Aches

The Roman emperor sends his troops across the boundaries.
The white emblems melt and flow onto the embracing streams.
And she goes to educate herself in the cool breezes.
I, fucked up, sit here with clenched wrists, hairs lost.

The Apeman Vice

I once read that the only philosophical question that matters, is whether or not to commit suicide... I guess that makes me a philosopher. You can say it was my inheritance. Somehow, I think my problems are bigger than yours. Although my teeth are sharp, belly full, the heart is empty.

I try to slow my heart down and breathe the fire out of my lungs. They all have me for the fall guy. But as the vehicle comes to a dim thud, and the hand locks itself to the wheel, I wonder.....I wonder if the architect behind all of this was me. Maybe, maybe I had become what they all told me I would, A maniac. I only seek the most lighthearted and momentary digression. The briefest indulgent in automotive pleasure.

The wind rises, electric. She's soft and warm and almost weightless. Her perfume is a sweet promise that brings tears to my eyes. I tell her that everything will be all right. That I'll save her from whatever she's scared of and take her far, far away. I tell her I love her. The silencer makes a whisper of the gunshot. I hold her close until she's gone. I'll never know what she was running from.

Back to the wheel and the low moan of an impending vacation. I'd like two words on my tombstone: what if.

Part of the Plan

You see, words are part of the plan. Disguised in content, guileful in intentions. The plan eludes grasp, even to the one who apparently weaves it. People are made to conceive what they don't actually see, spinning images of color. In hindsight, why ?

Shouldn't one just move onto IPL and put some words about the brawl here. Atleast, years on, I'll get to know world had some place inside my head. But hey! that doesn't sell here. But Elsewhere, it makes billions. The only thing that seems to dilute a few of those pupils are sexual fantasies, frustrations and a few uninhibited sentences. But the bigger plan is an enigma. The purpose of the bigger plan is to elevate and transform into a middle-aged prodigy. But the time seems to be not so much amused by it. Smeagol inside the head points out roads and taverns where jewels hide but we all know how much of a fucking bastard Smeagol is.

Yes, Shashi Tharoor is an asshole. We all know that. Except for a lucid language pouring from his mouth, I never put that head of his in high regard. Thats why it rolled. Shashi remains shashi. If you already didn't know, "for each section in Section IV, you will be awarded 2 marks for each row in which you have darkened the bubble(s) corresponding to the correct answer".

The biggest hurdle the big plan faces is to keep everyone informed about the world from my perspective. And perspectives tweak, burn and die. At the moment, the world from this height seems to be an odd place to be in. Would prefer some place more civilised, where group sex and more perversive sexual intentions would be greeted upon, cheered and chanted for. Where men speak minds, more than words. Where men would bring down the Universities and turn their attention to more deserving topics; Love, sex aur Dhokha. Where each of us are proud leaders of our lives, licking and biting our way to pleasurable lives.
Alas! it is not to be. Me here, writing this bears testament to it. A complicated political movement has wrung upon my neck, tying the voice down. Public display of fantasies will trigger unpleasant phone calls, which otherwise will anyhow.

The truth you all should remember is that this is all part of the plan.

Alternate Lives/ Blah

The chill whisper pours out white clouds. Hugging each other tight, we gaze across the stark blindness. Spread across the dark vacant spaces are snow-tipped mountains, invisible in the villainy of the night. Yet, in our imagination, we can envisage their grandeur.

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Walking with a carton of intoxicants tucked under the arm, I make way through fumes of the colour-filled night. Already fused with unknown hues, the head spins across the glistening pavements. Loss is an epiphany of death. Fuck you bastards, you want a taste of this ? Inadequate control over the white moon above. Wait till y'all see these screeching bats. Then yaw'll know what I am talking about. Tangled heap in a corner.

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

Up amongst the white puffs, we glide. For eternity and a second. Till their eyes droop and both of them set off on their own sweet little adventures. The lamp dimmed, feet skim the passage. Our bed holds sparks of yesterday's tension. Each for his own. Underneath the blankets, a little wayward thought brings me to memories of yesteryear dreams. A life I once touched, now remains solely as the object of my imagination.

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The mouse squeaks. Red blooded eyes behold glares of the opponents. Swift glides, clicks, screams, euphoria, high fives. Frags at WCG. Life.

Loot

A scream rose inside
Loud, thick, strong it cried
It sizzled, coursed through every vein
Yesterday stood so tall
Today had a fall
Now to meet my own gaze is pain
All things I lay eyes on
turn to soot.
My heart is ashes,
I crash and burn.

Updating life

O
A
A
A
Pointer rests itself peacefully on the head. We don't waste much time to click and rake in the fortunes of a death. Something swells inside and a smile surfaces. Alibi has scored one more frag. Eye remains fixed on the landscape and 'What-ho!', the screen fades to black. Settling back on my chair, I look across to see our guys quite snob. A sheepish grin surfaces and we put the past behind. Beast is our lone hope. But his gaze traverses some distant plains and then he looks at us, stiff upper lip. Barber and I set off to execute our crazy little whims. Yet, our screens keep fading to black . And, we get raped.
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Dil sa koi kameena nahi. I rack my brains to figure out a problem that I had solved 354 days before. Aunty must be hearing our conversation. Reputation is at stake. Behind me is a beautiful human female specimen whom I intend to keep at my home. Lot of politics are involved in the process of transferring the individual from its current whereabouts to my habitat. And its always good to have lots of people on your side. But aunty seems aloof. I search her face for some topic that might cause a grin to surface. But I decide against opening my mouth. Instead, I use it to envelope pakodas.
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We are ferried out to some desert. Deagle runs along his hands. I find it extremely difficult to fix my gaze on him. They are yelling at me to get it done. I make for the double-doors, but the feet digs into the burning stretches of gold. The loser I am, I secretly know I will never make it. Her cleavage greets me as I fall headlong onto the sands. Warm and inviting, I take refuge in her bosom.

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Worried. Frequent glances at the watch do nothing but dampen my mood further. Treading through uncharted waters of despondency, I turn my gaze onto the darned textbook. Afraid of lifting up my face and be preyed on by professors, I try to think of something that would cheer me up. Smooth legs, Smooches ........ Aargh! I am running short of attendance. And I am off to squibble some calculations.

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Right now, I am hungry. 12: 50 AM. The 82nd Academy Awards runs on the television. And I see Sandra Bullock addressing the gathering. Thinking about setting off to Bro's Academy tomorrow. But pulled back by a lackluster commitment to the Chem professor. We all know who's gonna win. Yeah, I'm off.

Dil toh Bachcha hai re

The third guy does not come to join me in the wake of this dawn. Pink. Age skis through a white turf. Sulking in self, help me. The world is oblivious, the sentences are short and perspective skewed. Friday, 5 March 2010, 2:49 AM. Magic from the crystal heavens pour down onto my hands. Greedily I set out to weave an outlook not marred by self. In itself, a Contradiction. Fool's Paradise.

At the moment

Fraudulent
Lazy
A little tired
A little excited
Dirty
Shameless
Frustrated
Inferior
Confused
Jealous
Despondent
Blank

Dev B

Those hands pluck the violent guitar strings. And I, black, drunk, swerve my hips in rhythm to the beats. Heads roll on the floor, blood dips in and dies and dips in. I want to hear that fucking pound, the noise of my existence. Beat it out of me, hit me with your wards. Feet gulps in air, takes the burn on crashing. Take the cash, give me pain. Ether.

Memories that aren't mine fuse into the greyholes. Words that don't exist make way into the spellbooks. Hands sway amidst the pollution. Once, those pair of eyes lured my being. Tonight, Gandhi comes to the rescue. Drooping nipples cry in fervor, devoid of soft pressure. Hunger repressed, satisfied. Dilated, elated. Vision is interrupted and flickering. Too much air. Hands clutch onto them, eat it fool! Grasp more. Stop gasping and bite.
I can see the skies.
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I see the cursor playing back and forth, left and right. Rapid glances at the clock renders my heart weak. Still flogged by queries, the being limps on.
Colors fuse into cerebrum, churn out some familiar pulses. The beats continue to be optimistic.