Paul Dunbar

ANATHEOSIS

Originally posted on the lethal text:
“It is through the death of God that religions emerge.” — Jean Baudrillard (Simulacra and Simulation, 1981) “What comes after God? What follows in the wake of our letting go of God? What emerges out of that night of not-knowing, that moment of abandoning and abandonment?” — Richard Kerney…

Everything Flows

Panta Rhei. Everything flows. So wrote Herakleitos. You usually see his name in its Romanised form — Heraclitus. But he was Greek, not Roman. And I prefer the spikiness of the K and the more complex vowel. I don’t know, it just suits my conception of him. Herakleitos the Ephesian, who lived around 500 years beforeContinueContinue reading “Everything Flows”

Genocidal Kitsch

(PHUKET, 2017) I spend the day writing, and before sunset I drive a couple of miles to Ya Nui, a small beach where I can watch the sun go down. I need to refocus my eyes after hours too close to a screen. Holiday families are packing up and drifting away from the beach. ThaiContinueContinue reading “Genocidal Kitsch”

Blood Art

She calls it blood art. She only does it late at night. The three of them live so separate, given their cramped quarters. Her brother is either asleep or playing video games, which he often does all night. Her father is in his own room, asleep or doing his thing. She knows he watches pornContinueContinue reading “Blood Art”

The Marabout

“Ah,” she said. “The Marabout.” “Marabou?” “Witch… She turned those huge eyes to her friend Chrisvène, as if unsure of the term, and added, “…doctor.” Anissa is from the Congo. Not the big one, the Democratic Republic, formerly the Belgian Congo, synonymous with suffering — but its smaller neighbour, Republic of. My Congo, she calls it.ContinueContinue reading “The Marabout”

Dream of a Beautiful House

She was returning from the market, walking to the end of the street where the motorcycle taxis wait, when she heard crying. Deep, heart-broken sobbing, coming from somewhere nearby. Curious, she turned into a side street. She was going in the right direction, though now, strangely, the crying sounded further away. The street had aContinueContinue reading “Dream of a Beautiful House”

My Life in Blue

Photograph by Sam Sherratt When Wan was born, Great Aunt Kung looked at her and said, ‘She is my successor. She has the gift.’ In Cambodian culture, there must always be a ghost-keeper in the family. Blessed or cursed with second sight, the ghost keeper’s role was to perform rituals and exorcisms, appease spirits andContinueContinue reading “My Life in Blue”

Why I Like the Rain

Photograph by Sam Sherratt Sometime during the Eocene Era, India collided into Asia, hurling the Himalayas high into the sky, lifting up the Tibetan plateau, and giving birth to an unruly spirit called monsoon. Fifty million years later, I arrived exhausted in Bangkok, the City of Angels. I was met at the airport by aContinueContinue reading “Why I Like the Rain”

In Bocca’l Lupo

I’m sitting outside the Ritzy cinema in Brixton, one of the few places in London I enjoy. I lived here in the early eighties, when the immigrant population was still predominantly Caribbean and Portuguese. Nearly forty years on, I’m waiting for my daughter, all grown up and successful now. She slept at her boyfriend’s lastContinueContinue reading “In Bocca’l Lupo”

The End of the World

“It’s the end of the world, my friend,” said Muhammed Azri Yahakub. The road was fast and empty, long bends snaking between dark, forested hills. The half-moon, floating on its back, scudded through cloud in a halo of petroleum colours; seeing the moon at this angle always reminded me that I was half a worldContinueContinue reading “The End of the World”