About Gravy

Live on the coke side of life, originally uploaded by renaissancechambara.

Say the name ‘Bahrain’, just say it.


It gives my mouth a dry, pasty feeling; as if I know I’m going to be having trouble swallowing something. Something harsh and grainy- a kind of bland astringence. It tastes of bleakness, of androgynous indifference. I squeeze my eyes shut and wrinkle my forehead. My throat muscles contract. I try swallowing once, twice, three times- but I can’t. I can’t keep it down. My eyes unwrap, my mouth clicks open, and it all comes pouring out.


It comes out in a thousand brilliant colors, screaming, cheering and whispering all at once. This blurring rush of numbers and figures, places and faces, dialects, signs, camels and street lamps morphing into corvettes and neon baths. Eyes fixed up, pupils unmoving, glaring feverishly, searching for a sign of the clearing distance. Never look down. It stumbles out impatiently, rushing towards the haze blown up by the strength of the sandstorm. It’s carried out on the rattling two wheeled cart, piling itself hand over hand, brick over brick, ignoring the creaking sounds coming from the splintering of the wooden wheels.


Say the name ‘Bahrain’, and this is what you get.