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Foreword:
An underappreciated and unknown poet once said,
“How could I ever forget those beautiful lullabies you once sung to me, sweet mother?”
But no matter how much I force myself to feel something, I can't.
I never had a mother, at least I never knew her.
When I was younger, they'd tell me she had been very ill and that it was God's will to relieve her of her suffering on Earth but I know she died in child birth because I killed her. I stole the oxygen from her lungs and the blood from her veins. I took her life so that I could live and every day I live with this guilt, but it doesn't affect me. I can only see myself as a wild, heartless and cold-blooded creature from another dimension whose only purpose on Earth is to kill and destroy. I learned from the best.
These are my vivid memoirs, a diary of unfelt emotions and a journal of the broken, unrealized and unrealistic drug-induced hallucinations and nightmares from the past that are my dreams. Through my own story, I will tell you those of others that share (or indeed, shared) my miserable, Godforsaken fate in this graveyard of peace, where bodies come in pieces and we pull on the tarp.
This is also a tale of greater atrocities committed in the name of God, so that sheep would blindly follow and support these vain acts of injustice without realizing that it was the love of power, money and earthly pleasures that caused them. This narrative is based on the esoteric works of one Lida Nahbus, a modern-day parallel of the blind Greek poet, Homer.
Indeed, memories are all that I've ever had. I may not be able to express what I feel like normal human beings, but I can never forget. The only emotion I'm capable of is anger and the only feeling I know is fear, that and pain. I am told these are not good for me, but they are better than nothing. Yes, something is always better than nothing unless in nothing, there is happiness to be found.
When I close my eyes, I see red and black shadows and the occasional blue dots flying about. I remember things a normal person would forget or rather, would like to forget. I remember my childhood. I used to say things that would confuse my family members and scare people away from me. When I was about three or four, I told my neighbor’s son that his house will be destroyed by a cylinder in the air that would land and burn everything around it. I hear voices, voices from the past; my father, grandmother, wife and children, all of whom are most likely dead. But more importantly, I hear Hakim.
Hakim Zmarai, the witch doctor lion of Urgon. A mystical butcher with a messiah complex and a message that could possibly save humanity.
He was different, like me, except he could feel everything and was educated. He used to think out of the box, for himself and was wise-beyond-his-years. He reminded me of the great teacher, Pir Roshan of Kannigram, with his revolutionary ideals, advice, wisdom and especially, the fact that he failed in his mission.
Despite everything we've been through together, I wouldn't call Hakim a friend. I don't have friends, only people I can talk to and he was one of them. He could understand me and taught me most of the things I know, and if I am anything today, it is only because of him.
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The above is a depiction of the mystical Hakim Zmarai (حکیم زمری) aka Zmaryalai Hakimi (زمریلی حکیمي) or Hakim, The Butcher, as most call him. A witch doctor from The Star of Unukalhai, The Serpant’s Neck and a gold-plated, well decorated fair king among the lions, who’s year we are now in.
Soon, God willing, you shall find out why things are this way, soon. His back story is something of a mystery to The Outsiders, but will eventually be revealed when the Cloud drops, if it ever does.
An underappreciated and unknown poet once said,
“How could I ever forget those beautiful lullabies you once sung to me, sweet mother?”
But no matter how much I force myself to feel something, I can't.
I never had a mother, at least I never knew her.
When I was younger, they'd tell me she had been very ill and that it was God's will to relieve her of her suffering on Earth but I know she died in child birth because I killed her. I stole the oxygen from her lungs and the blood from her veins. I took her life so that I could live and every day I live with this guilt, but it doesn't affect me. I can only see myself as a wild, heartless and cold-blooded creature from another dimension whose only purpose on Earth is to kill and destroy. I learned from the best.
These are my vivid memoirs, a diary of unfelt emotions and a journal of the broken, unrealized and unrealistic drug-induced hallucinations and nightmares from the past that are my dreams. Through my own story, I will tell you those of others that share (or indeed, shared) my miserable, Godforsaken fate in this graveyard of peace, where bodies come in pieces and we pull on the tarp.
This is also a tale of greater atrocities committed in the name of God, so that sheep would blindly follow and support these vain acts of injustice without realizing that it was the love of power, money and earthly pleasures that caused them. This narrative is based on the esoteric works of one Lida Nahbus, a modern-day parallel of the blind Greek poet, Homer.
Indeed, memories are all that I've ever had. I may not be able to express what I feel like normal human beings, but I can never forget. The only emotion I'm capable of is anger and the only feeling I know is fear, that and pain. I am told these are not good for me, but they are better than nothing. Yes, something is always better than nothing unless in nothing, there is happiness to be found.
When I close my eyes, I see red and black shadows and the occasional blue dots flying about. I remember things a normal person would forget or rather, would like to forget. I remember my childhood. I used to say things that would confuse my family members and scare people away from me. When I was about three or four, I told my neighbor’s son that his house will be destroyed by a cylinder in the air that would land and burn everything around it. I hear voices, voices from the past; my father, grandmother, wife and children, all of whom are most likely dead. But more importantly, I hear Hakim.
Hakim Zmarai, the witch doctor lion of Urgon. A mystical butcher with a messiah complex and a message that could possibly save humanity.
He was different, like me, except he could feel everything and was educated. He used to think out of the box, for himself and was wise-beyond-his-years. He reminded me of the great teacher, Pir Roshan of Kannigram, with his revolutionary ideals, advice, wisdom and especially, the fact that he failed in his mission.
Despite everything we've been through together, I wouldn't call Hakim a friend. I don't have friends, only people I can talk to and he was one of them. He could understand me and taught me most of the things I know, and if I am anything today, it is only because of him.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The above is a depiction of the mystical Hakim Zmarai (حکیم زمری) aka Zmaryalai Hakimi (زمریلی حکیمي) or Hakim, The Butcher, as most call him. A witch doctor from The Star of Unukalhai, The Serpant’s Neck and a gold-plated, well decorated fair king among the lions, who’s year we are now in.
Soon, God willing, you shall find out why things are this way, soon. His back story is something of a mystery to The Outsiders, but will eventually be revealed when the Cloud drops, if it ever does.
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