HUGS

Oppong Clifford Benjamin.

This afternoon I felt for the first time what love does to two bodies screwed into each other for unknown reasons. The science in the process leads to discoveries of tears that eyes have never cried before; very cold yet liberating.

In the scorch of the sun, an old man rested his life on a bench at a park. He probably had made so many mistakes in life that they even showered in the many tattoos that crawled on his wrinkled skin, on the many piercings in his disappointed body, the many rings that arrested all his ten fingers and his very brown and heavy Rasta hair. His pair of worn out jeans were in tatters, his faded black shirt had in the front a painting of a point within a circle - the circumpunct (the universal symbol of God). And at the back was printed the number 33. His eyes were still alive, confident. In fact, his eyes lingered on the last hope of life, as if they reminded him he is still living, he is not dead yet. Once there's life, there's.........
His eyes located God in the bright sky above his head. He searched the sky for mercy, paid attention to the voice of God.
If only he knew he was actually a God, he would rather have searched his shirt, his mind.

God created man in his image, and lazy Christians who read the Bible like they read novel misunderstood that portion of scriptures. Yet when someone unveiled the truth to them, they called him blasphemous devil.
God actually created the minds of men in the image of His mind. That man would climb the 33 vertebrae of his spine to reach the peak of himself (the mind), Jacob's ladder to the heaven (the mind), the Freemasons after they had gained summit of the winding staircase (the spine) of the temple of moral self, arrived at the door of their minds to receive their wages; it is also not mere coincidence that there are 33 degrees in Freemasonry, at 33 degrees Celsius temperature the alchemist turned all metals to gold and so on the number plays roles in many mystical schools. The old man's shirt contained the master number 33 written opposite the symbol of God. This day was designed. This moment in the park was all part of a grand scheme.



Touch me from Heaven, the old man seemed to be saying with his head thrown upwards lifelessly. Life has been cruel. Youthful exuberance had brought him very unfortunate old age. But his tired sneakers seemed to tell him no regrets boss. Yes, you lived. And oh! You're alive. You are just homeless but still you sleep. Hungry yet you feed. Life happens to you. All these I thought of a stranger because of sight.

I had my worries. I wanted somewhere to cry them off. I don't have a job now. I've lost my stay in a foreign country. I contemplated whether to take asylum or to go back home painfully. The idea of returning always frightened my reputation. They will laugh at me. And yet if I stayed I would end up like this old man, I thought as my eyes scanned the remains of a wasted life beside me. I had tears sitting in my body. My eyes were wide opened but I saw nothing in particular.
The coins left in my pocket were all I remembered about money, they were my last breath. I wanted to buy water but I was afraid of letting go those coins. I was scared my breath will cease. So I sat there very thirsty, waiting for a miracle.

I found a designed smile on the man's face. He wanted to  communicate his happiness with me but I was too broken to collect the pieces of my face together for a smile. I managed a glance at his self and my eyes fell dead on the circumpunct. I stared now. The Sun God Ra, I thought. Eventually, I pushed my face backwards to form a smile and it met the number 33. It wasn't a genuine smile but that was all I could create for the moment.

I realized the man was far better than I was. He was a citizen of the country. Yet I could see in the man's constant stares he wished to be like me. To be young again. To be in fine cloths. To have smooth skin. To have a home. And there I sat almost homeless, almost dying of thirst, almost hungry.

Like God had foreordained it, our eyes met in a very dense atmosphere, the air ceased to be air. 'You don't need money, this is what you need....' the old man whispered to me. I didn't want to believe he was talking to me. 'Can I hug you, pls? ' politely, he asked with a reassuring smile. I didn't know how people respond to love that comes in hugs. Strangely I nodded in the affirmation. I needed somebody anyway. He needed somebody anyway. Humans need humans in them. A body needs a body in it to be complete. A circle needs a dot in it to represent God. Nothing can be empty. Empty vessels make the most........ Everyone needs everyone to be full. We are all one. All is one.

After what seemed like death, what seemed like a sophisticated minute, we found ourselves gazing straight into each other's eyes. I thought about whether I want to hug a dirty old stranger. He probably thought if I will open into God.
Then tears happened in my eyes all of sudden. Tears slapped his wrinkled cheeks and eroded the joy on his face. Like a mother and her baby, we hugged so hard. We wanted to squeeze each other into our bodies. Hug is life. Hug is a religion. Hug is earning an expensive freedom in your prison cell. Hug is the only place grown men become babies again. Hug .........


For about ten minutes long, we hugged. We cried tears. He sobbed all his regrets on my back. I wept bitterly of the few mistakes I have made on his back. We broke the hug. We looked at each other and again, we found ourselves tight into each other's embrace. As if we were thanking ourselves of the surgery we have done on each other. Tears rolled again and again and again  until tears lost their form to something sacred. We wondered if tears said thank you. Tears are not symptoms of weakness, they are the art of unlocking souls. Tears are prayers.

'We are free' I whispered into his ears. 'Are we?' He allowed God to bless our sacred religion. 'Don't we need some more hugs to complete each other?' And then I held him so tight. He retaliated the gesture. 'Come on, sink deeper' the old man said very softly. My body reacted to the chemical reactions. My spirit was light. For once, I was a weightless being in the Holy arms of God. For once, I couldn't feel my body, all that was left of me was a liberated soul. And the old Rastafarian stood in me and I in him. We shared one eye that saw everything our pairs of eyes had never seen all our lifetimes.



The sky took off its elastic cover and poured the manifestation of God on us. Ordinary people ran helter-skelter in search of shelter from the rain. Trees fell on the park. Screams surrounded us. We stayed on the bench as a unit body. We found order out of the chaos. Ordo ab Chaos.

 'God is here.' He looked at his wrist watch 'it is 33 minutes past 3. I'm late' a calm smile stood on his liberated face.
'Are you going somewhere?' 'Work.Waste management engineer. You can tell from my working uniform. You?' I sat up. 'A civil engineer, Sir. Did two semesters of waste management. I need a job, please' Our eyes locked. 'Would you hug me again?' he asked like a child 'any day all day, Sir'. We hugged tightly again and life returned to me. He whispered into my left ear 'you're hired'.

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THE MAKING OF ORGIASTIC CYPRIAN.

The Making Of Orgiastic Cyprian is an episodic fiction by Oppong Clifford Benjamin which focuses on educating its readers on the sacredness of sex and how the pleasurable act can be a divine form of prayer between a creature and his creator. The story focuses on a mysterious sect of young ladies between the ages of seventeen and thirty called The Ancient Aphrodisiac Cult (The AAC). The cult is strictly invented out of the creativity of the writer, however, some settings in the story maybe real.
We hope you enjoy this episode as well as the others to come.

Episode IX

Drums and music charged the atmosphere of the forecourt of the temple. Five completely naked women arranged themselves in a queue on the left side of the stairway at the courtyard leading into the main hall and an additional five on the right. They had well shaved their vaginas and smeared oil of Ishtar into their skins to appear lush. They had palm fronds coiled about their heads and feet.  
The ten men who were invited from ten selected tribes played each of ten drums at the balcony while the arranged qadeshes danced to the beats of the drums with their oiled hips mostly.
The qadeshes threw both hands in the air above their heads and swung their waist freely to the left and then quickly to the right, moved their heads in helical manner as if invoking a supernatural power with their dance. They were amok. 
The ladies periodically broke the arrangement to run every which way to seduce the two giant statues of penis mounted just before the south entrance of the temple. They believed the first to get to any of the penises would receive blessings from the Great Mother for seducing her husband.


When the trio – Miss Juan, Miss Asabea and Louiselle – appeared at the foot of the stairway of the forecourt, the drumming and dancing heightened to the heavens, the ladies screamed in joy and the men beat the drums faster. The atmosphere was full of some indescribable energies; one could sense the presence of some spirit beings. The qadeshes threw flowers at Louiselle while the trio ascended the steps. 

Upon arriving at the forecourt where the statues welcomed them, Miss Juan dipped her right middle finger into the stone vagina which was full of oil. She robbed the oil in between her palms and gently smeared it into Louiselle’s skin starting from the nipples of the breast to Louiselle’s feet. She paid particular attention to certain areas of the body: the nipples, vagina, hair, butts, neck and the central area of recession at the back- the spine which is made up of 33 vertebrae membranes. Jesus died at age 33, the Christians say. Alchemy teaches that man can turn anything at all to gold at a temperature of 33 degrees Celsius. The highest degree in Freemasonry is the 33^rd. Therefore it is not by mere coincidence the Most Perfect chiliad of the Ancient Aphrodisiac Cult carefully plaster a member’s spine with oil paining attention to each of the 33 vertebras of the spine.   

The drumming and dancing came to an abrupt halt when Miss Asabea started to recite a portion of the pamphlet for installation which informed all that the ceremony was about to begin. She had learned all the words in the booklet by heart as the Most Wise Lady and she spoke with such confidence as her mental faculty warranted.
The ten men descended the balcony through the winding stairway which led to the main hall and took their positions in temple.
Miss Asabea hoodwinked Louiselle. “Do you see anything?” She asked Louiselle who responded “Nah”. She held the Louiselle’s two hands and instructed her to rely on her sure support and follow her lead. The duo perambulated to a convenient spot in the east where Miss Juan had taken her seat in the throne as the installing Most Perfect Chiliad and halted.
“Louiselle is this evening a candidate to be installed as Most Perfect Chiliad” Miss Juan sipped from the cup of water on her pedestal and continued in a rant “as you are all aware the ceremony of installation is performed in a particular room, strange to all but the Most Wise and Most Perfect, we would take a temporary break of the hall to conduct the ceremony and upon our return you will gladly welcome your new Most Perfect Chiliad”
Miss Juan led the way. She paused at the foot of the winding stairway to wait for Miss Asabea and blindfolded Louiselle to form an assemblage for a procession in ascending the steps. A procession hymn was sung by the qadeshes while they climbed the stairway.

THE SETTING OF THE STRANGE ROOM
It was a vast room set aside for the purposes of sex, indeed. It was special in its sex inspiring designs everywhere. The room was sacred: there were ten paintings of sex deities of old in different sex positions on the walls which according to the traditions of the AAC, a candidate for the mastership ought to go through all ten in order to be crowned the Most Perfect Chiliad.
A double mattress on a wooden bed in the centre placed; it was well laid with white sheets, three pillows in white cases were positioned at the head side of the bed. Red rose flower petals were dispersed on the sheets. The room was alive with red lightening. The walls added its own aphrodisiac effect to the room with its nude paintings. And Thomas Tallis’ possessive classical music ‘Spem in Alium’ was in the cold air of the room. The song which in English translation meant hope in any other was carefully selected for the ceremony of installation with the hope that it berserks participants in the act of sex and also arouses the spirit gods of sex.
Six red candles were lit and arranged vertically on the floor close to the bed starting from the head side to the foot. 

Miss Asabea conducted the blindfolded Louiselle to the middle of the room where Miss Juan already stood with a pot of oil in her left hand and in the right a short brush. The rectitude of their bodies forming a square shape and their feet positioned in like manner.
Miss Asabea then memorized a small portion of the pamphlet for installation “Sisters, let us disengage that which veils our glory and the blessings of the mother be invoked on the proceedings of the evening” Miss Juan was first to unwrap the yellow piece of cloth around her waist, leaving her well shaven vagina in the open. The two nipples of her breasts were perfectly pointed as if they cried for a suck. Then Miss Asabea followed by taking off the black cloth of every Most Wise Lady of the AAC which also enveloped her waist, making her total naked. Louiselle was already ushered in naked.

“Oh! Great Mother, we beseech thy continuous support on this our installation ceremony. Endue she who is but little girl with your strength that she might sex her way to the divine glory bestowed on the chair of Most Perfect Chiliad.” Miss Juan having said the prayer stepped forward to reach for the hand of Loiuselle and motioned her onto the bed.
The ceremony begins.
“Call the first man” Miss Asabea gave a court bow to Miss Juan and she made for the exit of the strange room. She stood at the mouth of stairway and beckoned the first in a parade of oiled skinned men to climb the stairway. The man took in a deep breath down his five and half feet tall well built body before taking a step forward. He knew his duties there; he knew he was to sex the incoming Most Perfect Chiliad in the first of many sex positions. He walked majestically across the length of the main hall and up the stairway to approach Miss Asabea who held a hoodwinker. She blindfolded the man, held his hands and guided his steps to the mysterious room.
“Contemplation is best done at the sight of nothing. Dear man, ruminate on the duties a man owes the nudity of his woman” Miss Asabea whispered into the ears of the man as they both took very careful steps down the long passageway.

When they arrived in the room, Miss Asabea gently instructed the man to take off his pants.
“The first sacred sex position….” Miss Juan paused to beckon Miss Asabea to move to the left side of the bed the better to employ her assistance when it is needed “is an acrobatic posture in which Louiselle’s head will be downwards placed whilst her legs will be supported upwards by us and the man will enter her glory from the intersection of her opened legs” Miss Juan recited it so flawlessly as if she spoke her own words, but each of the positions had been described in the pamphlet. 
Miss Asabea realizing the man’s penis was still a sleeping giant; she went on both knees and licked the penis to its full height erection. Her tongue lapped up the saliva off the erection. She held the erected penis and guided it into the entrance of Louiselle’s vagina. The man slowly entered and upon insertion, Louiselle screamed out of pain and the man paused, fearing his manhood was a punishment for the little Loiuselle.
Sweet pains. Joyful tears.

Miss Juan held the man by the waist and gestured him forward to continue with the penetrations. Louiselle’s sweating tights shook terribly. It can hardly be said she enjoyed the exercise but as women are hardly understood, the man continued anyway, taking it slow and gentle. After all, he was a slave. Sweet slavery.
After some thirty minutes of rigorous sex, the man couldn’t hold it all in and ejaculated into Louiselle’s vagina. Something he was forewarned against.  
The ceremony of installation thus far, must be repeated next year and the man must be forced to exit earth by the darkness of the arigona cell. 

The arigona cell was somewhere in the basement of the temple of Ishtar. In the days before the AAC claimed it from the Catholics, the arigona cell served as a room to priests who went contrary to their sacred obligations. They were condemned there to contemplate on their actions for hours, sometimes a day in the totally dark room void of any form of ventilation. The Catholics were even more reasonable in their punishment than the AAC because they kept a guard at the entrance of the room to wait for the distress alarm of the imprisoned priest and consequently open the door for him.
However, the AAC used it as a cell for man to plead forgiveness of sins and reconcile with his divine creature before giving up on earth. 

Miss Juan knew the case have to be different for the man.
Laws are made by men and for men to obey or break.
A smile stood in her head yet Miss Juan looked at disappointed Louiselle on the bed with a painful face and she quickly veered in the direction of the man who at the time was preparing his exit from the room. Where do you think you are going? The man stopped dead at the threshold of the exit, his face full of meanings yet unable to communicate any. He had done exactly what Miss Juan had earlier instructed him on the QT. Why the fuck is she shouting? Miss Juan majestically approached the man as if she was going to slam him dead. She stood right in front of him such that the man was the only one in the room who was privy to her facial expressions, and she gave off a sharp smile. Just as the man was about to reply with a similar gesture, she screamed again at him you will die slowly with the darkness fool. 

On the small passage to the basement of the temple, Miss Asabea and Louiselle hurried behind Miss Juan and their doomed man. They could hardly process the words Miss Juan spoke in undertones to the man, so the duo increased their steps to catch up with their Most Perfect.
You’ve planted in the soil of the spirits, you labourer. You were only assigned to clear the land for the planters cameth at night to reclaim their land, and you took advantage of the fertile wet soil to plant your maize hurriedly.  FACE THEIR WRATH, FOOL.

Miss Asabea led the man into the air-tight stone cell. The darkness in the room stinks. Since the AAC reprobated men there to die, three men are reported to have suffered the ordeal that awaited the man. But Miss Asabea was very much surprised to find no sign of worry on the man’s being; his face still as confident as she led her into the strange room, his spirit still in place and nothing about him seemed frightened.
Death tastes sour only on the tongue of the coward. Miss Asabea nearly said the words but kept to her mind.

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I've Poetry in my Throat

by Oppong Clifford Benjamin.

I drank a calabash of dreams
with the aroma of sand
that mingled freely with the air
when the first drops of rain fell
from a bleeding sky to thirsty earth.

Seated at the windows I was.
Of the view was humid silence
of homeless birds who moaned
the ruin of their nests on a tree
and the wind they cursed to grave.

Temporary everything in time;
earth was gone with its perfume
in the ghostly wind that ripped
nature of its mystical content-
the nest and my dreams.

I imagined tomorrow today
from yesterday’s labour
and tears eroded my cheeks
as I measured my future
in the recent funeral on the tree.

I've a poem in my throat

which tastes like a life coiled
around cloudy fears
and I want to do nothing

than swallow the ruins of rains
and re-frame my pains into gains
but I see the drains of reigns in plains.

Have I also not built my nest
on a praying palm tree?

Is a rhetorical question for God.

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THE MAKING OF ORGIASTIC CYPRIAN. Episode VIII

The Making Of Orgiastic Cyprian is an episodic fiction by Oppong Clifford Benjamin which focuses on educating its readers on the sacredness of sex and how the pleasurable act can be a divine form of prayer between a creature and his creator. The story focuses on a mysterious sect of young ladies between the ages of seventeen and thirty called The Ancient Aphrodisiac Cult (The AAC). The cult is strictly invented out of the creativity of the writer, however, some settings in the story maybe real.
We hope you enjoy this episode as well as the others to come.

Episode VIII

Miss Juan gnashed her teeth in both jaws in deep regret such that the flickering of her eyelids brought out easily tears on the cold floor of her office: where the morning sunshine that crept inside through the spiralling openings of the window found her. She spent the previous night on the floor of her office in coma after she realized her uninvited guest was the ghost of a woman she killed only months ago.

To assist her rising from the concrete floor, Miss Juan caught hold of one leg of the only wooden table in her office and helped herself up. Thoughts from the previous night reoccurred to her and she closed her eyes softly for a short while. Upon opening her eyes and looking around, she discovered a foreign yellow paper cling firmly around a peg behind the door. On the paper were instructions enciphered in a family of unfamiliar letters which were peculiar to Most Perfect Chiliads only. Instructions of high importance or top secrets of the AAC were communicated in codes.

P  J  K Q  Z 

Z  I  V  G L

C  U  W  O  S

T  F  H  I  B

Miss Juan hastened to her seat and looked in her drawer for a plain paper. She stretched her right hand to reach for the quill pen which was inserted in a small black metallic container which was half full of ink and was placed at the extreme right corner on her table. She gave an effortful regard to the alphabets one more time and smiled. Oh! I got. Easy! Miss Juan thought.  She began decrypting the message in those letters. Her facial expressions went through various stages, from confusion to depression as she fished out the message in the codes. 

“WHAT?” Her lower lips sagged down in shock. How can this be? Miss Juan asked herself in a whisper while she stared on the sheet of paper before her tired eyes on the table. She didn’t know what to say. But she had more to say in expostulation to the instructions, actually. 

Make Louiselle Most Perfect Chiliad immediately. Louiselle will conduct the ceremony of apotheosis for Prince Aziz, 132^nd Son of  Baba Binlawa; the Great King of Bolgatanga and spirit  husband of Hamamat, the Great Mother. You see why we need a clean Most Perfect Chiliad?

She soliloquized “But my term of office hasn’t elapsed. Moreover, Louiselle is not even a Most Wise Lady. How can the traditions be broken?” Miss Juan reclined in her seat, threw her head backwards such that her eyes looked directly at the sexually designed ceiling over her head.
For a second, she had thoughts to disobey the communication she had received. But she was interrupted in her thinking by the voice of the woman she killed months ago – Fatima Aziz. She was Miss Juan’s predecessor. 

Miss Juan, in a rumour, had learned of Fatima’s unwillingness to install her (Juan) into the throne of the AAC after her (Fatima) thirtieth birthday. It was a popular gossip among the qadeshes that Fatima was a black racist; she wanted to go around Miss Juan for Miss Asabea who was the only black African in the hierarchy.
But on the night of Miss Fatima’s thirtieth birthday - according to the established customs of the AAC a Chiliad’s thirtieth birthday must be celebrated in a grand feast of alcohol and lot of sexual activities because it also marked the end of her reign - Miss Juan poisoned her Chiliad. In the morning succeeding her birthday, Miss Fatima was found dead and her body indecently interred at the back of the temple of Ishtar with a sprig of acacia tauntingly stuck into the hill of earth that covered parts of her remains.
Louiselle who had first discovered the dreadful scene, exclaimed Horrenda visu! Maledictionem super auctor est.  Horrible scene! Curse is onto the perpetrator.



“Just do it. Else you will watch the manner of your death” Miss Fatima’s voice came through a stale air. But Miss Juan was the least frightened by the cold voice of a ghost, worse horrible things had happened to her in the past day. 

“I will. But I thought Qadesh Asabea would be your choice”
 
“You counsel yourself with rumours. You are not wise, Juan” 

Miss Juan attempted an explanation but ……..

“…..shut up! You fool. You read books and memorize their contents by heart but your sharp retentive memory didn’t make you any wise. You read more but know very little. And now you will lose what you desire the most.”

Realizing she had been foolish, Miss Juan slammed a fist of the right hand into the palm of the left and motioned her recent gesture closer to her lips as if kissing her clasped hands. She remained in this positioned for quite some time and then took a deep breath in and exhaled. She repeated the exercise for three consecutive times before she exited her office.

Her feet carried her in reluctant steps down the winding stairway into the main hall beneath her office, where the qadeshes had assembled to partake in the usual morning service: an amorous touching of their naked selves by the Chiliad and the passionate licking of the Chiliad’s wet middle finger after she had inserted it into her vagina. 

It was after the service Miss Juan made the announcement that surprised everyone including the blond lady- Miss Louiselle.

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THE MAKING OF ORGIASTIC CYPRIAN. Episode VII

DISCLAIMER: Please note that the group AAC and the histories herein written are all fiction, strictly from the writer's imagination. Thank you.

The Making Of Orgiastic Cyprian is an episodic fiction by Oppong Clifford Benjamin which focuses on educating its readers on the sacredness of sex and how the pleasurable act can be a divine form of prayer between a creature and his creator. The story focuses on a mysterious sect of young ladies between the ages of seventeen and thirty called The Ancient Aphrodisiac Cult (The AAC). The cult is strictly invented out of the creativity of the writer. However, some settings in the story maybe real.
We hope you enjoy this episode as well as the others to come.

Episode VII

She glanced at her contiguous presence and at her right fingers, and wondered if biting her finger nails could bring the relief she so badly needed or if death would be a much better option, Miss Juan was in no peace with herself neither with God nor the Great Mother. She had only learned from the recent encounter with the Great Mother that her hellish acts were known by the Mother.

“Hamamat Montia
Loiuselle”

She whispered the names to herself and cursed the first time she heard those names in her life. Miss Juan climbed up the wooden winding staircase which led to the middle chamber of the temple. The middle chamber housed the office of the Most Perfect Chiliad and the sanctuary which the Chiliad entered but once a year to make propitiation for the sins of the Qadeshes. She paused at the third step and leaned her slim and tender body against the gold plated metallic support of the stairway, and threw her head backwards in utmost despair and allowed her long black hair to droop down in the space. When finally she gained the summit of the winding staircase, she again tilted forward on the door of her office, which to her extreme surprise opened wide because it was ajar. She gained sudden consciousness of her easy entrance into her office because she remembered she had banged the door closed behind her in the morning before she descended the stairway into the main hall for Hamamat’s ceremony of invitation.

Miss Juan’s eyes gapped wide. She veered to look curiously at the far right corner of the immediate environment, finding nothing interesting she slewed to the left and then looked back at the steps she had used. She became frightened of her shadow and wondered who had been her unwanted and unexpected guest.

“Come in, please” The voice was a woman’s - slim and smooth and soft.
Panic-stricken Miss Juan moved her left hand reluctantly and caught hold of the door frame, which aided her body to sleuth inside the office without entering. Her reddened eyes were too tired of crying; she had cried in strident voice through the greater part of day, but they could see clearly when she skimmed through her office.

NOTHING

She emitted heavy breaths through her nostrils, her thoracic cavity almost touched her chin when she inhaled.

“I said come in” The voice sounded louder and authoritative, it ordered Miss Juan into her own office.

But Miss Juan found the command very eldritch, so she ran to the acme of the stairway to stretch her neck so long that she could gain sight of the hall beneath her current location. She saw that the assemblage had broken and all the qadeshes except Louiselle who stood beside Hamamat Montia in the middle of the pentagram drawn on the floor had vacated the hall to their personal comforts in their respective private cubicles in the Cathedral.

There were only two superb and stately edifices in the ice on the meridian of Mountain Troodos in Cyprus- the temple of Ishtar and its twin sister the cathedral. Both of which were designed and constructed to hold sacred and religious activities; the former to host the sacred ladies who performed the apotheosis (the elevation of man to God) of the ancient Egyptian Kings, and the later to practise Catholicism therein.

But history informs us the Catholicism practices were in dissonance with men seeing themselves as Gods by just going through some sort of ceremony and being thereafter worshipped as such. And the members of the Ancient Aphrodisiac Cult then known as the Sex Cult argued that they also used the same scripture as the Catholics but it was rather unfortunate that Christians in general want to proudly believe the Bible but shamefully ignore those portions of scripture which required the effort of their mental faculties or inconvenience them. The qadeshes saw the Catholics as clamorous and faux believers of the words of God.

Among the many portions of scripture the qadeshes quoted against the Catholics were some which even a High Priest in the Cathedral agreed to.

In Genesis it was said that we (Humans) were created in the image of God. Meaning men are neither inferior nor superior to God. And also in Luke 17: 20-21 says the kingdom of God cometh without observation but it is in every one of human beings. 

Relying on these selected portions of scripture, again, history communicates to us the Qadeshes finally won the argument and the Catholics moved southwards mount Troodos in order to preserve the old peace of their faith. And the Cathedral after many years of vacancy was lost in ice and in the woods.

It was during the sovereignty of Linda Londart Longman, the forty third Most Perfect Chiliad of the AAC, who reigned from 1656 to 1701 that the Cathedral was mined out of the ice and used to house the Qadeshes and their invited men. Before this era, the Qadeshes lived with other humans in the cities of Cyprus close to Mount Troodos but kept their membership secret from the everyday Cyprians.

Miss Juan quietly observed the gestures of Hamamat and Louiselle and wondered if they also heard the unseen female voice. But their actions said the contrary.
“Maybe it is me. Maybe the thing haunting me is only in my mind. Shake! Shake it off Juan” Miss Juan shook her head vigorously. And as if she was packing all the air in the temple into her lungs, she inhaled and exhaled heavily and assured herself that it was a psychological trauma.
“Come in now before I strike you death too”.  It was real. The voice of the woman was real, Miss Juan thought.

From nowhere a heavy wind carried her and threw her body on the table inside her office, and the papers were all scattered on the floor. Her conscience was not there with her body, it left her to somewhere unknown but only for a brief time. Upon regaining consciousness, she looked around her own office like a stranger. She saw the papers and books dispersed on the floor and then lifted her eyes and right beside the closed door, Miss Juan saw the owner of the voice with the Mystic yoke of the AAC (a yellowish piece of cloth) wrapped about the waist of the old lady. And she emitted a long cry of the old lady's name. And conked.

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ADADZEWA, MY INSTAGRAM GIRL.

She danced in the streets
the music reminded her of life.

She paid no mind to the boys
who lurked around traffic lights

She had a fat ego
which she ate not
and went hungry.

She wrote, relaxed and drew
a shadow of her death
on a half broken mirror
and sighed. And wept.

She stepped into a fire,
fixed her gaze on the smoke
and saw nothing else 
aside her departing soul.

Destiny was ready
but she wanted more from life
she has more for the boys
she had snobbed
and particularly to swallow her ego.

After her closing hours on earth,
did she realize the world
spoke one common language.

The language of love;
of sex, of smile and of laughter.

She cursed her grave
and wondered why she
was too big to speak
the language.


There're lives and there're lives
But this one was a life
at least, Adadzewa lived.




By Oppong Clifford Benjamin.

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THE MAKING OF ORGIASTIC CYPRIAN. Episode VI

The Making Of Orgiastic Cyprian is an episodic fiction by Oppong Clifford Benjamin which focuses on educating its readers on the sacredness of sex and how the pleasurable act can be a divine form of prayer between a creature and his creator. The story focuses on a mysterious sect of young ladies between the ages of seventeen and thirty called The Ancient Aphrodisiac Cult (The AAC). The cult is strictly invented out of the creativity of the writer. However, some settings in the story maybe real.

We hope you enjoy this episode as well as the others to come.

Episode VI

Frozen atmosphere, still air – no motions, everything was dead or so it seemed.

“You need to manifest in human form”
“Louiselle will do it for you as Most Perfect Chiliad”
“Hamamat! You know exactly what that means?”
“Yes…that means patience. Patience is always late but always worth the wait. Wait for Louiselle, she is the chosen qadesh. And I have no doubt she is better than Juan”

The qadeshes assembled in the hall elongated their necks and stole glances of the tiny blond lady who couldn’t smile nor frown because she had just been compared to a woman she had great admiration for. Miss Juan gazed Loiuselle with cold eyes from the north, where she knelt awaiting her punishment.

“But why would you detain your lover?”

The voices without owners were loud in the rectangular stone hall which Desi Falcon, the grand architect of the temple, designed in the early 1200s with every detail of his passion, fears and aspiration because it was his last work before he retired from building cathedrals and temples across the early world to settle in his forest home at Bargau Valley (5miles northeast from Bistrita) in northern Romania. It was rumoured that a careful and closer examination of the slabs, particularly on the floor where pentagrams were drawn during the established rites and ceremonies of the order, showed that his image appeared in very dim red and blue lights and disappeared concurrently, one could hardly notice, it was so faint.
Louiselle had said in one of the many times she disturbed Miss Juan with her curiosity “I think I saw something strange on the floor” and Miss Juan knew what followed that sentence so she smiled and Loiuselle felt unsure of her question but she asked anyway “Who is that spirit man?” 
History informs us that it took forty and two thousand men to construct the temple of Ishtar and within the number was a small elite lodge of three thousand four hundred and sixty men skilled in architecture and stonemasonry completed the design and building of the rectangular hall in which the qadeshes and the men stood terrified and listened to the dialogue between an invisible woman and  man.

The black snakes finally reached the north gate of the large hall and coiled and positioned their poisonous black heads in the air at a short distance from Miss Juan. Sensing danger, Miss Juan got up abruptly from her kneeling posture to her full height and took two frightful steps backwards and her right hand supported her retreat with a sure grip of the gold plated metallic gates behind her. The snakes sibilated and advanced towards Miss Juan.

”Back off! Step back! I command thee serpents to retire as your Most Perfect Chiliad.” Miss Juan cried aloud, her voice was thick in fears yet full of authority. But like stubborn kids, the snakes whooshed further forward, brought out their slim clappers briefly as if teasing Miss Juan.

“Your pride is shaking, your soul as feeble as the air around you, a man is as good as his fate.”

The female voice came out loud again and this time it clearly came out of one of the snakes
“Juan, no matter what a man does, he can’t save himself from his destiny. There’s no permanent hideaway, so forget about the roof shielding you. The only weakness of mother time is her patience, but it is also her greatest strength. Eventually, it comes to crack open the heads of wicked men and make naked their past, present and future atrocities”

There were many seconds of silence in the hall. The atmosphere was tension packed. And everyone looked pale and flimsy.
Miss Juan spoke through her fears and teary eyes to break the awkward silence.
”What! “ Her voice shook terribly bad “What have I done wrong?” She questioned the spirit of the Great Mother Hamamat who had just spoken to her through the snake. The tears of Miss Juan fell like raindrops onto the floor.

“Pick up your tears from the holy base, you Murderer!”

“I murdered no one. She just died. The little Hamamat di…….” 

Miss Juan’s sentence was interrupted by weak coughs from the just resurrecting Hamamat Montia. She struggled to breath. Maybe there was no air to breath in the hall. Miss Asabea and Louiselle hastened to help Hamamat return to life safely. But only half way the length of the space between Hamamat and Loiuselle, did Miss Asabea yell at Louiselle “Where do you think you going to?” her eyes oozed clots of jealousy at Louiselle. Withdrawing her steps in obedience to her Most Wise lady, Louiselle recognized Miss Juan’s face held a clue of a smile when Miss Asabea screamed at her. Louiselle knew that face, and she knew it was the beginning of her unpleasant journey in the Ancient Aphrodisiac Cult.

“AH! See! You see! I’m not a mur…..” Miss Juan’s hands froze in the gestures she made to mean she had been vindicated when she was again cut off, this time very harshly.

“Oh! Shut it! You are a murderer and you know exactly what I am talking about. Like I said, time is patient. But mother time has your end carefully designed like the wonders Desi Falcon did with this hall. And it is something I wish not for any mortal being. Horrible, the least description”

Miss Juan wore a guilty face. She feared the one most secretive of her secrets was not only known to her alone but the revered mother. And for the first time, she looked up and saw that the stone roof above her was transparent, and that the Great Mother saw through it.
OMNIPRESENT MOTHER!

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BEFORE SMOKE AND WORDS.

The day is a wild animal
in this chaos world,
and I don't want to die aloud
at least, not again.

So while the vapour from my white ceramic cup rises
to the innocent wind passing across
the length of my soul and beneath my troubled mind
I flip the pages of an old ritual book
With the hope of understanding happiness.

And of course, I would finally become a vapour too.
But I won't be living in a small cup.
I will from earth to the heavens.
I will stop briefly to mingle with the clouds.
And have the pleasure of telling
them about how humans made smoke
and continue my journey to the celestial,
Sit at the right hand side of Him who created this day.
From thence, I will learn to be a smoke and a word,
a flower and its butterfly
a shadow without owner
I will gently learn to be nothing.

By Oppong Clifford Benjamin.

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13 Nights of Sex before WE GO TO HELL

 

 

Day 1.

 

Do you believe in life after sex?

When we can't watch each others' face

and stare sheepishly at our phones' screens.

Do you believe I was the perfume in the air?

that which choked you. I laughed as you died.

Do you mind if I shrink to the shape of a ship

and sail you from this fire to hell?

 

Close your eyes and kiss my soul

Pull me out of my body, out of muscles

and never think the sky is grey or blue

nor ever the wind carefree. We all prisoners in this room.

If you did see a singer and a song in us

then it was because you were once an orchestra

until I changed the whites for the blacks on the piano

I don't love you, you don't love me. Didn't we see it?

 

Let me just push the world a little farther

to make room for you to improve on your ego

Or stab me in the back and taste me waste away-

it is called soccer: you pass to who you know.

Because no one celebrates narrow misses

So by all means score.

 

Oppong Clifford Benjamin

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