The Next Level

Yes, it had a catalytic effect on the way I saw things. You know, I am trained to believe anything I want is stupid, unless it goes with my father’s ideologies. One of the downsides of having a father, I suppose.

There were drops of ashen blood falling on the ground as he approached me. The dame by my side was oblivious to his presence, sipping away a Screw Driver, tugging at the leg of a roasted chicken.

His lips curled and smiled a smile. Of knowing. Of knowing something I didn't. One that gave the impression he is a higher-order being.

“Amongst my greatest worries right now is hair fall. Yes, you heard that correct. Hair curled into the teeth of combs, into the bristles of brushes.

Everywhere.

This is like one of those phantom scares.

There’s always a remedy.

Wigs.

I’ll die before I get myself one”

And she dug deep into the chicken.

The lady you are pleasing
is looking hungry and cold
Don't look in her eyes
You'll see what you've sewn.

Memorandum of Understanding

Minnie and Growler have been given away, to Commando Dog House.
Last week Growler had jumped into a neighbor's well. And refused to come out. People gathered around, threw down a log tied at the end of a rope. But he refused to budge. The water was only up to his knee-level, I hear. Eventually they managed to pull him up. And pasted our dogs' temporary caretakers with a compensation fine of 3000 INR. And the dogs' temporary caretakers, located in Kollam, cried out to us, saying they could take it no more; that these weren't normal dogs as they had expected them to be. Hence, they journeyed on our Scorpio back to Trivandum. Now, they can't stay here at our place cause of the wolf-howls.
These used to happen around 1am every night. One of them start off, the other catches on and then they raise their pitch and reach a resonant frequency. This gives my creator sleepless nights. The guy becomes neurotic, tapping our windows in the hope that the dogs will hear the rattle and keep quiet. Little does he know that the creatures are lost;  lost in the creation of a beautiful music perhaps only either of them can appreciate. My other creator, when she loses her patience, gets up, goes down to the kitchen and tries talking some sense onto them. She goes through the good cop-bad cop routine. In the end, she resorts to a more universal language. Throws a bucket of cold water onto them. This seems to quieten them up. It amazes me why the dogs never caught a cold when they were here. Maybe I was too busy with my own.
So, my brother gives them to Commando Dog House. He signs an MoU with the Commando Dog House authorities that says he is never to come back and inquire about them or talk to them henceforth. Frankly, I don't think I'll recognize them among a pack of naadan dogs. He makes a one time payment of 4000INR to them in the hope that they'll be getting Chicken Biriyanis every alternate day. And he leaves the premises, paying off our guilt, letting Commando Dog House do the dirty work for us.    

Une Femme Fatale

There is an eligible dame. The right frame, the right posture and flipping the pages of the right book. She stands by the shelf to my right. I hold my book higher hoping she’d catch a glimpse of what I’m reading and come down and talk to me and go out for a coffee, fall in love with me and call me in the night in a hushed, moist voice to tell me she feels thirsty whenever she is horny and I’ll get to fuck her afterwards.

But sadly enough, she has a deep, manly voice.

The second wave

To you, the one in strife; lost
in the deeds of the past; lost
in the deeds of the past; lost
in the deeds of the past.......

Keep fighting
Keep fighting lest we die.
Everything is futile.
Nothing is futile.
Accept the duality.  

The Sound of Poo(p)

I am able to secure the latch just in time and seat my rear on the seat. Not that not securing would matter much, I am in my house and there is nobody around. Anyway, let’s give it a few moments before I start telling you about the whole thing.

One.

When people talk about the future, they usually talk about apocalypse. And chaos. And wars. The game I finished playing recently had its premise in that in the future there will only be private military corporations (PMCs, as they have it), where each private company/entity will have their own trained armed personnel…..

Two.

….And these armies will wage war against each other. Countries are no longer relevant it seems. They will break down as people start alienating (repercussion of technological advancement I guess). Alienation brings apathy, which brings an absence of fraternity. This breaks down that very glue that holds them together….. 

Three.

…..But what if? What if in the future, there is nothing. There is no fighting, no war, no chaos. What if people get too bored to do all that. It's too petty and time consuming, they'll reason. Unwanted physical torture, they'll say. Perhaps it will all be played out in the head. Everything becomes minimalist. Conversations, Speeches and the sort. People might exchange words, at the most threatening words. There will be that undercurrent of threat in these exchanges. But nobody does anything. Dormancy. Until there comes a point when someone snaps….

Thud.Or Splash.

I don’t know how to describe the sound of Poop. Least of my worries, though. Now, to the matter I wanted to tell you--                                                                      

Sex

is 3-D interactive porn with sensors installed.

Geekdom.
Martyrdom.

Deep Water Sea Diving

You give up something for something

for some its worth it, for some its not

some know it right away, some take the plunge

and validate their knowledge 

or rue.

10/10

If bodybuilding were about building shapes, I shall be up there.
One regular semi-circle coming through

180 mL

I had 180 mL
waiting.
I used it on a show.
All that is left is the title;
To be inked
and forgotten.

Harukimaru

SB: Every word is like an unnecessary stain on silence and nothingness.

HM: Then again, he said it. 

The Story of Today

I almost got ready
to come down.
Then slept
and woke
and decided not to.

Cat's Chessboard Day

Yesterday’s Beige King is today’s Bishop
Comes Queen-hunting nevertheless
The fat pawn goes shopping
Leaving the Queen exposed. 
Attack he did. 
I’m here to pick up the pieces. 
Play again?

Cat's Chessboard View

Existential crisis for the pawn.  
The Black King has a play all of his own. 
The Beige King goes Queen-hunting. 
She shrewdly keeps the pawn at her side. 
There is a White King onboard. 
Wrong Chessboard.

Quest

You might physically reach the intended destination. But the story isn't same anymore.

Generation Gap

A very convenient way to say I refuse to think of things the way you do. 

The Dark Night

It rose above,
Higher than we could ever imagine.
That's when you realize
You are Batman.

The Consoling

It's a place in the head that's no more.
To be filled in with something more sinister,
So says The pessimist,
Until you lose all that you cherish
And become a zombie
And look back, nod and move on
numb.

Tonight's Resolution

Go abroad.
Marry a broad.
And pose for a pic
With shoulders broad.

_

Start.

Don't stop.

Don't back off.

Don't take a breather.

Take a breather

and they'll pin you down and eat your head off.

A Potbellied Cat

A place in the head

Where everything's full

And you don't seemingly find to want anything more.
That's when I go seek out shit.

Transit Zone Fusing

One of these mornings, you’ll wake up bereaved.
And weightless.

And encounter one of those rare moments in Journey;

A shared silence. 

The Weight of Snow

With those clumsy little feet and hands, he manages to grab hold and shove it down a black leather bag. He likes the weight of Snow. It elevates him; gives him a glimpse of someone he hopes to see in his mirror.

The Grr is upon him; in the form of unanswered queries, conflicting excuses and uncertainties, and decaying people.

It is this force that pushes the straps of the black leather bag onto his shoulders and makes him walk out onto the tearing-down Sun with a cold defiance.

The Zoo Noon

Its always hot.

And you look through cages

disinterested

feigning interest at the slightest Purr a tiger makes

because you are one of them

you don't want them to know.

The fear.

Breaking Fad

We’ve all been there; transfixed by the glare of a screen, hungering for response.

In Transit / Indian Railways

This platform is loaded with people traversing between realities.

Here is where worlds converge, fornicate and give birth to ugly and beautiful offsprings.

S/M Adventure

Once upon a time, you existed. As a tangible being.

Intoxicated me with your silk; weaving me onto your cocoon.

I curled up cozily on that sweet bosom of yours; or spent nights dreaming.

And we bit each other off.

The end ?

The Fee Faw Movement

So it was said that the first anyone saw of him was on a dark, windy night. He wore a thin vest, a khaki lungi and a green chappal, they tell me. The moon rose above, crested and exuded a magical brilliance that you normally associate with fairy tales. The tufts of smoke we exhaled gave us this vision of a green, slender martian manhunter instead of another normal retard. 

On seeing him advancing towards us, somebody cried out ‘Fuck! We are screwed!’ and started breathing fast. His breaths kept picking up tempo as the manhunter kept coming towards us. My hands started waving frantically at him. You know, the We're-Not-stoned-Just-another-regular-bunch-of-guys-exhaling-smoke deal. After a moment or so, I realised I was no longer in control of my hands. It kept waving. No shit. No amount of concentration or thought could provoke my hands to stop the deed and retreat to its den. A being all on its own, consuming the food I eat, the drink I drink. Thankless. I still remember tears rolling down my cheeks; not sure which it was for; the impending death at the hands of a green monster or the hand coming off my shoulders.

At this point of time, I stop his narration and ask for a pee-break. As I walk down the corridor I’ve gotten used to in the space of a month, I start noticing things. Speckles on walls; brown, soaked rust; wings of insects who lost their lives trying to reach the light; voices – clear and muffled, petty and focused; faces that grin and wave, gauging the sobriety . I clutch a pillar and slowly recede to the dark recess of the brain.

I

Money - Good food.

People - Time and place. Mostly.

The Plan - Never-ending stream of activity focused at achieving an impossible goal.

Now - Belch

Dope Hope

Nights are grenades,
Wishes are folklores,
My ass is full of weed and;
I need someone to claw beneath.

A Monochrome Dragon

In a dim-lit alley, waiting for a piece of flesh. That overpowering greed drove him all the way here; that insatiable hunger for crimson skins, moist breaths and sport. Away from his palace of stacked-away typewriters and buzzing bees. His cigarette fumes breathe in the crisp night air and vanish. His heart beats ever so slow, each dull thud is a painful reminder of his desperation. Shrugs those petite, unkempt wings.

The prey, white by light, glides wistfully through the poisonous mists. Her eyes, lifeless, gaze at his shallow heart.

Doomed are we who set sight on the magnificient, doomed are we whose hearts yearn for a better tomorrow. The eddy pools stir and crackle upon his weight. His eyes glow bright in the dark and the face contorts. With each advancing step, he is reminded of the path that brought him here; the four days of isolation, years of conforming; and a moment's madness. The empathy he once placed for the beings around him is replaced by that never-quenching thirst for consumption.

The uneasy sense of calm is broken by the flipping of a coin. She waits for it to land safely on her pouch. The food is here.

People Places Animals Things

What is it that anybody has to say?

Tales of misfortunes or triumphs?

Rogue dreams?

Plights, sounds and sights ?

Or musings ?