The following article was published in N-SPHERE November 2010 issue.


We dreamt of a high speed chase across the heavens and of a spineless army throwing calcium arrows at catatonic targets. The firing squad has never been so beautiful. This is but a small token of my appreciation for the big black book on my night stand.

“Did you hear the chorus chanting in the afternoon sun?” “Not this time. I was indulging together with my ego into the remembrance of the bizarre conversations, in simpler shapes and sizes. You had something to say back then. Now you’re again mute.”

“Do I sometimes still think that one bullet brings the silence and another one the long forgotten ovations? I couldn’t say. There’s still much work to be done until that level of performance.” “I will excuse myself then, and return when you’ll desperately cry for help.” “You’rYou’re planning the future sufferings and rapture as always. I occasionally hate you as much as I hate myself. I’d gladly rip off every square inch of your skin and feed it to the subjects of your experiments, leaving the illustrious meat for the posterity to dispose of, and polishing of the bones for the children’s primitive amusement. Any further resemblance to your methods sickens me profoundly.” “Yes. Jumping in and out of psychotic episodes like in a new found game of hopscotch, spreading the joy and fun, is primitive indeed. But I am positively convinced that you can go beyond primitive.”

Let us agree on how not to make each other feel uncomfortable and out of place again. It shouldn’t be that difficult. And if by any chance it turns out so, we’ll summon our old friend and referee. Shall we begin with the appetizers?

by Bahak B

artwork by Vel Thora

Full article here.