’re paying twice what this apartment is worth. the person who found it for us and the person he found it through both get a commission from the renter, so basic premise is screw the tourist, rake the cash. but it’s worth it to us. we’re inside the old walled city, where we wouldn’t be on our own. here it’s an entirely different existence. we walk home through narrow crooked alleys, we have the street sounds, we have the street vendors all about. every time we go out the door, we enter a never ending never boring foreign film. this journey has always exceeded my expectations, but here it’s even more exceptional.

horse drawn cart just clomped by, 8 inches from our front door – 3rd one this morning. they can use the alleys until 7 a.m. – after that they’re only for citizens and tourists. weird to hear horses outside your morning city door. we also hear snare drums beating, bongos bonging, tympanies tinging, herds of school children singing playing, hammers hammewring, propane canisters dragging, soccer balls thumping, stray whistlings, folks talking laughing arguing, cats crying, doves cooing, seagulls squawking, vendors hawking, motorbikes snarling, bicycle bells ringing horns honking, roosters crowing, prayers chanting, woodworker working, suitcase wheels clacking and human carts rumbling over the pavement stones – a glorious joyous never ending sound track of life being lived in an exotic norman rockwell sound painting through the looking glass in ever ever land.

sound collagist extraordinaire jack dangers would love it here.

foto by smith

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