On the way to Purification

We never thought we would witness such a leap in the expansion of foorness in this very century. After the groundbraking fooring of Madrid, the foorapes crossed the Mediteranean Sea into a brand-new continent. A small step for the foorape, but a great step for mankind. But that is not all. For the foorapes most likely stumbled on the place where the first foorape was spawned ... . The story begins as follows ...

After a small delay of 8 hours at the airport - due to increased security arrangements provided by the government of Morocco in order to guarantee a safe passage for the foorapes - our friends landed at the city of Marrakech. The extra security, however, proved to be completely unnecessary, since our friends were welcomed by snake charmers and festivities at one of the greatest squares in this royal city. Local cooks fired up their grills, poured out their vintage coke's from the extremely fruitfull year of 1981, and just couldn't resist to hug them upon arrival.


Unfortunately, the Moroccan souk's proved to be quite dangerous for a foorape. Disregarding the remarkable physical features of this mamal's brain, his sensory capabilities are completely outmatched by the un-foorapical anti-foorsefield that resonates throughout the entire touristic sector of Morocco. For the foorape is a social animal, and most foorape/human interactions at places such as the 'souk's' or such as the 'wonderfull panoramic picture sites', are infused with a commercial spirit. Money that is spent on other stuff than fun, beer or ladies serves no purpose whatsoever in the foorape cosmology. Archaelogical findings have shown that ancient foorape societies explicitly forbade words such as 'euro' or 'dirham'. The only exception being bartenders - who probably served as priests or holy-men. The first picture below shows foorape S-man entring a Souk without any suspicion whatsoever.

The sensory overload kicked in shortly after entering the Souk's. Below, you see some artwork, inspired on the accounts of S-man, Z-man and A-man, who described the psychadelic experience of disorientation that infused their foorape bodies in detail. Our friends barely managed to find the exit.

In a weakened state of mind, the foorapes felt an 'obligation' (the third taboo in foorape language) to accompany the rest of their human/tourist-travel companions. Below, you may observe A-man who puts a rock down to honour the holy god Foor (see post 'the foorapes DO Madrid'), in a prayer to help him through his ordeal.

Shortly after that, the foorapes passed the 'Gate of the Sahara' ...
and entered into it ...

There was something strange about this place. Weakened as our friends might be, they experienced a deep sensation of belonging, of comming home. Two forces struggled for dominance over the foorapes; a pavlovian imprinted 'tourist-mode' which had been branded onto our friends during their visits to the commercial souk's on the one hand, and a foorse emanating from this blisfull place, on the other ...

Our friends remained strong as long as they could ...

Exhaustion was allmost complete ...

Only one sentence pounding in their heads ...

NO ...MORE ... TOURIST MODE .............. .....

No More Tourist Mode

The 'tourist mode' which had been imprinted on the foorapes by the totally un-foorapical tourist sector began to wear off at this place of purification. For the 'Erg Chebbi' is a desert, a place of contemplation, hostile to any kind of commercial thought. Survival is the main word here, and whereas a mere human might long for water, a foorape longs for the foorse ... and there is plenty of that in this place of walking dunes ... . The foorapes started to recharge their foorcells ... Behold A-man ...















Z-man ...











And of course ... S-man












There was only one explanation possible for such a profound rebirth ... the foorapes had found their place of origin at last ... the walking Dunes, the land of master SF author Frank Herbert (see 'friends of the foorapes') ... the land of Muad'dib, Sieches, Sandworms and Spice ... . With this realisation, the foorapes remembered Frank Herbert's Litany against Fear and used it against the terrors of 'tourist mode';



I must not fear

Fear is the mind killer

Fear is the little-death that brings total oblitteration

I will face my fear

I will permit it to pass over me and through me

And when it has gone past I will turn the inner eye to see it's path

Where the fear has gone there will be nothing

Only I will remain



After speaking these holy words, the foorapes persisted and remained, they recharged their foorcells and reached a new level of consciousness ...

The Holy Dance of Foor

After their purification, the foorapes reached a new level of consciousness, they opened up their minds and entered into their 'other memory' a genetic memory akin to 'instinct' in which the most hallow of foorape rituals are inscribed. Suddenly, they remembered it all, the Holy Dance of Foor. The tribute to life, as it was originally performed by the First Foorape in this very desert. In that extatic moment, ... the foorapes finally foored ...












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