Or, A superficial account of my heretical banality
Will I be allowed to travel this time, or will they come up with some new excuse? This was the thought that kept bustling in my head all through the ride to the airport. But, surprise, surprise, things went somewhat smoothly at the Syrian end. Somewhat! Continue reading “A Conference in Venice – Part Two!”
The raindrops rolled across my body like big wet kisses from the lips of a hungry and voracious whore. They denuded me and exposed my rotten core. They bit my earlobes and drenched my tits and my belly. They fucked my soul. They fucked my soul.
Everything comes like a violation to me these days, even my thoughts. Everything pains me, even hope. For hope is nothing more than a merciless rape of a tortured soul.
I am tired of hope. I am tired of rape. I am tired of ideas that keep bustling in my head. I am tired of a future that never comes yet never fails to make me oblivious to the present. I am tired of the constant wait and anticipation. I am tired of rain that wets but does not cleanse.
Still, Venice received me with a long sudden shower of omnivorous rain. Rain!
The Whore is unruly.
The Pimp – a fiend.
The Seeds are but ignorant bastards –
nasty, brutish, mean. Mean.