Men, men, men, everywhere, nothing but men.
Dark and tanned, short and tall, toned and plump, mostly moustached.
We bond over caffeine and cigarettes, talking endlessly, telling stories, and making sense of a senseless world. Justifying the unjustifiable and debating the local cosmology.
My prick, he argues, is subject to my moods, my whims, and nothing else, NOTHING else.
His opponent attacks: Be wary of pig, it faggotises your prick.
People, I finally say, surely you can be tied to a Jinni, who turns your dick to a weenie.
And on your wedding night, the night of your coronation, instead of Salaheddin you become an embarrassment. Ironic.
Kan Zaman…
Philosophy. Psychiatry. Politics. Photography. Mohammed Abouelleil Rashed
