Saturday, October 25, 2008

Reporting live from the subconscious

I sleep now. I sleep knowing not the bounds of day and night are. I sleep for 16 to 18 hours at a stretch and still sleep again the next night or day. I crave ice cream everyday. This semester has done a lot unto me dear Chamko. I never really expected all this to come by but again, I grew, so much. It seems like odd semesters are the real growing time. The others are just transit periods between this place and home. Train--home--train--Bangalore--train--home... In the euphoria of all this shunting I never realised I signed a Faustian pact. I sold the hola mi casa memories and permanent stay at home like other kids for knowledge it seems. Life has actually grown, for real and changed. Now it is no looking back home. Now there is another home in the making. You will rake and put all at stake and make a home where you can like mommy bake a cake. I feel closer to her. I wonder why. I hope papa has not gone too far away. And little brother who is also growing up, do not follow my steps please. thank you odd semester. Good bye.

Tuesday, October 21, 2008

Dear Ginsberg and Nobokov, adieu

To Kerouac, Tennessee Williams, Cassady, Whitman, Burroughs, Gilman and all others who kept ideal company in hours of theist crises. To all those too who supplied with substance from outside and helped hallucinate. You all may relax now in your Elysian fields while I move on cautiously with "starry dynamoes" clutched under my belt.

My God is comatose
He is castrated, fuzzy, pig nosed electric
Dance, dance, dance blind bouncing bosom bella
Necrophile! Yours is long decaying
Unzip him, meat will stick along
Take a 'shroom dose and run wild wind fanny catcher
Sick Layale with caramel and wooden balls (for eyes) hehe...
Do a C.P.R, or Kabbalah or bypass
Do something you fidel faithful fidaieen!
Fornicating with faith vibrators in a nice little room
I licked him off Bison dung
You tied a bead collar round his neck
Had to die, poor confounded beast!
I counted him off those teeth i touched
And every bead of sputum exchanged
Yours locked in dusty glass frames up
Mine squirming easy on the road
That is how I think they collide
I think where I am not
They rolled in glory puffed one each, in Bratislava cold
Yours died of cold lungs, frigid head
Mine, the peg kept Haddock going.
So, still comatose. En ventilation.
Well vegetating, with mayo and mustard sauce.

Saturday, October 18, 2008

And when we fell in love with happiness...

This is not so long ago, not so distant a memory. It is recollection of a present of the past when I actually had an idea. An idea that I fell in love with, so contagious that the mere thought brought all observable reactions to it. I invented the prettiest illusion that I would fall in love with and all others like me would also fall in love with. Don't ask me of love. I made it long ago and it is well digested because I reasoned it for physical pleasures. But, this time is happiness! The hormonal stimulation as a response to various environmental stimuli that makes me smile and dazed. I invented happiness and passed a decree. It is happiness that I and others similar should live for, work for and look for in anything we do. Smart grin. Such a metaphysical aim I gave and such unattainable, knotty miseries bundled along so that it would keep a whole lot of them busy. I will tell you who all and you can add yours too. Those who cannot sleep after two thirty in the night, those who spend all their sunny days wondering what others do at the same time, those who are freshly jilted or have yet no occasion to wake others at four in the morning, those who are running marathons on a circular earth and have things to say about mankind and objective emotions, rational will et al. To all these, the tugged strings of their sheets out of sheer lone nights, the chewed marked books, their dark goggles, this is a blanket, a nice little thing not to be got easily. It will keep mankind going for a while.
Yours lovingly,

Hola mi casa!

I cried buckets today
I miss something someone and some special attention
I miss looking at clothes washed, ironed and ready
Food perfectly made and on my plate
A landline and an anonymous bill at month end
A brother and his hotwheel cars
I terribly miss you Koena and your Activa
I miss our rain dances and songs after birthday parties
I miss whistling at old men and pushing kids off bicycles
I miss bus number 8347 and the swishing brown skirt
I miss you Sylvie madam and your numbered precis
I miss you devil grey and your basket
I miss you sector twenty one and blind sir
Also, the food, the perennial internet connection
The fields behind and the bus stand just beyond them
Your big nice house and the luna I left there
The little boite of Kohl and a familiar language on buses
The elite alliance and topping at exams
The college nearby, the woods, the boy
I don't even want you all back forever
You just make a gay picture of a happy personal past
Thank you, O intact firm idea of home.