Signs of Stagnation

The first step to stagnation: You smell.
Secondly, you have small flies hovering around you buzzing their tiny wings and asking for a molecule from the nurtured maggots on your body.

Tragic Endings:

Does an impending death make you detached from the jurisdiction of a community? Or do you create a community of your own – of people who have known death? I have never known what death means. I guess it is traumatic. I have never lost somebody I have been emotionally attached to. I have never been in a near fatal situation. Then I learn about people and their brush with death. People, whose fathers died as they were growing up, friends who in the past have been paralyzed – almost dead, friends’ family living on life saving drugs – blood thinners, insulin.

And then there is another bunch - the thin string of attachment to their self is what delivers them from the embarrassment of choice. But the irony is to be taken lightly after being ‘almost dead’ as is the case with most attempted suicides. Yeah, the tag of ‘attempted’ is shit. I have known people who have faced near deaths, but did not inherit the enduring sadness and tragedy. What a wasted death experience.

It is somewhat discomforting don’t you think so – to have never cradled on death. Not avant-garde, enough. Whenever I have had a stomach ache from the spice adventure I would indulge in, I’d pray – it better not be a few pebbles at the bottom of my appendix. If it is something, it better be lethal. I mean, sexily lethal. By sexy I mean, tragic. I mean who would want to die with a bull horn inside his ass?

I was also wondering what a partition would do after all to a human psyche. Oh! Did I change the topic? Yes, I thought the last sentence of the ‘dead’ paragraph was killer. Funny yet bitter. I can’t stop laughing. It is like Homer Simpson on medical marijuana!

Promiscuous Amy

The idea is not casual sex with people but with identities.

Amy - one, amidst the zillion nick names I happened to gather like muck sticking to a wet tennis ball bounced countless times on a badly maintained clay court.

As I listen to Back to Black by Amy Winehouse, I resettle the idea of being Amy. I like the song.

People should never meet authors and other creative people they admire. It pains to see artificial intelligence, sometimes. My statement has nothing to do with Amy (Winehouse) though.

Do names really have meanings in the greater connotation of galactic existence?

FACE of FACEBOOK

Yes, it is a farewell note to Facebook.

I am trying to recollect broken shells of memories that may haunt me later and coax me to drop my idea of closing my facebook account. I still have one day. Today.

There was a time when I used to love filling up the About me columns. Self obsession? I would say self definition. All were attempts to sketch a personality. It took me a long time to realise that a person grows with and grows in and out of things. If Tarantino and Teri Gilliams excite me more than Truffaut, than it is no less than fine. All I needed to understand was that all of them are film makers and that is the constant here. No, wrong, all I had to understand was that it was the 'me' who is constant here. And that is me.

They say that it is a piscean trait. Escapism. Farmville helped me become an expert in that. It is time I quit and face.

I have not made any new friends through facebook. There have been unknown friends requests and at times I have accepted them. I have had no interaction with anyone of them at a personal level. There has been only one person whose facebook presence delighted me...not anymore. Too much traceability spoils the excitement of destiny and coincidence. There are few people with whom I reunited. Gautam for instance...and his maturity as a person has made me so happy that it is not funny.

My closest friends are most of the times lost in their own worlds. They are on facebook but either not savvy or too busy travelling in the most interior parts of the fuckin world. The point is I say in touch with them, no, I stand corrected. It is rather they who bear with my rude behaviour and remain in touch nevertheless. I treasure them and Facebook plays no role in that.

Till such time there was a professional demand, the social networking helped. I have managed to come out of that obnoxious cycle of professional networking with the blessings of destiny and with a minimised salary, but I feel at the top of the world!

I used to use My Read, because I wanted to see what people are reading, and take clues in choosing contemporary books at least. Mary was one of my favourites in this case. She is updated with books and I have hardly ever had a disappointment while choosing a book to read from her shelf.

At some remote point in time, it used to excite me to see people's comments on my photographs. Now I am not doing enough of it. Not the way I'd like to. The Birds! Certain surroundings are depressing in terms of presence of natural life.

Facebook taught me another thing. If you have grown, people around you, organizations around you have grown too. I am back in touch with my first school. The school whose ideas I chose not to choose. Now I realise, it was growing too.

Regret

Ok yes, I do commit occasional crimes. And yes, they are not petty; occasional but not petty. I shouldn't have waited for the ink to dry up.

Cost

The problem is, I am incapacitated to match your artificial intelligence. I have been certified as dumb and demented. The scale of priority measurement clearly proves that my brain has knotted nervous tissues and hence is heavy in bits and pieces. And the treatment comes with a cost.

Red

She plugged her ears with the soft heads of her headphones. Of course the music was on.

What was actually playing? She tried to concentrate on the music that she was hearing. Somehow the music was faded...jumbled up. She really tried hard, but was rather reminded of the game of cards that she was involved in, minutes earlier. She had all the aces. She loved the colour red.

Somebody is waving at her. It seems he is saying something. She can't hear him; only see his gestures as if he is asking something. Nope, she can't figure it out. She is too busy listening to red.

One Love

What makes you think I have been lying dormant? Is a social networking site a testimony of my activeness?

I am sorry I did not mean to insult or hurt you. Actually...well, atually I love you.

Yes of course we all love each other don't we? Afterall we have branched out of the great humanitarian tree of violence!

Now that is sarcastic! A lady is expressing her genuine love for you and all you can think of is commencing a sattire. I am attracted to you in an erotic way.

So we can have sex right away. But you have already categorised it as love. Let us run through the dictionary please.



Pronunciation: \ˈləv\
Function: noun
Etymology: Middle English, from Old English lufu; akin to Old High German luba love, Old English lēof dear, Latin lubēre, libēre to please
Date: before 12th century
1 a (1): strong affection for another arising out of kinship or personal ties (2): attraction based on sexual desire : affection and tenderness felt by lovers (3): affection based on admiration, benevolence, or common interests b: an assurance of love 2: warm attachment, enthusiasm, or devotion 3 a: the object of attachment, devotion, or admiration b (1): a beloved person : darling —often used as a term of endearment (2)British —used as an informal term of address4 a: unselfish loyal and benevolent concern for the good of another: as (1): the fatherly concern of God for humankind (2): brotherly concern for others b: a person's adoration of God 5: a god or personification of love 6: an amorous episode : love affair 7: the sexual embrace : copulation 8: a score of zero (as in tennis)9capitalized Christian Science : god
— at love
: holding one's opponent scoreless in tennis
— in love
: inspired by affection



Hey! Have you, by any chance, mistaken me to be a tennis ball?

Viagra

A sudden rush of adrenalin and vignettes of growing up. Why did he grow up? But wasn't there an innate desire within him to grow up when he was still growing up? But that's natural to all. I mean, there is no psychiatric problem. The gradual transition from a kid to a boy and boy to a man to an old man is daunting him. He is more worried about the fact that he may have to use viagra.

No probably it is over simplification. He is worried that he'd die now. Does viagra signify that? Was it this that he was so worried about using it then? Is it all over? Suddenly there is not enough time.

Suicidal

Don't think twice. Load your gun and just shoot!

The cream inside your brain will not scatter itself to raise people's anxieties and expectations. Neither will it result in upsurge of conscience.

Your life is as futile as mine. Compromising with potential is also harakiri.

Seduction

The underpants were still wet. Yes, he swam in them. Oh and yes, sex too. A little clumsy one under water.
That was her dream to have sex under water. She learned swimming and diving for that for three months, so that she could make the moves smooth and erotic and concentrate less on remaining afloat. She had to learn breathing tactics. The trainer asked to avoid smooching under water.

Three months was good time. She had no strategy about who she would have sex with, but this season, she HAD to do it. Who knows, how long one lives.

He preferred the bed always, but the woman was volumptous. And she was removing her clothes. She was going to the river - under the waterfall. He was not aware of the fact that she was aware of his presence.

Spaces

Just because you learned how to type, you won't be typing whatever you feel like, however bizarre it may be. Why not? I have not used your gigabytes of space for that. Let me be in my space. Do you even realise your space? Your borderlessness may create umpteen confusion for you and for the rest of us. You better decide upon and mark a line with end points touching. We call it area. You can call it your space.

Blizzard

Blizzard.

The chill in the spine.

Blizzard.

Alaxander Pushkin.

Blizzard.

Uptight jaws, clasped hands, cojoined dentures, the still body.

Blizzard.

Ghosts of yesterday. Silent sounds of the stream. Symphony of the wind.

Blizzard.

One death, one marriage and a dream.

A Dead River

I crossed a dead river.
No it did not dry, it is simply dead.
The most grotesque murder that I have ever witnessed. But strangely nobody asked me to testify. I heard there were many more eyewitnesses. A few million to be precise.
They all heard her screams-all day and all night. She would wail when her skin would be peeled off her body. She'd plead for mercy. But the murderers were cold blooded. Their eyes were red in fury and lust.
Oh! Didn't I tell you? She was was brutally raped before being put to sleep. Yes, gang raped.
I don't exactly recall her name, and I don't know if any police record exists.
I overheard a name that kind of started with "Y"
Why?

EMBOSSED

It is painstakingly painful and overwhelmingly overbearing to bring clear clarity to your writings. You must be abominably obnoxious to adjectivise everything that comes your way. But then the temptation of opening the thesaurus is so vehement that all you have to do is right click and scroll to synonyms.

Is life just an overemphasis of what we think it is, or it is really what it is-an overemphasis?
We seem to believe that that additional adjective would ornate the actual content, while there are so many other reasons to believe the other way round. (...TO BE CONTD.)