obligatory wtf post

wtf are you not answering my emails? that's three without a word in reply, so you better have a fucking good excuse, quasi aussie.

Black Storm

Pleebis,

Mind over matter becomes a savior from the deep darkness. There's a light at the end of the tunnel, it's a bit far. But it's there. From miles of pain and pressures I do find the ink to scribble. Takes a bit of time doesn't it?

Who knows what lies in layers of future, we sit and stumble with present, waiting for it to unfold.

And when the voice is carried by the breeze of hauntism, you still have yourself, your beating heart and rambling mind. The void is your company. You're not alone, just don't sink.

haemorrhage

dear lily,

i'm a mess. mess mess. messmess.
i've imploded. over and over and again, again again again again.
there's nothing beyond the grey. not even dust.
manual dexterity. my body hates me. i hate my body.

Hues

It's Valentines alright. I'm hoping Pleebis would have wished his infatuated fantasy woman, atleast sent her a rose. I smell in the winter breeze and bask in the warmth of the heater as the clock ticks on. Text books scattered on the colorful rug, the quilts and blankets around my socked feet and my hair a mess of dark long wires.

I love my sanity and innocence. The silence and privacy. The blank wall shows me wonders. I watch it capture the words in my mind and display them in a mixture of rainbow colours, then fade away into nothingness.

Imagine
Alleys
Butterfly
Blue

The words absorbed into the blank wall.

I reached over and touched my blue butterfly tattoo. My signature.

Thumbsucker

Not awestruck but adjusting. I miss the congested traffic sounds and concrete jungles. Pleebis was a no show on short text message. With the map in one hand and exploring new horizons doesn't scare me at all. Well, when I got lost, I did get a bid shitty after I laughed my way down Swanston Street. That was for an hour of running in circles and bumping into the same guy thrice.

I have turned into countess Dracula..reading its history and feeling friggin' scared to make it to the loo. I sleep whole day and wake up at midnight. I love the wireless roaming with my laptop and flirting with unknown persons in chat..where did Pleebis go?

I shouldn't say this at such an age ...but..I miss home! Waaaaaaaaaaah.

compulsive new year post

At 12 am, I was in a dirty cafe' (nafaa) eating day old savouries to the buzz of middle-aged conversations. There was no indication that a new year had dawned, no pause to the flow, no greetings; it was an evening like any other and the men did not find reason to celebrate any more or less than they usually did at that hour.

Outside the cafe' I was greeted by a drunken acquaintance, who looked as though he had had a run in with a paper knife with a pathological hatred of humankind. It so happened that his sometime girlfriend had called it quits that very night, and she was picked up on cue, by a stranger who made off with her without a second glance. And while attempting to drown the mocking roar of engines and his sorrow with a bottle of vodka my friend was found, sobbing and intoxicated by his sister, and it occurred to him right there and then that he had lost all desire to live. He quoted Metallica for me and said it was profound. As he was a fervent Metallica fan and was sore from a thwarted suicide attempt, and still had his blunt implement on his person, I found it wise not to disagree. When he was finally sober enough to find some humour in the situation, we embarked on an aimless tour of the streets, his bloodied clothing occasionanlly being the subject of unwanted curiosity.

Some thoughts

It's a sweltering 33 degrees Centigrade outside and the airconditioner hums ineffectually, doing little to alleviate the growing heat, beads of sweat trickle down the bridge of his nose accumulating at the tip in an impressive droplet... the city seethes and gives off the vibe of madness barely contained. Meanwhile an eminent politician has been killed, nightmares have struck the congenitally blind, and you, dear Lily, must be en route to the land down under to commune with aborigines and learn the ways of the earth.

The more debilitating questions plague me during reflective moments and I am compelled to find answers, or forge them...
At times everything seems farcical; life becomes a parody prolonged out of nothing but weakness. Othertimes, I laugh.
I hope you're doing well.
Our chats are missed, and work has become that much more tedious.

At a cafe' on Friday night

Majdy was late and I was growing impatient; my agitation was heightened by the drone of voices intermingled with the obnoxious din of the usual night time traffic laboriously making their way through the choking street below. I was about to leave when he appeared suddenly, and took a seat opposite mine. I concealed my irritation and greeted him, but he must have sensed it for he began an elaborate apology which I curtly dismissed. We sat without speaking for a few moments, then the waiter turned up and asked for our order.
"Two milk coffees and a pack of cigarettes will do" said Majdy.
"What kind of cigarettes?" the waiter inquired, and Majdy glanced at me. I told him a brand on a whim and the waiter propmptly disappeared into the dimness of the cafe'.
"So how have you been?" I asked Majdy. "Good, I suppose" he remarked. "I saw the moonrise tonight, it was beautiful"
"That's nice," I mumbled absently.
"You saw it then?" he asked.
"No, I meant it's nice that you were part of a beautiful moment." I replied.
"I see." he mused. "I wonder why though".
"Why what?" I interjected.
"Why I found it beautiful" he said.
We fell silent and I wondered where our orders were.
"Perhaps it wasn't the moon by itself that was beautiful, the atmosphere and my receptiveness might have played a part as well" he spoke after some time.
"Beauty is in the eye of the beholder" I said.
"Why in the eye?" he asked.
"It's just an expression, besides didn't you say you saw the moonrise?"
"Of course, but it doesn't mean that beauty lies in my eye or in any other eye for that matter. I find such expressions misleading".
The waiter re-appeared with a tray and set the items down by us. I sipped some coffee, something that I don't normally drink but it was Friday night and I didn't want to go to bed early, rather I wanted to milk the evening for all it was worth because weekends didn't come often enough.
"I don't know if we mean the same thing when we say of something that it is beautiful. I can't look into your head to see your thoughts. And even If I did, I probably wouldn't recognize beauty because it might be different from my conception of it." I said.
"But you agree that you experience beauty?" he queried.
"I do, I suppose".
“Do you also agree that you can only know something through experience?”
“I suppose so”.
“It doesn’t make any sense to speak of knowing something that you haven’t experienced does it?”
“Well”, I remarked, “There are facts I learn from books-"
“Oh you can’t really know them, can you, you can only have faith in them, that they are true, because you yourself have had no experience of them.”
“Okay”.
"Alright then, let's take an example. You see a sculpture, and you say it is beautiful. So, did it come to be beautiful upon your perception of its beauty or was it beautiful before you perceived it to be so?
"I think it had beauty in it for me to experience it"
"So it was beautiful before you perceived its beauty?" he smiled.
"Yes".
"How do you know that?"
"Well..."
He threw me an especially toothy grin of triumph, and it struck me how long his canines were.

Sensations.

The rain came down in torrents. Cozy bed made me think twice. I made myself so warm under covers that my brain switched on to hibernation mode. When I came to, it was past two. The shame of being absent from work and like this for the very first time, made me engross myself in the kitchen with a dead fish.

I missed Pleebis. I wanted to pour hot gossip and provoke him into endless chats. But then again..

" The ruffle of her skirts in the stillness of the night amused him. A slight smile turned a corner of his mouth. He started walking again. There it was behind him. She sure was following him. He stopped in his tracks. Silence.

"Don't move." She says.
He stood still.
She approached.
The fragrance of her perfume played with his senses. He felt her so very close to him. The temptation to turn around and see this stranger overpowered him.
Another step closer.
He could feel her body heat.
Then her arms came around him. Her softness against his back. Her cheek against his neck. Warm breath. Soft lips.

The darkness of the night enveloped them both. The momentary sexuality heavily laced with chemistry, submitted them, one to oneself. Soft spoken words, gentle touches, the heat - plus the mere fact that one a stranger to another contributed just as her perfume in provoking his senses."

Pleebis

He:

She was strangely insecure for a woman of her caliber and it puzzled him. But he would speculate no more on the matter. He had hoped for something that would call for a vicious onslaught of words that would transcend stated purpose and scope, something that would surprise, instead of being dull and orchestrated. There is one certainty in life: it is (perhaps) inherently uncertain. And maybe she would learn to appreciate that… and forgive remarks that were not intended to be malicious for the sake of it. And our ill begotten offspring, however grotesque its initial appearance, might in time bloom with quiet dignity.

Ominous

Then she wrote.

In the depths of darkness, where the words salvaged her sinking soul from the claws of the dreaded monsters of the night, she thought she saw a way. A way that created curiosity, the need to know. It amused her at first.

Assumptions. How it makes and ass out of oneself.

I have lost my way and ended up taking the wrong lane.

What about the patience and the stalwart acolytes of serenity, when our wisdom teeth are pulled? What about the grey cornices of our city, beyond which crow only the dark carrion birds feeding on our grandiose visions?
Why do we refuse to recognize ourselves in our waste, he wondered. Our faces in the landfills where lie our darkest, most shameful portraits of ourselves.
He needed comfort.

hackery

You know, my ex and I were going to name our daughter "Lily"… your nom de plume’s put me in a fell mood. I don’t care for the title of our blog either, because we don’t have anything to do with quills; instead it should be titled "unlettered buggery" because that is undoubtedly more pertinent.
And I can think of a description that does not attempt to suffocate the blog with the miasmatic aura of self proclaimed creativity and imagination. Here's my proposal: “Once upon a time, words crossed paths, grew lustful, fornicated and begot the bastard configurations of letters you see before you” . So I put forth this bill to change said title and description on the table.
I must confess I have hardly any room for thought that extends beyond bitter reminiscence, fornication and bad body odour at present.

Over to you, Lily. (it tears me to shreds to say your name)


Pleebis.