...a deathly serenade...

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA
A
accomplishment, like a conceptual Artist achieving
the success of a piece alone, or a one man play
without an audience, or the concrete moving of
tectonics plates colliding; I felt less aligned to the
status-quo, however small this act was, this night
was less riddled by insomnia, not much, but in
some way, I found the body just a sentimental
entity by this. As such forms of chaos fed the body,
but failed to occupy a mind generally perturbed, I
thought this, but it may have come out of my
mouth in the middle of the night, in between
closed eyes —Even delinquents have their votaries.
Exotic Themes of Views
It was tempting to quickly judge the situation, as it
came full steam ahead: Lucia introduced him as
Ahmed and there I was sitting with not only him,
but G also. I had no idea this was the case until
afterwards. The living room was quite dark for the
light in many Moroccan homes was skewed by
certain architecture—I considered it baroque in
affect. Lucia was much more familiar with Ahmed
than I had presumed; she was gently chiding him
about the length of his hair, touching it and
accosting him to sit down right next to her. G
walked in, as I find out later, and is neither smiling
nor frowning. Both G and Ahmed were wearing
jalabiya’s, red and white, respectively. Lucia’s
nervous laughter at times jilts me, I thought. And
abounded to the presence of some heaven, I found
agnostic. To set the mood further would falsify the
anecdote, it was just a happening that can only be
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