The long battle between time and space. Oh hang on, the long reflections on time and space? The untradable relations between the two. Undefinable and yet definable (and so easily!). We are time and space but we cannot choose between the two. We cannot turn our back on them neither. We can try to close our eyes on them and lie still and still, they will linger over your silent body.

I was always little towards left to time. I was blind-romantically interested in so-called-with-my-head-down ‘creation’ of the time. I was always looking for the signs in each moments of life. I chose time. Like that, I have less rational ‘choices’ to make because timing does it all and I must say, very well too. Space only came afterwards. Space? That is just like, opening your eyes oneday to have find yourself falling in love or something. If that was too cold (or hot?!), try this: you open your eyes then realise you’ve just been crashed deadly by the big red truck!

I am not in the mood for philosophy but all this started because I was listening to Morrissey’s World Peace is None of Your Business. (therefore the ‘big truck’ metaphor!) I’ve been living in two very different countries sniff sniff. For certain countries, it seems to be true, that ‘to vote’ means nothing anymore. I won’t nihilize the hope for ‘better’ world, changes oh and yes the world peace.. (sough) but certainly voting won’t help those. For other countries though, voting could only be the wishful sinful.

Music.. culture and all that.. does time matter? what about space? Is Morrissey’s ‘World Peace’ for the people who have cannot choose to vote anymore or for the people who have no right to vote? In any case, one thing seems to be true in anycase: ‘the rich must profit and get richer and the poor must stay poor’ But was it the same in 18th century? So if this song was to be out then would it touch people’s heart then and there? Say you don’t hear the words for the want of English language, would you get the feeling nonetheless? Well, he does sing very yearningly.. and although love of a beautiful man, love of a beautiful woman and so on.. might cross your mind for a second, would you not concern, for the foremost the turmoil in the society and therefore ache painfully.

Imagine ‘They fuck you up, your mum and dad…. Man hands on misery to man. It deepens like a coastal shelf. Get out as early as you can, And don’t have any kids yourself.’ being translated and read in highschool in Korea or China. Of course.. the matter of percentage.. the matter of interpretation.. yes. Still.

I was never bothered by space. Yuppie. No.. I was always good at escaping the harshness of ‘space’ Up until now, I only shook hands with time. I am sure I wrote on this subject matter before. Back then, I supported time. I still support time. Incredible. Why we meet certain person at certain time. Why we laugh with our friends? Because we have found out that we were reading the same book at the same time. Even Jimbo wrote to sing that there is ‘time to live, time to die.. take it easy.. time to run, time to walk” Was easy when I waved ‘see you later’ at all times without actually seeing at space. Now I need to think over more.


My relation with space is in fact too incredible to accept. Time was just something that sat next to me like it was my ‘half’ Space is like the word ‘dead’ in Christina Rossetti’s poems. My god and my destiny, eh? Time was easier to deal with for the sensitive. Space was to be ignored. That was no difficulty on the performative aspects. If there is any difference between Istanbul (yes.. I am listening to the fulll album on Youfube) and Reykjavik, I would erase with my thumb. I still doubt.. Is there a difference, really? Perhaps if I understand the numbers of hours being lost and gained in each long distance flights.. hmm But how come there is no time difference between London and Rabat when there is between London and Paris. And where is this twin planet to Earth that people told me when I was young that existed somewhere in some other galaxy? I think I might need to restart somewhere far. I’ve been wasting space for too long. But when it comes to space… I am sinfully lazy.

I think when I sleep, I travel. Dream…… is that more of a time or a space?





Summer’s almost gone
Summer’s almost gone
Almost gone
Yeah, it’s almost gone
Where will we be
When the summer’s gone?

Morning found us calmly unaware
Noon burned gold into our hair
At night, we swam the Laughing sea
When summer’s gone
Where will we be
Where will we be
Where will we be

Morning found us calmly unaware
Noon burned gold into our hair
At night, we swam the Laughing sea

When summer’s gone
Where will we be

Summer’s almost gone
Summer’s almost gone
We had some good times
But they’re gone
The winter’s comin’ on
Summer’s almost gon

The Doors



Who ever use the word ‘dead’ and wave ‘goodbye’ when it can be so much in the presence?

Mahatta (Gare routiere) Morocco

Look at these people

Laughing at meeting

Crying for loss

Shouting for money

Smiling for children

Giving to the poor and the blind

Stay just one more minute

And you’ll see 10 billion souls

Coming in and out of the station

With their own histories

Their fights, their occupations

Their colonizations, their monarchies

Their flags blowing lonely

Signifying something that does not give or take

And their ancestors

Heavily placed on their shoulders

Their tanned skins under the R’zza or

The New York Yankees

Imagine for their families and their friends

Their good natures and bad natures

The food they need to eat

The drink they need to drink

The shoe cleaner will look only at your shoes

An – 8 – year – old will ask for a dirham

Tell him to come back later

And he will definitely come back

For a dirham or for a quarter

And for that small green coin

Or perhaps for the gesture

He will finally smile like an-8-year-old should

But he will look into your eyes with his hands placed on his heart

You will see how he is already too much of a grown up

His ancestors and his country

Already glued to his feet

That march 50 km a day in a less than 1000 mete square

Perhaps he will dream of travelling himself when he gets older

Perhaps such dream is vain and a luxury

That does not exist in the minds

So filled with petrol and horns

Perhaps the passing happenings of everyday life are enough

But then someone might come up to him oneday and say

“You are a smart boy. You look good. You know things. You should get out of here. You should see the world and see life. Live life while you live.”

And if the voice comes from both outside and inside

Perhaps he will go – just pack up and go

Into the world of terror and confusion

World of love and sadness

World of war and silence

World of tears and violence

World that he knew too well

World that he already learnt

When he was 8 years old

Cleaning shoes at the Gare Routier


(written at the Mahatta, Inzegane 2014.06.22)

spiel troubles travels and art


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