Field-recorded travel poetry from Fez, Morocco—Sufi mysticism, drum processions, alleyway soundscapes, stray cats, donkeys, markets, and spiritual misdirection. A long-form spoken-word epic about leaning into the mystery, finding rhythm in chaos, and listening for music where it already exists. Poetry, travel diary, sonic ethnography, ecstatic drift.

• “To be Sufi is to embrace the mystery and study the patterns around the mystery.”

• “Once you feel it, you are it. Then you enter.”

• “Everyone is a musician. Like they can all hear each other and play their own melody that does not interfere with the song of Fez.”

• “I am in Fez, a city with no cars for a thousand years.”

• “The city was made from the rhythms of the crowded people… and the rhythms had gotten into the walls.”

• “The chants are coming from the barbecue boys and their cell phones.”

• “No one fucks with the kittens.”

• “This is a vortex.”

• “Music is emergent, elegant.”

• “Drums by donkey hoof on thousand-year-old streets that never had cars.”