A well deserved break!!!!!

Order in Chaos???

Post a few joints me and a friend decided to play this game where we take turns and write a line each.

Broken strings attached to a puppet with brains. In my mind there is some thing which hurts. Pain – is it real or just a cloud of words humming on my brain? Should I ever meet her. I can hear someone strumming a guitar so cool that it sounds like from a pair of speakers. Who the fuck do you think you are?” And then I love her. I am a traveller. Lands, cities, towns, villages – just pages of the book that I am. Zero. Yes, that’s how I feel right now, said she. And may be you had lost it by then. I bumped on her people who looked suspiciously at me. Kettles blowing steam. Trucks whizzing by. Whores standing for a daily living. The Bombay outskirts can get dramatic at times. Must be 4 AM now. What do you do for a living? You are kidding me. How does it matter. Questions, answers, one-liners, challenges, flirts, sweet talk – it was a bustling office. But there were so many other questions you didn’t answer. How come that never bothers you? The feeling of freedom from firm strings – psychological and physical takes me to insomnia. It destroys you suddenly. But that kinda sinks in very gradually. And then you go, oh yeah! Destruction – beginning or end? I am waiting for a Big Bang at a Bombay outskirts check point. Father or Mother, who do you like more? Silly I know, but it’ll answer a lot of my questions.Her grey blue eyes looked so deep into mine. Help me! Love me! Is she like my mother? Go home you fucking faggot. And then he killed him. An understatement to cold blooded murder. I flee. I fly. No strings attached – yet with a confident sense of direction. Is this Bombay? Beethoven’s broken guitar. Yes, Beethoven had a guitar. An elec-fucking-tronic one at that. I gotta check my email now and delete the spams, you know those ones that sell you long dicks.

Sanctuary

It’s been long since I left home. 8 years now. I have been traveling. That’s how I advertise it. I think I should stop (not advertising, which is also my profession by the way). I’ve had enough, traveling. Nothing new. They are all the same. No matter how much I hate the institution, it’s always great to be going home, mom-dad’s home, do some thing for them, nothing exorbitant but like cook for them. Cook whatever I’ve learnt over the years. Make a drink for Dad and ask him, hey…have you tried whiskey with apple juice? I know it’s not his taste but I want him young. I am sure he’ll say no and I’ll anyways make him one. Dad, feeling and getting old is the worst sight I can picture. Mom’s stable, in fact she is the brighter side of the family. Surprising how mother’s still have a sense of humour, are laid back, and still in-charge. Dads have given up by this age. Haven’t they?

Bros coming down too. So I’ve thought of giving him some gyan about how things are and how they need to be dealt with (things: life). May be he’ll give me some gyan, his way, like he always does. That’s how Christmas is going to be. Its going to be a regular Christmas but after a long long time. Two years, but it sure seems like a very long time.

Merry Christmas!!!

Rest In Peace

The Mad Cow Disease and an Albanian

Why one, all the cows here have gone mad, exclaimed Shpend. His friends never gave s**&% in spite of Shpend’s potentially dung beetle attracting, sticky armpits. But Shpend was a gem. A human being, who would risk his life for an aimlessly wandering goat that has strayed into the butcher’s courtyard. An Albanian national (if that helps you to picture him), Shpend will be fifty this January or November or was fifty two years back or may be he’s eighteen, how does it matter? After being separated from his wife, he now lives near the prairies of Kazakhstan bordering the Gobi desert – alone – no one else lives there, even in the far vicinity.

Till a couple of years ago, Shpend worked with a Natural Gas Exploration Company, a semi-government organization in France. He was a driller, the one responsible for making the first contact with mother earth, after which the machines would eventually take over. He was proud of it. It’s human. To be the first one in a chain of globally consequential events. His work took him places. Once even to the Falkland Islands.

cont.

cybergranny sez

"No one listens to old people."
- María Amelia López
the oldest blogger in cyberia apparently has 340,000 hits on her blog

"Everyone leaves Calcutta after using it."
- a begger woman i met in Park Street

genius IS what genius SAYS

"Leck mich im Arsch recht fein schön sauber"
(lick me in the arse nice and clean)
- Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart