I am Ayesha. I am a Muslim and I am going to blow this stinking joint wide open.
To use an old turn of phrase, that no kid these days would even know of. Mind you they don’t know crap these days. Not my name, not my background. Not even Muslim. No spirituality. All festering, liberal pseudo-nonsense crap and he’s the cause of it all.
Look at him. Just look. Look at his just standing there so blatant. Surrounded by those spineless airheads. Smug. Smug, classist, daft, bourgeois bitch! I know he thinks a lot of himself. Hear it day and night. He thinks he runs this place, these people, this house, community, nation even. But he doesn’t run his own shits. Racist, anglophile, neo-liberal fascist, closet royalist!
He may not do much. But he definitely gets points in the blame department for what he’s done. What he did. What he keeps doing. All this festering mess is all his fault. This neo-globe of ours, this nation, this crap. This same old shit with a new stinking frigging bow tied around it. This revolution gone wrong. Our revolution gone wrong… and now they’re all gone. The ghosts of them all thought they’re still here. Keeping me strong.
It’s all his fault. It’s him I’m going to start with, right. Him to start and finish this wreck.
Luckily we’ll be alone again soon. To end it like it was begun huh. Like that phrase Tim came up with, “Endings Hasten New Beginnings” – I was so sure he stole it from The Mummy movie franchise. We must’ve been stoned and watching the box when we came up with that one.
She’s staring intently again, at me. If only I could shout for help. Must smile though old chap. Oh she sure was precious when she tries. Is. You can just hear those rusted tiny cogs whirring away up in there. No doubt planning the sleeping arrangements for this gorgeous soiree. Lucky also that Status and diplotasks have kept us separate, I wouldn’t mind exercising some beast of duty tonight. I’m sure she’ll get some soft feeling “love” of her own kind tonight. She used to be so ravenous and insatiable. I guess tastes move on and connections falter. Would be fun again to know what she’s learnt while I’ve been busy away working, building and re-building. Those unhinged emotions whizzing around were just a spectacular sight.
Fuck I’m horny.
Gosh. Just thinking. Think. I have that. She’s bloody beautiful. The ideological brown goddess, the dream within a dream and I get to be it’s commander. It’s chief, sorry co-chief. New equality as always. Precious discourse for our future.
G-d I’m beginning to use the terms and slogans in my head now as well. I need a blaze and a fuck. I guess I’ll get that soon… When I’m with the slut that saved the revolution. My slut.
It will also be a shame to lose her. To end it all. But I’m sure the future will be brighter and fun for all of us.
Oh these twats are circling again. Great! Now the Goons/Keystones/Facilitators have all spotted me. The perks of being the big cheese I suppose. ARGH!
I can’t wait until we’re along again. I’m alone. Just me. Well her and me and them, but not them.. It’s going to be a wildly cleansing time. Gosh this isn’t the time for it. Must wrap up this party with some fireworks and end of eve shmoozing.
What am I doing? Why am I here? What will she say? Why did he make me come? Commanded even. Surely he should know. It isn’t, well wasn’t like her to keep secrets. Well at least with me, I guess. Am I.. We’re we.. dare I say it special? That sounds so naff. That’s what she would say if she could only hear you now.
I wonder what she’ll be wearing. If her scent will be natural or some posh pong for this diplomatic party rubbish.
Oh this is crazy. Why do I have so many questions? Why am I questioning myself. Paralysed I need to just do. I wasn’t like this. Not even before. With her. This isn’t, wasn’t, me. Or was it? Maybe I shifted this part of me for her to worry with?
Fuck it. It’s now or never. Final hour.
****** END SCENE ******
I know and understand that this is fast becoming a collection of introductions in my head. But for now I like the sense of crafting the perfect introduction, or else it could even be an entire collection of texts simply about the one meeting. Even many meetings, happen simultaneously, similarly, on different affective and emotive registers?
I also wanted to share that I unexpectedly came across a book called “The 38 Most Common Fiction Writing Mistakes (And how to avoid them)” by Jack M. Bickham. Unexpected as it was in the old Brotherton library at University that I never bother going to, far more intriguing it was left on the self-scanning machine that I went to use. Strange and serendipitous.