Grand Moghrebia

by Ronald Kaiser 2018

I returned to my hotel room in the Medina of Rabat and found my black Cardin anarchist jacket on the wall on a hook. I decided to take photos of Saudi flags, slipped my hand inside the closed indoor pocket and found nothing. My small but highly effective full steel camera was gone. The police and AOI had stolen my camera out of my locked hotel room, that was for sure. I had committed a serious crime against the empire of King Nchaoui and Queen Esther by staying in the Medina with old men under the roof and writing and just being interested and friendly. All the things that have been told to us in the 21th century as essential for being a human. 

They were telling me that by evil looks of disgusting cafe owners and hotel clerks their own way, and sleazy behaviour and backtalk behind my back. The stubborn policemen from across the patio had stolen my precious camera I had shown only two times in town. Sneaking into a locked guests room is a common favourite everywhere, but doing it to me after being called „jew“ by a Moroccan street turd in the Medina just for taking one picture was a code red alert once more. They were all behind me. The AOI was at my neck. The police men has moved out off course before and I grabbed my bags again and called the owner to tell him that they are just a bunch of thieves here and I would leave now. He did not even answer. This was no normal theft, that was way to obvious, ‘Paris had made a move to protect their breed here.’ I thought.

Down South in Morocco where I went on the spot they did not even hesitate at all. It was just a base for downtrodden AOI personell living around the city of Essaouira. That was the main cause to keep the city as it always was, since thirty years, except the banks everywhere. The buildings were rotting away, the streets littered, the government did nothing to garantue some kind of income for the people, most of them were fading away in poverty since King Nchaoiu and his French AOI friends had prohibited the sale of hashish and other drugs in this town to not disturb the French customs of their jews and gays with money housing there and buying real estate in the region. But selling it to foreign banks? The AOI keeps the city under a tight grip, that’s what it meant. But it looked traditional Moroccan when I arrived. I did not talk all along the long bus journey, although I had a lot of opportunity for female companionship. The AOI was in the bus in form of female French speaking agents everywhere trying to attract me, to sweettalk to me, to get me into the sack and then turn it all against me and arrest me with some decadent French police team in the end. „Oeeeh uehhh, what have you written there about our Mitterand oeehh, ueeh, we confiscate all your moeny and your notebook, oeeh, ueeeh“ So I kept my distance and as it didn’t work out, when they did not give up getting close, smiling at me in spite they did not like me really, touching my leg when they were near to me in the truck stop „oh you are one the special men here, never seen anybody like you before a long time,“ bla, bla – no women like artists under siege these days, that was in the past that they liked us, because they are all under survival pressure, but it will come again. I just spat on the sand floor near them with a disgusting sound and blow out my nostrils, playing with the slime on the ground with the tip of my shoes and behaved as if nothing has happened. They did not even try to behave normal, being outraged or unpleasant, no, they just gave up and turned away later. Typical female agents behaviour, not only AOI, they know exactly what it means. Normal women don’t, they begin to talk in rage and anger about it with others or shout at you, but never agents. Agents also do things to you, normal women would never do on the spot the first time in the sack – same when they want things from you you have seldom heard of and you never wanted to do, like peeing on them or shit on them, that is just for blackmail later, if you are depraved enough to do so. I never did but this does not help. Keep that in mind, works even better with gay conmen, just spit, snort and fart them out of your life the easy way when they show their feeble existence the first time. This even worked out with an agent I knew as a close school friend. He approached me and my girlfriend lying in bed at morning, who was an agent too I had to learn later to have a threesome. And I just farted him away, he left immediately and never tried that again, just saying politely: „You two do not make it easy for me, well“ . I did not know that at that time, that he dismantled himself as an agent even then, I just could not think that way…….so keep that in mind and your life clean of AOI agents. But: he destroyed my life later for not blowing at all or giving his weenie a handjob. I am still very proud of that, they never got me, believe me, those are the things that count in live at the end. 

„Agent Sweetlick had a major incident, he was beamed out of the subjects hippie house with unknown raybeam waepons“ reported AOI Chief Cutthroat back to the base. „We need special agent Winterbottoms expertise to build in her camera system for later blackmail operations„

In Essaouira the scene had not changed for the last thirty years profoundly when I entered the town, The same old rotten outlook and cheap soup and brochette foodstalls as before, with old men in Djellabas and a prison that looked like those out of Donald Duck cartoons. The French wealthy gay and jewish scene had mostly disappeared as the kif and hash and drug scene did have almost completely, somehing else has replaced them: King Nchaoui and his men and women were there, leaving only banks and and some mediocre tourist artists alive and in business, a posh main road was still in the process and soon the whole town will be turned that way, leaving nothing from the old culture an tradition behind, but it still was tradional Moroccan the bad way, and also modern with his surveillance cameras in small shops he had advertised. It pays to have a Jewish milk nurse by Moroccan law and customs, because you are able to impose Jewish laws on a state without losing the muslims, as King Nchaoui had one and all of his dynasty. His army of women were already there, following Queen Esther’s orders and walk arround all day in groups and pairs with their modern Kaftan uniform with colored headscarve, whispering at my back: „Is that the Kafir with his thing in his hands all day jerking off?“ „Yes, that is why he is the Medina here in our Essaouira, to rape us all, that animal“. "Is that true sister, is that true, the PEOPLE are on alert already, we will whip and stone him later“.

That was the AOI at work: „let it rot, let it rot, let it rot“  they shouted at the latest AOI Kick Off meeting in Bangkok, „kill kill kill the poor, kill kill kill the poor, tear it all down, tear the old shit down“ the agents crowd was in highest extasy: another world culture heritage town was on the huge display of the AOI. „Let it look like Dubai, Dubai, Dubai“.

The sceneplay there was complete, the town had nothing else but a feel of a complete stage for a takeover by the AOI and its agents. They were all there: Americans, French, German well protected by special squads of Moroccan police with the alarm signal caps: cheap baseball caps: avoid them as hell, they are always a signal of the worst, nerver trust a basecap head in the police. „Why don’t you wear a proper uniform, officer, this is an insult to tax paying citizens?“ This police had me on their screen from the begining. Without inhibitions they were giving me the evil eye. But the weirdest parts were the AOI attacks from the beginning, as soon as I arrived.

„We are from Germany living here for twentyfive years, still works out a bit you know, it is still as it was. Have you seen the prison, it is impossible that something like this exists in the real world but it does. Also you may sit there if you do something wrong, hahahha. „What could that be?“ I asked. „Nothing special,nothing special. And do not come over to us, you don’t know where we live, because HE is here, HE is here, not yet but he was after he died, we are painters as well, you know what we are talking about, he asked you for morphine before he died, who on earth is doing that except him and agent Sweetlick and you denied because there are doctors you told him ro precribe that for his pain, hahahha. Yes off course he did not die there, you met him before, don’t you. But you did not believe your eyes“

 And so they went on until I went away and then I saw their colleagues at the seaside with typical German traveling posh outfit of the twentyfirst century from the outdoor mail order: AOI at its worst but they were holding back and did not talk to me. That were there orders given to them by „Queengoddess Pealess“, the timeless president who was missing her pea, but she lost it because only without her pea a woman is able to sit twenty year in one position without moving.
The old Beamtenabteilung, civil servants with their stern and serious and annoying German vibration did not do this but they were giving me the evil eye as much as the Moroccan police did this before. But they did not talk because as soon as they open their mouths they are done, well known as the worst secret service agents of the world who even fry their own testicles sometimes with sattelite antennas out of the jungle and don’t know about it.
I still tried to write there and placed myself in an ugly, dirty cafe in a sideroad and asked for permission to plug in my notebook and it was granted by the onwers, a sinistre looking Moroccan couple. She was wearing the Queens uniform with a colored headscarve and a coloured Kaftan and working in the cafe, full of poor and downtrodden and desperate men. I was writing on a USB stick in my notebook, I checked the file shortly after I had renewed it by saving and it was gone completely, not to be restored. The USB stick was also damaged, nothing could be saved on it anymore, it had to be destroyed later. That was the AOI at work at highest alert and this veiled cunt, the cafe owners wife has called them, with her husband, just for writing in a notebook. “just report anybody for unusual behaviour like showing disrespect for the scum of this planet by attempting to be able to write and read.”

I had obviously taken a shit in their home nest in Morocco without knowing it. Nowadays the AOI are controlling even the electricity lines, they can read what you write through the power lines and delete files without online access. Just plug in your device in a cafe in a nice powerline shown to you and you have the AOI and it’s secret police right in your smartphone and notebook, reading and deleting what the like.I went away and paid those two ugly smiling pieces of shit who had reported me imediatley “for writing” and bumped into two US Americans on the street and went away. I met them again twenty minutes later and they began the typical AOI sweettalk as I call it at another table among themselves for me to hear it.

“No it was not meant bad anyhow that agent Ursula Drydock announced him to be a drug dealer at work twenty years ago. Not at all. It was a mistake that she did this, just a mistake. But we can make it al good, all good.”. “Are you talking about that cool dude who went with his chick to Morocco twenty years ago? Yes I am talking about that dude, you know, he got axed after by agent Ursula Drydock for allgedly drug smuggling, she just spread it you know to get her new home in New England, cruzifying German lefties for no reason but career”. “Yeah man, that is so sad, we make it all good, it is all good, we make it all good.”

I went over to the tables and stared into their empty but alert faces with a little antenna behind the ear and said: “I go now, jerk off in bathtub full of ice and when I do that I watch your heads explode when I come in my inner eye. Have a nice day.” The French were holding back meanwhile, I had given them my best at the bus stop in between when I rejected their amour fou.
I went to my cheap hotel where they tried to steal my stuff from the shower off course with the most impertinent attitude I have ever seen: just going in after I undressed and when I moved out shortly to complain about the cold water. ‘Bang, I heard the door of the shower slamming. I was not afraid or nervous at all, I was hiding my money in a belt around me still. But he was not just sneaking in and trying to steal, no, moving in and stay inside, although I had paid for the hot water. Without any inhibitions somebody from the next room locked himself in and did not open again. To steal whatever I left inside and maybe clean himself or his bowels with a hot water to be ready for the next gay customer maybe. I banged at the door: “Open up, open up, I have aaaaaallll my money in there. ” I had not off course, I just my shampoo and my towel but I wanted to put that Moroccan cunt in misery. “Open up, open up, my money my money” After a while he opened and gave me my towel and my shampoo with a sad and greasy smile while continuing his anal bath with my hot water. That is all what is to say about the friends in Essaouira, I am sure they beat him up or kill him later because he 'had my money”.

That is Essaouira in its highest boom and bloom time, I thought. I was mistaken by far. It was always extremely annoying with hasslers from abroad staying there trying to sell hash and fake cocaine and then they were replaced by “rich French gaylords mostly from the Grand Okzident from Paris and midi who bought houses there and in the region and annoyed anybody so muich, that French was not accepted as language even in Essaouira anymore. “Par bleu, eeyyyh, quesque ces’t ca, ohh, uuhh, je appel a Paris al la Grand Orient, ohh” And so it went day after day, when they saw what they did not like, even when the Muezzin called from the mosque they phoned their masters in their lodge in Paris to complain and they phoned the corrupt police of Essaouira and they mistreated the locals. They phoned the Grand Okzident even when they had to pay for the real estate and put Moroccan people in misery when the were told “de paris” they did not have to pay, they complained about Kif smokers, they complained about the local soup sold in foodstalls in Paris. But then they were gone suddenly, but the agents of AOI stayed with ther intriguing French women and their American couples, it did not save Essaouira at all.

I did not move out of that shithole of a hotel near the Medina because I had paid for the next day already. When I went back to my room I saw the two chambers next to mine were occupied suddenly. One gay Moroccann in each room, scratching his balls in his pants and waving to me thru the open window when I passed. ‘That is not good’ I thought and waited in the dark in the room. I stood up and went back to the toilet. It was covered with shit, urine and used toilet papers now. I went back to my room and the two gays were still lying in the same position, scratching their balls in their pants, raising their hands when I passed and yelled: “Bon jour!”.
Nothing more to say about that disgusting turd of a town, thought, again wrong.

The giant suitcase arrived shortly after midnight, brought in by a police car with flashing blue lights and stood just under my window from which I could watch the dirt poor remnants of what was a market with vegetables before. Nowhere else in Morocco I had seen such a sadness and poverty when it came to vendors of day by day foodstuff. They were ill under extreme pressure by AOI and King Nchaoui and will be removed and replaced by elegant market halls de Paris paid for by loans from the AOI.

Sometimes you are suffering from a sudden loss of reality “ that is why we were travelling to India for example. The ultimate kick was Varanasi: the dead burning just in front of us on wooden pyres and holy men and us smoking charras while watching them burn. “Booooooooooooooom Shankaaaaaaaar, Boooooooooooooom Shankaaaaaaaaar”. Other holy men from Germany continued with the chillium and charras: “Boooooleeeenaaath, Sabkesaaath, Boooooooooooom Shankaaaaaaar. “Boooooommmm Shaaaankaaaaar” and Indian holy man answered and smoked a complete chliium in one puff without a cuff. Dead holy men were floating in the Ganga with some dead animals because they could not be cremated because they are holy men, too holy to be burned because they are in the state of purity already. The ultimate reality loss trip then no acid needed at all, that freaked some people far out, that sight and the atmosphere around it, they needed al lot of acid later to understand that and accept it.

But it was not evil. But here it was. It just happens: ultimate evil. You can’t believe what they are doing because they are commiting the most heinous acts as if it was nothing if you are declared kafir or unbeliever by them or non-admirer of King Nchaoui and the Grand Okzident or something builds up inside them in a group that is inexplainable even to them, as if a demon has taken over. And there it was and there it came in: the suitcase of the Essaouira police, before my eyes with a procession of demons and ghouls to my hotel directly from the AOI central base.

I decided again to tune in, not to drop out immediately and lay on the bed in the dark in my room, waiting for the attack to happen. I wanted them to commit who they really are when you are not even in a state of emergency but a male wanderer and artist and not the elegant traveller or posh father or serious husband with wife, protected by your government and all international agencies. That was my move and it paid out. The atmosphere in the room began to change, it was impossible to relax anymore, sudden tension everywhere. Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz it made in my ear,zzzzzzzzzzzzzz an endless humming that intensified more and more and seemd to never stop and it didn’t. My blood pressure was rising as if I had taken something really bad but I hadn’t. I ran to the mirror and my skin had turned red without I had realized it, it felt as if somebody had turned on electric wires in the bed, in floor, in the ceiling, in the wall, like a galvanic bath you can not leave and that is becoming more and more intense without any chance to stop it. But I played as if it was still durable and laid myself on the bed again. Then IT eally happend, shivers were running up and down my skin everywhere, my toes and feet began to hurt and there was an unbearable pressure in the left side of my thorax. I jumped up and went to the mirror again: my skin was a red as raw meat and swollen. As if I was in a trance I grabbed my travel bag kicked the door open and saw the two stool pigeon in the rooms left and right still lying on their beds. They had been paid by the police to wait til I was gone to pretend normality but they looked as horrible as myself. I rushed down and the clerk tried to block me: “Quesque ces’t, Quesque ces’t, why you go? Why you go?” Nobody else was there in the lobby at all, they have cleaned it out, it was about midnight. I told him to fuck off and cleaned the exit of his existence by just swinging my bag into he direction of the exit and ran out to the street. Slowly the radiation went away and I moved around several corners to loose the animals of that shithouse called hotel and I found an empty taxi. I opened the back door threw in my travel bag and told the driver to find another hotel for me, at 1 o'clock in the night. He went on without talking at all and drove to the better parts of the Ville Noveau and stopped in front of a nice house with flower garlands and a lot of pottery with huge plants around the house. I rang the bell and waited, again, I waited. I told the driver to phone the owner since it was close to one o’clock now and he did to my surprise. Somebody answered and soon the door was opened. The black owner looked at me without any intrest in spite of my red hot and swollen face and my anger I was feeling about those pieces of scum before. I did not want to show my passport but gave him about 20 $ and he gave me the key without even telling me where the room is. “Upstairs!” that was all this bitch said. I went upstairs and saw a long row of open rooms with absolutey nobody inside. My room was the last one in the row and locked. I opened it and: the electricty was not working. I decided immediately this was a trap since the electricty worked in all other rooms, but I wanted them to show themselves again and stayed in that room with electricity. I just laid down on the huge bed, indulges in that four star luxury and waited without getting undressed. It took about thirty minutes and I was just calming down from the radiation before and began to believe again they would be real here.

The atmosphere in the room began to change, it was impossible to relax anymore, sudden tension everywhere. Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz it made in my ear,zzzzzzzzzzzzzz an endless humming that intensified more and more and seemd to never stop and it didn’t. My blood pressure was rising as if I had taken something really bad but I hadn’t. I ran to the mirror and my skin had turned red without I had realized it, it felt as if somebody had turned on electric wires in the bed, in floor, in the ceiling, in the wall, like a galvanic bath you can not leave and that is becoming more and more intense without any chance to stop it.
This time I did not go to bed again, I grabbed my bag and ran down. Everything was empty, I opened the door and just went out, leaving it open. Nobody would come here voluntarily, they could have sacks of gold there and any thieve in the world would avoid the premises. I ran to the main road, stoopped a taxi, opened the back door and the driver said: “Do you want a hotel? Yes, I said, Hotel Riad in in Saudi Arabia.” He did not say a word and I continued: ” I can’t decide what ist better, Qatar, Oman, Saudi Arabia or Morocco” He began to smile and started laughing and drove me to the bus terminal. He stopped and I gave him a tip too. The bus was already waiting for me. I did not even ask where it was going but paid my ticket an he said.” It was about 2 o'clock in the morning. Casablanca a sept heurs”. I did not even answer but went in, he drove on and I could sleep feeling save there. Nobody told them. I had found a friend in the taxi driver.

I woke up when the bus took a grinding halt at the central bus station of Casablanca, a main industrial town of Morocco. I looked outside and said to another passenger:” is this Falludja or is this Aleppo under siege? I do not go out of the bloody bus!” He did not answer but pretended he has not heard anything but hasted away. I continued watching out of the windows and saw a giant bus station in despair. It was dirty and full of oil leaks and all kinds of garbage. Islamists in stained Kaftans and fully veiled women all around, beside bearded young men with leather jackets, constant shouting and yelling was heard. “Get out of the bus!!” The driver invited me for a breakfast in Aleppo with the FSA and I moved out politely and calm, took my bag and decided that I would never leave that station or walk around, I would take the next bus out of there. I placed myself at a food stall and sat on a chair on an absolutely dirty floor, garbage from days and weeks around the whole bus station. Young men were fighting and yelling. I looked in their eyes carefully and saw: SPEED and aggression and crazyness. People were throwing their stuff on he floor and shouted to the cafe owner. He did not react but served me a friendly breakfast at his counter. I knew I was safe there exactly to that moment, just one of the hundreds islamist or veiled women around would say just one word about the only Kafir in the whole bus station. I stood up and used an incredible toilet, people were falling and hasting around in speed dementia and bought a ticket to the far North and waited diguised behind a newspaper until my next bus drove me away.

Copyright: Ronald C. Kaiser 2018