Chamko Yuki Car Dreams

One of those chamko dreams, typically peaky on emo and then wake up with a sudden ta-ta-ta. I dreamt of my both cars. The two white cars. And i dreamt them being sold away to someone. I kept on wailing, sobbing silently to myself. I saw Papa take big bundles of notes which all amounted to twenty thousand rupees.Some old man like Eustace drove the car. Maybe some other girl drove the other one. Then they both stopped near the neighbor's house and got off. They started digging big heaps of bricks, like those gray ones in Bangalore, just that these were red. One fell on the Eustace and just tumbled to the side. He said Oops, churn churn and resumed work. I was standing there, next to them and weeping. His words echoed through me,"I don't miss people and places." I do miss them! I miss even cars and all other non-living objects around me! I am not spaced out! I am Yuki. The lashing rain on your window. It falls with a certain intensity and elegance. Like music pouring down. Yuki doesn't need to tell you she feels, she just does. It is your look out if you never noticed Yuki change color. The cars went away and I was howling with eyes tight shut, Papa don't give them away! But like Yuki, no one really bothers to hear me say anything. And until you don't mean it, i won't tell you anything! Not even if I want you to be around. Those who don't mean to be careful will die thirsty. Rain-less, devoid of Yuki san.

Coffee beans and Red wine

Yesterday, was a memory. A fuzzy, tick tick tick tea,-coffee bean- bread,-coffee bean- laughter,-coffee bean- walk,-coffee bean-maggi,-coffee bean-wine,-coffee bean-bed,-coffee bean-etc... The bean was there... Three in fact. Initially tickling the tongue and releasing smoky coffee salivation... Later on as the night progressed, i gobbled them,itchy things. I wanted to enjoy sour grape syrup grover wine but somehow every sip goes till the back of the tongue and then heaves a hot splash on the body plate. Body plate- A slate, flat plate that the body becomes when it experiences a liquid splash or a gaseous outburst. I am not so spaced out. Actually it was all in the mind. Almost like a life of its own, if not a body at least drives of its own. With dawn, i again scooped some beans and pushed them in the mouth. The embarassment of looking at one's own pictures and hearing that you respond to physical drives really gets to me. Period. Turn curtain. IT doesn't. Just that why others should consume a piece of so-perceived beautiful art as pleasurable and appreciate it publicly rather than only limit it to foreplay, is worth attention. Maybe, that is how commom normal humans react and respond to martian, babylonian, egyptian godesses. I kiss really well. That whole process reminds me pretty much of worms. Swallowed in the sea. Another victory. I have come to not have possessive icky "you are mine and he is thine" words.

I ate Orange

Last night was a pleasant one. It is like a set point in time. A sand-bar. And once you literally cross the bar in time, you don't feel sleepy. So, i decided to eat an Orange, the fruit of abundance and lust. The skin was thick and so i dug my nails all around. Orange smell sprayed all across. Against the light of the computer, bitter semi-liquid particles were released. Then i thought of June and pineapples as i dug further in. Then, thinking of the green monster in the christmas film, i withdrew my finger. It wreaked orange juice and shreds. I almost felt like the green monster with big black nails as I licked and lynched it. I thought of all assignments, spat seeds at her bum, licked at my lips again thinking of immeasurable possibilities, muzak, linge. Period. I typed "linge" in the computer, silently conspiring for it to be in dictionary. But the moment the cursor moved, it gave me a "hah-you think i won't notice" red line. I love my photos, benign like lamb. I was dreaming of mommy the other day, how she felt so tired carrying her son all around on the scooter with a daughter who was really no help. I wonder where ther father was. The mouth was like a juicer, the orange's thick skin and shreds knotted in my teeth. Suddenly, I grunted at that ostentatious display of contextually modern technology. I can't write on paper, it seems, hah! I was actually so pleased because he can’t write shite without incentive/compulsion. Even then, come out carefully grafted samples of a capitalist mind. All geared towards production and worth. Conservative, paleolithic man. Those rotten wrinkles that so pleasantly come near his eyes, making a perfect argument for the "in pursuit of practical happiness" types, read money, read backing, closing of walls on his face, then the tower within that detects intelligent words around sucks them in, Bluetooth, free sourcing, plagiarizing, that too with some OS which is dysfunctional, instead of minimizing it enlarges all words, then repeats them thrice and more times and drowns all other hopes, thoughts etc in those “ what I think is...” and “actually I believe (content: what people said over a million times)”. Suckling on an orange I felt like a witch. Difficult to wean. A bitter aftertaste. Burp. Burp. The juicer mouth is done with work. Remains sticking to its inside like some lumps stuck in the cement mixer huge machine. The work is done. No show.

The highly common man, short story assignment

The rickshaw runs fast

I was sitting in there and the meter started ticking. It ticked harmlessly upto 14.50 and then whoop! Suddenly the rickshaw started running a kilometer a minute. I am not kidding. It was going at the usual slow speed but the meter went on changing numbers at every 2 metres. I mean how could a distance of 100 metres be covered in a wink of an eye. And then i started to wonder whether it works how i think. In no time it is Rs. 50. And then i stopped thinking of it since it involves complex math but even though it rips my pocket apart i feel quite okay about paying 'em. So i shifted gaze to the rick-backs. They are so wonderfully decorated. I mean they have all sorts of pictures on them and i actually plan to click 'em all and put 'em up here. The banshee bench saga will come later, to whoever may read this and wonder.