Inching closer to the night

I’m inching closer to the night

Where it isn’t clear

And what separates me from my enemies?

Circumcised light reminds me of what I’ve lost

And night falls on the breasts that I’ve longed for

I search for that nipple in the dark

Grasping at ceramic idols

Milk has spoiled, desire has not.

My body accepts the night.

It fidgets.

It recoils.

It bursts out through a rib-cage,

“Lungs have become tar-like wings.”

Spreading red cough to the citizens

Mucus gets everywhere,

Seeping through steel-toed shoes

And behind your ears

The remains of this bottle are left behind

The eye travels upwards, and the smoke disappears

Beyond the dingy scaffolding of the window washers

Nothing is pure

Even the air is tainted,

And my body inches towards the night

It gets closer to its point of origin

Like the fire that was meant to change things

But I’m suffering from immolation


It peels off my skin,

And distracting me with enlightened conversation.

The scalpel and a local dose of Novocain.

I’m numb,

And that is why I welcome the night

Its silence is moving

And I capture the gradual descent of stars.

The sea that rages on,

Molding the rocks into images


The voice


And careless,

But it manages to find its way,

To where the night ends

And where I become.

© A.R. Minhas 2017


Drowning, in a sea of your legs

I’m not going to lie

I was staring at your naked legs all day,

The sight of your taut calves

Hairless and curvy architecture

Waxen secrets between them

Those thighs that I can use as pillows

The gentle waves of your movements

And I can hear your voice through them

“Let’s follow the spiral!”

It’s ok to be lost within them

Robin blue egg shells

Settle down to my stomach

Hard boiled, I am for you

“Your knees need to be stroked,”

And planted with brilliant purple kisses

Scars of childhood remain…

They can’t be walked off

They won’t be walked off

I’ll lick your ankles that have been oppressed by stilettoes

And yellow calloused feet can crush my heart

It demands to be trampled. It needs to be trampled.

I lust for your beautiful legs

That walk away from me

Before I can run to them.


© A.R. Minhas 2017

A dream that could’ve happened

I could’ve dreamed for a better outcome

But reality brings me down

It brings me down like that third drink

On a Sunday night


I could’ve dreamed about you for hours,

Months           if I wanted to


But I would’ve done to you what I do to my cigarette stubs

And I know what this world is like

But more importantly

I know what I’m like

And I’m not that pleasant to deal with

Buried beneath the foundation of my house

Curb-stomped to nothingness

Your perfume lingers always

And I fail to capture what you smell like

But I know you’re better than lilacs in spring


I’m hoping you actually smell like that still

I sometimes dream of meeting you on another planet

“Let’s share oxygen together!”

And maybe a conversation or two

Could you imagine what it would be like to share a living space?

Can you break the ice?

Forever and Ever and Ever…


Drowning, I don’t want anything from you

Maybe I just like the thought of things

Maybe everyone just likes the thought of things


I don’t want anything from you

And Maybe we’re just cursed to dream

Of whatever could be

And instead we’re here

Locked in fishbowls.


© A.R. Minhas 2017

The Locust Universe


I have come to the realization

And I look down on you


(Cosmos on my tongue)

Sitting underneath that tree

The black void behind me


This wasn’t meant for you

I’m not meant for you

And I’m like the universe

Indifferent and lifeless

Spiralling, I see every path leading to you


Stranded, the gaze follows you

My voice is held, and it screams

“I’m not it.”


It’s someone else’s voice

The actions of someone else

You are a stranger

Trapped in a room between insignificant



That paralyzes you white

And makes you into that special shade of purple…


That’s how it gets you

And that is why I’m calm

I see locust eat the grains

I observe them with indifference

I’m not to be noticed

I’m not to be disturbed


I’m only here to observe

The Chaos.


© A.R. Minhas 2017

Shade-Loving plants

“I’m not alone on purpose”

That’s what I tell people these days

But loneliness is the best outcome


I can’t hurt others

Without hurting myself

Bleeding hearts

Better stay away from me

“I’m a shade-loving plant.”


Stay away from this carcinogenic body

I like my dark green corners

Or hope for a morning that isn’t too bright

For my Eyes

I admire my darkness

Fondness grows in the shade

Coolness of Blue solitude

No expectations

My words might betray me from time-to-time

And I’m unreliable from time-to-time

I have a voice that says unspoken things


Chaos soothes my soul

I’m clearing a path

And you might understand it

From time-to-time

But they will never fall exactly the way I meant them


Not in Love

Not in Loneliness

Just like a carousel


Encircling the snake

Golden water

Facing the other way from the sun.


© A.R. Minhas 2017

The Otherkinds


“I’m not what I seem. I may look human, but I am something completely different. I am gestating in the shell of this body, and I am about to transcend.” I said while staring at the ceiling, my fingers interlocked to make an overlapping fault line.  I see the fork— the entire thing might collapse, but it’s ok.

“Son, please can you tell me when did you start feeling like this cosmic being?” Dr. Childress asks without taking his eyes out of his notepad, there was a hint of concern in his voice which made me realize he was genuine. He seems like he has a talent for making people feel relaxed which allows them to open up about their feelings. It helps that he looks the part with his gray print suit and his ugly argyle sweater underneath.  His hair is messed up, clearly not on purpose and­­­ he has large glasses that cover at least a quarter of his face. He is still scribbling something down, I try to see, but his writing is indecipherable, they look like inked squiggly lines.

“Probably before I was born,” I chuckled. I liked joking with people in authority to see where the boundary of what- can-I-get-away-with lies.

“Knock it off,” he said in a sharp intellectual manner, staring, as his glasses ran down his nose.

“Fine— when my parents started ignoring me, and I thought I would make up a character that had the power to control them. I never had control of my life, and this identity gave me the power to do that.” I said in my usual dry tone.

“Is that truly what you feel or are you just saying what I want to hear?” He said with his laser-like stare.

“No, I was being sarcastic you egghead. Ha-ha. I have a perfectly healthy relationship with my parents. They don’t even know I came here. I’m having visions, I see things, in my dreams; I find myself drifting in the vast expanses of space. I see my reflection in the starlight. I am an otherworldly being, trapped in a human body. I know this on an intuitive level. I feel it in my bones, my nerve endings….every part of my body is telling me that I don’t belong here and in this.” I move my open hands from the top of my forehead to my waist and back again. “I’m Lord Osgoloth, ruler of the realm of Ziggaroot. The others refer to me as such” I say in a relaxed manner, looking at my nails to show my indifference.

“I’m just curious about something…don’t take this the wrong way but why did you come here today?” He had removed his glasses and proceeded to bite the earpiece. “I’m not complaining, but I would like to know what you are trying to achieve?” he said with absolute solemnness and pointing his glasses at me while balancing the notepad.

“Doc— something has happened, that has caused me to turn to you…”

 “And what about the ‘Others’ that you are referring to, you couldn’t turn to them?” he asks, leaning in with a curious look on his face.

“Well, the Otherkinds are a community on the deep, dark web that offers beings, such as myself, a safe place to congregate; we help each other to express ourselves in our true form, you know?  Otherworldly beings trapped in this pink flesh.”  I’m feverishly moving my hands, and my neck is getting a little sore from tilting my head at that awkward angle. “We remember our stories how we got stuck here. I use to be a black plasma being that emanated a purple glow. The Otherkinds, originally, fought amongst each other but then we were besieged by the Elders, an ancient race of beings that cursed our entire race to become… this.” I hold up my hand in front of my face. “We are all working together so we can remember how to transcend ourselves. We used summoning spells, psychic trances, and substances to help us recall. It was all known, and it became unknown. The collective remembrance of the past. But something has happened that has caused me to doubt the other’s intentions.”

“Uhmm-hmm,” Dr. Childress nods in silence as he scribbles down, ‘Active Imagination?’, ‘Dysphoria?’, ‘Schizophrenia?’. “Now, before you tell me what has caused this mistrust, can you elaborate more regarding what you do on the deep, dark web and what kind of relationship you have with the Otherkinds?”    

“Ok… I write my blogs describing my remembered experiences; the transcendent glow of being immortal. The wars between the Otherkinds and the curse of the Elders that placed us here, and now we just message each other as we work together to find our true selves. Shutter’t, Baelog, Turkurk, Xwerf, JuiluP became more than family now; although I’ve never met anyone of them before or know what they look like, we have become very close. We were once adversaries, but now we have a common goal: to transcend ourselves. I thought they were the only ones who understood my struggle. I thought they were helping me through the nightmare.”

“So, what caused you to doubt their trustworthiness? Can you tell me more?” He said, adjusting his posture and leaning a bit more closely. He seemed rather interested now.

“It was a message. We had made contact with another. But it was not an Otherkind. It was an Elder, called himself Aflameem; he private messaged me about a month ago, he said, and I’m paraphrasing here: ‘Who among you is worthy? None of you…You deserve your prison….I know who you are…if you try to remember…your flesh will become your coffin.’ I conferred with the others. They got similar messages. The ‘Elder’ or ‘Elders,’ were real just like us. They were hunting us as we were trying to escape our prison.” I was getting a little nervous describing this to him as I recall how much danger I’m in. “It became a usual occurrence. The threats from the Elders came too frequently. The Otherkinds were getting nervous and in turn were making me nervous. Then the other day I realized that the Elder might be posing as one of the Otherkinds. It has to be one of them right?”

“Well, it could, but knowing the Internet, you might have someone who’s just provoking you. You said that you wrote in your blogs about the lore of your kind. Do you think it’s possible that someone might be doing that out of spite?” Dr. Childress holding my stare.

“It might, but we never put our ‘shell’ identities on the blog. They wouldn’t know who I am.”

“Exactly, they have never messaged you or indicated they know your real identity, right?”  He said in a calm manner.

“Well yeah, but I’m worried you know…”

 “Exactly this person seems very disingenuous to me. I doubt this person even knows which country you live in let alone know of your ‘shell’ identity,” he said. “So you don’t have anything to worry about.” He is writing down: Does the Elder represent a castrating mechanism…Represent a father figure? A Cosmic Super-Ego? Guilt for not following social conventions? “Anyway your session is about to end.  So I just want to recommend a couple of drugs… Basically Serotonin inhibitors. These are all meant to make you relax, reduce your paranoia and reduce your intake of emotions.”

“Thanks, Doc…I will take a look at these…” I take the prescription with hesitance.

“Be careful how you take them. Twice a day. I know they are a heavy dose, but I feel with the problems we’ve discussed today we need an all-encompassing strategy.  They might cause hallucinations, sleep deprivation, loss of flavor and dry mouth…that’s a given… but the moment you have any abnormal physiological reactions I want you to call me ok? I want to do our session at least once a week. So how does next Tuesday sound?”

“No problem, Doc. Will see you then,” I said taking his card and the script with me. I got up and as I was leaving the door, I noticed the walls of degrees. Dr. Xavier W. Childress, University of Waterloo. Platforms of books and I saw right next to the potted plants a small pinhole sized camera. I smiled at it. “We will see you soon.”

“Good day to you, son.”




                How did he find me? How did he know? Was it wrong for me not to reveal myself to him? What if he knows? Wait! There is no possible way he could. I took precautions, my avatar:  has no personal trace to me. I made sure of that. I am a professional, and this would ruin me. I’m wheezing, recounting ever step.

 I realize why I am a psychiatrist; because, I want to find out what’s wrong with me, among all the therapy I have undergone I have still not been able to treat it properly. Eventually, I found my purpose on the web. I found the Otherkinds as a safe alternative. They were the missing link to my constant alienation. Finally, I had peace with like-minded individuals. 

 But now this Elder threat is getting to me. They are the antithesis of my existence. My tongue feels like a dry lizard. It was so hard for me to act indifferent. I tried to look if he knew I was one of us, but my professional career was at stake. Why do the Elders threaten us so much? I have so many thoughts running through my head as I stay in my office and I watch the video of the session again. I’m replaying it again and again to see his facial tics, idiosyncrasies. I want to know how a fellow Otherkind reacted.  I watch the video over and over, and there were no giveaways. Then I saw it.  He was leaving my office, and then I saw him… looking. He was looking at the small camera as if he knew that it was there. He winked— this was enough for me to close the footage.  Lord Osgoloth, the all-seeing he surely was.

  I open the browser now going into the deeper recesses of the web. There are no messages from Lord Osgoloth neither the others. Strange. We usually have our chats around this time. I’m waiting for someone to respond. Then a private message pops up. I’m filled with fear as I scroll up the message, and I click it. It’s my image. Dr. Xavier W. Childrecess. He knows… it’s from the Elder. He knows. How did he? The message continues: ‘Subject exhibits signs of Mental trauma, Dissociative Identity Disorder (DID), possible latent Cosmic Dysmorphia and Dysphoria, Abandonment Issues, Sexual Repression, and Social Anxiety.’

Who was the person I saw today?

Appointment calendar. An illegible signature and the address… 1304 Terran Avenue.  Oh god! The address, he put my address!

Another ring. The message from Lord Osgoloth this time. An Image. A dead body on a couch… but it wasn’t….him. SEEYOUSOONDOC.  The person I saw today. I look through the video again, this one was someone else. I look through it again. I start panicking, the drawer opens; I fumble through the drugs I pull out. I’m fumbling on the floor. The pills go underneath the table. I try to take it out. I feel the loose nature of folded paper. It’s the script I gave today. It didn’t have any of the medication I had listed: COME OUT, OF YOUR SHELL, WE WANT TO PLAY.



© A.R. Minhas 2017