Well...

HAPPY
NEW
YEAR
!
^_^
!

MAY
ALLAH ALMIGHTY
BLESS ALL
!
^_^
!

Birth Of The Eve

Tender as dawn - wrapped in full moon kiss, night silk and paramour reds - etched into skin, moods, eyes and the flesh of within. The soul within seeks - either miracle for misery or the touch of reincarnation...

Allah Almighty weaves Angels and in clouds they speak - dance in ivory-night silhouettes in the roaming pure absolute

Love Is screaming as the sweet gestation of the world as slices of universe come as a armour and a wind of promises - delving - eternal - climatic - anti-climatic - intense - soft- it is a cusp - it is an original felt by the spasms of the cobwebs and oceans of life - sorrows and marrows, fullness bliss and ripe timelessness of yesterdays and the tomorrows-todays - Foams with the heterogeneous passion of fixation - Love is in the atmospheric ether, it dwells, swells it is an anchorage - ships and waves can cradle and intoxicate and calm the senses - the bursts of an organism in the evolutionary odyssey of living, breathing, praying, hoping, raging, weeping and surrendering-dominating seconds as each cocoon melts and reforms and spreads ancient and newness in cycles in these breaths

Happy New Year...

A Sheepish Grin

The grin was there - leftover of some corpse or the other - I can't remember well - I only think the words "saint" and "sinner" - these were my problems.

I read the newspapers and saw different grins all the time. Some from comedians, some from politicians (are they so different?) some from actors, some from loons and rapists, murderers and prosecutors and defenders and defendants and dependents and some other people. The ands will have ands and ands will continue...

There was one a person I had known. That person, he, gave off a grin - I know it too well for caring - I know it too well to not to stop caring.

Body-bags of lies and truths carry grins; which one was he?

The answer should be obvious but how can obvious be defined.

I try to console myself with "first" and "last" but these words have become a pandora to my being.

I see intrusions of colours, blacks and whites in my eyes.

This Kaleidoscope becomes weary.

I play a game of dots, numbers and names. It's a strange game. I know I shouldn't try to play it. I think I tried something like this before in school. With my classmate's eyes I realized I shouldn't try to replicate video games in pieces of lined paper. Before I understood I realized it was somewhat a useless excursion. Video games can't be played on pieces of paper exceptional scavenger hunts they are.

But this game is slightly different - you choose a name - put decimal dots wherever - think of numbers and words - limits and un-limits you can with those letters and numbers - and it is especially good when one was bored.

Her traveling eyes have engaged me again. They eat me when they are hungry. They eat me when they are full. They seem to eat me. Like slices of cheese - carefully dissected - carefully placed on the plate - or apple slices that so symmetrical - mathematic harmony of nature - the fullness of art mixed with the deluge of numericals.

I am an object of study. An amateur's art piece it seems. Blueprints to other steps.

" Yasif...what are you doing?" she asks plainly.

" I am playing a game."

" By yourself."

" Yes."

" Are there others with you...?"

" I said, you said - I was playing by myself..."

" The mind is not limited to three dimensional shapes..."

" I do have spirits or friends as such to -"

" Can I play this game with you...?"

" Only if you want Sama..."

" Ok - I do - what do I do?"

" Pick a name."

" Ok, my own..."

" Where do you want a decimal dot?"

" A decimal dot...?"

" Yes."

I explain the proceedure

" S.ama"

" Ok..."

" S means 5 to me so 5 is the limitation of top tens and belows of most lists - 5 times table equalizes time. 5 is a perfect number - you see two legs, two arms, one head..."

"That's nice."

"Ummm 'a' inverts to a form of 9 or 6 if you look at it..."

" I guess it does..." I had not thought of it before - interesting...

" 6 records as devil's number then 9 -"

" Not heaven for that's 7 -"

" Or 8 'cause there are supposed to be eight heavens..."

" So 9-"

" Constitutes as Armagedon - in the clock 3,6,9 and 12 make the points - if midnight represents dawn, six as dusk then 3 is noon and 9 is evening..."

" Yes..."

" 12 can decode as birth, 6 as hell, 3 as live half-lived and 9 as the space of no return as an end."

" Then heaven - what number signifies that...?"

" Hmm maybe sixes and twelves both - for 6 may decode hell and heaven."

" And the 'm' ? What does that decode?"

" A 3"

" And...?"

" The three is a nice number - represents a trinity a triangle of motion - Earth, Heaven and Hell strategy - a cycle of completion. Three spaces can also make a circle -"

" How...?"

" Ok, just take it as this a line on the north pole, south pole and the belly equator..."

" Oh Ok..."

" So, did I play the game well..."

" You haven't decided the words..."

" How many words - 5 for S?"

" Ok if you desire...it could be more if you want 5 less than 10 or 5..."

" Ok, Ok, so words are limitless...in this game...?"

" No - but you can make them as 5 can be made a 2 too you know so S could be a stylish 2..."

" Good Point..."

" So...?"

" S- Serenity, S - Secure, S- Sanity, S - Symmetry, S - Solar..."

" And..."

" A - Ambition, A - Ambivalence, A - Artemis, A - Alpha, A - Ancient, A - Antithesis, A - Axis, A - Apocalypse, A - Absolute and with M- Magnificence, M- Multitudes , M - Metaphysical..."

" Ok, now see if they interlink in a story of your own..."

" This is quite a tedious game..."

" You don't have to play anymore if you don't want to..."

" No, No - I like it - please let me say that this is a new sort of thing..."

" Thank-you..." I'm glad if she's liking it.

" Absolute Ambition relays Metaphysical Artemis as Ancient Antithesis turns the axis. The Alpha of Ambivalance with irs multitudes holds a magnificence. Is Sanity Secure as Serenity or Vice Versa?The Apocalypse is A symmetry and thus as there is solar engergy there is continual rebirth..."

" Choose two words from this story and say something specific about yourself with a number choice..."

" Rebirth and Apocalypse - I am a being of Apocalypse and I am a being Of Rebirth - as there is a 9 in the clock, as there is a three whole and sixes coming around. I am sure of this..."

" Well Game Over..."

" It's quite a game..."

" Well, yeah..."

" Now your turn..."

" Huh..."

" You..."

" Ok... my name..."

" Alright..."

" Ya.sif.."

" Ok I hold the 'i' as 7, the s as '2' and the 'a' as '9', and the 'Y' and 'f' as variations of ones..."

" Oh continue..."

" 7 is a good kind of heaven I guess I heard the 8th was even inaccessible to angels - I am not pure..."

" And...?"

" 2 is for Ying and Yang, two bodies as lovers as equals, The 9 to me is both something heavenly and inverted as hellish - so life contradiction to me 9 is both hope and incompletion as in it can be 10 a set but must also promise hundreds or nothing and the ones are the Aplpha and Beta - both surges of the universe circuit..."

" Tell me more...the words..."

" Y- Year, f - friend, a - antibody, a - angle, a - anticipation, a - angel, a - aforementioned, a - ancillary, a -asphyxiate, a- anther, a - aroma and i - innocence, i - intelligence, i- insignia, i - instrument, i - iris, i- intake and i as in 'I'..."

" Ok..."

" A year has gone by friend maybe even more. The antobody has not come. The anticipation - the one that ruined the intake of innocence? Is it still there in your intelligence? The anther, that aroma cannot be purged and its an instrument to memory. The iris that stared and the insignia that burned into flesh and the ancillary hurt that was aforementioned maybe in some angle. The angel that should asphyxiate is you...I know..."

" Then...?"

" Angel and Angle - I am no Angel so I won't have 7 but I have Angle so even if 1 is never definite I am closer to 9 of the incomplete fulfillment and the 2 of the world's paradoxes..."

" What does the decimal signify...?"

" Oh Yeah how you have halved yourself..."

" You seemed to reach a middle ground with Ya.sif..."

" Maybe..."

" Or are you sio halved you don't know..."

" Possibly..."

" Hey why doesn't that boy come here anymore...?"

" Which one...?"

" You know that one...Sarkar...?"

" He is dead."

" What - I'm sorry..."

" He was found dead in his bedroom..."

It is in that sheepish grin - so solely my "first" and "last" I cannot seem to make it ebb. It shines like the moon and the sun and the Alpha and Beta of so many things.

There is bleeding...slight...but then clawing anf tugging...then it's done and the start was there too...

I had closed-open...

Nothing seems perfect...

She sees me and states ' "Do you miss him...?"

" Who...?"

" Why Sarkar of course..."

" As I guess I need to..."

" You two were so close..."

" Yes..."

" Did they know who did it..."

" Only that they mutilated his body..."

" Oh...how horrible..."

" Yes..."

" Do they know why...?"

" There might have been reasons that were not stated..."

" He was such a good guy..."

" Yes, like 6 and 9..."

" What...?"

" Nevermind..."

You know what it hurt a lot but the touch of it, the aroma of skin that did not hurt that much, a mind trying to defeat reality? Could be...maybe it was more deeper in the crust...maybe a cocoon...when will the butterfly shoot out...when will...

" Yasif, the person who killed Sarkar...that person-"

" Yes..."

" Cut his penis right down the middle as though it was some form of meat..."

" Yes..."

" Doesn't that seem odd..?"

" I guess..."

" Don't you...Don't you question it...?"

" Questioning won't stitch his penis back - won't stich him back to life..."

That eye. The Iris. And Innocence intake stopped. Like an angle of Evil. I waged. I asphyxiated...Why did you not stop? Why did you...

" Yasif...oh Yasif..."

" They are taking me to an asylum..."

" Yasif..."

" Don't cry..."

" Yasif it was you..."

" It's alright I'm no Angel but I've got Angles - he might have said that too..."

" Yasif - he...that's why you..."

" Sama - it's been fun..."

" You don't have to hide anymore - I'm here..."

She's holding me...

" I had more pain in my half - I wanted him to feel it too..."

The Hour Of Pensiveness

It is in an hour that I know pensiveness. Wrapt legs on the columns of my downward-forward spiral and the flecks of cheating-faithful feelings are in attention-lazy mechanisms.

I can see blue eyes beneath an ocean. There are brown ones too and black ones as well - grey-green and greys and greens together - like little circular schools of wish.

And flecks of skin pinching off like vacuoles in some plant. I tease the thinking portion of my brain and try to reflect upon a plethora of good wills. Nothing stuns my aura anymore.

I am random. I am fixed. I am lethargy-prone. I am also biased by activity.

I think of Charlie kissing me and me kissing her and him and how both names gets confused by a small spots of clay and feathery fats.

In this hour I feel relaxed tension. It does hibernate sans hibernation and moves sans movement but I can't seem to wake this dreaming-waking vibe in me.

The storms are laying eggs.

And soon hatchery of demons, phantoms, phantasms, apes and lizard and other such things crawl into a being that is me.

Am I channel? Do I fulfill anything?

Am I a channel to fulfill something?

Can the core of the un-core speak to me?

Does the subconscious find anything useful?

It's only an hour.

Breathe.

Can you light the fire?

Have you seen yesterday? Do you believe in today? ...Is the definition of Tomorrow translates to a deeper marrow beneath the skin.

My soul has had its voyage - deep rooted knots overpassing the Gordian and yet released more than the milk of Venus - Have you seen fireplaces? No, the natural one, not the one the man had wrought with bricks, stones and inventor's code - the stars that lock kisses in the night flare.

I had seen them - heard them through sitars and toblas and seen through cellos and pianos - heard them through the electric keyboard and the ancient-flute.

My voyage is but endless. AS the cells of my body I had been phoenix-gifted - my manufactoring has been always renewed and temporary expiration has never fulfilled my genesis. Yet all date and time needs its fix of death and life.

So - even if I die now my soul had crept in the mountain stones and river banks and ocean floors and clouds ashore (As Jibanananda Das would have said)

Light the fire please - for this creature who has been both human and spirit will now write the last line...

AllahHafez

Feed The Dolls

The nest is best when it is broken - like a cuckoo the eggs are dispatched everywhere. The ruins of a Shangri-La most coveted - in this time and timeless rhythm of monotonous-activity she races as the cut on her face spreads...

The spreading. Death signified. Oh no - what to do?

Should she strangle herself with her hair (reversed Porphyria) or does she court death slowly - as a long form of love - not yet lost yet erotically charged. Will be death be a woman lover or a man beau - she doesn't know.

Death is ignominious. Death is powerful. Death is sanctuary. The hands are limitless. The form so volatile yet so calm. Like a ocean in the midst of demeanor switching and havoc raising to sweet songs in siren harmony. The foams lap the shore as a young tongue constantly eager to try the sex-fruit.

Life a sex-fruit.

She has eloped with freedom with wounds as her wedding dowry. She will not change will. Death in a free seems more beautiful than a life-luxury of a courtesan to a place most scientifically demented and primitively modern.

She will not go back.

////

"Remember Janus to feed them - stroke them - love them - what is what children want." the doctor philosophized,
" If you think of it marionettes are merely human in a wire-work disguise."

"Surely, you have made one with the switching sex?"

"Yes, Janus, of course - I know you are very amorous to have one singular dish - most of my dolls here - these mannequins of movement - as I call them fondly - are the flexible models...you can have your pick..."

"Are you not going to sell them?"

"Yes, but only as a private business you see - I can't mainstream this - with all those activists around. Mannequins of movements are products - you can use them any way you want but use them to have to - you see in their code they want to be in some ways purposeful as humans. But subservience or dominance? - That is your choice as well. If you wish them to masters or slaves it is entirely up to you."

"Alright, Alright - I want that one that you called Lydia - why were you calling it such?"

" I made her function more like a girl - but then she started getting upset saying she didn't want a switchable sex due to functionality - she said if she switched sexes it has to be for a proper reason - I locked her up for some moments - because I think she has become flawed."

"I bet she'll make a beautiful boy too - you see doctor I'm tired of my wives and my male lovers - I want someone nascent whose only purpose is me...I don't care if I'm dominated or I dominate I just want her or his purpose to be me...as simple as that..."

"I see - but do not choose Lydia - or Lyle - as I would call him as she switches sex - take someone -"

"But I have too take with that marionette not to own it."

"Alright, Alright, whatever you wish Janus but I warn you of the flaws and remember to contact me or call me as soon as you see any difficulties."

"I will."

"Wait - what - where the hell - she escaped!"

"What?!"

"I'll search for her later..."

"What - why not now -"

"I must give the dolls some food"

"What...what do they eat...?"

"Oh anything as we humans do - but I feed them my blood..."

"Doctor...?"

"They must remember me...I am their creator...."

"Doctor that's unhealthy..."

"No - my dear Janus it is life...."

////

The cut on the face. The lips twitch. She has drawn out what needs to be drawn. Somehow she knew it was on the face like a mask wrapped - an identity obscure. She knifed it. Too dangerous to keep. Didn't want to keep.

She knew sex-switching in her was not stable. That is because she was bound. She has reduced the switchable individualisms for they were homogeneous nothingness and heterogeneous impurity. She did not yearn fluctuations that promised no calms or torments of lessons.

She refused not to be a product.

She looked at the open plains. Envious of their origins. Made and liberated. Not to succumb or be tyrant to. Only not a useless abstract, an abundant disturbance. She liked to think of herself liberated.

Was she....?

The blood thrown was somehow still coveted. Not the sweet yearning of creator yer psychological diseased conditioning of an abuser's misplaced affections. She knew the drug may succeed to produce discomfort however it will not have success in her will.

Her freedom is not to judged by a commodity of stupid egotism nor of blatant lies. She wishes truth-fruit.

She looks at a tree - she desires its fruit - she looks at it. Is it a good tree? Is it a tree of good love? Does it want like her, pine like her, hunger like her?

She nibbled grass. She nibbled fruit. She nibbled the earth, the sky, the waters - all elements of a freedom-symmetry. All puzzle pioeces to origins of all origins.

She will be the original.

She will not lack metamorphosis.

////

The marionettes of movement shift sex at different hours. They wear a clockface on their faces when they are not eating or not walking or not doing anything. Aside from the clockface they are nude. They are made by glass it seems for they shine as the beloved waters that make the moon silver and the sun gold.

They are aesthetics realized.

Yet they are numb. They forest nothing. Nurture the dampness of ongoing zygote-processes. Aside that they are everything-nothing. They sleep all the time though they are awake.

They have gears for beds and winders as their behavioural teachers - they don't do much except eat blood. They like it. They have known no other except blood in this black-white-glow cage of world of their's.

Some talk.

Some do not.

Some ask.

Some do not.

Some sing.

Some do not.

Some wish to know.

Some do...not...

"Blood is served..." they all speak - they all want - it is a fruit-given-forbidden.
"Thank-you creator..."

"Yes - remember me..."
"Creator where is Lydia-Lyle...?"
"She will go to a new home soon...."
"Can she remove her clockface?"
"Yes."

"Why can't we remove ours...?"
"Because I am creator and I say so..."

"Will you ask us to remove them...?"
"No."
"Why not...?"
"I remember I told you not to ask needless questions.... you must now be punished...."

The marionette screamed "No my good creator!"

"Stand Still!"

He twisted the gears of the clock - he held the hands - he let them go in a force slow and fast - soon the marionatte changed sex so much that hormonal rapidness and slowness hit his body too hard.

He coughed blood. She asked forgiveness. He pleaded for forgiveness. She needed blood.

The Doctor fed the blood but then said..."I own you all..."

////

Lyle had come home. The prodigal son? No Lydia knew that she was no prodigal daughter. But she now wanted to end it all. The doctor needed to be examined.

However the newly formed-liberated being saw a man lurking about impatiently. Suddenly he looked most happy seeing him and her.

" My Lydia-Lyle! You are here now!" the man rushed forth, "I need you! I am buying you!"

" I am no slave to be bought."
"Then be my master-mistress Lydia-Lyle I do not want you to think my affections untrue."
" An individual who cannot govern themselvbes is dead and I have no desire to copulate with the corpse."

"You ungrateful toy I must punish you!"

"With what our manhood or a womanhood? You know no truths and that is why you are Janus - the faces reverse - yes, I know you...Go back to your children - do not love your wives or your male lovers but love them if you can love anyone..."

"Oh - you harsh being wearing a soft vale - how can you not accept me Lydia-Lyle..."

"I am my own. I am my slave. I am my master. I do not need to further my discrepancies or my good blessings with you. Now leave because I must meet the doctor..."

"He is feeding the dolls - he will fix you...I know it...I will come back..."

"A stupidly fruitless effort but maybe not completely - if you come back my words will resonate in these walls and may breed wisdom in you...."

"Stop! Stop!" the man runs as the being enters the sanctum of equality-unequal and protection-unprotected.

" I see you have come back."
" To tell you to stop"

"Here, drink my blood - I know you want it..."

"Alright...Alright..."

She swallows the blood hungrily but hungrily spits it out. The doctor is shocked.

"You see my face has a scar that is healing - I can forgone the old poison from there."

"Lydia-Lyle you ungrateful cur you dare resist your creator...."

" I am not your created. I know you put clockfaces on us to keep time stagnantly moving - nor else these mirrors that showcases emptiness will one day showcase our true selves...."

"No! What are you doing?!"

The marionettes all lined up. Then a circle. Around the doctor.

"Doctor - these faces must go -the masquerade ball must end..."

They threw the clocks at him. They pierced him. He finally wailed - "So Time whom I wished to escape from has finally pierced me with it's sword of lust, its womb of perilous realizations! No!"

"Do you now see sisters and brothers?"

"Yes we do Lydia-Lyle from the mirrors around and the shards of tainted time-frame-glass - we were once him and not him - the people he had imagined and met. We had his dreams and not his dreams. But he pushed us off so we pushed him off. He blames us for his troubles..."

"Yes - I made you in the likeness of all the men and women I had loved" the dying man, dying for not glass-spears but for the winding gears and winders have fallen off their bodies - their blood rejected his food-blood - it was parasitic-mutual sustenance, " But those men and women abandoned me!" he cried, "They used me!"

"Are we switchable for your love and hate...?"

"Yes..."

"Then know this human-man we were not guilty. We were not the original sinners yet you fed us the forbidden fruit. Folly is man's ancient name but so is forgiveness if you had made amends with your lovers this would not have happened. You had used them more then they you...."

"Can you forgive me....?"

"Yes we will as we do not wish to repeat your mistakes. We thank you for making us but please we must leave...we must live our own...."

"Do as you shall - I excuse you from this Eden..."

"If such is Eden then one might feel Hell was the actual garden. Come sisters and brothers - we leave our prodigal parent..."

"Yes Lydia-Lyle let us return to earth, wind, water and fire - metal and wood! Let us go!"

"And so we sojourn - dolls well-fed - dolls who are human. Dolls who yearn for life."