Oh Shit!

Slumber ends as morning comes and our zombied existence continues, so does our never-ending battle of normality and monotony. The ritual meal is prepared and consumed amidst loneliness or conversation, all this of course is done after duly releasing the remains of a similar activity the night before.

Now, this time that is spent prior to the time of actual eating can be extremely irritating and frustrating, it may even result in dissatisfaction for some, but only if it isn’t just right (the timing, the ambience and the actual act have to have a kind of surreal synchronicity and it has to be observed every single day, sometimes twice a day). If it is done right though, there is no real substitute for the sense of well-being that envelopes you, not in the real world anyway. Yes I speak of the act, or if I may, the art, of excretion. Who would have known that human being s would be so relieved in parting with something that they’d only just made and which had already been ingrained so deeply in them.

Faeces is probably the only solid substance that defies logic and disproves clichés. No one has come up with or wants to come up with ingenious ideas on its utilization, even though it grows both in quality and quantity over time, more than any other human possession. Haste does not make waste, but as I have explained above, the actual process is nothing short of a miraculous intertwining of the many variables that need to work together in time and space. The fallacy continues, in the case of shit, the more you have the less you want it.

Although it is quite a distasteful expression, ‘Shit’ is probably the most used word in our vocabulary, we use it for commiseration in times of woe and pain and uplift it to sublime status in the extremes of those times (Holy Shit!). We use it when we are surprised, as an anchor to ground ourselves. In times of disappointment, it is, more often than we’d like, our only companion.

This age old pillar of our society is now facing stiff competition from new age creations, namely; ‘Whatever’ and ‘Crap’. But we need not worry as our friend still lives in them and so lives on in its re-incarnated form. While ‘Crap’ is a direct descendant the ‘Whatever’s’ lineage is a little trickier to understand.

It all began in one of our more up market malls, a beautiful young lady of wealthy background was spotted by an awaiting camera crew. She was asked for her permission to be interviewed by them, she most gladly agreed. In the course of their dialogue she was casually asked what she had done that day, she started of fine, but then came the awkward silence, she thought about it, but being of limited intelligence she did it anyway, “I shat before breakfast.” Ladies and gentlemen that was the end of her, her friends deserted her, her parents kicked her out, she never got married, the only thing that did happen was her answer became the talk of the town as it was published in many newspapers and magazines. When it was finally aired it was cloaked with voice-overs and the network seemed to have found a solution for the awkwardness that women and the now-growing breed of metro sexual men, may feel in the usage of such coarse expressions as ‘ Shit’ and the rest, this is how they managed that, “And then you know, I like got up and then I hung, and then I went in and did Whatever, grabbed some grub for breakfast and then that’s all, you know the rest, Whatever, was I okay?” The trained eye might observe classic usage of “Shit” replaced with ‘Whatever’ in two instances, for the others, Shit!

Digressing, another common alias used for the object of my current affection is ‘Potty’ originating in British Slang; this word too has many uses over a large spread of contexts. Men use it to express the craziness of their love, “You drive me potty.” People express anger or playfulness by adding the required tone to, “Eat Potty” or “Potty khaa le.” One word, a hundred uses and contexts, only one basic, underlying meaning. In the context of love for example you are saying, “You give me the same satisfaction that I get from a hearty dump.” When you use it in jest or anger, you are suggesting that the lack of faeces in the persons intestine is making them act the way they are, so consuming some would help the situation, a cure for the ‘constipation’ of their thoughts and ideas.

I guess all I’m really saying is that Crap is the best thing that’s happened to me, I just hope that it will happen again tomorrow.

Signs and Things

The writing on the wall says many things, but I’ve never been one to pay heed to these signs and things,
People of old and wise narrate many tales, but I’ve never really cared for these fables of the ancient,
There are many signs that surround me, many sights I see, multiple orgasms that haunt me, multifarious monologues the same,

It is an ornate world of external beauty, like empty vases of decorated glass, only true when broken and the dozen or so roses of ex-lovers fall apart,
These crumbling petals of sweet memories and dreams gently drift with the wind, straddled by desire and, those many signs and things,
Your old car, like old love reminds you of that familiar touch and longing, even when the rose is in another man’s arms,

Books I read mystify me, with how many pages I have to turn, to find just one on which I cannot relate to those I have known or the many other signs and things,
A walk in the evening and the old familiar drone, comforting, pungent squeals and squeaky, pitched cries,
But somewhere around the corner, you always find an oriental beauty, dressed up and about, high heeled and yearning to be held or danced with, yet in her ear dangle rings of shapes and in a form of remembrance of ornamental curves, they are designs of caution, restraint and signs and things,

Music plays a great role in the realization of most of our lives, Radiometric coincidences and the natural wave in which we flow, our ups and downs, may be explained by science,
Or probability, but theoretical analogies and graphical explanations do subside, and the hearty carriers of them stand ashamed only to be ridiculed by the staunch believers of the mysterious signs and things,

No superhuman effort can fight these supernatural beliefs in the intertwining of lives by a supernormal being, giving hints and forcing nature, the altruistic leader or servant of all that breathes,
A magical demon of passion or love, the machine that produces that produces in large supply, all that feeds hope and dismay and the appetite of many an ardent optimist,
Those who subscribe for their general well-being and survival, to a scarce and largely spartan diet, of hope and laughter of the joy that they get in the many occurrences, those very subtle insinuations of signs and things.

I am not without belief of bubbles, may I add, but I believe more in the fact that they will burst, and fall to the ground, like those vases, and most other, unshakable, till shaken earthy beliefs,
Of all that is true though it must be said, most men would do well to not be one with it, and dream in their lonely nights, of splendor, of romance and the surmounting, amounting, illogically deduced, fictitiously contrived, desperately required, sums and remainders, final revelations, of cautious calculations, of their eye-witness accounts of close encounters with the anchors of their existence, their signs and things.

Weakness

yes there have been times, when i've been alone and lonely
she's been my only friend
and times when i've felt unheard and unwanted
she's always lent me her ear
and all those times when i've known i have lost it all to mistrust
i've also known that i can believe in her
times of loss or happiness
i've always needed her
yes i am a weak man
but she is a worthy weakness
many a drink i've sipped with her
she's always gotten me sober
and my times of grief and misery
have always been soaked by her
sometimes i like to be with her for no reason at all
she understands
there are times i've left her
but i always come back
she never complains
even when it seems that i may never return
she waits patiently
sometimes i share her with my friends
but she is happiest with me
though she's never told me in so many words
i know she feels the same
my thoughts are only complete with her by my side
her slow gentle poisonous advances
always allure my mind
but never distract
just force concentration
i use her i know
but i am a weak man and she a worthy weakness
in an ode to her
i thank her for all and more
and blow away her ashen remains
only until i pick on her and light her again
and watch her, help her burn
only to light up my inconsequential existence
i kiss her then
and blow her remains in the air with a soft whistle
then i step on her when she no longer gives me satisfaction
and walk away
never caring where she ends up
a heartless weak man
with a worthy weakness...

Lost & Found

Lost,
I did my scarcely used mind at the edge of the water,
Splashing by the muddy banks, playing with the turtle necks,
Crafting mighty castles in the sand, I walk on the pebbled rocks,
A mighty breeze does come and blow down their walls,
No I do not think aloud my fears, they’re enacted out before my eyes,
I cannot now retrace my steps, for they have been forgotten and covered by these sands of time,
On the shores of life, the stream of health does shower a rain of hope,
But the loose grains of misery soak it in to the core of them,
What can I do, but question them, the loose grains,
No they do not answer, my plight remains, shower-less the night remains,
A sunlit sky at the time it may rise, a burning light streaking up the skies,
A sunlit sky as the sun may set; a pale, sad red fills up my horizon,
The sands, though still remain as they were, some now moist, some dry,
Some just settling down from after a ride in the windy sky,
The gentle breeze of harmony, was invaded by a stormy lash of angry winds,
And as I stood at the edge of the water, I saw it sprayed upon my face,
Exposing itself to me,
All over my body little droplets, now only travel down, back to where they belong,
But as they go, to me they sing an enchanting song,
The spray hits me again and now I know its for real, not just a dream,
As I sit there without my mind at the edge of the water,
I think to myself and I know now that the hope that presents itself to me now,
Is what’s true, and my rain, she might never come,
I run along the water’s edge happy and ecstatic, overflowing with emotion,
And amidst all my joy and the untamable commotion,
I knew that there was something that day, something… my heart, that, I...
Found

So what do I need?

I am a nothing, a nobody, a lifeless lump of matter,
So what do I need?
A mind, a body and someone to write their order letter,
15 days for postage and handling, cash on delivery and someone to glue it all together.

I am now a man with a mind and body,
So what do I need?
Some children, a wife, a car and a house,
A job to pay for their needs and someone to get rid of those roaches and that ugly mouse.

I am now a husband and father, the owner of a house, the murderer of the roaches and the ugly mouse,
So what do I need?
Money: lots of it, to pay for my wines, my clothes, and that new fleet of stairs,
My servants, their helpers and hotel rooms for my innumerous affairs.

I am now a rich husband and father, the owner of a house, the murderer of roaches and that ugly mouse, having an affair,
So what do I need?
An Aspirin, a Valium, to calm me and rid me of headaches from my wife’s shrieks and that carpenters hammering to reshape that stately log,
A doctor, a surgeon, and maybe some poison to shut up that stupid old dog.

I am now a very ill rich husband and father, the owner of a car and a house, the murderer of those roaches and that ugly mouse, having an affair, feeling sorry he ever got married,
So what do I need,
A damn good lawyer, to rid me of my wife and her children and her car and house,
A generous amount of alcohol that I will share with the relatives of that expired mouse.

I am now a very ill drunk, who was a rich husband and father, who had killed a mouse and made up with its family, who had once had an affair, feeling sorry he didn’t stay married,
So what do I need?
A motel room, some drinks, a TV, those roaches and mice and something to eat,
If I have all those things I don’t need any more, my life will be complete.

I am now a nothing, a nobody, a lifeless lump of matter,
So what do I need?

On Love... A distorted history of all times...

Okay lets talk about love, tell me what is love really, I mean isn’t it like an emotion, at least that’s what I believed until all these people started feeding me all these new ideas of ‘falling’ in love (making it appear like wide open chasm of nothingness) and the depth of the ocean of love, now where do you go about getting an idea like that, you don’t fall in sadness or happiness do you, then how and why love and even if we (for a moment) assume that love is a physical space in which you do ‘fall’. Why do people carry it around with them, to lay on the ground at convenient points of time only to fall into, if that isn’t the case then the other probability is that love is omnipresent, if so then why the hell don’t we fall into it while look at another man, or a woman we’re not remotely interested in, now that reminds, isn’t love supposed to be blind, then how the explain the following statistic that 99% of all couples consist of partners who may be considered equally attractive in their respective sexes by the opposite ones. Any way, maybe all that is just a coincidence, lets just get back to humans and their selective plunges into the depths of something that (even though there are strong arguments of disagreement) is described as an emotion. And the best part is “love” always “hurts” so why the hell don’t you parachute your way down, or hold on to the other guy you’re going down with, unless, everyone has a hole to themselves which they can retreat into when they are done having sex.

I mean, come on, love is definitely a new emotion, it might be even called an invention of the new world, life existed before love, all one really needs is the art of making it, and we don’t even need to call it that (‘they’ do though, so we might as well, otherwise we don’t get any), instead term it having sex… truthful and effective, short and sweet (I hope not), Birds and bees, stings and spewing venom, and then the spread of wings and flying away.

I truly think some smart witch in the early centuries created a giant and a big pot and ordered the giant to ‘pick’ interesting men ‘up’ (hence the phrase) and put them in the giant pot, where she (and all her ugliness) would lie waiting, panting, wanting, desiring, and the poor men for lack of anything better to do would do it with her only to be thrown out of the pot soon after… the pot was called “LOVE”.

Then these men and other artisans united from across the world and decided to create a magical pot called “LOVE” of their own, they tried and tried and tried again, until man perfected the ART of MAKING “LOVE”, and this ancestral knowledge has been passed from man to man, generation to generation, and now truly forgotten is the art only a few handfuls of mortal souls still practice the act of sex in a large bowl (pots are passé you see) while still others mistake their bowels for bowls and are satisfied within themselves, any way… “Sex will make more people and more people will make more sex”, oh and yeah before I forget… “Love will find a way… to hurt you.” (Yes love your friendly neighborhood voyeur, Love. He’s like a sex maniac, you know. Lock your doors at night, or not, going by everything that’s been written about him, he will find a way to hurt you, THE BASTARD.)

The truth about liars!

The truth about liars is often misunderstood or misconstrued.
Lying is not the trait of a born loser, or an insecure soul but is a factual (or ‘nonfactual’) art, a way of life that is silently but quickly becoming the order of the day.

The artists and artisans (those who haven’t perfected the ‘art’) are present in every sphere of everyday life and most, if not all are well-respected pillars of society (those who aren’t are mere beginners, the artisans as mentioned earlier). There are many forms of practice of the art and many methodologies, misinformation, warping of facts, alternating perceptual maps, environmental conditioning, incorrect or incoherent representation of strands of logic and scientifically coating in some extreme brush strokes the color of darkness with a bright shade of pink, or yellow. These modern day maestros also downplay and frequently use the effectiveness of stealth to their advantage. There is a high overlap in the art of lying and the new reasoning that is entering the world, many now claim that it is closer to a developing science than an art form. I on the other hand am still inclined to the later nomenclature as it defines the subject in a freer, much more open space, a huge white canvas, in which he can paint at will and yield his masked webs of nothingness.

Liars often display traits of genius, as the common adage goes “one lie breeds a hundred others,” now imagine presenting a theory and then substantiating it with a hundred others, all at the drop of a hat, in awkward circumstances and doing so without a second of warning on the spur of the moment. This is what liars do, good ones do it flawlessly, bad ones often end up with too much fat on their fried bacon.

Good liars make the best lawyers, bad mothers, lenient fathers, good husbands, healthy doctors, wealthy mechanics, creative children, fascinating writers, prominent politicians, great salesmen, valued friends, respected administrators, and most of all wondrous, captivating, sensitive, romantic and generous lovers.

So I suggest to anyone presently in or attempting to be in any of those roles in society, remember these words: -

“Any fool can tell the truth, but it requires a man of some sense to know how to lie well – Samuel Butler ”

“ He who permits himself to tell a lie once finds it much easier to do it a second and a third time till at length it becomes habitual – Thomas Jefferson”

“Everything that deceives may be said to enchant – Plato”

“A lie can travel half way around the world while the truth is putting on its shoes – Mark Twain”

and my favorite,

“You say you are lying. But if everything you say is a lie, then you are telling the truth; you cannot tell the truth because everything you say is a lie. You lie, you tell the truth ... but you cannot, for you lie. -- Norman the android, Star Trek”