Incoherence cafe

Without adornment, the self would never allow itself to surface. Locked away, floating on some unknown realm, it ceases to respond to my enquiry. But the physical embodiment was dragged across known turfs, lingering on damp lamped domes, awaiting motion on silver screens.


***************************************

A panting dog lies in despair. The blue dawn embraces me with a chill, the crimson fumes fall on its skin. It fixes its gaze on me, craving for a sympathy. My gaze flutters on his texture and indifferently puts away. It gets up and barks. Twice. My breath becomes heavy.


***************************************

Red skies.
Each flash is a startling sign that fate has finally found me. Voices are all that I hear.
The clothes go off. In embraces.Pulses rise, Salts trickle, life surges onto the slit.
Truths, all versions, contradict amongst themselves. It doesnt even travel the first metre. Limped, bruised, Truth buries her face in agony.
The Beat has regained blood for thought. The verve is new, shrouding the fallen stinks, aroma of a new realm fuse into the red fluid.
Letters dance topless. Unaroused, yet out of habit, they are let in. Back and forth, the play goes on. The dilated pupils hold broken stories of lust and deceit.

The world is quite round. If you look at it from one end, you can see it coming up from the other end. Its so unwavering in its roundness.
Sitting in a cloudy room, with rain drizzling a few feet from where I sit, I feel soulless. Looking beyond the window bars, I see a few drenched leaves get tickled. I see them but I don't feel them. My mind has become an opportunistic machine that always tries to splash vivid colours across other people's eyes. But I've become colourblind.
And when I drown myself in this sea of misfortune, I laugh sometimes. Mostly, I laugh at myself, and sometimes, for no particular reason.

I being I

Its like I am walking through this mist. I never knew when it came into existence. I don't even realise that it thickens with my every advancing step. But I can feel it. I feel it when I hear a prolonged silence from the other end of the receiver. I feel it when I look onto the monitor and try to distinguish between what is mine and what isn't. I have discovered what one turns to at the fag end of a boring period in life, you start to do nothing and blame the system. Systems are always going to be corrupted, fag. Whenever I don't reach where I intend to I teach myself to look away and point at other things and say " Ah! this is what I've always wanted". I wouldn't even dream of going near my dreams.
Well, the only thing that I can do is make a fuss about it and ask a few people to really tell you, with as much conviction as possible, that you are a great guy and you are going to reach somewhere. Ah! only if I were interested in someone else other than me.
I came across this saying by Fidel Castro "Everyday, when you don't come across any problems - you can be sure that you are travelling in the wrong path". If so, then I would be the guy zeroed in on that specified right path. Its such a bore to 'study'. It wouldn't be so boring to learn something. But its like, its not my responsibility to learn. Its like I am wagging my finger at the world saying ' You are missing a big oppurtunity here, guys, by not turning me into the right path".
What do you want to do with life ? Well, as of now, I would be pretty happy with a high speed net connection. You see, it buffers when I load a porn video. Then I would like to play cricket and football. Then, I would like to see a lot of movies. A lot of movies. Movies that I can lose myself in. I would like to fuck my girl. I would like to cuddle around her in an air-conditioned room with a Bravia running FRIENDS on it. Preferably season 2. I would like to be adored for the beauty in my inhalation and exhalation, the art of it. You see, I should be at the centre of the world, wanking away gleefully, waving to everybody with my feet.
But unfortunately, I am stuck up with a poor net connection, a bad stomach and a virus inhabited laptop. Moreover, I have to go to college! How worse can it get? Guys, if you are out there and have your eyes open, do take pity on me and send me money. Every month. I will keep posting about my ineptitude in doing whatever I want to. Only that I really don't want to.
Yes, you are right now witnessing the last moments in the day of an individual who realises that staying an individual never fetches you money for the rest of your life but never actually gets that onto his head. Good night and I really don't wanna leave this. Please, do ring me if you think that my writing is worth shit and would advice me to shut the fuck up and go to sleep. My number is 9567265863,

In a farce

A few doubts

4 inches from me lies 6 kilometres. Will I teleport ?
A tarred road or the muddy one ?
Eat or dump ?
Face or masks ?
Questions or answers ?

Being and Living

The words are too coagulated. Sometimes they just donot make any sense. Thoughts seem so numb that I fear they can never be expressed. Ignorance so blunt that I try to shield myself from the world. Yet, life goes on. With every advancing day I am convinced that I am the biggest loser around. I make excuses for my own sake. Admission is surrendering.
Most of the times, I get enveloped by my own self, unable to break free from the cycle of guilt and crimes. Rest of the time, I comprehend about myself, where I would reach, what I have done, what I could have done.
Yes, I do break free sometimes. Mostly when I am hanging out in the city with my pals. That is the time that keeps me alive. And our phonecalls, they have got reduced to fighting spaces. But I believe that, that fight keeps my being from falling apart.
Knowledge is needed. I would have been absolutely happy if someone could inject fatloads into me. Being is what I do on weekdays. Living is what I do on weekends.

Waaaanky waaankyyy

Aaawww well, you know what happens at this point of the night ? You wish the whole world would look at you and marvel at the wonder the creator has produced. You see, I often like to swell up under the idea that the whole world with its people live somewhere else and I am shipped off alone, traversing some novel fantasy. But the truth is, infact, that the world has found equally interesting people to have conversations with and I do not fit into the picture. Yes, I am a moron. But that doesn't mean that the world is in scarce of the kind.
And I am deeply sorry, dear. I really want to speak to you. But what happens when channels like Rosebowl put movies like the ones they put on tonight is that you tend to think that this is a once-in-a-lifetime movie, which is why they have termed the series '101 movies to see before you die'. And I am on 'Fuck'-Rehabilitation exercise in which I try to restrain myself from using the word Fuck twice in a sentence.
Time's been pretty good. Sometimes I get the feeling I am high on cocaine. But I have reasoned out that these are times I feel sleepy, probably around this time in the night. Shes quite nice. But quite unreasonable. A tag too sensitive. And asleep.
And this is a very bad forum. Either you have to be half-consious or you have to be completely frank. Or else, you should try being a Shakespeore or Milton. Incase, you couldn't achieve any of this, you should be the new kid on the block - Meenakshy Reddy Madhavan. Be sure to take a Viagra, though.
You see, I get up tomorrow morning. I lay awake. And then, I look at the clock and decide if my bowels are ready. Then I fuss around about a bad stomach, eat fatloads, cum somewhere, play DOTA, call her up and fight, be in a sour mood, go out, savour the city, come back, put on the TV, tell her that I can't abnegate a good movie, be satisfied in using a word that I've been long longing to use, go to sleep, get up, read some stuff, go to college . . . . . . . . . . Fuck her . . . . . . . . Die.
Its boring to be a monk. But its really irritating not to have something that you want. Especially, when you can't even control yourself. But I would like to play DOTA tomorrow, though it doesn't mean much. Its pretty depressing that the things you can do don't please you as much. I have a GoGear which gets lost every other week. The only good thing it does to me is to liften my spirits up on rediscovering it. I intend to use it when I have it. I want to use it when I don't have it.
Aah, I guess I should go off to sleep. As they say, Life's a Bitch! hihi.... Amores Perros

You see, I am feeling quite sleepy. Yet I am unable to sleep. There are lots of images that flash across this windscreen. Mostly, it would consist of scampily clad women. Thats what worries me the most too.
Bring down the stars. I am a little gloomy here. Where is the supernatural ? the sex ? the hartal ? I cant even manage to get across 5 minutes without uttering 'Fuck!' as many times. I mean, who is happy ? I guess, I come here when I have nothing else to do and end up thinking the same thing over and over again. There is this constant fear of being judged. This weight is pretty hard. I can't just seem to escape.
Fuck

These days

Questions and Answers lay orphaned on the floors.
Metabolism wires upto tell that it indeed is something to be taken care of.
The nipple says 'Suck me'.
The retards keep talking in English.
The inability to make an unwarranted entry strikes me quite hard.
Papers, unsorted, lay clipped as a book. They call me out to solve the mysteries inside.
Condoms seem quite lonely lying against dark boxes in closed shops.
The museum grasses are green.
Silicon Valley people suck big time.
Hot air finds ways to get inside rooms, inspite of three established fans.
Kaminey gets released on 14th.
Venge likes me more than Drow

What if I don't want to know ?

What would I do ?

Eat up money and time,

See a lot of tyndall effect

in crowded, dark halls.

Wait for the buffering to end,

Wait for Drow to frost,

Wait to feel the legs,

fill my tummy with stolen prizes,

laugh at others,

woo aunties in malls,

mock the retarded,

see myself in the mirror,

and shout at the one behind.

No no no no
no no no no
no no no no ]no\
no no no on \
no no no no no\
yes yes yess yess
shit!
fuck!
aaawww

Incomplete

I sit atop a white page. Legs against my shoulder, looking over at the other empty pages, enjoying the beauty of their blankness. Their future has promise, infinite probabilities.They might create wonder among mankind, stir revolutions, evoke pain, insight thoughts and criticisms. But this empty page doesn't hold that privilege. It is to be inked in, losing its virginity forever. All the dreams that I had about this page disappears the moment I appear before it. Yet I feel obliged somehow to keep my promise.
A while has passed since I have started sitting and looking at things. I have been seeing people gleefully passing me by, telling me sweet nothings. I have laughed along.
In my dreams, the pages are full of colour, all of them splashed into one single, enlarged whiteness. I feel the warmth of those hues against my body all the time. But yet when I come back onto earth, I find it singularly barren. I splash a few around but they never seem to fill it up.

In the distance the mirage stands out like horses and cattle.
Whilst a few paces of dirty writing will have to stick out now
Between the snatched lines of previous snatches

Constipated in thoughts, words, emotions and metabolism
Relying on the ever-present wealth of man's creativity
to relay my self-effacing superiority

The snatch has dissolved
And I run to the edge of the room
in hope of seeing me sitting here
So that the words may indeed evolve

The first wave

Here I come in one whole piece,
To find myself and catch the tide,
looking for a piece that I can add.

Horizons have been both bleak and bright
Now I want to set it alight
As sunset fires a lovely flame across the skies.

88

Yes, I am 88.
Reduced into numerical figures, that's what I would resemble. It is also the number that a few people sitting on humid rooms thought I would acquire on whittling away certain questions. But this figure is as useless to me as everything else around me.

Yes, not everyone has this luxury. And some are better disposed. But it quite doesn't add up that way. All that matters is who gets striked-out and who, the home-run.

Ruthlessly put in the midst of a competition that I had no intention of taking part. Now, I am vying for a spot in it though I don't quite know what it would make me. Liberty has become a privilege that I no longer possess.

Pitcher

There is this picture that hangs on the wall,
way off from the literal wall,
and The Wall,
and the Street
and the magazine that got named after it.

The picture torments the host,
who himself is the known Tyrant of Seven Arse
The Pest Picture grows on him
And he is not happy, the young bastard.

He tries tearing the wall apart,
but finds himself inadept

Fuck off, you little weed

Blah Blah and Lah Lah

Now why would I do this ? Yes, you are right on the money, mate. Coz I don't have anything else to do. :P . You know, most blokes have pretty good imagination. Atleast, enough to earn them a living out of it. Ecology - 20, English - 30, Current Affairs- 30. Hows that for distribution of marks ? Yeah, its not something to have an eyebrow raised. But well, people usually prefer or are accustomed to hearing Maths - 120, Physics + Chemistry - 120.
Its quite hot here. Especially if you have a dirty pair of legs and a sweaty shirt. And I am bored of IPL. Dada, well, let him have his retirement. Anyway, fuck off you people.

Sometimes I just dream. I try to make them more convincing each time. Infact, thats all I do.

The hand held camera walks back. The video ripples up and down. It shows a shadowed face walking by the gleam of the standing streetlight. The video captures his torso, bulgy stomach, protruding hairy chests. His breaths are heavy. A look behind and turns to the lane on the left.

Five minutes later, he runs. Half embarassed, half remorseful. Camera runs behind. Sees the neighbours waving goodbye to their guests. Suddenly feels a spasm of self-consciousness. Opens the gate in haste. Sees his mother slowly advancing but stopping abrutly at his sight. Wide angle shot. He closes the gate and wonders why the hell did a stranger on the motorcycle make him change his mind.

The hue is grey. The verandah light illuminates him when hes on the threshold of opening the door. Video turns dark as he enters the living room, waits till his mother is inside and bangs shut.

CUT

Incoherent Mumbles

Bite the lip, curse this world
Sometimes it gleams with hope
Other times,it presents honey-voiced assurances
Mostly, it never cares.

Hugging your world tight, with kisses all over its face
Sometimes tearfully, sometimes lustfully.
We all wonder, whats so much for him to worry about ?
Just shut up, will you ?

We all end up the same.
A few less fights, a few more crimes
never add up.
What is this ramble inside ?
Why is this rogue-eyed confession ?
SCREAM.

I want you.
Isn't it plain enough ?
The eyes never meet, ways vapourise
Moments wait anxiously but they soon cease to exist
I want to smell, to feel, to touch
to reel under the ecstasy of the perfume.
No, I have already seen the moon and the stars
There aren't many wonders left.
Why can't this be prized out too ?
Why do you have to remind me of traditions.
Please, I am somebody you do know.
Give me a second look.
A moment's hope.
Don't just walk away, into the crowd.
I can't yell for I am a coward.
But can't you just look back,
Atleast for once.

No NO NOT AGAIN!

I didn't look back. The crowd walked by without as much as giving me a glance. My life is only this much, atleast, this year. The dust flew amongst the evening rays.

Now I am dreaming. I know that this is a dream.
A cinema ticket for two. Me and my brother are supposed to go for it. The show is at five-thirty in the morning. The time is past midnight. I am watching TV with my mother. Her hands are put across my shoulder. Time to time she ruffles my hair lovingly. I hear the drops thud against the tarpaulin of the car porch. I stretch across to see the illuminated ones fall down through the lamp's effuse. There he comes. Mother opens the door. I wait patiently for him to give a nod to the theatre. But as I half-expect he is in a sour mood. Dejected, I walk through the streets. Its not raining anymore. The streetlights gleam amongst the pools. Kiran comes along and tells me he is going. I ask him to go on and not wait for me. Now I am with her. In an autorickshaw, with a highly irritable driver. I ask her if she could accompany me. The reply is a muted one.

Anand runs across the field relentlessly. He is giving it all. He might not be able to keep the possession for long but he makes sure that the counterpart can't too. On the other wing plays a lanky boy. But where's Go-? The ball is netted again. The heads sink further. Now he sees me on the bench sticking out a torn shoe.

Atop a pile of broken academic dreams, I sit again, denying my own defeat. Acceptance finally sees light. Frustrations creep onto my thoughts, they turn -