Saturday, April 15, 2006


“You are beautiful,” I told her and she laughed out in derision. Cruel mirror, she; terrible bitch.

And then there was sweet missing, beautiful in its absolute needlessness. Before you can sit and roll in there, comes in a darkness not of your own planning. And a very secret kiss that no one knows about is suddenly playing about. This time it doesn't cry fiction and you are scared. Bad, bad girl. The mirror laughs all over again and my vigorous attempts at audacity.

Repeat, repeat, roll. There it is, happiness sitting in a dim-lit room drinking something that smells of gasoline and tasting of sugared fruits. No cheap cigars this time. Just pathetic company whose trust in me begs me to wants to kiss it and slap it, again and again. Till his overgrown face perks up surprise like it should.

I haven’t laughed in a very long time, a hearty one drunken and teary; that sputters out of your system till you are hoarse for the night. A giggle, which became a snigger, which became a preposterous roar of laughter.


It fell, breaking my mirth into undeserving pieces.

I hadn’t laughed since a year now. And I paid a price for it. I couldn’t love you anymore, not more than this, I cant.

Quisquilious Debalterations. Good night and good luck.


Tuesday, April 04, 2006

Scribbling thighs, lately.

How do you feel today?

I don’t know, doctor-too subtle to be angry, too strong to be disinterested.

Today, there are 99 channels competing in my head, Daddy Yankee being the stander-upper.

Oop-dukka-gasolina-din-taka-gasolina. Din-din-din. Woop-dukka-gasolina-jhin-chuckka-gasolina. Hey, hey, hey.

Followed by Eminem, followed by 50 cent, followed by almost nude women singing hey, hey, hey baby.

And beneath the window stands a little girl,
A tiny fragment hung up on nine-inch heels of happiness,
We pulled her pigtail; green creeper fell,
Moist in my hands as they twisty-shine in the cruel sun.

We walked her up and down hidden in little fists, she gushed,
Tiny and tender warm things that feel slimy in your hands,
And rubbed them on each others ruby-red faces,
So tired from the worldly tribulations.
And he watched O in the mouth as she rubbed it to his chest,
Little fingers scratching-Ice cold-he says.
A green wisp so beautiful blue,
A tangerine shade now aspirin white,
How they took my dreams and put them as prey to
Little pills and conditioning for reason,
A new world in them, new ideas.
Sometimes it just becomes too bloody difficult to die.

I find it tiresomely funny, doctor. This, this-aha!-hatred.