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

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

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. Please provide feedback. Thank you!

 

The room was a vacuum of white static. A giant corridor in a hospital except without the smell of disinfectant; it smelt more like a perfume counter of a department store. This is the beginning of your new life. There are other would-be actresses that Virchow, has lured with a promise of fame and stardom. The other girls come in different sizes, but they have the same age: under 30-ish.  Old man craves young flesh. Practicing lines, pouting lips in Vanity Mirrors, Refreshing make-up and they have brought with them the dreams that are about to be realized. I adjust my yellow dress that I’ve worn after my agent’s continuous pestering and pleas to look presentable.

I have my hair down, from what I can see in the mirror at the opposite end. It looks matte black. My skin also feels darker because I didn’t feel like going too heavy for the make-up. I’d really don’t like being here too, but my agent insists that ambition is the key. You have to make things happen.

 

“I love the yellow you’re wearing, it really compliments your skin tone,” the girl next to me says.

 

“Oh, Thanks!” I said, and it took a moment for me to realize that she was talking to me. No one had said a word to me this entire afternoon, except for maybe verifying that I was on the audition list. This girl was very peculiar; for one thing, everyone had come with portfolios, their bags and of course they were all dressed to reflect their own particular set of assets.  While she was wearing a low-cut, plain white tee, black leather vest with spiked studs, a multitude of scarves and accessories, on a skinny frame with a heavy dose of mascara which made the blues on her eyes feel piercing. “I love your get up too,” I try to mirror the compliment but it might have felt a little insincere due to the long pause.

 

“Ha-ha, please, don’t lie. I know I’m underdressed, but my agent forced me to come here,” she gently strokes her serpentine red hair.

“That sounds awesome—you have anything else lined up?”

“A couple of things. Plus, I’ve not heard anything good about, Virchow. One of my friends was telling me that he makes the girls take off their top and chooses them based on the color of their areolas.”

 

“Really?” I replied. Don’t listen to the competition, June…she just wants to see you walk out that door. “Don’t get me wrong, he doesn’t have a very sparkling reputation, but that’s low— even for him…just out of curiosity what color does he prefer?”

 

“Apparently, he really likes nipples to complement the rest of the breast, so they become camouflaged.” She says in an indifferent tone. “I have darker nipples anyway, so I’m already out.”

“No offense but if that’s the case why don’t you just walk out right now?” I ask her with a bluntness that I didn’t even know I had in me. Yeah, tell the truth.

 

“Well, it’s a rumor, and in this day and age everyone makes up their own rumors. I just want to see who is bullshitting me, right?” She says that without blinking. “Oh, by the way, my name is Sally, Sally Chrysler. Not like the car, please don’t make that joke— I probably should change my last name— anyway, you can call me, Sly. You might remember me from such classics as Prairie Shark, Wendigo: the awakening and of course Who brought the lumberjack on my fishing boat, eh?”

“Ha-ha,” I couldn’t help but chuckle at her, it was a little difficult to keep pace with her thoughts. “Hi, Sally…urm…sorry, Sly. I’m June, June Husk. I’ve also only been in Canadian Movies, mostly. I did some stuff with Tcherkov, but as it was pointed out to me by my Agent, for me to ‘make it’ I have to go to Hollywood…well nice to meet you.” I palm her hand and she goes for the cheek-to-cheek, and we end up in between a low hug and front-on spooning.

 

“Nice to meet you too, June. I can’t say, I’ve seen you in anything…but you look familiar but here’s hoping this is your big break.”

“I hope so too,” I said with a heavy sigh. There is a long moment of silence between us, and the long gap is filled with Sly’s intermittent whistling.

“Hey, once you’re done do you wanna go out for a couple of drinks?” She says in her pattern of blurts.

 

“Umm…I have to be somewhere after, but we can go out sometime later this week.”

 

“Great, by the way, it wasn’t meant as a date or anything—hmm…I just like to you know network a little bit.”

 

“You really are awkward aren’t you?” I replied, smiling back at her.

 

“Yeah, you noticed?”

 

“Yes, I did,” we laughed, and for a moment we forgot that we were sitting in a hallway filled with anxious starlets.

 

“June! June Husk!” A voice bellowed.

 

“That’s you…go! go!”

 

“Thanks!” I leaped up, pirouetting across the rows of starry-eyed, doe-faced hopefuls. She gave me an air kiss and stuck her card inside my purse in a flash. I swore that I heard her say, all the best, as I rushed towards the assistant who called me.

“June Husk…nice name.”  He said holding a clipboard close to his chest.

 

“Thanks.”

 

Previous Excerpts:

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

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

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

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

 

There is a certain self-assuredness that strippers possess. It’s indescribable how they move in complete fluidity to the dark music and the expectant gaze of their audience. They are aware of their bodies, and they are aware of you– the entrancing movements of firm breasts and the sublime gyrations, on stage, serenaded with red and blue flashing strobe effects. The truth is that strippers use the stage as a vantage point where they can scan the environment; while, they are upside-down twirling, bra-less on the golden poles, (which are swabbed with disinfectants as each girl performs) observing the environment to see what type of tips they’ll be expecting. I’m usually not stingy either, but I’m transfixed. I can’t stop looking at her between the sips of foamy amber— Summer, swivelling on the pole, her blonde hair sprawled on stage, young eyes seducing an invisible lover; taut legs entangling in a way that would’ve appeared to be awkward for any other woman, but this was Summer, and even in this shady establishment she found a pose that tip-toed between inner peace and absolute deviancy.

I’m bombarded with the thumping beats that were pulsating through my blood stream. Some of the other strippers approach me but I was well versed in their ways, and I was able to deny them that dance they were looking for… it was like saying no to the sweet embrace of lavender and glitter. I was saving myself for, Summer. I wanted her all to myself, and I was going to ensure that I was untainted as well. The others might’ve been offended by my dismissive manner, as they want the clients to pay for the pleasure of observing naked and glittery flesh. Most people would be intimidated by the awareness that strippers have of their bodies. It’s like finding out that a well-done steak has attained sentience. I never think of them as meat, and perhaps I respect them even more for valuing their body and quantifying what their perfumed flesh is worth.

When she completed her routine, I motioned for the surly black waitress to come to my lonely table that was tucked away in the corner. I wanted to make sure, Summer notices me, and also I wanted to refill my pint.

“$10,” She said holding her palm upward while placing her other hand on her waist.

“Here you go,” I gave her the money; normally I would give a word or two about customer service but this was a strip club and someone’s feelings are bound to get hurt.

“I’ll make sure she finds you,” She says in an apathetic tone.

“Good.”

I’m tapping on the table waiting for her approach, anxious to smell her velveteen body. My head is moving around. There were a decent amount of people in today. Part of me always wondered if someone would recognize me: the wrestling business does serve a low-end customer base similar to the working-class and barely legal faces that I see walking around throughout the bar, and even though I wasn’t recognized—it was always something that was in the back of my mind, and to be fair; although, we had an average of about 1,000 people in to see our shows most of the audience was based in the realm of online streaming in the UK.

“Hi, Hun!…I heard you wanted to see me?” A soft voice whispered in my ear.

“Oh! Hi,” I was caught off guard. I pulled my neck muscles craning over to my left shoulder, but the pain was worth it. She stood there easily 6 feet tall, with her pencil thin see-through stilettoes, her modesty restored in a neon yellowish-green bikini. The darkness obscured her limber curvature, but the cast-off light bestowed on to me a beautiful blonde in small strokes of revelations. Her touch melted me, but it may have also been the use of the phrase ‘Hun,’ which I typically associate with the friendly woman at the diner—it also had some motherly connotations to it, but I think it might be more of a primitive need for men to be pampered, and be nursed back to life.

 

© A.R. Minhas 2017

 

 

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

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

 

I arrive at the doorstep of Ossington, somehow alive. I hand him the tip and say “thanks,” dripping with sarcasm. The shops are different, displays of nude mannequins and smell of ancient chamomile tea. The streets are narrower but the threat of finding new possibilities is endless. I didn’t realize how much my feet hurt after I had touched the ground again, but as long as I can walk— it means nothing is broken. I hold my purse over my right shoulder, adjusting my blouse at the seams, stretching the flowers, and burying my phone within the confines of my purse; I use my bottom hand to balance it…stepping lightly to get the blood back in my legs.

The bar was having an open-mic spoken word event. I could hear it through the opening and closing of the door.  This was one of my favorite places… serving tapas, food as minimalistic as it can get—which was perfect since I had landed the part and I wasn’t going to let that opportunity slip away by eating too much. Though I’m already very skinny…you never know these things. My agent would’ve agreed if she was here.  I scan around the room, characters miserable around the bar stool. Low-light and the feedback from the mic easily drowning out the music of clinked glasses and drunken laughter. The space was dark, lit only by small candles on the tables… I manage to see Sly, sulking in the corner stirring her fruity drink. She is wearing a beret, brown leather jacket and an eclectic assortment of accessories. I sometimes wonder how can she move around without misplacing parts of herself. The moment she sees me she outstretches her arms as if to escape her sockets. There is a man in the background pouring his soul out talking about his life but I can’t hear him. I walk towards her narrowly avoiding the rude waitress giving me stares reserved for dingleberries.

“You’re finally here!” She said, with a wide-smile which was odd because of the dark shade in her eyes and the new streaks of blue and red in her hair. “I thought I’d be stuck here listening to people drowning in their own self-pity…of all the nights you had to pick this one.” She blows her bangs, resting her small face on her fingerless gloves.

“Hey, let’s swim in it…”

“Stew in it! I’ve already spit it out…pwaah!” She makes a retching noise.

“Too much vodka in your Orange juice?” I asked, giving her a little wink. I had to repeat again because of the feedback.

“Mind you it’s a cocktail…so I’m sure there are some more citrus fruits involved,”

“Right, did you order any food… I’m starving?” I look down on the menu, which was basically an Arial Black font print out, stuck on a clipboard.

“So why do you like this place again?”

“It’s hole in the wall, and it has personality…kind of like you, kind of like me,” I smiled.

“Touché,” She said sipping her drink.

A waitress arrives wearing a tank-top and a vest and blonde ponytail; I think it’s the same one who I narrowly avoided.  She might have one of those faces that can only scowl. I didn’t recognize her; even though, I did come here often I wouldn’t consider myself a regular…I still was surprised that this place was still filled with unfamiliar faces. High turnover is expected in the food service industry.

“Refill?” The waitress asked Sly.

“In a minute, my friend will have a rum and coke though…thanks” Sly said. “O wait she’ll have the Philly cheese steak and tempura shrimps,” The waitress looked at me in confirmation and not wanting to offend her further I nodded.

“Coming right up!” She departed.

“That is your drink right?”

“Yeah, it is now,” I laughed not wanting to break the image of an easy-going gal. “Thank god the portions are almost bite-size.”

“You know you’re not like the other wannabee actresses that I’ve met before,” She says gulping down the remainder of her drink but still keeping the corner of her eye on me.

“How so?”

“You carry yourself with an air of dignity. You know? I see that you are sensitive, but you are confident…quietly confident.”

“That sounds almost like a compliment,” I said looking at the melted wax accumulating in the container.

“Trust me it is…”

The drone in the background stopped and the inconsequential man who was standing in the makeshift platform surrendered the mic to a tall, well-dressed man with slick-back hair and sunglasses. He might’ve been the MC.

“…And give it up for, Mike Anderson,” He said, jutting out his right hand to lukewarm applause. I obliged just due to my closeness to the stage. “And up next it’s umm…Mr. Adrian X.” The small space gave a little courtesy clap.

“Let’s see If he has anything interesting to say” Sly says, she is drinking her refill. I barely noticed that my drink has arrived.

 

“Yeah, let us see,” I take a small sip of my drink. A small spotlight captures his head, a beard contoured with long wavy brown hair. He’s wearing a plaid shirt with the sleeves rolled up…he looks nervous.

“Hi, I’m Adrian…Adrian X. How are all of you doing, tonight?” He said almost not wanting to hear back.  An echo of whispers. “Well I’ll guess later….anyway; this one’s called ‘Your body is a Dark slip of Road’.” I take a large gulp of my drink.

 

“Oh! Friends she destroyed us

On that Dark slip of Road

With that stare, Her body

In the dark we traverse

On that slip of road

Our memories

Altered by touch

The chemicals spilled

With caution

Oh! Friends how can you resist that?

I’m lost in her tresses

She even put perfume behind her ears

So I can find my way back

To that smell

That smell that guides me

It arrives before her

My nostrils are expecting them

Expecting her…

That smell

That ineffable smell

That ineffable feminine smell

Like roses burning, soothed only by morning dew

Like milk on the verge of being spoiled

That ancient smell draws me to her

Fragrance of mammary glands

Secretion of dopamine

Serotonin and Explosion

Of the nerve endings

That receive her. Interpret her.

The eye that receives those images, link to a permanent form

That existed before I was born

That smell

That Dark feminine

Smell

I smell it always on that dark slip of road.”

I don’t know how but my food was prepared. It was presented and I absent mindedly bit into the breaded shrimps. I couldn’t move my eyes away from the stage.

“That is all, thank you”, He awkwardly dangles the mic, but he’s showered in applause. Even Sly, mouthed the words ‘wow’ out of her face filled with shrimps.

“Amazing—a little short but still… pretty impressive” He said, taking control of the mic and patting him continuously on the back. “That was, Adrian X… give it up for that performance!” He escapes as fast as he could beyond the darkness and gets lost in the small crowd.

“Do you wanna go next, June?” Sly asks.

“I don’t know…maybe after a couple of more drinks,” I said, unfolding the napkins to clean my mouth. I take one more swig.

“You know that drink is a creeper…it’ll get you if you drink too fast.”

“That’s what we’re here for right?” I laughed; I’m feeling it since I haven’t eaten anything today.

“Yup, that’s why we’re here,” She said moving here head and breaking eye contact.

 

© A.R. Minhas 2017