Story about 4 Camels

A story below is a real-life recorded transcription of four camels in the middle of infamous Pyrykan Dessert. As the hot weather peppering their hump, the water is sipping slowly and slowly, until it became strong enough to make a river. Then the river flow so ucontrollably hard that it opened those camel’s wounds. Deep rotten wounds hidden to the world behind a seemingly thick furs, brotherhood oath, and a secret meeting to uncover the meaning of life.

Four camels patiently drifting through the Pyrykan Dessert.

Camel 1: “She truly is a drug, the sweetest of the kind. The moment she’s not in your system you’ll notice how slow and harsh this crooked world is. How slow and unbearable people is. Unfortunately, there’s no voice louder than one in your head — craving her soft hug, tender lips, the touch of her skin against yours. Oh, God! How I’ve missed her already. My heart feels heavy and deflated at the same time. How cruel of her. I wish I was never kind to her; wish I abuse her pretty face; wish I cheated behind her back; wish I kick her father while pissing in the pond and die a drown death miserable; wish her mother spit me for being poor and irresponsible. So, the goodbye feels deserve, inevitable, and most importantly: resolve. Or maybe it already is, I’m just being blind and deaf. Maybe I’m unconsciously trying to ignore the signs so I can blame our downfall to her indecisiveness. If ever you in my arms again, I will not give in. I will not lose to these feelings. I will be the one dumping and erase hope, finally.”

Camel 2: “Let’s make a club shall we, we will call it “seven bottles of vodka”. Our goals are to alternate and rehabilitate those of addict’s tendencies to a liquor, preferably seven bottles of 750 ml dirty, cheap, stinging vodka of choices. We’ll slap it with cigarettes while we at it. None of those modern and electric bullshit, that’s for lesbian and not healthy. Our weekly meet is 21.00 — somebody passed out. Our first gathering is tonight. Whomever is invited is to bring a piece of paper and pen. We will write and drink. Write and smoke. Smoke and write. And drink, and write, drink, smoke, drink and smoke, and drink and smoke and write. We’ll do it simultaneously. Little note, there’s no meeting in full moon. Each member is to encourage and catch a moon dust and bring it in the next session. All cases that have not been determined will be returned to custom, applicable law, or decided in accordance with the principles of propriety and justice. Head out you piece of shit.”

Camel 3: “I ought to sort out my feelings, my thoughts, and my goals. Well, here I am, depressed and stuck in a quicksand. Those eyes are not aimed at me, yet I feel judged. It is impertinent and impatient language so to speak. As a second first child of the world, we must obey our parents. Whose are our parents? Are they a tiny single lonely fruitless coconut tree in the middle of a concrete road? Or are they an infidel parking attendant that can’t do a single thing to save their life? Or maybe, and it is only maybe, are they an offspring of a suspicious innocent-looking religious officials that preach of justice and advocacy of a better social and individual human life? I don’t know babe, I only like to hear when you talk. Or sing hyme. Those times are priceless, comparable only to dollar-rupiah rate of conversion. The most luxurious life is the most normal life, and I have lived the best of life these past years. See the crazy people and quickly realized that we have been institutionalized and desensitized. You may not aware right now, but that’s a route of our soul, our children future. I am not reaching brother. It is a dystopian future that values capital gain, individual interest, materialistic profit, and consumerism lifestyle over freedom of choices, compassion to every living being, beauty and appreciation of art, honesty in harmony, critical rather satirical humour, and open-mindedness.”

Camel 4: “I met this old man one time in oasis. He is very superstitious about how one should approach life. He is kindly introducing me the importance of name, of your real name. This is somewhat a pharaprase of what that old man said to me, “As this world is already written, one should know himself to know his fate. Name is not a thing you should take lightly. Remember, do not put a live J if you decide to have a kid as J is in the word ‘Jahannam’. They’re a creature designed as sadistic as possible. You never know if something goes left with them. B is a calculated person, but petty. Oh, you can balance the evilness of J with a middle live M. M is good whether live or silent. And your name, ah yours is…. I don’t how to put it son, but you have a lot in you. You got a lot of homework to be done”. He then takes my cigarettes and said his goodbye, “I’ll take 2 of these for my throat soreness. Our meeting here is a fate too, do not lose hope, son. Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to spread this knowledge of mine, for that is my reason in my old life”. Out of nowhere a mystic rug appear beneath his feet and take him to the next oasis. He then left me with a smile so little you had to squint to see it.”