27 January 2013

Amman part 2 (uptown) [for JC]

Burger Kings, Diary Queens, 1950s Americana right? Mcdonalds, KFCs, Hardee’s, only useful markers. Inside they smell like they should. Filthy plastic play areas, ball pools,

trees in pavement squares, abruptly ending streets and pavements, edges everywhere, cabs, policemen littering, diesel fumes. Zara woman, we have a Mango now and we’re getting a M&S!

You’d like it here, you should live here, it would be easier for you to straighten your hair here.

She’s a doctor, he’s a dentist, she’s an architect, he’s an engineer.

Mercedes, BMWs, giant four wheel drives, a leap to get out, a stretch to get in. Girls dressed like their mums dressed like their daughters, just like everywhere else. Starbucks, even a Coffee Republic. Mall, mall, mall, mall, mall, mall, mall, mall, mall. Anchor store, Gymboree, stray cats, bedouins, brand new ultra luxe three bedroom apartments, occasional goats,

definite ghosts, candle-lit at home altars to our ancestors, not a day goes by that I don't...

beggar woman tapping at your car window, beggar girl complimenting your tiny dog, beggar man selling light up Santa hats, walking through the lines between cars stuck in constant traffic, selling gum, toys, or just holding out a hand, tapping at your window. I think of Catherine every time, Lockwood dragging her arm back and forth across the broken window. Sometimes you give, sometimes you look away, but you always always feel bad and explain the problem again and again but it doesn’t go away. Green light, drive off, primitive accumulation,

half finished sky scrapers stuck that way for years, embarrassing attempts,

calls to prayer, calls to prayer, sometimes sung sometimes automated, calls to prayer, calls to dinner, call your cousin, come and eat: white cheese, beans, rice, yoghurt, lemons, chocolate, lentil soup, pastries (tiny, amazing), wannabe brasseries, misspelled menus, burgers, falafel,

American educated, Canadian educated, British educated,

sophisticated, open minded but: fuck the gays, and fuck the chinks and no one marries a slut and that top doesn’t match what were you thinking? Let me fix your eyebrows, why don’t you fix your nose? You should wear heels. Eat eat eat! Why aren’t you eating? Why isn’t she eating?

Turkish soap operas from six years ago exported from Egypt, no more Egyptian soaps, no more Egyptian anything. No more anything, sit and watch TV, count your blessings: at least we have each other.

No comments:

Post a Comment