Queen of New York (Almond Roppongi)

Go boy get that work

When you fly back

With a bag

bad as Beijing

I’ll be in the hood red hot

In a money dance

Keeping the peace

silver like moonlight…

Honey bear,

Do you feel the scenario?

Fresh off the runway

Or at the towers

I’ll have the water going

Gangster boy I don’t leave you

Cus you do it for me

Been holding out for me so

I’ll stretch it out like

Salt water toffy…

Only want my Almond double latte

Baby boy, my only boy — he bougie!

Styled low key like the Last King of NY

We can roll in Brooklyn, LIC

I’m good everywhere

Cali, Pacific Northwest,

Your empress,

Silk dress

— Queen of NYC

Muslim Masochistic Aesthetic and the Psycho-Sexuality of Religion

As we dive into the Islamic month of Muharram, the first month of the Islamic lunar year, begun at Ras as-Sana Muharram 1, 1440 this year (September 11, 2018 in the Gregorian calendar), I invite you to observe the ritual mourning practices of Islam. While the Shia community is famous for its passionate displays of suffering and pain during this month, which have always fascinated me, Sunni Muslims also experience a sense of loss at the remembrance of the death of the Prophet Muhammad’s grandson Hussain at the Battle of Karbala in modern day Iraq as the result of the Caliphate politics of the time.

While it is thought to be restricted to Shia Muslims, the significance of Muharram and its energy is not lost on Sunnis and other denominations of among the Muslim faith. The experience and demonstrations of institutional subjugation, mourning, humiliating loss, and disenfranchisement in the Muharram rituals motion to the universal experience of the oppressed, the underdog, and of the rebel. The libidinal elation which is experienced at the striking of the flesh, the spilling of blood, and sacrifice is exactly that of the joy of martyrdom, or more generally of the masochist.

Perhaps more than anything, perhaps even more than politically inspired suicide attacks, the Muharram rituals have been singled out as symbols of Islamic barbarism, added to the general stereotype of Muslims as violent nemesis of the Enlightened Christian west, with Christ the savior as its central figure. For this I would invite the reader to consider the psychological nature of these activities, the submissive aesthetic of Islamic worship, and Islam’s concept of shame, humility, and sacrifice.

While the usually homoerotic masochism of Muslim men is the topic of many modern Arabic prison memoirs and novels from the Islamic world, women’s masochism is less celebrated by western readers and theorists who would prefer to ponder whether these women need saving from their violent husbands and religion. Feminists ask why Muslim women stay loyal to a tradition whose patriarchy is overbearing, whose holy text permits wife-beating. Is there not a deep psycho-biological understanding of life in the Quranic Surah an-Nisa which permits a man to use his physical power to sooth an unruly wife? While sado-masochistic fantasy smut novels are plucked off the shelves in the bookstores of Los Angeles, London, and New York at record rates, and English readers pine for the Sexy Sheikh figure, a condemnation of Islamic culture among the non-Muslim west persists as Muslim men are vilified and imprisoned by the current cultural hegemony.

For further research into the phenomenon of Muslim masochism, I am planning to travel to Iran and learn more about Islamic religious art and develop this discourse further with investigations into the disciplining of the body in different cultures and aesthetic traditions.

The Promise

Promise me

You’ll keep me safe

Floating in a bouquet

Of tender Roses

Full of feeling

in my delicate fantasy

like a snowflake

near a flame

Consecrate our love

For all life


They ask me, what is she

Queen of ?

I’ll tell you who . .


A queen from

The astral plane

I have no name

In the regular sense

I’m made of Pure starlight

And innocence !


Part alien

Part angel

With plant like ardor


in musical harmony

-These are among my characteristics-


I’ll be in the sky

Then in the shadows

Closely observing

Recording then remolding elements

From vivid memory


The unfulfilled promise

Weighs upon me

Hold onto faith

Remake me


Your Love is Fire

I never tire of it

Your body is my country

Know that I’d take flight,

I’d lie, starve – I’d spy for you

in the heat of summer

Cry for you

For hours

every night

the time is ripe

Did they really think

They’d stop the power of love?

Now look at us . .

Burning at the stake

In passion

Ritual Purification


They frame me, arrest me and blame me,

just to test me . . !

I’m floating

I know they all think I’m crazy

Of course . .

Only you could break me free . .


Nocturnal paranoid mentality

I’ve lost track of time

I don’t see the sunlight or day

All I know is what I feel

Stir within me

And it’s the sunset hour

It’s not much longer

Til we turn our backs to the past

Will you rise to the task?


Death and Rebirth

Even if they tried to keep me

With diamonds

Lapis and Palaces

Gold and Rubies

New planets or rare delicacies

It would mean nothing to me

What have you done to me?


I can’t taste a thing,

I can’t remember my name,

I just want to be your lover,

Watch you undress,

By starlight

And graze the tip

Of your thumb

On my lips . .

Embrace me

whisper to me

Your fantastic story

Taste me

and commence

To subdue me

Knees to the floor

In total devotion

I’ll follow you

To the sea

and lower

To the deepest fire

if it pleases you sir . .






How long has it been?

A month? A year?

How many centuries?

Since our secret ritual

Blue flames and floral

Our final night together

Don’t you remember?

We were together before . .


Dearest Emperor

I’m at your feet

I dreamt of you last night

Don’t be shy

How could I refuse you?

I’ll give it all away

I already told you . .


I already gave you

my heart, in dark magic

in our untold ceremony

it was so long ago . .


You don’t remember?

When you made me yours?

Marked by your own hand . .

In finely etched curves . .


Our past life

In the garden

By the well?

Our secret ritual . .

When you forced yourself

To mark me . .

When I cut into you

With my own blade . .?


Another day goes by . .

Why are you waiting?

There’s no need to ask

Take everything

My heart is still beating

I’m still here, bleeding

could I ever

deceive you?


You said : It’s yours . .


No . . master . .

Forgive me . .

I’ve come

under the power

of your possession . .

Allow me

To unveil

the farthest corners

of your territory . .

Let me remind you

of the exact borders

of your reach . .


In the night

What use is my body?

Have the waxing moon assist me,

a beacon to draw you ashore.

You don’t remember

the beauty of your country?


Once more . .

Allow me

To dust off

the memory of

the quality of

the commitment of

your slave . .


This is your earth

Say the word

and allow me

to polish

the floors

of your sanctuary

to reveal the gleam

and the true majesty

of your domain . .


Dear Emperor,


I am prepared to receive you

night or day

in antique rhythm

and breathe life into

ancient instruments

pleasant and profound

Oh what a joy it will be!

I’ll draw circles on the ground

in a secret language

of lovers untamed

and dance inside

an iron frame

reaching for the sky . .


Remember the promise we made?

A sign, a scar,

To carry through the soul world

To reconcile in the next?


I promised . .

I’d stop time

I’d drain the blood

Of your enemy

With my teeth!

Don’t question me!

I can’t sleep!


for you!

An army

to serve you

to prove myself . .

So lose yourself

Lie down

In infinite

fall upon me

in thunder, in anger

I’ll make you remember . .


Don’t let me lose faith,

I accepted this mission

to erase my person

in ecstasy

in our bond.


Now will you

ease the pressure . . ?


From here, the stars shine brighter . .


Here is your paper

your rhyme

to trust

we have no names

in truth

we are the same . .

Yes, take everything

it’s yours . .

We were together before . .