So what is a superhero?
A man or woman with a secret identity dressed in a way that exudes strength and well-roundedness off to do (what they hope is) good in the world. Continue reading
Category Archives: Noragotcharisma
Homage to Women by noragotcharisma
This isn’t some thing to celebrate women. This isn’t a thing that tells them that they should love themselves, flaws and all. Because they won’t. They won’t listen to you. The only voice they’ll listen to is the one that does not exist. Continue reading
Color by Noragotcharisma
Who am I?
I can be found in nature, but cannot be made.
I am energy, passion, action.
I’m lovin’ it! Continue reading
Sciamachy by Noragotcharisma
Sci·am·a·chy noun [sahy-am–uh-kee]: an act or instance of fighting a shadow or an imaginary enemy.
Temptation. Tempt… tation. Timetation. Yes. Time, the number one enemy.
I am so tempted all the time. I can never win this sciamachy. Sigh, I am a key. Oh, interesting…
But defeat is not an option, I’ve got too much to lose. I will win! I will overcome this devil on my shoulder, I will.
…I just have to, pick myself up. Ughhh, I’ve just been so exhausted lately. My body aches, my mind aches for a guiltless vacation where I don’t have to use it much. Why must I think about everything? Ignorance is bliss, I guess.
No, snap out of it. Stop. There isn’t much time left anyway, and you’ve made it this far, you can finish strong. The semester is nearly over and you ne–
–yes, yes. Just five more minutes…
Waves by Noragotcharisma
A four-letter word could never have been so underestimated. Wave. In fact, right now my voice is nothing but a mere wave. My aura, my energy.
Those powerful flushes of water that could almost tip you off your feet when you’re buried ankle high in warm Banana boat coconut-scented sand in Julai’a.
That voice inside your head reading this while you’re silent is a wave too. But I bet the average Joes and Janes aren’t really interested in physics, or nature, or my energy.
The waves that actually “matter” to your basic Neanderthal are perhaps the waves and curls of the hair, or the waves of a female physique—you know like Kim’s.
Alas, don’t be disappointed, because that doesn’t matter either. You wanna know what a real wave looks like? A real wave is an infinite ripple effect of cause and effect. Of emotion and how the universe so readily regains balance.
You smile at that chick who sat behind you in Intro to Psych, took your number to WhatsApp you only when she needed to be signed in the attendance sheet. But why are you smiling? You’re happy and she’s just hiding behind her Versace shades. Congratulations, she just took your happy waves.
She’ll go on her day feeling a bit better that someone was nice enough to smile at her, knowing she looked perfect with wavy hair. So maybe she’ll go a bit easier on her nanny today. And maybe her “beloved” Mary will then rest that night because she managed to dodge the wrath of the Vogue-esque princess who knows nothing about life.
And then maybe Rameesh will wake to see his love so happy and well-rested, seeing her glowing makes him glow too. As she gives him breakfast, he can’t help but be in awe at how happy his sweetheart looks. Rameesh’ll then go on to drive in a state of pure positivity, being nice and letting people pass in front of him, not giving a damn about anything.
And then maybe Rameesh will be right next to you at a traffic light, you waiting for it to turn green so you can get out of the scorching heat and rush home to devour a mountain of flavored rice, with a chicken by its side.
And then maybe in the midst of your torture and boredom, among all these cars, you’ll catch a glimpse of Rameesh—and his everglowing smile makes you happy for him, because why shouldn’t a chauffer be happy?
And then maybe you’ll have hope, although you’re sweaty, tired, and hungry, you’ll make it home sooner or later, and all things will be fine.
And then maybe that’s what a wave really is.
Collaboration by Salman AlKhaledi and Noragotcharisma
SALMAN
Our Father, Who art in heaven, hallowed be Thy name; Thy kingdom come; Thy will be done on earth as it is in heaven. Give us this day our daily bread; and forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us; and lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil. Amen.
She comes to confess, golden hair and sundress, alabaster skin, a scent of sin, Rosy cheeks, glorious peaks…
She comes to me. Confess my dear child, for I am eager for him to wash your sins away, confess dear child for the rapture is now, today.
“Forgive me father for I have sinned, have mercy upon my weary soul. Forgive me father for I have sinned, the church bells are ringing.. I hear them call..”
What magic is this? And who’s this fairy? That glimmer is not to be dismissed, but it’s sure as hell going to make me worry.
Come dear child, help me with my habit, let me start a new religion, lets start a new habit.
From that carafe you hide, I drink my wine, into that mouth I will preach prayer, and on those lines I have to feast, maybe concur maybe defeat, but oh i have to dine.
On this alter we shall lay, eternity is a day, my rosary will be your nous, your touch gets my skin loose, oh I felt so bereft, for the soul to be stolen, grieve form of theft, breath life into my heart, for this communion, a sin is a start, so let me be within your hair, a mother should never feel despair, sister needs your heavenly bliss, sister needs you to undress.
Forgive me father for I have sinned… I prayed to you all the time.
NORA
Forgive me father for I have sinned… I prayed to you all the time.
And it’s all I’ve ever known. Praying. Whether its through formal holy practice or just by speaking out to You. This journey we have been taking has not been an easy one. And surely, will not end with me. Because it hasn’t begun with me. I know I’m not the only one.
We, the children of Adam and Eve just fall into the same trap our parents have. The effervescent temptations of Satan have long been fizzing away in my head. And ultimately it has led me to do this.
Forgive me father for I have sinned.
I know you know my intentions were not to fall into the bottomless pools of desire, but I am weak. I am weak and I never learn. I never learn that chasing after desires makes you greedy. I never learn that momentary satisfaction is all I receive. And I never learn to not make myself drown in regret afterwards.
But what is regret? Is it not the aftermath of misguidance? The giving into the allure and the submissive possessing it does to my mind. How it so nonchalantly dissolves my soul like smoke off a cigarette, dancing devilishly in the atmosphere. I need guidance.
Living being torn into two, the pure under lure, is not easy.
You’re God, You understand.
Noah by Noragotcharisma
In order to understand this, you must first learn who Noah really is.
Life has a funny way of changing you. You could be living life in red, like those red lights that scream sin accompanied by loud sinful music. But all the sudden, you stumble on something, so unexpectedly and it makes you evolve to the point where you can no longer stand the sight of those red lights.
That’s kinda what was happening with Noah. He had spent thirty-eight years living this life he was given, unhappy but unable to figure out why. He knew there was more to just giving into hedonistic desires, specifically ones that revolved around the birds and the bees. He grew immune to all that lust; exposed flesh just didn’t do it for him anymore. He often wondered if he was being punished, by having his manhood taken away, by not being able to feel anything.
He recalled once making conversation with one particularly rich customer, an Arab man who loved leading this double life of religious man and Don Juan. Noah was never particularly interested in customers, but this man had this aura about him. His warm toned skin and shiny black hair—the definition of tall, dark, and handsome.
Ironically, the man appeared to know so much about the history of his name, Noah. He told him that in Islam, Noah was a prophet, a Godsend that encouraged his people for nine hundred and fifty years and warned them about the afterlife. How God had instructed him to save a pair of every living creature, enough to rebuild the world once the flood swallowed it
That was the moment that changed it all. As if it was the cherry on top to make him walk away, feeling guilt for holding such a holy name, but throwing it to the ground.
Noah quit Arch and never looked back.
“But Daddy I Love Him” by Noragotcharisma
Father, dad. Daddy. You know, that man that overprotects us. Or in more recent terms, the man we’d kill to be his baby mama. Or maybe its just an atheist’s way of kidding around with ole Adam.
But Eve won’t like that, no no. It’s much too disrespectful. After all, our mother is the one who tames our hostile feelings towards our Father.
And no matter where you go, you’ll find different faces for the one Father. In Brazil, you might see a pale man with an oh-so angelic face who came to us from no act of sin.
Jesus, ain’t that something!
And just like Jesus, you will always be ridiculed for being different. You’ll be even more rejected if you present something pure. Something the world has clearly lost touch of, the love for Him.
People might look it, act it, speak it, but never really be it. They’ll use Him to get green, they’ll even use Him to try to take His place. But silly old man, being so self-obsessed to think all this was made by him. No, it was made by Him.
Father, dad. Daddy, I love Him. And I’ll never let the love for man overshadow the love for Him.
Smoke by Noragotcharisma
Simplicity will forever be
The ultimate sophistication
Simple, are we?
We wait out the duration
Of life to figure it out
Only to realize
We fake smiles or pout,
To fill in the lies
The lies we so carefully made
Orchestrated
Staged
Frustrated
Losing ourselves to the demands
Evaporating like smoke
Off of cigarettes in hands
Hands of men who provoke
Like a matador in the ring
Waving a flag
At everything
Merely a game of tag,
This is life.
Revolution by Noragotcharisma
By Noragotcharisma
Clenched fists, enraged hunger, “fighting for rights”. Power to the people, right? Wrong.
You are not your thoughts, your thoughts are not you. Intellectual property is no longer yours. Revolution.
The 21st century is an intellectual revolution. An internal revolution between you and yourself, between you and the person you could have become. But who will win?
Will you succumb to the implanted thoughts in your mind, or will you free yourself from mental conformity? Will you think without the fear of being thought of as insane?
Will you be able to see past the eye, the eye that so meticulously controls how you behave, think, feel. How your children will feel. How your grandchildren will feel. Will enough people arise from the comatose? Will they ever be genuinely happy? No, not that kind of happy. Not the happy that means they’re ahead in the race of staged ecstasy on peoples’ news feeds. The real happy. The kind that cannot be expressed, the kind you cannot find words for.
Will we ever end universal mind control?
Glass by Noragotcharisma
By Noragotcharisma
Loud clings of the expensive glasses held by the hands ofbourgeoisie. Life is a never-ending parade of lavish events and designerthreads. Materialistic laughter follows the celebratory “cheers!” of their mere existence. Like an empty vase whose dust iswiped off everyday, but remains hollow and houses no flowers.
But it doesn’t bother them that they are of no use. Thismere fact engraves extraordinary pride in their characters, a way ofoutsmarting the system—lots of money with no work. Like a boulder of gold foundat the end of a rainbow.
What they don’t realize is this boulder fell into theirlaps. Perhaps one might see this as a sign of the divine luck, but imaginehaving a heavy boulder of gold fall into your lap—what an amputating burden.
No greater burden lies than the shadowing cloud upon theirmorals. They expand their wealth, only to grow so conceited to believe wealthis of their own manifestation, rather than a divine blessing.
But perhaps when one looks at the bourgeoisie, compares hisassets to theirs, it is evident indeed who is the wealthiest of them all. Thebeauty in the intangible is that it is no slave to economics. Poor oldbourgeoisie, they will forever remain servants to their own materialism.
Secret by Noragotcharisma
By Noragotcharisma
You take a step forward. You put one foot in front of the other. You carry on with your life. One day the world is full of color, the next the shape-shifting realm that is reality seems grey and boring.
You live moments of joy, moments of hope, moments of utter euphoria. You experience difficulties, forced to make slight detours, you pick up the broken pieces of yourself, not knowing how you’ll do it, but you just do. You heal yourself, you grow strong, you put one foot in front of the other. The beauty of life is its inconsistency.
The one thing you do know is karma, but what we receive is what we yield. That’s a pretty simple law to abide by to guarantee things’ll go better for another tomorrow. But there are unknown destinations, bigger things you’re unaware of, greater secrets swallowed into the core of the universe.
This feeling of the unknown is so graciously forgotten as we go on with our lives. You grow selfish enough to think that what you get is what you make, but it’s a parade of partners that you don’t see, helping you unravel what is to come.
What you don’t know won’t hurt you, and life’s biggest secret is your destiny.
Socks by Noragotcharisma
By Noragotcharisma
Little toes at a daycare are stuffed into colorful rainbows. You wiggle your toes and I wiggle mine.
“I like your Batman toesies.”
“I don’t like Barbie, but yours are nice.”
Exchanged kindness made it easy for us to be friends.
It’s Christmas time. Our mothers sent us with stockings full of goodies for those kids at the shelter. You lit up just like they did. We were only twelve, but we were already imagining the charity we wanted to start.
It’s football season now. You’re more excited than ever, buying yourself the latest Nike cleats, color coding your socks to match your home and away uniforms. I remember you being surprised the coach didn’t pick you to start, but that never put you down.
Your diligence shined through when you scored that winning goal in the last 4 minutes.
I remember the day your grandmother fell ill. All your family came together as if they weren’t torn apart from rough divorce battles. You’ve never looked so weak. The only time you changed your dirty socks was to go pray. But you made it alive, and your temperance kept you moving.
We both got employed at the biggest law firm in the city, and we were on our way to becoming the people criminals like OJ wanted. You were in your navy suit, and I was in my black tights. Ladies began to know you, wanted to get you, but your chastity quickly bored them. You always were a gentleman.
Life was becoming routine. We went to work every day, you wore the same striped socks everyday, we brought home the bread and butter every day—but we were missing something. We were missing something and patience was out of the question. When it came time for you to settle down you only looked in my direction. After all these years, we finally wed.
We spent our lives together, actually living together. Coming and going, travelling, growing, hurting, rising. We witnessed each other’s lives from the very beginning and it wasn’t time to stop. The crinkles in your eyes every time you smile, the greys in your hairs that I won’t let you dye, they are all imprinted in my memory. As I stand over you now, watching you be lowered into the earth, I hold one thing: the knee highs you made me for my sixteenth birthday. You were always humble, but you were the best thing that ever walked into my life.
I must now live without you. But I won’t live; I’ll be joining you. Until next time, my everything.
Birth by Noragotcharisma
By Noragotcharisma
The first screams of life echo throughout the earth. The fear of these new surroundings takes its toll and we always fear the unknown. But we quickly adapted, moved on from that moment of ultimate terror.
Our egos soon were built on the pleasure of our arrivals. Fed with love and attention, we grow accustomed to this throne, this birth of pride.
* * *
Time went on, our thrones were yanked from under us, and we no longer occupy the highest level of importance. Other matters began to overshadow our extravagance. With the death of power comes the birth of envy.
* * *
Adjusting, we begin to take interest in the opposite. Thoughts of bodies of strength, masculinity, eminent ecstasy. Visions of softness, grace, and beauty pour into pools of desire. As our minds drown in sin, we drown in the birth of lust.
* * *
Dragged into a state of euphoria, indulgence of bodily loss of control transforms itself into addiction. We crave the warmth of another’s touch, hours wasted skin to skin. Prayers no longer seem to do us any good, faith is lost—the birth of sloth.
* * *
Frustration. Clenched fists, we try to regroup. Attempt to find ourselves again. Try to find God. Rage fills our veins; comprehension of our youth has slipped through our fingers won’t come easily. Obsessed with revenge, the birth of wrath.
* * *
Disturbed by the void of time, we grow discouraged. As the calendar squares are crossed, as our birth years grow farther away, we trick ourselves into wanting more. We pave our future with materialistic possessions, enslaved to the birth of greed.
* * *
Life has come and is about to leave us. This wave of hopelessness and apathy engulfs our thoughts and orchestrates our every move. We want more but we don’t need more. We wish to leave this earth with a feast fit for a king, striving on the birth of gluttony.
Our enemy is our thoughts. The final breaths of life gracefully take our goodbyes, but we depart for the last time after seven births.
Ink by Noragotcharisma
By Noragotcharisma
Drip. Drip. Drip. Thick black ink drips into your mind. As you watch television, your head slowly fills up with thick black ink. What was once pure is now coated with darkness. The old entity of what you were is no longer visible. It seeps down into your eyes, completely blinding you. You blink once, twice, once more to be sure, but all you’re faced with is black. You cannot see, your vision has faded. Your direction is fuzzy, unclear, and undeterminable. Your only sense of reality is what you hear. Everyone around you seems to be blinded as well, completely content—is blindness really all that bad?
A few moments pass and you start to accept it. You think to yourself, “I’m not alone, and everyone else seems to be fine with it. Suck it up.” A notion inside you tells you this isn’t right, you’re not meant to be impaired this way. But that notion is quickly burned out, you are not alone. As you try to come to terms with this loss, the sensitivity of your other senses heightens. Your hands stiffen, you shake uncontrollably. You gasp for air, the thick liquid clogs your respiration. Your throat tightens, you can feel the bitter ink seep into your throat, suffocating you. Loud black noise begins to eat away your survival instincts, you scream to make it stop.
All this fidgeting, this fighting for your last breaths leads to an object falling into your lap. You feel it out, there seems to be only one button. You click it hoping the noise stops. Indeed it does. The television turns off, and all goes back to normal.
Kuwait Writing Club 