When I was a young child I wanted to be a writer because writers were rich and famous they lounged around Singapore and Rangoon smoking opiums in yellow pongee silk suits. They sniffed cocaine in Mayfair and penetrated forbidden swamps with faithful native boys and lived in native quarters of Tangier smoking hashish and languidly carressing a pet gazelle.
Some Madness is a performance for the self, it is the rain dance of an arid soul.
What will you learn in the next life you cannot draw from suffering and from a yearning of see His face in this one?
I want to draw in your name like breath through the empty space in my teeth, to sit in my joints when I am old and frail, to have it colour my hair in the sun.
Running – down an alleyway
he splashes cooking oil all over his shorts this boy!
He wets himself
running through Eternity –
through this alleyway
this pack of dogs
the conspiracies of fate! – Al-Saddiq Al-Raddi
A man is defined by his hope and his ability to “envision more” this is what endears him to his Lord….