A victim of somebody else's fetishes

It’s a small place on a non-descript street where people meet to drink and eat till they think they can move back into life. As far as coffee shops go, there is lethargy spilling out of the earthy place. Brown benches placed outside soak in the sun with more dignity than I do. I sweat and squint to look ahead at the table with chess players who laugh, giggle and slap each other. The white floor is littered with cigarette butts. I look at my first cigarette and wonder if I can smoke anymore. The heat brings out the beast in me and there is nothing I would like right now than walk into the air conditioned part and sit with yuppies on bar stools and four chair tables but I can’t. In between the pages on lapis blue, I wonder once again why I never played chess. Why is there more than a glass pane separating me from the yuppies and socializers. I think of the other cigarette and pucker my lips in unconscious despair. I wonder if I am being controlled. Not that I know what’s going to happen. I don’t mind, really. I firmly believe the fun is in the journey and not thinking of the destination is the only way to truly appreciate when you arrive. I wonder if I am being used. There’s the last part of Sirens of Titan playing side my side in my head with the chess players’ ramble and the writings of Madam Victoria Finlay. It would be a sad world if nobody thought of me as worth being used, I supposed. I ask for the time as the sun blinds me with orange in between pages of blue. I ask for time and a grey lipped man turns to his white satin strap, golden dial watch and translates the jewel encrusted needles for me. It’s time to go but I would like to break barriers. I suppose it’s lack of time that keeps me from doing it.

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RIP.



What Darwin didn’t tell you…

We are too many. Heaving and grunting, pushing past each other, we are all aiming to walk away and afar from the crowds. But there is no where to go, is there? We are always walking into each other, bumping, crossing paths, falling in love, hating each other…

Meeting new people, they say.

We are all strong now, in our diversity. Because of money, because of our sadness or our happiness because a mall around will sell you Anything you want.


When Darwin outdates, jihad steps in.
I never believed in a man ruling us all but I do believe that nature has a way of controlling.

This is where It switches on the auto-destruct mode. If we cant find heaven here, let’s blow ourselves into one.

Because the world is black, white and grey, I really don’t know where this is all going. Sometimes the rain takes me off my feet and sometimes, the news of a massive flood.

There have been so many deaths this month. I don't know why you had to die. Maybe you do.

This would only work on a blog more popular than my 1-audience ramble writing space. But I hope whoever sees it is moved to any action at all.

You could help those who would appreciate it, here:
http://www.helpageindia.org/bihar-floods.php

Playing Straight with The Queen

If you have a question, does it mean you are growing? Maybe she could ask him, wouldn't that be easy? Too convenient. Too right. There is a game here, a vacant touch and a game in the picture. It won't be going anywhere but nobody is in a hurry. We got all day, all night.

I liked it slow anyway

Gives you a feeling that there is more that you don't know and a little more reason to live. Biting a few bullets, indulging in a few more wrongs. You do want to be wise enough for your grandchildren and your nieces and nephews. You always wanted the best party joke, funniest anecdote.

What good is being right all the time, anyway.

Erratic and exotic, dressed wrongly with the wrong attitude, built wrong, talking wrong, that's how she is. Cracked in the wrong places, broken and open, angry and lethargic - charging full speed into bullshit and dying quickly to live fast. Built to perfection, dumb devotion, fetishes and bad jokes, that's his game. Nothing serious, a lot of dark things. Too scared to look inside so point a finger into the vast outside. Always picking things out that look too wrong to fit him but slide down him well, anyway.

This wouldn't be a love story because there isn't lust or love, just a curiosity. A need for assurance, that we are on the right track, not turning or moving back. Keeping it Straight.

Who cares? If he is hard to resist, why should she hold back, anyway.

There is a touch here, a smile there. A moment always and a determination to keep playing. Being wrong, asking questions, fighting dirty.

She is a nerd getting down and dirty, if you know what I mean. He is a queen with curiosity. If this isn't a high-flying novella, then baby, I don't what is.

Adjusting

Living is constantly looking into a mirror. No, I don’t think life is vain – it could be, it couldn’t as well. I just think what you see is what you are. Some prefer to constantly travel away from life. Going away, away, away, till you are a little speck and the world is one as well. The lacuna grows. There is no collective universe because down here. Because where I am the world is too big and too difficult to connect to. It awes and amazes me and I can only hold my breath and marvel at the complexity. You are all gods’ beings and god made you all as big as him. God with a big g. Human with a big h. Not that I haven’t ever looked at this mirror. My years only make me more aware of it and I walk back a million times, always losing my way. Always a little too happy, always a little too eccentric, always a little too angry. Always a little too calm. There are days when I walk right back and I stare and stare till all those little dots, all those pimples, the vast forehead, the small nose, the dimpled thighs, the tiny ears vanish to become just one, pretty being. Human with a big H. a huge one, if I get really lucky. Full of meaning. Those are the days when I am happy and so is the world. People look at me, smile and wave, hug and kiss. I do my best at being; I keep looking into the mirror and forget how to walk away.

What scares me though is the feeling that soon enough, the doors away from the mirror will close.

Someone asked me why I am so restless in my sleep and that is solely because my being is in the ocean and water needs to seep and occupy as much space as it can. Thrashing and flailing is the core of me and staying still is difficult. The mirror will darken, the doors away will shut and I will suffocate in bourgeoisie hell. Life is so very hard with its decisions and lack of instructions or tips. Maybe my mindless wavering is turning me blind to life’s hints.

What are you going to do when you have grown up

As taking anything to your grave or into the afterlife isn’t a possibility, I have to ask you this:
What are you leaving behind you, you fucking piece of shit?
Will there be pictures of you in people’s wallets? A story that sells millions because you lived like a ticking bomb? A song that has you in it, on it, singing it, whatever?

Will they frame a more beautiful version of you, name you the prophet and buy your idea of life as a religion?

Will you add to the marketing industry? Will you be a Che who asked for upliftment of the poor and ended up being a style statement for the rich?

Will your illustrious life burn right after you, giving nothing away? Or, would you be a mystery with little holes in what was previously your skeleton closet and now, has translated to your new life?

Will you be in a room, piled and devoured with the last embarrassment your sphincter will ever cause you?

Or will they find you scribbled on your walls? Will you leave behind you a trail of faces that emote and learned to love you, like only kin can? Will you have someone to call your own?

Will you be a posthumous superstar? Will you burn till you live and leave marks – wanton, beautiful marks – when you leave? Will you have a presence that is too strong to erase?

You don’t understand, I have to do this. Outside of words my life is amount to exactly Rs 12,487 (a little less that American $360). I am an OK person with occasional bouts of rage and a day or two of depression in a month. Outside of words, I am a black suit, grey tie. Inside here, I am everything I want to be. This is what I have to leave behind.