“The High Priestess” – (Poetry/ Artwork for Sale)

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I’m surrounded by mystical faces

“Great Simurgh protect me in your wings!”

Shaped like eyes

Pupils dilate like solar flares.

Your tachyons are showing.

I masturbate to activate the sigil

Cum to the sound of a Hummingbird heartbeat

Vision of Cicadas

Revisit in that chamber

You tell your greatest lies in small truths

And your skin feels familiar

Stale smoke and ancient car smell.

High priestess, I came to you that night when I wanted to summon Mercury.

And your lips tasted like strawberry, and I know about your charred lungs.

And we remain sweet like secrets to each other.

(C) A.R. Minhas 2019

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Goddess Sativa

She told me, and I didn’t believe her

“Use teeth next time”

Just to hurt more.

A heart doesn’t want to be sober

Like a trail of swollen lights

Blaspheming moths

Incinerated

Masturbating to their own destruction.

You hear the ventilation buzzing

A stutter of cicadas

Stroking to their vibrations

And I cum a purple substance

Goddess Sativa floating in my throat.

The stickiness of thought,

And a centipede spirals into my ear.

It whispers–

“I have stories about the crawl space in your mind that you don’t want to talk about.”

And then I laugh.

I laugh because it doesn’t mean anything.

And I should’ve believed her.

I don’t want to be sober.

I only want to worship you.

(c) A.R. Minhas 2019

It’s Ok To Be Lonely, Sometimes

“It’s ok if they don’t get your joke.”

            “None of them do…”

            “And humor is such a subjective thing.”

                            “You just have to try a little harder…”

“Maybe, a little more to the right.”

“If you stick the landing then they’ll respect you…”

“Oh! When are you getting published?”

            “You just don’t drink that much.”

 

“Please, please another pint… that’s all I have left.”

“Is the weekend over yet because this egg won’t crack itself,”

            “If there is a movie to masturbate too can we please watch something surreal?”

“If your breasts like mountains bow I would be able to see again!”

“I can paint the world with your freshly stippled legs.”

 

“That pure waterfall is my release, and the cliff is your face changing shape.”

 

“Our evergreens and my heart are rooted in you.”

 

“If there a distance between a star, let me immolate between your thighs.”

 

 “I have lied to you inside a convenience store.” “And I know of the other entity that

                                                                  resides below you.”

 

“If there is flesh, let me have a light…”

“And smoke is blessed and falls on all of us with carcinogenic precision.”

“It’s ok, loneliness comes in small bouts.”

                                                          “It will kill you in small amounts.”

 

“And maybe one day you won’t be so disappointed that you ended up this way.”

 

© A.R. Minhas 2017

Sometimes, it’s okay to die

It falls to you

That place last night

 

Remembering a past life

The moment a chemical was released

 

Nicotine in the air

An Orgasmic coffee

The sip to stay up all night

 

Ruminating on your shape

The wetness of lips

And a pause of Sativa’s breath

 

The moon’s fullness desired you

Worshipping the instrument of my birth

      It’s ok to die        now

      It’s ok to die

 Sometimes

 

I can still remember

It’s hard to let go of such thoughts

To be obsessed with your repression

 

And maybe after my consciousness is gone

Then I will forget

But for now

 

It’s there

It’s always there

Your face reddened

 

And your body a map of teeth marks

Triangle etched on beauty spots

Strands of saliva dripping from nipples

              Irradiated

     Stares

                                Longing

       Another cruelty

                            Summer brings a new style of fucking

Throat burns blue smoke

 

King of ash

Tap the last strain of smolder

Cum with certainty, and transcendence

Recreating myself on your belly button

 

An eyelash juts out

The thighs offer a refuge from the coldness

 

And these fingers will make contact

“You’re dripping deep oceans.”

 

Womb or watery depths

There is no dispersion of oxygen here

And no distraction of life

Just darkness

And whatever it is I am.

 

© 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

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

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!

 

          It’s been 27 years since I’ve been trapped in my own head. I went to walk on the streets that were familiar, but it’s been too long since I can remember what it was like to transcend. Everything I can remember has been stained by time and memory. Altered by it and ultimately become indifferent too; it was always like that. I look at people as objects in a petri dish. I observe them— the way they laugh, hold conversations, the stares that linger too long and hands that get rebutted ever so softly. I do this because of my craft; I want to be an amazing actress. I’m sitting in a great Hall with other travelers who are waiting for their trains, to go elsewhere, somewhere they were destined to go.

            I see the hug of close friends, lovers and how they are so easily replaced by other people on the waiting bench who too are waiting for the same relationships to enter through that platform. The great Hall has a large dome-shaped ceiling, the lights on the scaffolding provide a mauving effect, smell of recent construction— sawdust floating in the spotlight of the sun… a clanging of metal that has a strange blue ring. Suitcases half the weight of their carriers. Men who look like they have been war torn by life, women who carry themselves with litheness. Shopping bags, hair curled buns and the little wheels making sounds like small locomotives. The voices reverberate, and the pool of conversation gathers into a flood that spills everywhere.

             I go out to smoke. The corner is unlittered with cigarette butts, and I leave one behind with my red lipstick marks, showing that I was there. There are large faces of buildings that look down on me; it’s the feeling of being looked down upon that gets you. Bloated with empathy, my feet yellow-calloused from walking around in these white flats, I hobble around the block, the cars rush by me… Doppler Effect in transit. Pedestrians, jaywalk with deftness that I’ve never possessed and the homeless sit on corners—peripheral curiosities, becoming a part of the city landscape rather than living, breathing organisms. I feel guilty of that thought, but I let myself off with a slap-on-the-wrist. I detach myself walking upwards, and then I catch a glimpse of myself in the green-tinged reflective glass windows of the I-trade building; I can’t help but look. The black flowery blouse, my tight jeans billowing with my body and finally hair untethered in pristine spring weather and the ever so slight curls caressing my face; skin unblemished and proportionately tanned. ‘There were a lot of reasons to smile’ I tell myself to provide excuses for my unearthly grin. As I get closer, the sun dips at that angle which gives life the color of fading polaroid pictures.

“Lady, get some info,” this tall, dark-skinned man said. He was waving flyers with crescent shapes stepping in and out of my path. He was wearing glasses that blind men wear and his scarred white stubble, made him look even more malnourished.

“No, thanks,” I said in my barely audible speaking voice, but my open arm wrist protest along with my head bobble should be more than enough disinterest. I’ve learned to ignore men with flyers. You might think they’re giving you ‘info,’ but they only waste your time. I’m beginning to realize the city, surrounded by a mass of people does make you a little cold and callous but at the same time perceptive of people’s naked interests.

             Getting closer to Dundas, I walk avoiding the subway grates; I might also be avoiding them because I fear falling down further… there is a lingering smell of baked bread floating through the open windows, the steam howls from the belly …the raging of the union southbound line, trembling with unrestrained ferocity. If you look at the pavement closely you can see the small shoot of grass jutting out of the corners. I’m getting a little woozy because I’m also noticing the bubble-gum carcasses and bird-droppings forming small bulbous protrusions infecting the street… like diseased skin. I retrieve a cigarette from my purse, and now it’s dangling on my lips…. I’m going pass the theatre near Wellington Street; I’m not sure if I should do theatre? Nonsense my agent would say and she would berate me about thinking too small. She isn’t with me today; she might’ve finally been satiated by my victory to not show up. Sppt! The lighter fidgets like a fire-dancer near the square, I hear the four toned announcement: ‘Walksignisonforallcrossings’. There was a certain buzz in the ear as if everyone was excited that I was finally meeting, Sly. She was insisting to meet up after our audition and I guess I finally had a reason to celebrate. I wonder now if I were to celebrate my accomplishments, do those accomplishments diminish as I celebrate them, I wonder if everything becomes much of the same. Everything eventually becomes old. I hail a cab.

“90 Ossington”, I say depositing my purse on the other seat. The driver moves with a sense of reckless preciseness; moving his head supernaturally, as if to have an omniscient view of the streets. He was darting across traffic manoeuvring around logjams barely avoiding the cyclists, pedestrians that were unlucky enough to find him in the way of his path— I was sure he had at least grazed many of his would-be victims. In that 30 minute drive I saw my life pass by several times.

Please read the original short story:

Confessions of an Abortion Addict

 

© A.R. Minhas 2017

A stranger bound in roses

She closed her eyes and elicited a special beam of light

That had her admirers transported…

“We love her relativity”

And she our uncompromising…  Passion or promise?

The smile at parties

In waves or particles

Always

Always

Always

Elicited

A special kind of illicit reaction

That I stood there

Transfixed at the sight of her

Always

Always

Always

 

Embodied a sacred

Scarred Intoxication

 

Lost or Lust?

So they cried

But there was a divine sense of finding and if we became truly lost

Then end of knowing existence

If we find what is lost

What hope we have for existence?

Become lost and find yourself continuously

 

“I’ve found ways to smoothen death in its afternoon siestas”

Flowering out of navels

Stagnation is boredom

Stagnation is death

 

So far all the colors point to this

My ink has run out…

The height of her lime green eyes

Are      Insurmountable

I’m not blinded by you

And you see me in contentment

 

And the waves come crashing

My white caps encompass your body

We foam like rabid animals

Coming for you        But      Unafraid to deny

That these words haven’t doomed me

….your eyes have

 

 

© A.R. Minhas 2017