Thank you to my followers and have a Happy New Year!

Hey Everyone,

I just wanted to wish you all a Happy New Year! And also to take this opportunity to thank all of you who follow me or even take the time to like my posts.

2018 wasn’t bad but I had to take time for my other career. I was studying for a very tough exam, and that meant cutting down on the amount I can create. However, after it was over, I realized that I’d be working for another corporate office. The bottom line is that I wasn’t posting as much as I should have, and to those people who follow me, I truly apologize.

Here’s what I can promise you. I want to make this more than a hobby. I want to make this a career because being creative is what stimulates me– it is my raison d’être. And as I get older I want to fulfill my passion for making art, whether it be through my writing, sketching and/or conversations with other people.

Here are three commitments or resolutions, that I want to make:

  • Finish the first draft of my Novel.
  • Publish our Podcast at least on a weekly basis.
  • And make uncompromising, amazing art.

Once again. Thank you for everything you do and please let me know what your goals are as well.

Sincerely,

A.R Minhas

My Artwork And What It Means To Me (Updated)

Hey Guys,

I’m really happy to share my artwork with all of you. I usually make my paintings on my phone, which sometimes can be challenging as it takes a longtime; however, I’m finding the process a lot more rewarding and creatively stimulating.

I don’t like to say what my art is about but if anything its about the connection between sex and spirituality. A bit like my poetry and prose. I like to think of it as ‘Sexual Mysticism’ (If that term even exists). As for the eyes, I don’t know why but I’m obsessed in making them.

I wanted to rant a little bit with this post because lately I feel, for some reason, sex has become a taboo subject; although, it’s the single most life affirming thing you can do in your life. This has been frustrating for me lately because I’ve tried promoting my art on other social media platforms but they have rejected my request. It’s really annoying because I’m not posting porn, the nudity is meant to have a message. It’s not meant for instant gratification or objectification; it’s meant to make you think. and in that respect, I need your help.

If you like my art, if you understand my message and my true intentions; please, help me in promoting my art and supporting me. If you go onto the links below you can get T-shirts, hoodies, phone cases and stickers with my artwork on it. The links, further down, connect you to my Canvas Paintings. So you can have my paintings in your home, that is if you think there good enough. If you can’t buy, please spread the word to others. Anyway, thank you for all that your continued support and I love you all. Thanks.

Shop: https://www.redbubble.com/people/arminhas?ref=more_work_artist_title_name&asc=u

“Girl with flowers

flower Girl full napa

“Nightingale Sings”

Nightingale 2 Sings.png

“Woman in the Cosmos”

Locust Universe (Close up)

“Simurgh”

Simurgh (A.R. Minhas)

My Artwork And What It Means To Me

Hey Guys,

I’m really happy to share my artwork with all of you. I usually make my paintings on my phone, which sometimes can be challenging and although it takes a longtime, I’m finding the process a lot more rewarding and creatively stimulating.

I don’t like to say what my art is about but if anything is about the connection between sex and spirituality. A bit like my poetry and prose. I like to think of it as ‘Sexual Mysticism’ (If that term even exists). As for the eyes, I don’t know why but I’m obsessed in making them.

I wanted to rant a little bit with this post because lately I feel, for some reason, sex has become a taboo subject; although, it’s the single most life affirming thing you can do in your life. This has been frustrating for me lately because I’ve tried promoting my art on other social media platforms but they have rejected my request. It’s really annoying because I’m not posting porn, the nudity is meant to have a message. It’s not meant for instant gratification or objectification, it’s meant to make you think. and in that respect I need your help.

If you like my art, if you understand my message and my true intentions; please, help me in promoting my art and supporting me. If you go onto the links below you can get T-shirts, hoodies, phone cases and stickers with my artwork on it. The links, further down, connected you where you can get my Canvas Paintings. So you can have my paintings in your home, that is if you think there good enough. If you can’t buy, please spread the word to others. Anyway, thank you for all that you’ve done. I appreciate the support.

Shop: https://www.redbubble.com/people/arminhas?ref=more_work_artist_title_name&asc=u

“Girl with flowers

flower Girl full napa

“Nighting Sings”

Nightingale 2 Sings.png

Woman in the Cosmos”

Locust Universe (Close up)

“Simurgh”

Simurgh (A.R. Minhas)

Our Bodies Betray Us

I’m drinking again

And all I can think of, is her.

It’s cold outside

And the warm melted cheese of my quesadilla

Embraces the foamy amber.

I keep talking about the time I fell in love

And even though I know my friend is tired of me talking about her

Fuck him

I don’t care

I get poetical when I’m drunk,

And I dream of my waitress giving me blowjobs

In that perfect way, she used to

The way she would roll her tongue and sometimes use the sharpness of her teeth…

Nothing like the threat of castration

To get harder

She pulled me closer, and I told her my chemicals were for her.

Only her.

And her skin was meant for me to puncture

And draw monuments to

The way I used the red pen

No one else will know

I remember the swelling of breasts,

Swelling in my mouth.

My mother told me that she never breastfed me,

Maybe that’s why I’m so needy,

So insecure

I excuse myself for a cigarette outside.

I want to be alone.

And if there’s a god, he’s given me the gift of wanting-to-be-alone.

And I exhale smoke in triangular propulsion

Each howl of wind wakes me from sleepiness

And my thoughts race

To the pinkness of her thighs,

Softness of her hair,

Even the slight coarseness of her armpits.

I’m still thinking about her.

The perfect form.

And I’m thinking about her betrayal,

And I’m thinking about forgiving her,

Because

Eventually

Our Bodies betray us

But she will always be perfect in my mind.

© A.R. Minhas 2017

Novel: Confessions of an Abortion Addict – Excerpt – Part 6

This is an excerpt from the novel “Confessions of an Abortion Addict.” The novel is still in progress, and I’m continuing this process with Nanowrimo. I’m currently at 10,000 words, 40,000 to go! This passage might not be sequential and will be subject to additional editing. Thank you!

Two travelers in a civic ride past the countryside. The sun sets low in that perfect glow of nostalgia; a time no one remembers but becomes familiar as winter approaches. In plains of beautiful sight, the trees have accepted that their leaves must fall. Snow accumulates on the ground, frostbitten grass fingers unable to touch. I’m looking out at the window and greeted with overhanging wires, deer warning signs, orange pylons, and windmills. I think about what would happen if humans just disappeared from the face of the earth. Will these things still be there, and if they are, what would they matter?

“You’ve never had fast food before?”

“Never, my mother never allowed it, and I just found it reprehensible.”

“Those golden arches don’t do anything for you?”

“Nope.”

“You really are something aren’t you?”

“I’m sorry I’m so different from what you’re used to,” I said, sounding a lot bitchier than it was intended. I was in a foul mood, and it was spilling everywhere.

“No, no—it’s just no matter whoever you are…you always try fast food, you know? Just because it’s always there and sometimes you’re so broke that’s the only thing you can afford, right?”

“You think I’m broke?”

“No, I meant that generally. But you know everyone is broke at some point, and you don’t come off as a spoiled brat.”

“You don’t have to be rich to be spoilt.”

“Hey, sorry did I say something that is making you say all this? Because you sounded really nice on the phone and you’re the one who said that you’d like to come to the cabin after I said I was going.”

“Listen, I’m sorry…it’s I needed to get out of the city for a little bit.”

“And I was your only option? Fantastic.”

“Thank you for understanding,” I said, unable to apologize or empathize with his situation. I turn to the side of my bag and fumbling for my Dunhills. There are debris of my past lives that are in this bag, and I seem to brush against them every time I slip into its content.

The darkness of that leather purse. The womb. An aspiration that will be squirted into a yellow suckling sounds. Blue-tinged aftermaths, tissue paper, crumpled, cold to antiseptic touch, and swabbed with cotton of human shades. A hollow tube that inserts itself into a pink void. It’s searching for meaning and also destroying it. Ftt! Ftt! fits of crying. Centre of embryonic waves crashing into me, and the waves receding taking parts of me with them. And my fingers like looped knives removing the remaining cigarettes.

Windows slightly opened and my fingers nervous to the frigidity of the atmosphere outside. Nightmares following me on journeys of escaping who I am.

Previous Excerpts:

Novel: Confessions of an Abortion Addict – Excerpt – Part 5

Novel: Confessions of an Abortion Addict – Excerpt – Part 4

Novel: Confessions of an Abortion Addict – Excerpt – Part 3

Novel: Confessions of an Abortion Addict – Excerpt – Part 2

Novel: Confessions of an Abortion Addict – Excerpt – Part 1

Confessions of an Abortion Addict

© A.R. Minhas 2017

There Is A Way To Go Deeper

I wish I could go deeper

Deeper into the darkness

So deep that when it’s black

I’m blinded by the speckles of Red

 

Spirals

 

Like when the sunlight hits your eyes,

And you’re deep in thought

Among nature

Our Natural oppressor

 

The one who compels the mosquitoes to spread their blood thinner

Venom

Chemicals are designed to control you

If you can’t pronounce it

You better not swallow it, or smoke it

Or be infected by it

I ask that you hold your heart accountable

Because eventually, everyone betrays

Your blood has to be thin

And a heart has to be glass

 

Kindness not returned but refracted

Distorted to those who you truly care about

And to those traitors who deserve a second chance

 

Go deeper than that

And fuck her the way she’s supposed to be fucked

Don’t be selfish

Don’t be unkind

This isn’t about you

 

Go deeper than that

 

© A.R. Minhas 2017

Novel: Confessions of an Abortion Addict – Excerpt – Part 4

This is an excerpt from the novel “Confessions of an Abortion Addict.” The novel is still in progress and this excerpt might not be sequential and will be subject to additional editing. Thank you!

 

“I love your fucked-up-ness, ” I said to her, handing the joint I had exhaled.

 

“Do you like the fact that I’m fucked up because a) you’d like to fix me or b) you just attracted to fucked-up-ness?” smoke encircling above us.

 

“I’d like to think that it’s a bit of both,” I smirked, pulling her closer to me and felt her trippy breath, the joint was lost somewhere in the struggle. The pheromones were intoxicating. She starts by pulling off my shirt and looked impressed by my physique. She ran through my entire body counting every muscle (one of the advantages of wrestling for a living is that you have to stay in shape. The mass gainers, multi-vitamins and moderate use of the d-ball pills helps a lot obviously) and then using the sharpness of her nails, plunging deep into my shoulders towards the small of my back.

I feel my skin peeling off— and there is no pain. I pull away, teasing her a little. This allowed her the opportunity to get rid of her shirt and surprisingly she was able to maintain unbreakable eye-contact, slithering out of her cut-up jeans, purple-bra unfastened with precision while doing so.

I now place my finger on her third eye. Sliding it down. Through her delicate nose; I stop for a moment marking the sweet nectary lips, and she takes the opportunity to open her mouth slightly, suckling my finger; the left hand appears, starting its journey behind her ear, towards her neck— she shivers from the slight tickle and her legs jerk, like she was touched by static. Her hands pierce me, she has dug them deep in my abdomen, and now she untangles my belt releasing me. She is admiring my body—the left-hand strokes her pronounced clavicle towards her swollen breasts.

I pinch her nipples which looked like half-opened eyelids in that light— she tells me to pinch her once more but now, with more feeling. I slap them a little harder, and she smiles with her finger in my mouth. She now uses both her hands to make my right hand travel down kundalini. I’m briefly introduced to the notch of her neck, and with each touch, she moans, and I get closer to her navel, but before that, I’m introduced to the surprising tautness of her midriff.

“My Belly button is my weak spot…you better not tickle me over there,” She says with a slight inflection. Her body is swaying wildly.

“It’s almost as if you want me to tickle you down there,” I said winking my eye.

“No, I’m serious…”

He drops down to his knees and using his subtle beard tickles my belly button, his stubble doesn’t hide his ovular face, the point on his chin does the trick. I noticed his flame dancing beady eyes fixated on me. Both his hands are circling my breasts, circling around trying to find the center of me, and I feel the cold touch of tongue. I can’t stop giggling. The tickling gets to me every time, and I’m in the middle of stroking his arms, which are veiny, sweaty and the just right kind of muscular and then he—

The remaining journey is now continued with the tongue through the trimmed vegetation below. Both my hands are around the waist; I circle the vortex, closing my eyes, and calling forth the darkness: echoes of vaginal mucus. I feel the circuitry tightening up, quivering to the performance of my ritual.

I’m pulling his long wavy hair. He knows what he’s doing. I feel his teeth leaving bite impression on my thighs and then he uses the same teeth to uncover the piece of clothing that remained.

He is devouring me, eating me from limb to limb. I see an image of an eye dilating. The shape of an octopus turning blue to squirt the black liquid. Blackness drowning, I choke on the afterimage of the red perforated holes on a mucus-like surface. The tentacles grabbing me, and the image makes me recoil, but it becomes whole, as I travel out of view. Endorphins in chaos—perhaps I’m beginning to react differently to my fears. The stubble is perfect. The stubble is perfect for pussy-eating.

I feel the sea-monster raging from its cave. It is pulsating with electrochemical processes. I use my fingers on the peach-colored walls to feel for traps, gooey richness. Drum beats, following the gushing of water, slip and sliding along. A flash of light and it closes. Waterfall sounds, birds chirping. There is tranquility for once. I even feel a slight minty breeze, a faint odor of pleasure. I go deeper into a darkness I’ve never seen before. The kind of darkness untouched by any kind of form. And the darkness opens its eyelid looking at me, and I see my true self. Within the gigantic eye, I see my reflection which is half me and half her or half him and half me. I’m disoriented, at the reflection I see, our souls intertwined in bondage, what true unity looks like– the final orgasm. Merged into one figure. There were separate thoughts, and now we were reflections integrated, and thoughts took form rather than words:

“My real name isn’t June. It’s Jasmine Khulsoom. I’m a daughter of a Pakistani-mother who married a white man, without the blessing of the family. He ended up leaving my mother. I had a twin sister, who died here in the womb because we shared the same amniotic sac; she died of umbilical strangulation. I was born by being the cause of my sister’s death.

My mother and I lived alone here, without the support of anyone. She worked every waking hour to make sure I got the opportunities I deserved. My mother, though cast out, impressed on me the love of God. The love of the religion, the love of Islam but I saw nothing but randomness. She wasn’t impressed by my atheistic inclinations, but I guess she couldn’t blame me for holding such beliefs.  I hated my father; I hated not belonging to anything. I hated that I had no faith. I loved my mother though; her strength, kindness pulled me through and she died last year. I felt that she hated me. I hated myself for the longest time. I blame myself for everything; my unknown sisters’ death, my parent’s separation…I’ve hated myself, always. That has been the only constant: the disgust that I have for myself.

I don’t know if there is any way I could get over that. Then I discovered that I could be someone else. I could be paid to be someone else. If only for a moment or two, I could escape who I really was. Acting became my everything; I went to school part-time and then eventually auditions on weekends. I got a couple of two-bit parts, and then I had my stint with, Tcherkovsky. I was able to network with some big shots down south and finally, I got noticed, and now for once—I am noticed, and now I’m on the verge. I’m on the verge of being discovered. This suffering will mean something.”

This was never communicated orally. It was understood. Absorbed by the exchange of fluids and touch. Traveling through the intermittent pause of our violent love-making. Sometimes it takes a moment to become familiar, sometimes it takes a lifetime, and even then you are only an acquaintance.

The bedsprings jolting, fucking while high is a place to be. I can feel the penis gasping for air, it was there long choking on the ashes. He is trying to pull out, but I’m clasping it, squeezing the juices. I will give him relief when he embraces his inevitability. I am the receptacle of both life and death.

“Shit! Shit! I think I came inside of you…” He said finally releasing himself. He rolls on the side of the covers.

“It’s ok. I’m on birth control,” I said, and I didn’t remove my stare to ensure that he believed me. I wonder if he knew how truly fucked-up I am.

 

Previous Excerpts:

Novel: Confessions of an Abortion Addict – Excerpt – Part 3

Novel: Confessions of an Abortion Addict – Excerpt – Part 2

Novel: Confessions of an Abortion Addict – Excerpt – Part 1

Confessions of an Abortion Addict

© A.R. Minhas 2017