Date: 28.02.2008
Time: 3:00 p.m.
Once there was a mosquito
Who often forgot its name
And that the greatest goal for all its kind
Was the quest for flamboyant fame,
It buzzed its way around the heads
Of many a pacifist prey
And stabbed into their succulent skin
To gorge on blood for the day.
Now this mercurial mosquito
Liked not its sanguine life
Hounded by ever-swatting hands
That were out to create strife,
It was a gentle gregarious soul
Who fed on blood with great distaste
It would even have liked being vegan
Had nature not been in such haste.
Evolution has done great injustice,
Felt this morbid mosquito
Denying it liquor of its choice
Through a faulty status quo,
Egged on by its gnawing conscience
It embarked on a mission new —
A hunger strike being what it called for
Till it was offered better brew.
Its bloodthirsty brethren, however
Did not take kindly to its fast
“What right does this infidel have
To stray from norms?” they asked,
Apprehensive of a revolutionary ruse
They confronted this quirky quack
And buzzed before it demandingly
To take its vile vow back.
But this heroic mosquito
Felt bound by its given word
Retraction seemed impossible though death
Was the alternative offered,
Charged with blatant blasphemy
And defiling food-habits old
This maladjusted mosquito
Became a martyr bold.
End: 3:45 p.m.
Thursday, 28 February 2008
Saturday, 23 February 2008
A Deadening Quiet
Date: 23.02.2008
Time: 11:25 p.m.
As I shut myself in once again, thinking over possibilities and trying to pin-point what is upsetting me before I go to sleep every night, I reach an answer — the past. Fragments of my life left behind like discarded glass shards. They prick and bleed if you touch them. And if it is your misfortune to walk over those remains in a half-hearted attempt to recollect, to feel, you leave a trail of blood behind you along with your footsteps, adding colour to your gait.
It is something of a mystery, how much importance a person gives unfulfilled wishes. They visit you in your dreams, providing you with cruel reminders of what you lack. Is it not more practical to leave what has happened or has not behind you and make a fresh start on a new canvas? Who wants old stains marring the picture? New lines are called for ... fresh and strong, and perhaps, a bit of colour too. But alas, a fresh canvas is nigh impossible to come by and you are left with the one you had from the start. And no matter how much you erase or try to over-write with new lines, those ugly stains stay to haunt you when you look their way.
What is most surprising is the abruptness of the intense perceptions — they overwhelm you when you’ve let your guard down, when you are certain of your mastery over them. They come upon you from behind and place a stifling hand on your face, choking you and leaving you in a state of panic. And then, you are flooded with guilt and regret … and fear. After these feelings pass, your mind is too drained to house any other feeling and you go about your present life like an automaton — smiling when it is asked of you, speaking when required, being polite and looking cheerful, all the while harbouring a sense of hollow emptiness inside.
The past — my past and that of my world — encompassing those many lives that I once led, the fragments of myself that died in the process and the depleted self that I am left with now .... I have nothing to offer to the future. The ghosts haunt me and control my responses to hope. And of course, I do not have the faculty to take contentment with both hands and make it stay with me.
I still feel lost. I continue to bury myself within me, and lose my hope and drive after occasional ventures to the surface. The world of remembered yesterdays never fails to catch up with me and draw me into the quagmire of despair. And I remain afraid of letting myself go, worried about consequences and mistakes that I might make or am already making without realising it.
End: 11:50 p.m.
Time: 11:25 p.m.
As I shut myself in once again, thinking over possibilities and trying to pin-point what is upsetting me before I go to sleep every night, I reach an answer — the past. Fragments of my life left behind like discarded glass shards. They prick and bleed if you touch them. And if it is your misfortune to walk over those remains in a half-hearted attempt to recollect, to feel, you leave a trail of blood behind you along with your footsteps, adding colour to your gait.
It is something of a mystery, how much importance a person gives unfulfilled wishes. They visit you in your dreams, providing you with cruel reminders of what you lack. Is it not more practical to leave what has happened or has not behind you and make a fresh start on a new canvas? Who wants old stains marring the picture? New lines are called for ... fresh and strong, and perhaps, a bit of colour too. But alas, a fresh canvas is nigh impossible to come by and you are left with the one you had from the start. And no matter how much you erase or try to over-write with new lines, those ugly stains stay to haunt you when you look their way.
What is most surprising is the abruptness of the intense perceptions — they overwhelm you when you’ve let your guard down, when you are certain of your mastery over them. They come upon you from behind and place a stifling hand on your face, choking you and leaving you in a state of panic. And then, you are flooded with guilt and regret … and fear. After these feelings pass, your mind is too drained to house any other feeling and you go about your present life like an automaton — smiling when it is asked of you, speaking when required, being polite and looking cheerful, all the while harbouring a sense of hollow emptiness inside.
The past — my past and that of my world — encompassing those many lives that I once led, the fragments of myself that died in the process and the depleted self that I am left with now .... I have nothing to offer to the future. The ghosts haunt me and control my responses to hope. And of course, I do not have the faculty to take contentment with both hands and make it stay with me.
I still feel lost. I continue to bury myself within me, and lose my hope and drive after occasional ventures to the surface. The world of remembered yesterdays never fails to catch up with me and draw me into the quagmire of despair. And I remain afraid of letting myself go, worried about consequences and mistakes that I might make or am already making without realising it.
End: 11:50 p.m.
Bloody Blah
And the ice-cream scoop decided to jump out of the cone and land on my T-shirt. The ankle had to twist tortuously, and certain old words decided to haunt me after a year to cause further embarrassment. Little tendrils crept up from behind me and lulled me to sleep. I was pulled around and my crazy friends, particularly one, derived an enormous amount of satisfaction from teasing me and tugging at my limbs and insulting me by calling me a “child woman” and doing and saying a lot of other things that I cannot quote for safety reasons. My mental safety, that is.
My measurably marked mortification made me more mad. There was too much sun for me to see clearly without crinkling my eyes painfully. And of course, I walked and walked and walked a lot and fell asleep later while listening to music. Listening to loud music in a dark room is decidedly pleasant, especially if some sickeningly sanctimonious singing specimen of a woman chooses to teach the entire locality how to dance while “officially” instructing a handful of little girls who are far from hearing disabled.
Noodles are nice. So is soup — something that I would like to eat now. There are many other edible items that I would like, dark chocolate, for instance. I can’t remember when I last enjoyed good dark chocolate, such is the tragedy of my stomach.
The bottom-line is that restrictive boredom is not good, not good at all. And when honest souls claim that ice-cream jumped out of its rightful place inside a half-eaten cone to attack their clothes, they should be believed.
Thursday, 21 February 2008
Passive Aggression
Date: 18.02.2008
Time: 11:55 a.m.
Glorious hurt, wreak havoc within me
Make me mute so that I can withstand
And not burst out screaming in protest;
Let the pain burn my bones
With none to witness the cremation.
Irony, bind the tongue with iron chains
That clatter discordantly with movement
And thus prevent the escape of sound,
Which is jarring to any ear it reaches;
Maligned and tortured into silence.
Blocked light that escapes and filters through
Transcending the realm of the dark —
A powerful domain of mighty black;
It shall be consumed with disdain
And shown its lowly place.
The stench of decay prolonged with pleasure
Trapped within thick stony walls
Bring about pronouncement of stagnation,
Marking it with unsounded echoes
As the ashes settle firmly on tainted ground.
End: 12:10 p.m.
Time: 11:55 a.m.
Glorious hurt, wreak havoc within me
Make me mute so that I can withstand
And not burst out screaming in protest;
Let the pain burn my bones
With none to witness the cremation.
Irony, bind the tongue with iron chains
That clatter discordantly with movement
And thus prevent the escape of sound,
Which is jarring to any ear it reaches;
Maligned and tortured into silence.
Blocked light that escapes and filters through
Transcending the realm of the dark —
A powerful domain of mighty black;
It shall be consumed with disdain
And shown its lowly place.
The stench of decay prolonged with pleasure
Trapped within thick stony walls
Bring about pronouncement of stagnation,
Marking it with unsounded echoes
As the ashes settle firmly on tainted ground.
End: 12:10 p.m.
Friday, 15 February 2008
Tragic Hero
Date: 15.02.2008
Time: 8:00 p.m.
Forgot what she was told
She displeased me greatly
With her attitude cold,
I always did what was best
I’m her father, you see
I knew her completely
But she never understood me.
I did not bother with words
When she began to grow
I always gave her space
That’s all I know,
Why did she think
That I was never there?
I know that belittling emotions
Is the best way to care.
Could I have gone wrong?
No! I’m always right
I only asked her to talk
We did not even fight,
She looked straight at me
With her eyes coldly bright
Seething with silent rage
She almost gave me a fright.
I never thought that she’d mind
She was a quiet child
Introverted and absorbed,
You could never tell she was wild,
For her wrath knew no bounds
And she often saw red
I still wonder why blood excited her
And now she is dead.
I was so certain of her …
She’d stop her games if I bled
Be scared into compliance
And be willingly led,
She leaves me confused instead
So completely lost
Groping for an answer
To discovering her corpse’s cost.
My darling daughter
Did not love me enough
She wounded me greatly
Although she knew I’m not that tough,
I always did what was best
I was her father, you see
I knew her completely
But she never understood me.
End: 8:30 p.m.
Time: 8:00 p.m.
Forgot what she was told
She displeased me greatly
With her attitude cold,
I always did what was best
I’m her father, you see
I knew her completely
But she never understood me.
I did not bother with words
When she began to grow
I always gave her space
That’s all I know,
Why did she think
That I was never there?
I know that belittling emotions
Is the best way to care.
Could I have gone wrong?
No! I’m always right
I only asked her to talk
We did not even fight,
She looked straight at me
With her eyes coldly bright
Seething with silent rage
She almost gave me a fright.
I never thought that she’d mind
She was a quiet child
Introverted and absorbed,
You could never tell she was wild,
For her wrath knew no bounds
And she often saw red
I still wonder why blood excited her
And now she is dead.
I was so certain of her …
She’d stop her games if I bled
Be scared into compliance
And be willingly led,
She leaves me confused instead
So completely lost
Groping for an answer
To discovering her corpse’s cost.
My darling daughter
Did not love me enough
She wounded me greatly
Although she knew I’m not that tough,
I always did what was best
I was her father, you see
I knew her completely
But she never understood me.
End: 8:30 p.m.
Sunday, 10 February 2008
For Tomorrow
- Wake up. Tear myself away from lala-land for another day to begin the process of getting bored.
- Go buy shampoo. Wash my hands whenever I feel the need to.
- Brush my teeth and eat breakfast before setting out on my quest to seek shampoo.
- Manage my account and make a note of expenses.
- Get started on writing ‘Ode to the Chicken’, although I’m not quite sure what I shall actually be writing. I suppose I could procrastinate a bit too.
- Complain a bit about the weather getting warmer to the patient walls of my room and brood about the withdrawing winter.
- Mull over and experience the numerous ways of being defeated by boredom while appearing to win the battle against it.
- Make that phone-call pertaining to transportation arrangements for Tuesday.
- Listlessly pace about my room.
- Listen to music. Loudly. Drool over guitar sequences and piano pieces.
- Contemplate writing a love poem dedicated to music and my intensely passionate and profound adoration for it.
- Reject the idea for the sake of standards.
- Daydream a bit about nothing in particular.
- Be amused by the irony of being jobless on a holiday and not enjoying the lack of work and the monotony.
- Think sarcastic thoughts.
- Speak sarcastic sentences.
- Laugh like a lunatic for no reason in particular.
- Finally tidy my cupboard. *Groan*
- Overdose on chocolates or biscuits (whatever I get hold of) till I get a tummy-ache.
- Try my best to fall asleep at night.
Thursday, 7 February 2008
Chameleon
Date: 07.02.2008
Time: 10:32 p.m.
Watch her as her colours change
And marvel at their vivid range
She will be who you want her to be
She will show you what you want to see,
Watch her scales glisten with pools
Of iridescent colour that shines and cools
Tempered with tears of obstinate gloom
She will mould their form to make room
For mountains of heartfelt sympathy
Doled out kindly without a fee;
Her true form hidden among the leaves
With every mocking sigh she heaves
A whisper of true intentions cold
Escapes the guarded stronghold
And breathes a rumour of cruel intent
Of prey consumed after its will is bent.
Watch this flighty creature strange
And marvel at its wondrous range
That beats the brains of mighty foe
Enthralling, in its pretty and clever show,
Watch its eye move over terrain
Thriving where weak-willed remain
She will be who you want her to be
She will show you what you want to see.
End: 10:53 p.m.
Time: 10:32 p.m.
Watch her as her colours change
And marvel at their vivid range
She will be who you want her to be
She will show you what you want to see,
Watch her scales glisten with pools
Of iridescent colour that shines and cools
Tempered with tears of obstinate gloom
She will mould their form to make room
For mountains of heartfelt sympathy
Doled out kindly without a fee;
Her true form hidden among the leaves
With every mocking sigh she heaves
A whisper of true intentions cold
Escapes the guarded stronghold
And breathes a rumour of cruel intent
Of prey consumed after its will is bent.
Watch this flighty creature strange
And marvel at its wondrous range
That beats the brains of mighty foe
Enthralling, in its pretty and clever show,
Watch its eye move over terrain
Thriving where weak-willed remain
She will be who you want her to be
She will show you what you want to see.
End: 10:53 p.m.
Monday, 4 February 2008
Conversations Of A Barmy Kind
01.02.2008
1:10 p.m.
LD: “I shall annoy you by reading out Stereochemistry.”
Kaz: “Stereochemistry! I eat chocolate in the face of Stereochemistry!”
A little while later, when LD has been annoyed into poking Kaz with her pointy purple pen...
Kaz: “*Places large leather shield of antipoke*!!!”
Some Monty Python videos later…
Kaz: (Staring bemusedly at a cake after suffering collision with it) “I can see a strand of my hair stuck there.”
Kaz: (sniggering) “We’re disgusting.”
2:00 p.m.
LD: “I need to drink water.”
LD: “AHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!”
Kaz reads.
Kaz: “That was unnecessary.”
03.02.2008
1: 10 p.m.
LD has been telling Ship all about Parabolas.
LD: “You’re swaying. And you’re hands are resting on your bum.”
Ship: “My bum is resting on my hands.”
LD: “Whahahahahaha! I need to quote this.”
Ship: “Write it down or you’ll forget.”
LD acts accordingly.
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