My first novel, Freaksofarabia, follows Mohammed Al-Fawkes as he returns to Jordan after seven years abroad and attempts to launch a digital marketing campaign and art collective. Equipped with an army of online bots and a carefully selected roster of references, Fawkes intends to redefine Arabness.
I was wandering around New Brunswick at midnight, lighting incense in smokeshops, screaming at ATM machines, mismatched shoes and a pair of boxers. I took a piss and felt the cosmos emerge from the tip of my cock. In truth, I was only a few blocks from home but the acid had killed truth. I was walking through the old city, I saw my name everywhere, Mohammed, Mohammed, I heard it sung from spires high in the air. An acknowledgement, everywhere I walked the myths walked with me. And when I looked up in the sky all I saw was Layla, like she was carrying us, and like a ghost I walked, in a trance of nighttime. I could almost touch her voice. I was ready to be forever lost chasing, tiptoeing after her curtains. And then almost like a patch in the fabric, I saw Razan, she emerged her eyes glowing green. I felt tears fall down my face, guilt and glory. I had kidnapped this poor girl and stuffed her into a myth, but oh was it glorious, oh was it goddess like, oh the aspiration. Razan was the only one who was free, the only one who had escaped the old city, who had unlatched herself from the references, who was always a step and a half ahead
He came back in a hospital gown. Everywhere there were printouts of Arabic poems, photos of Hunter S. Thompson running for sheriff, murals of the freakpower party connected to Walt Whitman quotations. Ripped out pages of Rumi and Gibran, arrows and circles everywhere, on the walls the words FREAKSofArabia. Clearly this was a trip with a purpose, I nodded my head in acknowledgement, clearly this was a conscious and calculated journey to the shadow realm. He went there looking for something and the madness of finding it was so great, he came back in a hospital gown.
At the computer, his fingers moved like whack-a-mole claws. He looked at me and said nothing. I pulled my sandwich from the oven, his nose wrinkled and he stared at it. “What are you doing buddy?”“Just buying websites. Digital real estate. Joe I think I’ve been summoned.”
We called each other Joe. It was a way to prevent taking ourselves too seriously. My real name was Jabriel and his was Mohammed. “You took too much Joe.”
“I have to go to Amman. To the old city.”
“I thought you were trying to avoid that.”
“I was but now I have faith.”
“In your Allah?”
“In my legends. In their ability to come alive. Keywords, Jabriel, keywords. I have to see Razan, at which point faith will take over.”
“Get some sleep.”
“I have websites to-“
“God not this again-“
“Jabriel. There is this sort of manifestation magic that yearning creates. You ever notice when you’re out with someone you love, everything goes exactly right, together you attract magic so tangibly, so easily, life feels preordained.”
The School of Levitation is committed to helping artists learn to channel and control creative energy. Our objective is sustained, consistent creativity. We’re working to create a community of artists dedicated to putting inspiration on a leash and actualizing our creative visions. This isn’t something any of us have fully mastered individually but I think we have a better shot together.
The services we offer aim to give artists the tools necessary to fly by my themselves. This could range from digital consultation and web development to editing, brainstorming, time management and levitation sessions.