mammonism

last night my eyes were bursting, my head was screaming, and there were people around me everywhere. but before that happened, i was subjected to a conversation. i would love to write more about that but i can't in the presence of googliness and googledom. my future would be at stake.
so my head screamed. my nose, sinuses, etc were pounding for a way out of that sickly head.
actually they're echoing now.
with all the commotion and the glittering CWE hacking itself around me, i (once again), detached. you know, the out-of-body thing. it was not boredom, not indifference, and not the company. no, it was the stress, i think. stress can do peculiar things to a person. so i let my head scream, my sinuses call out, and floated up. it was not the alcohol either, by the way, i only had one drink. i saw myself in conversation, in oooh mode and then in aaah mode. i was a little taken aback by how much i was talking, come to think of it. there was no stopping me, oh no. no wonder my head screamed. i saw the moustached man cradling his beer in the corner. in my country he would be a spy. here, he was just lonely. but his moustache looked so suffocating in this heat! whoever came up with the idea of a moustache, really? we all take it for granted, but the moustache was created for aesthetic purposes and conquered the Old World at one point.

so i've been told to focus in my writing, and i'll try. where was I? yes, the moustached man with the beer in the corner. the fountain underneath the terrace shivering under the moon. the music floated up with me and my out of body self danced with the killers while my incessantly talking grounded self kept talking. schizophrenia? we're all schizophrenic and normal. as long as we control the switches. there was an atmosphere of slurring. of swaying. a boy asked me for a cigarette (i smile here because that was very mrs robinson-ish) and my friend handed him one. the girls he was talking to looked like all the other girls on the terrace. he was trying hard. he sweated. i blinked and saw my palm extending towards the palm reader. he said the same thing he says every single time, but maybe he knows because he reads my blog. i look for the lebanese man that is always found there, with his bracelet, on friday nights, after his coffee from the cartel. tonight he's unseen. then i remembered why i had floated up. so i left my palm in the hands of the crowd and i thought about the conversation in the afternoon. he had become tired, so tired. disillusioned too.
mammon is the god of money and he has been talked about in literature. mammonism, money worship. and that is what mammon does to a man. disillusionment. he is tired and he needs help, me. mammon would certainly help pay my bills, my superfuous extravagance, my ubiquitous accidents of life and fate. but where is the kidney (i'm not crazy, i love the kidney). where are my dreams?
i finally saw the video wael sent me. she was a lawyer and she is a photographer, now. she said she likes to take photos of people that tell you about a place. she also said she had been to all seven continents. she looked so happy. few people look happy, and by that i do not mean 'not depressed'. i mean happy with happiness mirroring in the camera lens from their eyes. i need to grow up, i told myself. be practical with practical goals practical routes. or route, rather. but as i grow older i relaize that i cannot grow up, that i am one of those people stuck in the dreams and sins of their adolescence. and i floated up to think quietly about the looming notion of giving myself up to mammon, and about growing up. most people do it.
doctors earn some of the highest salaries in this country. occasionally they help people. i know, i'm so cynical, but i am becoming disillusioned too. so i floated around the terrace of people, around the girl posing in front of the fountain, around the Plaza that towered over the terrace before the glint of the moon, and i decided it was time for an eclipse. today i need to think that i am in control, i push the wheels of my life, along the unknown serpentine of a road that i will trace. so i will turn my phone off and think. and write.