Opium Dreams

In the beginning, we are all but one. Good is bad and bad is good. We are all one and the same. Panjia. This process is heavy on my body and soul. But I need to do it, and I only hope that my efforts will be accepted.  I have enough juice left for one journey. I need to make the most of it.  I light up my pipe. "This time will be a bit different," I say to myself with a tired grimace, "a bit grimmer". I lie down and look up. I take a dive.  Inhale I look deep into my memory. I feel my mind drifting.  I see myself on a horseback. My skin as soft as butter and my soul unburdened. I am a newborn. I extend my hand and touch the horse's mane. I can not see it but we are connected. I look up and see a man riding the horse. Young and powerful he is. He looks at me and I meet his eyes, as black as a moonless night. I guess we all have the same eyes where I come from. I let myself sucked into his eyes and feel the infinite night surround me until there's nothing but ...

Let the time come and go freely. It is but a construct of your soul to protect you, to remind you of your limits, what you can do, and what you shouldn't do. Give it its freedom and it shall give you yours. I thank you for indulging and hope this journey will be less arduous than its predecessors.  Inhale I look deep into my memory and I see myself. I see myself lying down a tree. It is nice to be able to enjoy the shade after a day's work. I have no worries. My world has ended and I am lying on top of its rubble. If I have survived this long, it only goes to show that my survival is inevitable. I fear nothing and no one. I think about nothing and no one. My mind is as present as it is absent. I think I have reached it. The state my master always spoke of. Panjia. I like myself at this moment. "I'm in good shape" I tell myself. Nothing can get to me.  It doesn't take me long to notice that I've fallen into my own trap. My hubris was lurking just below the ...

So, since when have you known him? Since when do I know him? I've known him since he was born. Longer than that actually, I've known him since long before. We share a union sealed in the old ways. In a way, our bond is limitless. I've waited for him to get to this world for a hundred moons, and I suspect he's waited for me for a while himself. The day he was born, I was almost as close to him as his mother. His first heartbeat was the sound of my liberty. He drew breath and my lungs expanded, He cried and I listened with the utmost joy. I've been by his side for so long that there is nobody else in my mind but him. I was consumed by him, devoured, obliterated, my being annihilated by him. Those days, our relationship was a most peculiar one.  How was your relationship with him on his first days? It is not easy to put into words what is not meant to be described. Our relationship is not meant for words or poems. A language can not encompass us. He...

Shall we resume? Of course. What would you like to know next? Your description of your relationship with Nile confuses me. Do you wish him well or ill? I see why you would be confused. It is a subtle notion to wrap your head around.  You see. I was created and I exist solely because the woman wished misery upon him. My presence in itself is the seal to that misery. As long as I am by his side, He will never know joy.  However, I am, for all intents and purposes, alive. And incumbent upon that is free will. I do have a soul and I am free to think and feel, and to some extent, even act, freely. You see, his misery is not caused by something I do. It is caused by my mere existence. That must be a difficult situation for you, to cause such pain to the one you love  Indeed it is. and it is truly my greatest regret. I'd give my life in a heartbeat to see his smile. I've never seen it. Why don't you do that? forgive me if it is too confrontation...

The first time is always the hardest, you think of it, it's appalling, it's repulsive, it's inhumane, to say the least, and you leave it at that, but only for sometime of-course, because you're curious, and let me just say that curiosity is at its core very primordially humane, our curiosity defines us, in a way it is the very essence of '' human'', and for being curious you can never be blamed, never, period! But curiosity is a very dangerous toy to play with, once you lose control you lose it once and for all, and it is this very curiosity that I am so vividly defending that will take you down the deepest pit if not mastered, which brings us back to the first line: because you're curious, you approach, you have to know, WHAT IS THIS? it eats you up from the inside, and you start feeling it, playing with it a bit from a safe distance, and you come close little by little, and you touch it, it is new and exciting, you can not take your hand off ...

Dakota took a long sip of her lemon honey tea, one teaspoon of sugar, and looked at the white page on the desk in front of her. She had some keywords scattered here and there, but nothing substantial. Ideas came scarcely and order was lacking, disjointed words that so stubbornly refused to draw a picture. She had a white shirt with black buttons, and she wore pearl earrings that went perfectly with her smile. She peered into her page through thick glasses, as if this layer of glass gave her a sense of security and protection. She had a round, friendly face with a small flat nose, and her black eyeballs were carefully placed on an extremely white sclera.    At this point, except for words scattered here and there, she had one line written on her page that held any promise: "Their graves were marked with pale stones, no names, no dates"  She did not make any progress on this idea for a couple of months now. It started from a newspaper story she read about ...

Midnight Rendez-vous In our land, fishing is not just for surviving, it is a way of life. I've been on fishing boats earlier than I've been standing on my feet, the same goes for the other children of the village. We live in the sea much more than we live on land, and for that we are grateful. The man with the tank-top first came to our village two weeks ago. I remember seeing him for the first time in the middle of the night as he limbed to the outcast hut of the village. One of the huts that we keep to outsiders who pass by so that they do not disturb our people. That was a week ago, and ever since, we didn't see him come out. We were not even sure that he was inside, but the elders warned us of disturbing him. We played outside by the river each day. Older kids would tease us to go near his hut, they would threaten that otherwise, they will not let us play. We were scared of the elders so we did not listen to them at first, we kept to ourselves and played with sma...

He had an orange, irregular shaped stain on his white tank top, and the thought of it brought heaviness to his lungs. He hated it, despised it. He appreciated symmetry in things, including color, it brought grace he thought, how shapes were perfectly delineated, their edges even, their sides perfectly distinguished and their halves transposable. It bestowed calm upon him. The stain was located below his torso to his right side, just above where his kidney is. It was more yellowish than orange, almost transparent on his garment, giving a foggy view of one of his scars. He was proud, very proud, of his people. He admired how they looked; tall, with a straight, arrow-like back and a face that does not smile. They had big, veiny hands and large stallion legs. their skin tone ranged from dark chocolate to fresh honey, and they had coarse facial traits with large jaws and big noses. their foreheads were lined with ant bites. He was young and vigorous once, with energy flowing through...

He had so much trust in his God at these moments that he felt his chest would explode, he felt the swelling and breathlessness. God took care of him at every turn it was almost too obvious, he could almost see him. at red lights at night clubs at brothels, he saw his God, always where he most needed. he would look at a woman's exquisite curves and strategically placed garments and say, God! he would open up her legs and before he could penetrate he'd feel his desire dissipated into thin air, miracle! he'd make bets with his God knowing full well that he'd lose, that his God would not abandon him even when he disobeys and even when he sins. it is a relation that can not be contained in words and eloquence, a link that can not be captured in songs or movies. the way he looks at the hidden part of the lane and talks to his God, and then a car comes. it is fucking magic. He took the shortest road to the bus stop, his eyes burning and his chest wheezing. in his min...