Falling Down

The wind does not whip my face,
As I fall away from grace.
It really is no fall at all.

A slow elevator does descend,
Stopping at each apartment,
Taking more spectators along.

Some they watch with interests vested,
others, distracted, tweeted. Jested.
Like the crowds at the previews of Fall.

This is Falling. Falling down.
Each new day you break low ground.
Sinking into black abyss.

While you patiently wait, do remember to cooperate.
The bottom is far as you move along, sedate.
This is not an exit.

When it's over, it will be a mess.
Excused, perhaps, by drunkenness.
Though escape will still elude.

WTF

"What on earth were you thinking?"

"Well, actually, I was thinking of something non-earthly"

"Oh! like heavenly?"

"Not exactly, which is precisely why I used the non existant term non-earthly instead of unearthly, and compared both of them in this sentence, when none of them are really valid".

"I am wondering why I am having this conversation".

"Possibly because you need solace for that broken bottle of milk, lying on the floor!".

"What! How did you know that?"

"You know, I know that you don't know that you have a problem with you, and I didn't know that you didn't have a problem knowing that you didn't know that you have a problem with you".

"what has happend to both of us?"

"which is the root cause, we are are just two voices in the same mind!"

"is this how people go mad? its really scary"

"wait till you stop realizing that its happening, then its all fun, and sometimes unexplained agony..."

"do you have any idea, what it means to put up with you?"

"who else would have a better idea than yourself?"

"you mean - myself?"

"yourself , myself, its all the same .. remember?"

"oooo... ok, i will go to sleep now"

"am wondering, how this all started..."

"oops! there it starts again!"

baggage cart with a broken wheel

She runs across the airport floor,
heels tapping out an urgent encore.
Balances the over-sized glasses on her hair
And whispers to an ear disembodied, not there.
Half smile breaks the plane of her face.
She is not beautiful yet filled with grace.

As the endless belts roll on by
people, who to lay claim, lie
Still speaking as she hauls one on
to a little baggage cart that she has drawn
quick turn and there she stands framed
by the cart and and endless line of baggage unclaimed.

Engrossed she misses the pavement
Her lips make a perfect O of lament
As she twists an ankle and breaks the heel
of her left shoe and the baggage cart's left wheel
Looks around at a world running by
and hobbles on, embarrassed, without a reason why.

Wish

I remember the woman who would look both ways
before she crossed the road, with animated scenes
of her own death being played in her perepheral vision

I wish i had those visions, of gory death, crushed
by a moving bus, or through derailment of a train,
add a bit of blood, or a lot of it, oozing from my flesh

I wish i could see, me cutting up myself to pieces,
driving nails through my bones, with a nice steel hammer,
that i could listen to my last hoarse breaths of life, in idle moments

I could use them over all these crazy images, that i
conjure from thin fucking nothings, which then haunt me
for minutes, hours and days, until a new one takes its place

The Least Interesting Man in the World

With Apologies to a comic on the Internets
who's careful stick figures stand up in jest
Like this protagonist from weeks ago,
I do haunt this blog with a furrowed brow.

Should I post about this most prosaic of days?
Or rave and rant in panicked dismay?
Should I stay ensconced in the captivity of negativity?
Be verbose or go on an exercise of brevity?

Shall I resist the urge to apologize?
For the lack of posts to plagiarize?
Or should I succumb to my urges as a quitter?
And limit myself to 140 characters on twitter?

Whichever be the path on the fork that's chosen,
This one thing shall remain frozen.
Even now as in days of old,
I shall remain the least interesting man in the world.

Fear

The ridge was so narrow that he feared for his life every time he took a step forward. He feared that the thorny branches will tear up his skin when he walked forward. He feared that he will break the delicate glassware that were kept on the stools which lined the muddy path. And he slipped and fell into the abyss. He picked the thorns and saw blood dripping from his flesh. Red colour added to the mud when he stepped on the broken glass. He went for a mad rush. He feared that he will never reach the end of the path. He slipped again.

Insomnia Strikes Back

Been a while since it struck this bad. But here goes nothing in the wee hours where as they say nothing good ever happens.

I am doing this experiment where I count sheep and recount my thoughts as I go through with it. To make things as interesting as possible I plan to count backwards instead of counting up.

Gives you a perspective of being on the road walking towards something rather than walking away from someone...

So arbitrarily and for no apparent reason. Six-Hundred-And-Fifty-Five...
Mental note to count each number as 'ex' 'hund-redd' 'aand' 'yy' where ex and yy are variables. Note that this is a more elaborate construct than say exx zedd yy where 100x+10z+y represents the number...

Counting back like this should ensure that you never actually hit 0 or worse having to count back to minus-six-hundred-and-fifty-five. This exercise seems to be built upon the inability of the normal human being to perform any action undistracted. So while counting down to six-hundred-and-thirty-eight your mind does a little flip and worries about the tick tock of the single clock in the darkness...wonders what hour the hand is holding up its accusatory finger at this time. Now you do not know if its six-hundred-and-twenty-one or six-hundred-and-thirty-one you were supposed to be on.

As a conciliatory measure go for the average of both numbers and resume at six-hundred-and-twenty-six. Now a little ping from the laptop where somebody someplace away has twittered/twitted/twot a little twit (Oxford better find some new nouns, pronouns, verbs and adjectives to address twitter-nation's self-importance).

Arbitrarily down to six-hundred-and-eleven for no good reason. Realizes the pointlessness of this blog...However seeing as how the other more eloquent contributors remain silent, this is the best you can expect for a while....

Promise to be back with better crap than this... six-hundred-and-six...

postito ergo sum

fingers hover above the darkened keyboard
the mind freezes and urges restraint
"you know that road and you have been down there before"
yet another voice raises itself, insistent

"if everything was cause and effect and cold logic
we would not need hearts and minds to navigate
life would have neither mystery no magic
and thats something you would love to hate"

thus the hemispheres trade in argument and counter-
each blow weakening the mind and its resolve
every thought mounts a challenge before it quickly flounders
standing by the sidelines you watch yourself devolve.

eventually you will drive into distraction
look away from a mirror held up to your streak, yellow.
willfully throw yourself under wheels of destruction
swallow pride and associated spirits and say "Hello..."

commute

1
Air was mildly chilly and it coupled with a feeling of death made my body ice cold. The mild perfume from the girl sitting next to me couldn't add a tiny bit of life to it. But then a swift wind germinated a tear in my left eye. It slowly collected the bits of sorrows that were scattered in my mind and grew large enough to drop down to my lap. The body shuddered as warmth returned to it.

2
I sniffed at the air, what was that smell, was it a psychoactive drug?, my eyes were hit by the red neon lights, my head rocked from side to side from the broken road, is this air drugged?, the bumps were hitting my head again, I remembered the unmatched giant breasts of a dead woman on the screen, I told her not to lift her top again, can i have some more of the hallucinogenic drug?, the green and red lights hit the eyes again, the piercing voice in my ear is changing speed, direction, techno beats, when did i start liking them, I saw the hot woman in red sari swinging her head in wild abandon, I am getting out of the trance, give me another dose.

Waiting Room

He sat quietly on the chair besides the receptionist's window. He was out of the receptionist's point of view. When her fine Anglican tones invoked his foreign native name, it did not register. He continued to stare past the window at the trees dead in the thawing snow.

After a second failed attempt at calling him, the receptionist leans over the window and looks him dead in the eye and says with a genuine smile "The doctor will see you now". He snaps out of his reverie and walks towards the doctor's office. The memory of her smile kicks in to remind him that he hadn't smiled back. Rather belatedly he smiles at the fire extinguisher by the door as he steps in, immediately realizing the futility of the gesture.

The doctor checks his pulse, looks in his mouth, checks his lungs and reads his pressure. Finally snapping off her gloves, she says "For someone your age, your blood pressure is high. Try to cut down on your caffeine intake."

He mutters something about decaf or something. The doctor goes on uninterrupted "See me again in 3 months time That should tell us if the blood pressure reading is one off or if its symptomatic."

He takes her leave and remembers to smile and wish her a good day, almost as if making up for not smiling back to the receptionist. But the doctor has already started looking into her X-ray for the next patient and mutters a vague acknowledgment.

Vaguely underwhelmed, he walks back to the hallway hoping to find the receptionist and flash a big smile. She is not there. She is out back smoking sweet death. He sighs and walks out into the cold and wonders if its colder inside or here by his car as flurries spun around his ears.

He steps inside and drives away as 106.9 WCCC blared "Loud Love" by SoundGarden...