Monday, December 17, 2012

Displaced Gods of the Lot

Posted by A Great Liar

[The following is an excerpt from a currently undergoing novel, 'Requiem for a Vertical Man']

The Lot is situated close to the eastern end of the Suburbs of the Low. Left to its own devices thousands of years ago, the place is now molten with disposed memories from time unmeasured, scandalized items once worshiped now disposed off like displaced gods of a pagan temple, and the mass garbage that still stank of the human soul gone awry with the imminence of death.

The tattle tale of the owners and the owned.

There were graffiti all over the four walls, but you would have to hang upside down to make out anything from most of them, drawn by men with little sense of the vertical and horizontal; poor mathematicians who lived and humped like bats.

A sight that inspired a sense of godlessness, a land tinted with the aesthetics of waste marking the intersections of our personal histories, underlying interests, conscious and unconscious desires. A slide show of our deep humanity, as well as our flaws, that now looks dirty or offensive in retrospect.

The inhabitants of the surrounding neighborhoods steered clear of the Lot, mindful of its existence, its countless drags of scrap, drenched with the fused association of many scenes and emotions from memory and experience. Products with questionable ethical histories, derelict bottles and burnt cars providing testimonies of men who liked to stay anonymous; rusted washing machines as monuments to domestic and economic struggles; all of it spoke of a lingering belief of the margins of our world with their own unique interest, margins that were far from absolute. An affirmation that the old discarded things can come alive again if viewed through the dysfunctional eye of historical distance.

Deep inside the Lot craved a human evolution that improvised on rationing drawn from the leftovers of the prospered and the fortunate. Years after years have given way to a genetic growth of kindred that still haven’t unlearned to walk on two and breed with the minimal civility of human dignity differentiating them from the beasts by a mere hair’s breadth. Much to their credit the inhabitants of the Lot still clanged to basic human frivolities even with the passing of two generations amongst them, their secret kind growing with the quietness of time and age, as the young continued to bury the wretched before them; the plague of old age never failing to surprise them out of their dull, drug-abused wits, and most of them were laid to rest before they could make up for their lifetime of indifferences with the gods of the underneath. 


The bird finally landed on the outstretched hand of the skeleton, calling out the dead man's name.

The night bird had been aloft, fluttering up near one dumping tower to another, its mysterious ebb and flow seeking an invisible pathway, till it had finally begun to hover, circling about on top of an old car rusting in the weeds, with a thin undernourished tree growing up through the hood of the vehicle, and a rotting squirrel inside its open trunk.

A human skeleton stayed motionless on its driving seat, with one of his hands stretched out of the window, palm facing skyward; a secret gesture that merely wished to be revered than understood.

From the corner of his eye, Raspil noticed Zach and Hermes standing in absolute mathematical alignment to each other, shoulder to shoulder, and Hermes frozen like a wooden pigment, her eyes like two transient holes carved in, as if she found him sitting in that car an experience more profound than that of a first moonwalk. Her ashen lips moving with a mind of their own, subservient to the mysterious cult/ritual at hand. 

None had dared move but Zach, breaking the spell that had rendered him previously immovable, like a strayed shaman in a cult night dream with his eyes having followed the creature till the end of its flight.

The bird turned around, a pair of white glinting against its dark posture, outshining the poorly lit surrounding and the moonlight nearing blindness, wary of the stale faces with their silent whimpering steps, slowly closing in.

Ulrich. Whispered Hermes, addressing the skeleton in a car that has rusted beyond recognition.
Neither drew a response. Ulrich has decided to stay there since the day he died, loosely disposed off, with shoulders as if poorly stapled against the cobwebbed car seat to endure a composure of the dignified, the head tilted slightly to the right with a lank cowl forever wearing the expressions down, and the eyes, the only part of him strangely left intact with all the flesh about them, were forever alit with the ambition of one screaming light at the close of dawn.

Raspil drew closer to the car, his eyes never leaving the skeleton’s face, savoring that expression captured at the very moment of his death, the only substitute to the flesh long lost to the tiny monsters that feed upon the gods long dead.

In that wholesome expression, men have witnessed a mere fraction that endures us all before the tick-tock man finally clamps down on you, a fraction surmising a semblance of a human expression, a sum of life lived in all its glory, the past flashing before the eyes, looking glorious as past always does.

The magic of the things we leave behind.


Raspil wondered if Ulrich realized the posthumous glory surrounding him, now a cult amongst the lost souls. The God Kindred of men without ambitions, and women who slept and copulated in faded sleeping bags with marks of rat bites all over them, and rusty zippers that barely closed halfway without breaking another teeth if you were lucky.

The older ones of the Lot spoke of the code Ulrich lived by, an unfaltering belief on the oblivion that awaits one with the prick of the needle point against the arm; the holy spirit seeping in, through the veins, and one finally stops sucking up to time, space and all that jazz in between.

The sacred diction of Ulrich had been found scribbled in his private notebook on the day of his death, or so the rumor has it. Though rarely anyone Raspil knew have laid eyes on the infamous notebook, believed to have been passed on in secrecy from a generation of one elect elder to another.

Sensing the growing presences behind him, Raspil turned around and witnessed the faces, from a cluster to now a crowd, visibly on the edge tonight, with all of them having drained the needle within, attuned to the monster twisting and turning, dancing the dance of a junkie soul.

Many of them will remain a devout follower to a mystery that was Ulrich till the day they are dead, faithful beyond the quantum physics of a static livingness, all that senselessness of breathing, in H2O and out the infested junkie breath.

Something broke the silence. A man’s voice calling out the skeleton’s name. Immediately joined by another's.

And another’s.

A chant began to form in the stillness of the night, till Raspil heard the sound of his voice joining in, elevating the cult, and in awe of a mystery holding no secrets within.

[Do leave a comment, it matters...]


  1. There is mystery and lot of thought to your writings. So u are writing a novel? I have to admit I am surprised that u often dwell on the topics of death. Your writing remind me of the writings of the book of ecclestiastics...which says in short that - "Everything is meaningless" Your language is very strong and a wee bit beyond my level of english! I don't fail to notice that it is class all the way! All the best and keep going with the novel.

  2. Woah...that was wild.and a little creepy!
    Can't wait to know more about the novel...let us know soon!

  3. Beautiful doesn't quite compliment it. It's nerve-moving (provided that's a word). It's elegant in it's own way. Gruesome yet graceful. Terrible yet great.

    The only thing outta is the grammar. I'm sorry I'm a grammar freak :o so you can ignore this part of the comment :)

    Honestly, you're an ardent and profound writer. Masha'Allah.

    Oh, and, 'In what wholesome... As past always does' I loved this part.

  4. There's a lot going on in the head if seen from within this excerpt. Soo looking forward to getting to know more about this world. There's a beauty in the way you pen down the connotations in your mind. Loved reading it.
    Waiting for more on this.
    Take Care :)

  5. You can't write such a gripping thing and leave us all hanging in the end! Not fair. I demand a free copy of this novel.

  6. Christmas greetings
    and may you have a bright n peaceful New Year ahead

  7. Hi, I am Thewhitescape, author of blog "One head many hats…One life many stories" & I hereby Nominate your blog for THE LIEBSTER BLOG AWARD. For more details kindly refer to Liebster Blog Award post at, Await your comments, Thanks!! :)

  8. Assalamualayikum warehmatullahi wa barakatuh.

    Happy new year :)

  9. Excellent narrative and brain burning language! You are indeed very good writer! Nice to have discovered your page:)

  10. @Jerley: Oh Thanks a lot Jerley, for taking time out to read and for your comments. Honestly, have to confess that I do have a certain fascination with death and the dead, and the lives that they led. etc etc.

    @Talitha: Oh Thanks a lot Talitha, for taking time out to read and for your encouragement.

    @the butterfly effect: Thanks Mahnoor, for taking time out to read and for ur kind comment. And lolz, I have a feeling that u r a grammer freak, and I totally admire that. And I wish I shared the same level of freakiness with it as u, my dear reader, do. And well, thank you once again, and sorry for hibernating ... once again that is ...
    And btw, a little too late in the day, but WISH YOU A VERY HAPPY NEW YEAR as well. )

    @sm: Well, I sincerely hope you actually read the whole thing...

    @The Purple Assassin: Hey Assassin, thank you for the wonderful comment. Cant appreciate enough, seriously...

    @Furree Katt: Hey Furree, long time. How have u been? And btw, I do promise you a free signed copy, lolz, provided the manuscript is finishd and it sees the light of (an edtior's) day.

    @deeps: Thank you :)

    @thewhitescape: Oh wow. Thank you so much for honoring me with this. Cant honestly appreciate enough. Awfully kind of you :)

    @Nasnin Nasser: Oh hi there. Welcome to the blog, and thank you for your wonderful comment.

  11. Plleasure's all mine. And well I think it's kind of a bad habit being nuts about grammar, sometimes it sucks the fun outta good stories if I keep concentrating on grammar.

    And it's not late. It's still January ;)

  12. AGLLL THANK YOU for dropping by on my post and appreciating it. I have replied to u there. I was hoping for a new post from u. BTW I am definitely not a grammar and spellings freak as I happily leave a lot of them ;) yet unless u are affectionately calling me Jerley (extending it lovingly) and if it is just an oversight then the spelling is Jerly :D HA HA

  13. (leave a lot of spelling and grammar mistakes) is what I mean!!! SEE

  14. lovely universe u created in that post..
    enjoyed readin.. :)

  15. @the butterfly effect: Oh lolz. Yes, that can happen with being grammer freak. I can well imagine. I wish I could promise absltly error free posts in the future, but well... lemme see what I can do.
    Thank you once again.

    @Jerly: U r welcum. And well, I jst made that new post. Actualy another excerpt from the novel.

    Ahan... Well, u mean Jerley wld do if it was extended lovingly or affectionately? Lolz!!!

    And btw, sorry about getting the name wrong... :)

    @Jyoti : Hi there, thanks for dropping by, and for your kind comment. Apreciate it :)

  16. yup. I like affection. btw currently my comp has a problem with the letter c so please add them while reading if I leave out any :)

  17. Oh you don't have to take me seriously. Wesay be it's your editor that you should worry about (when you have one). I love the way you write. Your classic style makes up for the tiny winy errors. :D