Al Khattabi 1937: The Madman Speaks

We learned to disappear into the shadows.
Listen to the whispering voice of the wind, make our tents one with the languid sands, move under the guidance of effervescent star and impassive moon.  We find our path through the shifting dunes, skirting villages and mud hovels dotting the desert.  We are phantoms that haunt the mind, the unknown dreams and ghastly visions that disappear into the night.
In the desert I denied myself the pleasures I had known in my former life, living as an ascetic who sought to quench the fires of bitterness with blood.  The wind and sand erased the memories, making all days seem as one.  Under a tyrant sun we performed the work of our Maker, dispatching souls to Him with knife and saber and rifle.
Entire caravans of troops disappeared under our hand, fortresses fell and burned into dust.  I let time slip between my fingers like grains of sand.  I gaze into the hazel eye of fate and refuse to blink.

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