Let's See. Sandwich?

I woke up early today. Sipped my Glucon-D. Over. Lying down is a pain. Not a backache. Neck sprain? Nope. Arse mole, eh? Probably. No, not really. The time has come to pull my act together. Lying up? Pun. I was wondering if I'm trying to make sense of life. Having said that, I think I need to take a leak. Back to business. The regularity of naturality. Ooh. I write to liberate myself (from?) , structure my thoughts (why?) , and try to understand why I exist ( oh really?) . It all boils down to desire (of? for?). Emancipation of the soul (pseudo-intellectual?). Every moment, every miserable moment ( I mope? I whine? I, pessimist) I think I deluded myself the previous moment. The vagaries of memory. But, it's not just that, is it? Ranting is a pain. I am a pain. Arse mole. Prick. Swell. Prick. Pop? I wish.  

Actually, if I think hard enough, I might classify myself as an adventurer. Not the usual adventurous sort, sadly. In a more profound sense. Very good. Very deep. No fluids? Sorry, I'm not allowing anyone to jump. Crack head? Sure. There's a bottle of water staring back at me. I can look through you. Through your guts, into the other side. Continuum of space. In beginning lies the end. Vice versa? Don't dare. I don't waste time. I waste water. I waste electricity. I should not. O Conscience My Conscience. Pull my scrotum free. Don't you get it? Desire. It all has to do with desire. From the mid-torso? No, not that, not always that. Biologically, a large part of it. Filthy. Of the lowest, most ruthless primal kind. Involves back-biting and vertigo. Spin, spin, reel, crawl.  Fall? If you squeal. 

Speed burst. Sometimes, I feel I'm beyond how I express myself. That I'm not doing half-justice to the profound expanse that I am. Delusion? Oh, come on now. Words constitute the biggest limitation to my heartfelt enterprise. My weakness (my strength?). Words to express, but not enough, never enough. Or probably, I don't know enough techniques. Invisible, covert brushstrokes to spice up my canvas. Knowledge? Depends on what I'm trying to say. Why? Simple logic. Study, imbibe, build and then, express. My voice is gestating. Let's give it some time. And space. Impatience can only result in a deadly miscarriage. Slow, slow. 

Ideas > people? If I separate the idea from the person, does it not render the person dispassionate, dull and utterly inhuman? But if I have to understand the idea, is separation not only important, but necessary? I'm too naive. I can only ask questions. Curiosity of the innocent. 

I don't quite see the end. Not in my short-term future world. Thank you. 

No Change, Please

Man :  

I believe you.

I believe that the tea you made

Scalded my tongue. 

Woman :  

If cynicism is such a beautiful 

Game, wouldn't you be better off

Writing songs for the New World

Order? Don't believe me. 

I am inconspicuous, fleeting, hazy;

Unbelievably so.  

Man : 

It is beneath your dignity

To understand that monsters 

Don't breed in dark closets, but inside 

Unlocked rooms, hiding the face under

A mask, while concocting vile bitter

Words to hurt a few harmless sentiments.  

Woman : 

A reversal of roles? Oh, don't tell

Me, don't pretend to be goodytwoshoes

When you very well know 

The monster is you. 

And if I may add, a fat

One too. 

Man : 

Seriously, don't you have a heart,

Or worse, sense? I come back, dusty

Weary, with a heavy heart, unhappy, cold

Since the belief of your existence

Seems like a burdensome truth more

Often than not. 

Woman : 

What compels you to return? Hah,

Poor man, escape to gutters of

Joy, deserts of pleasure, don't let me

Add to your misery. Oh, poor man, go

Away and comfort yourself, who's telling

You to stay, to play this terrible game? 

Go away, poor man, before darkness creeps

Over day. 

Man : 

You incorrigible hag. Sorry, I did not

Mean to abuse, but if you may excuse me,

I intend to read the newspaper now, pass

A couple of toasts when it's ready. 

Okay? 

Woman : 

Back to your old ways, eh? 

[ Phone rings. Man gets up and receives the call. ] 

Man : 

Hello. 

Phone :

Zzz..redemption call..zzz..purgatory..zzz.  

Man : 

Purgatory? Sorry, but there

Is no escape from this hell. 

[ Man puts receiver down. ] 

Woman : 

If I am not mistaken, your

Sense of humour has taken 

A dive for the worse? How oddly 

I resist. Or tell me, have you indulged

Your humble soul in some ungracious 

Practical joke? Poor man, I really think

There are better ways to amuse yourself. 

Man : 

I see. I see brown. Toast, please. 

A couple, thank you. 

Woman : 

Wait, maybe this has to end. 

Do you think humiliation slowly corrodes

My ability to express my contempt in ways,

..Ways more physical than you would

Like to imagine? Do you think I shall 

Take it all gracefully, humbly, like a timid

Mouse in a cage, and not give it back

To you. 

Man : 

I do not wish to sound insouciant.

Nor do I think your rage deserves

My reaction or admonition, but seriously

Your tea is getting cold.   

[ Woman takes a step forward, her eyes a pale shade of crimson. ] 

Woman : 

You lousy fool. What do you

Take me for? Am I any different from

The morself of food you devour, or the piece

Of news you peruse? You implacable cynic, 

I have let you speak your un-mind, all too 

Easily, now is the time, now is the time

For redemption. Sadly, you don't exactly

Play a part in it. You clumsy fiend! 

Man : 

How do you spell ' Yawn' ? With

an E? ' Exuberance' starts with E. 

So does 'Emancipation' and 'Effort' and 'Eee'. 

Jokes apart, I think you are sad. You 

know, as I have been telling you, my sentiments

Are far gracious than yours. You refuse to understand

That your burrow is narrow . That you disappoint

Me. So much, that sometimes this man

Wishes to put his face down the sinkhole, 

To let nobody know that he's weeping. 

Weeping tears of bitterness, for having put up

With your stuck-upidity. 

Woman : 

You think you are clever, do you? 

You know you are clever, do you? 

Now let me show you what Stupidity can 

Really be. 

Man : 

Woman, can't you lie down and 

Sleep for a while? Or better, die. 

[ Woman smiles. Pretty crazily too. ] 

Man : 

Did I just..? 

[ Man smiles and looks down into the newspaper while biting his toast. Meanwhile, Woman picks up a sinister looking knife lying on the table and walks forward. Man keeps on reading the newspaper. ] 

Man : 

Ah, look now. Someone dropped 

A bomb again. The dustbin, ha! Suave, 

If I may use the word. 

[ whistles, while looking into the newspaper, but not really reading it ]

 ..I actually made you smile, now isn't this

The best thing that has happened in a while. 

Maybe, if I had to die, maybe this is the 

Opportune time. I actually made you smile. 

[ sighs ] 

[ Woman drops knife. ] 

Man [ looks up, startled ]  : 

Now, when did you come here, pussy

Feet? [ looks embarassed ] 

Maybe I didn't mean to say all that, maybe..

Listen, you may think I'm too full of negative

Energy, or whatever you may call it, but still..

..I care about you. 

[ Background chorus : Aww. ] 

Woman : 

Bad game, mister. 

Man : 

But, well, yes. 

Don't mind me saying this, but

Your tea's really freezing. 

Woman : 

Why, you miserable being, you

Spoiled the moment. Why don't

You realize that sometimes you

Have to put your foot forward, sometimes

You have to embrace the moment..Are

You so lacking in wit that..

[ Phone rings. ] 

Man [coldly] :

 Not me. 

[ Woman stares at Man for a second; then picks up the receiver.] 

Woman :

 Yes? 

Phone :

 Inferno! Inferno! INFERNO! 

Woman :

 Well, yes. 

[ frowns ]

But..

Oh, The Blabber

Here I am, sleeping, brooding, listlessly carving ellipses above my head. Or imagining it. Deadly proposition. If I call this moment the present, without further ado, shall I announce that I have already lost it? Someone told me I've grown thin and pale, like a crystal in hell. And that my stubble is not so young and pretty anymore, and deserve to be ungratefully eradicated. Mirror, mirror on the wall, who's the ghastliest of them all? If I, someday, in the un-ideally cluttered universe, cultivate amorous feelings for a scabrous viper, shall I be branded amoral? Then, I must delicately brandish my hammer of defense, and whisper, gently but surely, You suck. I have never quite understood the concept of futility, of frivolous and fatalistic futility, for I'm quite the sunshine in the darkness. Or the darkness in the arse-crack. Either way, I believe in overwhelming the opposition, beautifully and subconsciously, by pretending to be flexible. Ah, insincerity. Bring it on. Potloads and jarfuls. Ah, quite the word. Insincerity. Tell me, invisible reader, and I beseech you to be sincere while you contemplate : Can there be anything more insincere as sincerity itself? How can you be sure self-deception is not a natural phenomenon, or opposite-polarity shards of consciousness, aiding or mis-aiding perception? To talk in absolute terms would be downright silly, in my humble opinion. The word is Humble, dear reader. Grimace sesame.

Now that the universe is seething with silence, and the airconditioner in my cousin's room has subsided to a soft, almost indecipherable swoosh, I'm reminded of the oppressive trick-question every thinker formulates to relieve himself of his role : Are not words empty? For words are not enough. Not enough. And I feel sleepy.

Ah, the deception. Goodnight, anyway.

And I Say

Prick me with a needle or blow me with your air, enchant me with your eyes or still me with your smile, bore me with your cynicism or shoot me with a gun; do something worthwhile, lest I waste my time. Make me write a song, not too short or long, lest I give you silence, terrible and strong. I don’t know how it begins, O lady of my dreams, but don’t deceive me with your form, oh don’t take too long to form. This is strange, I know, but still I softly write, half-crouched in darkness, deconstructing pain. Hope is not the word, so I dare not blindly spell; maybe dreams are all I have, for stories to sustain. Tell me this, and tell me now, reader across the seas : Is solace all I seek, trapped in a glassful of need? Hah, my soul’s not too bright, fuzzy is my sight, but let me tell you this : Darkness is my light. Pretense I may spew, like an artist’s alien hues, but sincere is my game, of memory and pain. Deception? Ah, quite the frivolous dame! Bite and shake, make and break, deception in your name. I have digressed too far aloof, and now I pound my blame. On cul-de-sacs and silent graves, on morbid fantasies, lame. Back to the point mister! I grimace and say, Back to the valley of sense! So here I am, silent and stale, hungry for new game. 

To The Unclothed Mattress At Three In The Morning

The night's still awake, do not pine. 
Trickle a lullaby down my spine.  

Turning Down The Offer

1

Can I borrow your cheese?
Look, I am not made of moonlight
Blended in milk, but finely woven silk,
So you better act like a man
Walk past, and stand, next line.

2

Can I borrow your hairclip?
Are you acting sissy, or pseudo-
Obsessive, or whatever it is, my clip
Remains still a selfish worn-out clutch-of-knots,
And you better not, disentangle it,
Mister.

3

Can I kiss your thumb?
Too direct, the ray of longing sprouting
From the caverns of your darkness, but
Let me tell you, or technically, re-iterate,
I, unlike, most of my generation
Believe in true love.

4

Can I just smile at you?
Why would you?

5

Can I stare at you for five more minutes?
It would be more productive, to just
Drink soda and ice, and dream about
Tight-lipped women draped in starlight
Hiding more than they reveal, telling you
To stay.


5.5.1 And Sexist Spake, Reverse.

10

Can I borrow your camera?
You, with your dangling dragon-rings,
Curvy grace, open lace, viper face,
You make me drool, young woman,
What if I refuse to comply with your desire
But, tell you to quiver in front of the
Flash-light eye, blink ?

9

Can I borrow your cigarette?
To watch you burn in the golden light
Of latesummer, is but a fantasy, trapped
In the unconscious. To be more precise,
Since the cigarette dwells in solemn half-life,
You should actually pick up a mirror
And perceive the real fading fire, and
Let me peek, if you don't mind?

8

Can I embrace you?
O lady in blue, the stars crave for you,
In longing high, in content : sigh.
Don't let your image dissolve, by this
Sudden moderation of ego, this hapless
Sign of kindness, O lady of the seas,
Of the abounding light carried by the flies,
Hold on to your portrait of finesse, and let
The gods weep for you.

7

Can I love you?
But I may betray you.

6

Can I say Hello after five minutes?
My heart yearns for affection, a bit more,
A bit more, but the ideal is always broken
By the grain of sand in the spotless. I would
have loved you, if I were not so inadequate
In vision, or if not for the bearer of frying-pans
Reposing in the hallways of my station.


5.5.0. Amen.

Departure

Only when you sleep
shall I kiss those deep-blue eyelids
holding more secrets
than I can keep.