The Last Time We Were Here

There’s a lesson at the bottom of the glass

I’ve hit my bubba pink

 

She delivers and they walk by

I’m like a GPS

My subconscious has taken a detour

 

Too hyperaware of everything

 

And I’ve never seen her walk

And she appeared like my words give her form

 

I’m dreaming again, but there is nothing between us

 

And I’m here again with you old friend

 

“I’ve stopped writing because I’ve stopped feeling…”

 

You paused and drank your Cappuccino

“It all comes back to you.”

 

Amsterdam big-wheel rolls on and

We reminisce

You’ve gone all responsible on me

 

How fucking dare you!

 

And you sit there counting your wrong decisions in the past

And I’m confused because all I’ve done is envy your capriciousness

 

And then I remembered

I wrote a poem the last time we came out here.

 

 

© 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)

Love Bird

You flutter away from my hands

Our disentanglement is what follows

Your Ovum smells especially fertile today

An ancient jug in an opportunistic thrift store

The old wood varnish

And cosmic webs

It’s summer

The blue of a past life

And I’m waiting to be flooded with outrageous fortune

You wear my cum better than a tank top

And I’m searching for that perfect spot between your blatant thighs

To land perfectly

With orgasmic precision

An orange peel wasted

A combination of words that describe the feeling:

“I’m experiencing an Inconvenient Catalytic Exteriorization Phenomenon”

If I could rub your lips I can hear your pain

You tumble down the stairs

And I’ve lost faith in my unconsciousness

And that small, pink bird with green breast flies away

Always elusive to my charms.

© A.R. Minhas 2018

My Way

I have realized now what my problem is

I thought I could swallow this world

I thought I could listen to the thud

 

The bang

Noise of the world

And I can finally think for myself

 

A sea of difference

I can’t survive without being aggressive

To be violent

Hypocritical

See those red in the eyes

And get what I want

Free from the burden of proof

 

Do it my way            somehow

‘My Way’ was written by someone else

On my way to a taxi ride

I made up a story

People who make up stories are deeply disturbed

Proof of existence because I create the winds

 

Ley-lines, Flexion creases, Chemtrails

Cigarette butts

Stars

 

All point me to you

 

Paul Anka wrote ‘My Way’

And I want to be Frank Sinatra.

 

© A.R. Minhas 2017

A Weekend In Spider Country

I’m here

Sitting by the lake

If you can see me now

What do I have to lose?

 

If I wasn’t here it wouldn’t matter

If I’m not here it wouldn’t change you

It wouldn’t change the crystal clear water

 

There is nothing that I can do

Lying here impotent

On red Muskoka chairs

 

No matter how far I travel

Or where I sit

It doesn’t change

 

This unease

I can never get comfortable

 

Feeling useless isn’t unique

But feeling nothing

Is okay

 

Spiders crawling

Bedspread

I try to bleed them but they keep coming back

 

Nesting in my ears

You can hear them

 

 

Constructing a web

Trap the flies

I wish I could trap your eyes

Stroke them with honey

 

This sugar is for you

 

 

And there’s nothing left for me.

Leaving, wouldn’t matter

 

Staying

Is suspended mid-air

 

Floating

 

Spiders make me uncomfortable

 

And that’s why I can’t sit still.

 

© A.R. Minhas 2017

I STILL HAVE TIME: A GARDEN OF EYES

 

My words have failed me

And so has everyone else

If there was a bullet

I could shoot

I would shoot it with my teeth

Everything is falling apart

As it always does

And I’m here to chew on your ashes

Like sweet betel-leaf

“Spit out the purple residue!”

 

Our gums have long expired

They’re longing for Vitamin C

 

          Fructose spilled on your car

          Calcium deposits remain

And the smoke chars your pinched breast

          They open and close like eyes

                   I’ve never had a taste of those protruding nipples

That stab me in the throat

As we become one

And you give me sustenance

 

Suckling sound!

I know it calms you down more than Sativa

Bless me with your chemicals, and I’ll  bless you with mine!

 

© A.R. Minhas 2017

 

 

Pretend that I don’t even exist.

There was a death recently

And what do you care about life?

Actually, there were two

Both of them water-related.

Think bloated green stomachs.

Just another individual among the millions departed.

And here I am

Existing

And what’s the point of asking how I am? Huh?

It’s not like you care what I say

You cut me off mid-sentence and never pick up what I have left off.

And have the audacity to call me secretive?

I don’t share with people who can’t suffer through my loneliness.

If you’re insensitive, I’m much worse.

But yesterday you reminded me why I hate people.

Yesterday you took the cake.

And blew all the candles to leave that wax burning.

My skin like wrapping paper. I want to tear it open.

I need to return it back, whatever it is you call life.

I never asked for this and it has become a burden ever since.

I’m tired of being ignored

Passed over

Broke

Depressed, sometimes not all the time.

Loneliness is my chosen comfort.

Most of all I need distance from you.

If you can’t stand me. It’s ok. I won’t be so close to you either.

To hear is to obey

But if you pretend again that we are something.

 

I won’t be writing poetry about you. And I’ll say something very unbecoming.

 

© 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

The Three Poisons of My Soul

If three arrows struck the same point of my palm,

          My inner life pours through me

“I’ve given you so much, and all I want to do is collapse in your arms.”

          There is beauty in remembering

          Just like it’s ok to let go

Off that ledge and into hedonism

          If you scratched me three times. I wouldn’t wash my skin.

This blood is like Dasani, it’s salty and meant for you.

With cupped hands, and a Jasmine to chew on

I’m here for you just so you know how beautiful you look.

Your small chin digs into my shoulder,

A nest for lies

And that gilded coke—

Can you want it?

Two summers ago this was our place.

A while back I wanted to know so much about you.

I know too much now.

Knowledge is the blueness of your mouth and my obliviousness.

I smoke with abandonment issues.

I smoke because of trust issues.

 

          There is a pain I feel every time I think that the best part of my day is that cigarette.

Do you feel that?

It’s the appetite suppressant of that fortnight

 

Where I used my past mistakes to make fun of you. Can you let them know indiscretions are ok?

 

Just don’t become a thing.

          If you won’t mind there is a night that I’ve to get to.

 

Where there is no sleep. Only silence and the cricket chirp of regret.

 

© A.R. Minhas 2017