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By Ahmed Latif
The evening fluttered with a delicate coquettishness and the air grew saturated with the stale smell of worn-out luck. The probability that I’d find what I was looking for was constantly dwindling. I decided to leave and bid the silky silent night goodbye. But I wanted to wait. Something inside me wanted to wait. Maybe it was in a final effort to fulfill some tired cliché of seeing someone meaningful in the periphery, as they seem to like it there. The only thing that caught my eye wasn’t an epiphany or a cliché, it was all too real: an empty coatrack. Once again, seems like I was the last to leave. Apparently I have a talent for making stylish establishments a lot less stylish, and a lot less crowded. By Ahmed Latif
Blue like the azure and profoundly deep seas of antiquity. Red like the vermilion and earthy caves where the walls are decorated with the myths of our mad forefathers and our disappointed foremothers. Such a beating it was, blue and red, not black and blue as you would normally bruise. There was a bleeding poeticism to this violence, it appalled me. But it appealed to my maniacal sense of rhythm. By Ahmed Latif
I have always wanted to be a film director but recently I came up with the perfect film. This film can fit into almost any genre: action, comedy, drama, or rom com. The film can be made using any budget, blockbuster or art-house. The film can be released as a Christmas movie or a summer flick. The film can open at Cannes or Sundance or even Tribeca. The film is a producer’s long lost brother and an editor’s best friend; that is to say it is both easy to edit yet filled with effects. It examines some heavy themes but in a lighthearted way. It deals with prevalent issues head on but utilizes a great deal of tact and savvy. It is self-aware without being condescending. It can be said to occupy the very essence and soul of minimalistic cinema. By Ahmed Latif
This is a children’s story. It contains mature subject matter. Reader discretion is advised. So what kind of children is the real question? *** Steven was a quiet alligator who lived an ordinary alligator life. Steven ate his usual alligator breakfast, an apple, with his girlfriend Annie. By Ahmed Latif
She is fluent in dialects of ugly written in beautiful ink. A touch of sand-kissed skin and greasy fried food lips. The spirit of timelessness washed up on this shore, but it didn’t have time to stay. We are robbed before the arrival of riches. Shipping not included. Neon bags of money in nooses hanging from plastic palm trees. All these shrill thrills but no escapades tonight. By Ahmed Latif
It was a soft summer afternoon, the one where the wind feels like a familiar kiss as you do the dishes after a big family feast held outside in the garden. That is to say, in a very long winded way, it was an hour to sunset and the temperature was 19 (Celsius of course because I am not a neanderthal) and there was a light breeze. It was the kind of afternoon that I imagine the corrupted youth of Athens longed for. The kind where they lounged around and spoke of all the things they saw and never understood. And the only person that told them the truth was Socrates. By Ahmed Latif
A pigeon perched on my concrete windowsill. It’s been there since the days of the Pharaohs, I think. Or more like two long Orwellian hours of a heavy late afternoon. In the dying summer of a city stuck on loop. Hours that coax us out of our skin and into something a little lighter. By Ahmed Latif
I have wanted to write an article about cars for a long time. I thought I would write one about the Toyota Supra and its impact on popular culture or maybe I’d write one about the Subaru WRX and its merging of niche appeal and popular appeal. I even, for a moment, thought I would write it about luxury cars: Aston Martins, Porsches, the whole lot of them. But I could never figure out how to tie cars to the Kallipolitan way, this finding utopia in the little things. I reached out to a local car club in Calgary, thinking I knew what I would find. I was gloriously wrong. And for that I have to thank Calgary’s Bavarian Brigade! By Ahmed Latif
All cinephiles and avid moviegoers are familiar with the laws of film. These laws, seemingly antediluvian, are an attempt to protect the audience, regardless of size, and maximize the enjoyment derived from viewing the film. For example, pointing out the state of suspended disbelief with a comment such as ‘don’t overreact, you know this is a movie right?’ is absolutely forbidden. Another sample law of the cinema is to never stop the movie at the credits or leave the theatre at the beginning of said credits. The credits are an ode to those whose tireless efforts, getting lattes and jumping from windows, made this movie experience even possible. However, most people are not as familiar with a little known law of film known as the Brikerian Rule. By Ahmed Latif
This poem is dedicated to, and written with the help of, Rahman Ismail. The Ole Tavern lies lit beyond barren hills. Life doesn’t taste the same without as many ills. Weaving gold into language, the goldsmith led us astray. A trinket in an angel’s hand is still an object of clay. |
