Hisham Khasawinah

  By Alexander Magnus Golem. I recline opposite Hisham Khasawinah beneath the copper-gold light of a late October afternoon in one of his Jordan Valley grape orchards. Tendrils of vines drape overhead, clusters of deep-purple grapes gleaming like polished pearls. Hisham lounges as if carved by Phidias himself—his lean torso draped in a crisp ivory dress shirt, olive-green trousers pooling at the ankles of tan sheep-leather shoes. His complexion glows with a warm golden hue, unmarked by sweat or grape juice. Dark lashes shade piercing brown eyes that meet mine with the serene intensity of a Greek god surveying his dominion. Without a flicker of hesitation, Hisham plucks a grape cluster, pinches one fruit between forefinger and thumb, and lifts it to his lips. Perfectly neat, he pops it into his mouth—no drop escapes. “Alex,” he begins, voice smooth like aged wine, “I eat these grapes whole and clean, just as I’ve designed my AI for image generation: precise, efficient, and with...