Wednesday, October 30, 2002

I am walking. Straight with blinkers. On my eyes and in my head. Blinkers for survival is my election manifesto. Cello-taped existence.

The junction is crowded. The guy is smoking a beedi. A rickety cart and five kilos of near-rotten tomatoes. Do your quick calculations. At 5 rupees a kilo and a profit margin of 20%, it is 5 rupees on the road to cheap liquor and instant caffeine.
Riding down the bridge, hutments on both sides, cotton unravelling from filthy mattresses and cheap 'barsati' plastic at wholesale prices. My vehicle's swerving and my hands are steady. One rush and it'll go bang the yellow Zen, I hate yellow cars. I would dive off the bridge, vehicle and all if it weren't for the filthy water. Can't stand the smell...But I would dive off, yeah I would.

Beauty is a myth and I'm a delusional participant in the art of story-telling. Nothing exists, nothing survives. Creation is an act of impotence, by cowards who cannot face their inherent uselessness. We are factorials in a probability of grandeur.
Blinkers, blinkers, don't you dare touch them...

There are fragments in my head that are like splinters. They prick, they draw blood. All I want to do sometimes is spread the pain. With the vague logic of the afflicted, I believe that alleviation lies in proliferation.

Sunday, October 27, 2002

In search. Un grande passion.
Easy to give up. Easier to run. Thy time shall come.

Sitting, wondering, watching...above all, waiting. Always.

Kafka depresses the hell out of me. Most times, I have difficulty figuring out if what I understand is what he says or if what I understand is irrespective of author and word. I digress.Read Kafka's story of the King's messenger with the purported elixir of life for you and you alone.
I travelled with him, through the endless doors and teeming millions and inescapable distances. And I gave up. On him.Me I'm still banking on.

We sat on the portico today evening, me and the family. Three of us in comfortable silence. Suddenly felt so limited. Like this was my only universe and it is so 'not' going to last. And I missed everything I had ever let go of, knowingly, unknowingly, voluntarily, rebelliously....everything that added and subtracted to the simulacrum of existence.
Emptiness creeps in like blankets in an AC compartment. Just enough light to read by.

Friday, October 18, 2002

Every awesome high is followed by the onslaught of an irresistible low...
The above is probably so true that it explains why I go looking to drag in causes for depression even when there aren't any...

Thursday, October 17, 2002

Long time since I felt my head held. If this feels good, this must be good.
How long can I float? As long as I want to, I guess. As long as the air feels good and the lungs breathe deep.
In an oscillating world of random rhythms, some sound good. This one sure does.

Wasn't free fall. Just some burden off the lightness of being.
If I'm writing again, this must be extra good.
My eyes have grown wings. And I'll hold them to their promise of flight.
Through cheap thrills and fleeting touches, I have straightened up to walk tall.
Spine, don't fail me now.

It's raining.Baby showers. Clear light. And the safety of the world and its day.
And a city morning.

Monday, October 14, 2002

I've seen it all
I have seen the trees
I have seen the willow leaves
Dancing in the breeze

I've seen a man killed
By his best friend,
And lives that were over
Before they were spent.

I've seen what I was
And I know what I'll be
I've seen it all
There is no more to see

You've seen it all
And all you have seen
You can always review on
Your own little screen
The light and the dark
The big and the small
Just keep in mind
You need no more at all

- Selmasongs, Dancer in the Dark

Thursday, October 03, 2002

In groups of two and three and closed quarters are the lessons of life learnt. The remnants of childhood are given away in stealthy conferences and concealed laboratories.
And I’m in detention. For pretending to know what I want to do. And for shouting out loud. My ulterior motives and my deepest fears.
For talking, for not allowing the silence to be. For disabusing uncertainty. For prevaricating in the face of my ordinariness. For wanting whatever my eyes can see.
I am tawdry tinsel. I shine when the bulb glows. And I steal away when the lights go out. Into musty attics and non-festival, non-sale seasons. Where I gather dust and fireflies. To rot and shine on borrowed light.

I want blinkers on my feet. And a purdah on my eyes.

Wednesday, October 02, 2002

I have perspective, but no empathy.