...a deathly serenade...

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA
Maghreb and so wanted some rest. The room
became full rather quickly. There was a lot of
chatter as I sat in a corner next to a sculpture: a
long languid brown wooden piece with a metal
base, primarily. These two distinct materials
juxtaposed together seemed most significant to
me, beyond the actual composition. It was still
very befitting of Bon’s character, which at this
time, came across as flippant, excessive and very
much what Mustapha had described as someone
of the Malamatiyya, (who were a Muslim mystic
group in 9th Century Khorasan that, primarily,
held the belief that outwardly piousness was
something to disdain, and rather kept their
beliefs private), so it was not strange to see Bon
smoking Kif, describing his different rather
secular Art pieces and often talking about sex
with an estranged partner. I distinctly noticed his
use of the word partner, and this remained
ambiguous from the first moment we had arrived.
Though I did not ask, in order not to draw
attention to my deficiency, I assumed the smell
within the living room as either rosemary or rose:
candles were placed sparingly around and had
been lit you see. And it imbued a sense of
occasion. Much of the conversation was a loud
stew-like happening of those speaking Spanish,
those speaking French, those speaking a form of
Arabic, those speaking Moroccan Berber and
small amounts of English. Though it all became
intelligible when everyone (eleven people, not
including me) centered on and about the main
living room couch, and Bon started to discuss
202