If reincarnation is indeed true, and if life is an infinite hierarchy of descendants, breeding an interconnection of physical and psychological qualities, I was persecuted and flamed in my last incarnation. I died in the sea, wearing nothing on my sleeve but cognitive instabilities. Oh saline demise, so often mistaken for tears, but it’s just a fallacy, I can assure you.
Today, I churned my teeth in a wrinkly face fashion, as if maybe to ignite a fire, oblivious to the fact that this holocaust inferno is already in there. I’m numb, and it’s turning me to solid coal, incapable of primal humane sentiment, I sigh. It erupts from the inside, the fire, it patiently slithers a path to the outer sketch and the final layer.
Don’t look surprised when my skin withers away into black burnt ash. It’s only ever been a healthy looking facade, my insides died in the sea, persecuted and flamed.

by Shadi E.

(Painting done by Chloe Sfeir)



This is a story of a girl that killed her lover with cold blood, and used his bodily fluids to illustrate their once-upon-a-time perfect love sonnet.
This is a story of a troubled young man, who daydreamed about the interior of the human body more than he cared to look at their faces. Not from a scientific perspective; more or less, ways to aestheticize the crimson liquid.
This is a story of a little baby, who accidentally cut his finger, and laughed afterwards.
This is a story of a creepy old guy down the street, who spends his days observing people under a set of dark sunglasses, petrified if they only knew what was going on in his rusted brain.
This is a story of a therapist, who lures his patients into suicide.
This is a story of a psychopathic political leader, who undertook a whole nation with bloodshed, for the sake of feeding his ego, and his transient power over a tiny speck of cosmic dust.
This is a story of ethics, of right and wrong, of a world ridden with a double perspective, of a moral debate that will never satisfy all.
This… is a story of myriad interconnected personas in only one body.

by Shadi E.


My mind and soul are awake,
my body refuses to get out of the slumber.
The light of day looks like paint on a canvas, opaque, dense, and in still place.
Spacetime is glitching,
the walls are bulging inwards,
the roundabout down the street is a galaxy spinning out of control,
the mirror is indecisive of who I am and where I am,
the clock is ticking back and forth.
My reality is looping,
I’m in a bubble that traverses consciously, with a mind of its own,
breaking into realms of my past and current happenings.
I’m a foreigner in my own dimension.
Frequency is a current traversing through a rippling loop bubble,
merely an illusion of control,
and the one holding the steering wheel is nothing but a raconteur;
you might as well be a character in a fiction book,
living in the reader’s twisted imagination.

by Shadi E.


Story-related to Psychosis Hypnosis


Thin layers of mist were dominating the landscape, erasing any details you would otherwise see.
“I don’t believe it would be wise for us to go there”, he stuttered, my father.
A flock flapped in the distance.
We were looking at the empty void in front of us which once used to be a busy road, not anymore.
Oddly enough, the street lamps were not functioning quite right this night, some of them were flickering, others were just off.

The mist slowly faded. From within, a cloaked figure appeared. My eyes blinking almost in sync with the street lamps.
We froze, stood still and watched as he was approaching us.
As he got closer and closer, I started to make out the details.
In the place where its face should have been, there was nothing but blackness, a black hole, vantablack, matching the sky.

I noticed he was holding a heart, supposedly a human heart, and that heart was still beating vigorously, as if longing return to its rightful body. You can also tell that the heart was snatched without consent, it was too restless, unease, like a frog in a child’s hands.

“Immolatum in nomine eius diabolus.”
It wasn’t the cloaked man who said that, it couldn’t be, the voice was too loud, and seemed to be omnidirectional.
Something, metaphysical, transcending the barriers, something godly.

Nevertheless, a subtle human reflex, I looked around me, found that we were standing on a 4-way intersection.
“nos, purga animam tuam”
Three more cloaked figures were patiently approaching us as well, three more beating hearts in their hands.
The voices were getting louder,
“nos, purga animam tuam”

I wasn’t scared, I knew exactly why they were here.
“We should head home, son. Now!”
I awkwardly grinned at him, grabbed my knife and swiftly dashed it into his chest, carved a fist-sized hole, and forcefully ripped his heart out, nurturing it in my arms like my own baby, I smiled down at it.
The knife took on a life of its own, it was controlling me.

All of a sudden, in a single flash, the empty void in front of me wasn’t so… empty. The four men were gone.
It was all merely an illusion, reality over-injected with their hallucinations, false verisimilitude. In fact, the city was an active beehive as of now.
The birds were back.
Apparently, I was back in reality, everything normal, except, my father wasn’t with me, I was still cradling his heart, and smiling.

by Shadi E.


Psychosis Hypnosis

A lunar eclipse of crimson glow radiated the sky, mimicking the blood spatter in front of me. The wood boards on the floor creaked as I stepped one foot on the porch, crumpling my face in the process. I plunged my second foot on that board ever so patiently, to avoid unwanted attention. I stepped forward towards the door, and twisted the doorknob. A batch of rust and dirt fragmented to the ground, implying with certainty it has not been used for a while. I entered to what seemed at first an abandoned house, it wasn’t.

The inside of the house was vacant, even squeaky clean. It was empty. I looked over at the far corner of the room, something caught my attention, something shining a faint glimmer. I approached and saw a black oblong case. My name was engraved on it, but not my real name, rather a nickname my father would only call me when I was just a child.

I collapsed to my knees, crying, as I read the engraving over and over again, repeating it in my head with my father’s voice, with distant pauses in-between.
I reached out my hand to open the case, oblivious to what to expect inside.

“Don’t. They’re manipulating you.”

Nothing pleasant I supposed. More blood, dark red and gooey-looking, topping the case, almost spilling.

“Don’t lose it, son, don’t lose it.”

The perfectly still blood bath released a silent bubble, then followed another bubble, and another, multiplying exponentially. No, it wasn’t boiling. Actually, the blood and case were bitterly cold. Something, or someone, was breathing underneath, or exhaling for that matter. Something was alive in there, in a bloody case. The simple thought of it shook me inside, I was frightened, my heart racing against time. I tip-toed backwards, smashing my shadow against the wall opposite to that case.

“This was not your fault, do not blame yourself.”

Amidst this constant bubbling, something arose from within the blood, a human head, cut off at the throat. I can’t say I didn’t recognize the face, it was my father’s, indeed. I was in utter shock, I always thought that my father died of a heart attack. He was murdered, butchered and thrown away in a case like a piece of rotten meat.

“Have you not figured it out yet?”, sadly, I did, but wholly refuted the bare idea, I couldn’t have.

I felt my right hand tightening grip on a rigid object, unconsciously. I didn’t even have to look to realize what it was.

by Shadi E.

The Grand Symphony

The heavens were burning tonight, suppressed with the boiling need to leave no space untraced. The night sky was a matrix of endless stars shooting aimlessly, only to disappear once again into the blackness, reinforcing plentiful more to join the parade. It was a sword seamlessly maneuvering, flexing and dancing to the heart-beating of the universe, lacerating the sky with temporary scars. That, there, was alive; I saw it pounding, I felt the ground vibrating to that same beating, the trees gently brushing the air, rustling to that tone, it was magical. It was musical, I heard piano notes, faint and slowly climbing up the abyss, getting louder until the melody filled the vastness of the heavens. These were not any piano notes, they were leading the night’s show, an orchestra of supreme grandiosity. Everything was in perfect tune.

I looked down at my feet and saw a baby girl, skin pure as a snowflake. I took a step backward. She opened her mouth and an angel’s voice broke through, “Ascend”.
I looked back up but the view was different this time.
“Do not panic, this shall not take long”, the music stopped, I didn’t see a dotted black fabric being slashed back and forth, instead it was home, i saw Earth. It wasn’t blue, green, or golden, It was fiery red, havoc and chaos, it reeked of burning flesh. The screaming was almost deafening, I closed my eyes and covered my ears in hope of stopping this constant roaring.
“Descend”, a voice rang inside my head.

I slowly opened my eyes like a newborn seizing his first look at a cruel bitter world, finally home.
But oh my, I was bleeding, of a hundred slits covering the entirety of my body, evenly deposited like the slashing of a skilled swordsman, so beautifully marked. My hands were trembling, fright and terror. The hair on my head stood on end, wishing escape. I could hear my heart beating, but nothing else.
I bled… I bled.

by Shadi E.


There she sat, in the faint yellow light,
in nothing but white lingerie,
a box of cigarettes to keep her company.

There she sits, soaked in smoke, viscous grey,
something to please her schizophrenic perception,
something to unburden her, remind her of her God-given free will,
a term rather easily scribbled on papers.

It was not materialism she sought,
she aspired for something far greater,
she wanted a sense of freedom,
to know what it’s like to be unchained;
even if it lasted mere ticks.

Deep breath, she no longer sits on her bed,
for the first time in her life, she was… free.
Two passers-by glimpsed overhead,
sighingly mumbled, “don’ya ever wish to flee?”

(Shadi E.)