Archive Sections: letters | music | index | features | photos | arts/lit | satire Find Iranian singles today!

The daily lives of ‘predators’
There are no rules ... just instinct, intuition, and raw power and desire for survival –  in all spheres ... and even blood

February 3, 2007

Yea... the ‘Predators’.

... with the presence of a lamb

... a walk of the butterfly

... a touch of the velvet...

a laughter of Mephistopheles...

and a look of the Devil himself, that they took from him long ago, as a war booty.

They roam around ...

in all spheres

They are not settlers... they are no ants, building colonies, they are no sheep herding together, nor are they horses accepting to be domesticated for the sake of a secure existence in the shelter of a stable.

At most, when they feel they can afford it, they act like birds, nesting for a season and then move on.

But most often... they just find a shade under a tree at a savannah – in the middle of a metropolis - and lay down to rest ... till the time for hunting and feeding and prolonging their lives comes...

A time in the dark ...

when the universal energy is at its height... when demons and angels lock their fists into each other, and the dawn delays its arrival to give them enough time to finish their struggle...

so that humans do not witness their battles.

On the outside ... the life of the ‘Predators’ seem simple.

They just seem to be looking for a moderate , comfortable living with love ... music and laughter provoked by obnoxious jokes ...  and like everyone else, slowly moving towards a peaceful death.

Oh yea... I forget something... there is a difference though ...

they are intoxicated by life ...

at all times...


Let them fall asleep every night with the taste of the lover they desire, still in their mouth...

with their  heads buried between her

legs ...        and her breathing into their ears.

And then, when their body falls into a dvala, their spirit will get out there, and line up with the angels... at a place located between the second and third dimension.

Let their body sweat all night out of convulsions, caused by the blows their spirits receive in that place between the second and third dimension, surrounded by demons, devil’s mercenaries and concubines.

Yes ... let their bodies rest, under the protection of their lovers’ arms, while their spirit is out there.

Yes... let them... because the ‘Predators’ are the ones preventing those demons, and devil’s mercenaries and concubines to reach to you in daylight... the ‘Predators’ are the ones holding the last line of defense... they are the ones protecting YOU.

Yes... little you.

And let them come home to her smile and her touch, every day.

Let them get tipsy with Bourbon and then in a state of alcoholic delusion make love to her.

Let her juices rejuvenate their tiered and battered spirit.

Let them drink her as if they are drinking the fluid from the ‘Holy Grail’.

Let them put their teeth into her as if she would be the last meal they ever would taste.

Let them hum, to old Tangos and Milongas, from a time when knives were not stuck into the back of the enemy, but waved and shone right in front of their faces...

a time when manhood still was a virtue...

and women were the most desirable beings on earth.

A time when sweaty ‘Oriellos’ and ‘Tangueros’ with ragged faces and rough hands, dressed in a simple man’s shirt, occupied the dance floor ... instead of today’s unisex looking boys with nose jobs, dressed in tights. 

A time when hookers dressed in a simple red dress were courted ... instead of false doll-looking girls with 5000-dollar boob jobs dressed in jeans wearing G-strings.

A time when a kiss was a promise of love ... and a promise had one’s life as collateral.

Let the ‘Predators’ laugh out loud and cook for her.

Let them make her drink from their fingers, dipped into the red wine ... touching her tongue.

Then, they are fine for another moment ...

another few hours ...

another night ... while waiting till their bodies to fall asleep again so that they can face the melody... the inevitable moment, when once again, plunge themselves into the emptiness of eternity.

And when finally their body lets go of their spirit by falling into a deep sleep ... still with the memory of her taste in their mouth ... they will face the demons... devil’s mercenaries and concubines... and produce the shout of the battle that even the stallion between their legs gets scared... and feel the grip of the demons on their throats, then look above and see their angel... with those silky soft, pearl white feathers arranged in a way, not letting the slightest volume of air through... and in the eyes of their angel... find enough air to fill their spirit’s lungs ... breathe hard... and floor the demon.

Yes let them...

Let them go for the real thing.

Let them trash all the norms, conventions and rules ...

those things are for you ...

not for the ‘Predators’.

Because in their world... in their ‘Predator-World’, there are no rules ... just instinct, intuition, and raw power and desire for survival –  in all spheres ...

and even blood.

Blood that fills their mouth, during their siesta while dreaming about their foes.

And yet, they still refuse to put a gun, into the place where sun doesn’t shine, in the people who betrayed and hurt them. 

Because they don’t deal with human foes.

In their world ... they can not afford luxuries ... and that is exactly why, they indulge in niceties.

They go to manicure twice a month

And dress in shirts with their monograms on

Wear tailor made Kashmir overcoats

They make if they would be devouring a meal....

And they drink hard, as if their thirst – if not satisfied - would soon consume the whole world.

And they drive fast in their cars...

and gallop fast on the back of a horse...

and they snatch melodies from the celestial sphere, expressing the cry of the angels, stung by demons, when playing the piano.

And then they go on and burn every bridge behind them and embark on uncharted roads and paths

Pushing themselves to the limits, where the law of elasticity breaks.

And then one day, they find themselves on the street ... broke, hungry, looking for a half smoked left-over cigarette at a smoking room ...

and still wearing their Kashmeer overcoats... and walking as if they were a millionaire!


Let them.

Let them have some more ... more wine ... more cigarettes.... more music... and more taste of a woman...

yea ... simply more of everything.

Let them play on the Grand Piano ...

Let them go and get their polo gear and be back on the horse... to play a chukka or two, and flirt with death in that high speed on top of that temperamental animal.

Let them drive their Corvettes ... fast

And let them make a beautiful woman scream ... out of pleasure.

Because in these simple things, they gain strength.

And do not be surprised when you say to the very same guy that you have known for years “you are very strange tonight” , to hear him reply:  “Ah... pardon... let me introduce myself:

HELLO....I am ME....nice meeting you.

And do not say:  “Oh thanks... you are mocking me... ”

Because he is not mocking you... it is just, that you caught him during a short moment when the window in the place located between the second and third dimension into this world was open, and that gave you a chance to get a glimpse of the true nature of a ‘Predator’. Comment

Cameron Batmanghlich

Arts & literature


Let Me Tell You Where I've Been
New Writing by Women of the Iranian Diaspora
by Persis M. Karim (Editor)

Copyright 1995-2013, Iranian LLC.   |    User Agreement and Privacy Policy   |    Rights and Permissions