The city is a sticky stuffy thing

Many of the thinkers who criticized the life of the city with its overcrowding and extreme hustle and bustle, including Dr. Mustafa Mahmoud, who criticized the life of the city by writing these lines.

A city is a sticky, claustrophobic thing

Narrow houses like shops.. People crowded in lines whispering suspiciously, exchanging fear, telling lies, taking sleeping pills and knowing no taste for sleep.. Shaved trees.. Faces covered with powders.. Nails covered with paint.. Lips that were hidden behind cold, traditional smiles that do not indicate. On something.. The language that has become... cheap, flimsy, and vulgar because of the abundance of hypocrisy, pretentiousness, and workmanship that has entered it.. The friendship that has become a craft.. The passion that has turned into a way to reach..

The opportunists who have spread everywhere are buzzing like flies... the innocence that has died.

A chronic disease that has a thousand and one names: ulcers, colon, salts, sugar, pressure, liver, angina, insomnia, anxiety, and it is one disease whose real name is the city.

These thoughts crossed my mind while I was at an altitude of ten thousand feet, flying to Tanganyika, to black Africa.

How white she seemed to me at that moment.. white of heart

I used to feel that I was sick with a chronic disease called "the city"... an incurable disease... an incurable addiction to fabricating everything... artificial speech... artificial behavior... artificial politeness...

My only hope for recovery was the forest. He speaks in his own way, as a jungle beast does when it howls in the morning, without searching for a preamble for its howl.

What a freedom