29 June, 2026 Internal Cartography Series 33° 31' 58.8" N, 5° 6' 0" W

  29 June, 2026 Internal Cartography Series 33° 31' 58.8" N, 5° 6' 0" W

 Composed while pondering tonight's full moon, biding my time before the Morocco - Netherlands World Cup game starts at 2 am here in the mid-Atlas Mountains.      

 

A full moon sails through the sky,

charting its path in silence.

Which cartographer will map my course?     

Who will trace the headwaters of my rivers ­—

their deep primal pulses?

Who will climb my peaks

and sink into the guarded depths of my chasms?

Who is patient enough to map this breathing land?

Who is willing to explore my hinterlands?

By what name will you claim my terrain?

 

I say to you, cartographer:

Do not rush the landscape or demand immediate answers.

Do not fear the dark heavy heat of my depths.

If you pursue the source of my surging waters,

do not hack through the dense overgrowth—

Let it yield under a slow patient hand.

 

My terrain has been trodden by immortal myths.

My realm is a beautiful weight of primordial earth

and cosmic patience.

This scarred landscape whispers stories

like ancient petroglyphs.

 

Look up: the full moon circles back tonight,

closing its quiet arc above the wild.

What if you choose not to return to your land,

and instead, inhabit mine?

 

Your map slips from your fingers, useless now.

Ink cannot hold the heat of this earth.

What will you do now that you stand at the edge of the wild,

with no landmarks left to guide you?

 

 

Atlas Lions Fever

 

 

 

 

World Cup season is upon us, and it’s always something I manage to forget about up until it’s happening again. And then the fever sets in: staying up all night catching all the matches at friend’s houses, heading to the local watering holes to cheer along with other patrons, etc.

Having spent 2 decades in the MENAT (Middle East, North Africa, Turkey), these World Cup experiences each have lasting memories. What do I remember the most?

·      White plastic chairs spilling out onto overcrowded streets facing giant projectors

·      The smell of shisha & cigarettes

·      Hot sweaty nights interrupted only by the sound of electric fans blowing useless breezes in rhythmic cadence

·      Fireworks, horns, chants, dancing in the streets with flags

·      How fierce national rivalries dissolve into regional united regional cheers as a team plays further up the tournament ladder

·      University camaraderie with students and professors watching matches together underneath starry skies on campus

This 2026 season I’m living/working in Morocco, so it is especially exciting as the Atlas Lions are on the rise. I’m noticing that within the A-L groupings that many of the not-as-well-known teams are under-represented- in terms of predictions about matches… As a result, there have been some interesting unexpected draws (Spain/Cap Verde, Portugal/DR Congo, Iran/New Zealand and even Morocco/Brazil). There is this wave of lower-ranked nations upsetting the tournament giants, and I’m here for it.  There is a beauty in this chaos that is equal to the tension.

I think many sports fans supporting the traditional giants are suddenly understanding the significance of AFCON (Africa Cup of Nations). So, this feels especially relevant to be here right now because I feel I’m located in the epicenter of this giant shifting awareness.

In my ideal bracket, I’d like to see Morocco and Portugal in the finals; AFCON grit vs European elite. Obviously, the 2022 quarter-finals between the two teams is still fresh in everyone’s memories. Watching this game on 19 July here in Morocco and then stepping into an airplane on 20 July to Portugal… this would be epic!

Option number 2, for different reasons- both cultural and political, I’d like to see Morocco vs Iran in the finals. Really, though, I’d like to see two MENAT teams compete in the finals. Why? Perhaps I’m naïve, but the reality on the ground of many AFCON nations consists of vague terrain (dirt lots or packed clay fields), improvised gear, or no gear at all (barefoot).

It’s 9 am and I’m lying in bed still riding the high of the Atlas Lions’ victory against Scotland last night – as well as the Brazil win over Haiti. Thus far, I’ve resisted watching many of the ‘giants’ but it’s time to start seeing what England is doing, etc. Tonight, we’re heading to the local watering hole, so I think I’ll focus on the Ivory Coast/Germany game that will be playing; another opportunity to test out the AFCON grit test the old guard.

Mid-Atlas Late Afternoon Thunderstorm Interrupted

  

 

 

From heavy heat to a cooling downpour,

thunder rumbling

 like the sudden sharp intake of breath

 before skin meets skin.

 

And just like that,

it’s over

just as it was getting started.

 

Heavy heat cloaks tense atmosphere.

Humidity thick, suffocating.

Somewhere a disappointed lover lies back

in damp silence.

Sticky skin.

 

Shivering in the heat of an empty sweat,

desperate for the flood that never came.

Phantom fingers tracing the damp heat,

left burning for a flood that never fell.

 

In time, a cool breeze settles,

cooling the skin yet clearing nothing. 

 

 

Exodus: Anthology of Romances

  

I’ve never really thought much about moving to a country, setting up my life, living my life, and then exiting that life for another one. I would further say that this feels very comfortable for me. I enjoy the challenge. I dare say I’m addicted to this ‘feeling’. There is such beauty in letting go.

Think about the stages of falling in love; it’s a long process and quite addictive. Falling out of love, again, a long process. Addictive? In a sense, yes. I mean to say, that the feelings resulting…they are nothing short of brilliant for artistic endeavors; writing, painting, etc. Staying in love… that’s the challenge, right? Is this why I run away?What do people write about when they are in love? 

So, I consider countries/working situations for the past 20 years as a sort of relationship, each one. I’ve written about this before, and it’s a constant consideration in my mind. For example, Istanbul was this boyfriend that I was addicted to- even though I knew ‘he’ wasn’t right for me. Istanbul was like what I (naively, I’m sure) think heroin is like. It was extremely difficult to leave, but I did — although it’s always in the back of my mind… New York City was a similar feeling; it was super exciting, but I knew that relationship would never last. It was an epic summer fling. Rarely do I think about NYC. But that’s okay. 

If you can’t be with the one you love, love the one you’re with... Each country mirrors a passionate volatile lover. Infatuation turns into daily living turns into departure. Each departure, although exciting, increasingly becomes more and more difficult, though. Perhaps that’s not the right word choice, difficult. Maybe now, though, it’s that I’m remaining behind. I’m the lover that is being left behind. Of course, I know I will also leave this lover but not just yet…

Being an ‘outsider’ is never my worry, honestly. Or, it is never the reason to leave; this is more appropriate to describe each exodus. Each country is an unpredictable partner, and I think I’ve adapted to this frame of mind. After all, each country I’ve moved to has been about work. I’ve excelled at building family, work relationships, communities, and then exiting them. There is this lingering love connection with each intimate connection I make, and meeting up with these family members in other countries is the logical trajectory. Lovers reuniting. This is what we always tell each other- when we are leaving; the aftermath of the break-up. I’m already dreaming of returning to Turkey next winter. It’s been too long since I’ve connected with that lover.

Because I am a person who likes seeing patterns in things, I think about the inevitable break-up with my current country. Is Portugal going to break the pattern, the chain, for me? I fell in love with Portugal years ago. Portugal, though, I am realizing is not a lover. It’s a partner. Portugal has always been something separate. It’s just always been a stable relationship that I could always count on. So how does Portugal fit into my patterned existence? I’m not sure yet, but I kind of like the idea of staying in love there. Or, I think I’m up for the challenge.

Am I finally shifting from a series of torrid romances to a foundational partnership? I wonder. Is Morocco going to be my last goodbye love letter, my last exodus?

10 June, 2026 Internal Cartography Series 33° 31' 58.8" N, 5° 6' 0" W

  

It’s not what I say,

It’s what I’ve left unsaid.

 

It’s not what I write,

It’s what I’ve left unwritten.

 

I am an open book,

With a hidden language.

 

That which you cannot hear nor read,

Unless you are free.

 

Liberation flows from within

My root chakra.

 

I am free

Great Works of Literature are Capable of Temporarily Destroying Me Emotionally

  

Recently, in Portugal, I fell in love with a man.

His name? Nathanial Hawthorne, and he is 224 years old.

 

What do I adore about him?

His ability to absolutely fuck up my afternoons using only words.

 

We have unfinished chapters, him and I.

Although we’ve only just met, I anticipate quickly returning to him next month —

Where I left him, lying on the couch.

 

There, he can finish me off.

Seduce me with his weight of sinful guilt, his cruelty of isolation, his failed utopian ideals.

For him, there is no easy redemption; for me, devastation.

 

He is under my skin. Right now.

A haunting by the ghost of a man who likely dooms every soul that dare to read his works.

The ink from his pen slowly poisoning.

Soon, his centuries-old grief will ruin me completely.

 

How haunting it will be, to be so exquisitely undone.