You know the kind of day, when your fork falls to the floor before u get to the table with breakfast. The toast gets burnt and you know subtly Karma is trying to tell you something you casually ignore.
WRONG.
Do. Not. Ignore. The. Its. Gonna. Be. A. Bad. Day. Signs.
I found yesterday that a lot of my friends and me – we’ve done some serious “phases” in life. The phase of abject alcoholism, the phase of not caring about anyone anything, the phase of being a fashionista, the phase of not being able to stand any alcohol, the phase of not wanting any romance/sex, the phase of caring too much to the detriment of me, the phase of slipping out of trying so hard constantly.
And then there are really serious ones – the phase where hope is lost, the phase when living makes you feel TINGLING alive, the phase when you know EVERYTHING ends. There is a pattern here and I don’t know if its entirely chance – do I set myself up for sadness after being happy? do I Decide to be happy after being sad for a while? Can you decide such things or only the extent of them taking over your life…?
The truly depressing fact was we’ve all gone through them all, and I say this with no sense of youthful pride, a friend who is genuinely tired of being alive now – everything done and dusted, another who does the routine to perfection you never think other dreams ever existed, and me – the whole of a lifetime stretched out and I can think of 3 point – blips – red blinking LEDs – that mean the most to me. 3.
Those 3 are all so far been when I have been most selfish – you’d think being a fairly normal person he blips would be of love and cherishing connections. Nope. The 3 blips – each a lifetime in its own are 3 years. Unfortunately and I spit the word out like a black tongued curse – they are consecutive years. Years of living how I wanted to, doing exactly what I chose to, with who I chose to and making the means for it on my own. No crutches and no sucker-leech like people.
It’s angering and saddening beyond words that in a way it’s sinking in that – THAT was it. You went you did , you realized you had it in you to do it and THE END. It angers me that the past year has been entirely spent dealing with imbeciles (and I am wholly surprised that there are SO many people who Don’t Want To Use Their Brains). Period. I cannot believe or put down in words how rusted I feel – I am losing the bubbling confidence I used to have about it all. I may sound like a whiny kid who just needs a rap on the knuckles and sent off to do homework – and I will say – PLEASE DO IT!!! I am bored, uninterested and becoming a zombie like every one else I see do a 9-5 shift.
The Fountainhead come to mind… and it looks more like fiction today than little nuggets of living like it did before.
It is almost like we are being punished for having a passion, the drive and grit to go get what we want.
Tasteful, classy, balancing a wine glass in hand. Watching you speak to all and sundry. Your well mannered grins and cheeky repartee, the women swoon and make fluffy fools of themselves. The cold-hearted melt and the tipsy float past the ceiling – you shine on them like languid afternoon sun. Fixing drinks by the bar as the bartender pretends he can’t notice the ease with which you pour, shake and serve. The men, they want reflected their miserable little charm off you, they hang about your shoulders, invite you to a wager now and then – timid almost their stance. Your best sportsmanship on display – let them win one while you win two after. Effortless this persona. Effortlessly you. Putting the nervous at rest. Charming the cruel, staying them with a smile while you eyes talk a more gruff language. People act like puppets on your strings. Circus animals in your arena-ring. You flow across the dance-floor – not an awkward moment between partners. Your hair flops on and off your forehead like you mean it to, your shoulders fluid under her hands but rock solid while unknotting the fight by the pool.
A smile plays on the wallflower’s lips, her wine glass ever-full, the heels that won’t click on the floor and she watches every thought in you brain before it reaches your face. The invite you sent – lazy drawl hand written note, words easy to say no to. Wallflower for once didn’t. Clearly she writes her intentions on you as you play the host you always have. Yet the seemingly random conversation no one noticed, the silent kiss on the balcony as you went to fetch someone else’s silk wrap… Oh the smile knowing no one will notice she never left that night or this one or that you are only drunk on a shy wallflower.
UNKLE (Never Never Land); Dj Shadow (Endtroducing); Zero 7 (Simple Things); Massive Attack; Thievery Corporation; Morcheeba; Yppah; The Knife; Hot Chip; Aphex Twin; Mstrkrft; Mylo; Jaga Jazzist; Boards of Canada (Geogaddi); Air (Moon Safari; Virgin Suicides; 1000Hz)…
so what are u dying to listen to today?
check it out! check it out!
http://www.morenewmath.com/
I love this junk… 
The early morning over summer holiday. Mum made sure the rubbing in of sticky oil – ears and face as well. We used to find the past years oldest clothes to wear, the oldest bucket or two used to fill up with powder dye and water – inky shades of blue, red and green. Each year we would go buy the biggest most powerful water gun. We’d be planned and ready – anticipating the coming hordes of children. Equals and friendly – a war on the streets, ambushed in alleyways and laughter for the opium induced laughter for the children. Everything a celebration of twinkling naughtiness.
The license to touch a teenage crush. Girls legitimize their wet shirt contests, the boys sneak out beer and sneaking in infatuations, hormones in drugged dazed afternoon affections. Summer’s high.
The going to school with green nails and teeth. Looking around to see who was spared the joys, who was the girl who squealed the most, who dunked who in which pool, who slipped ice down my neck… 1994.
This holi was long overdue, and I missed u baby bro. Our team was incomplete, yet complete in its own way – you with your girl and mine? oh it was his first proper holi. Though I doubt it – he’s played before… I had to teach the basics – I felt veteran. Sandy was around and nostalgia floated in and out with the Bhang. Their was the home-bound holi at Maji’s. There was the giggling drive to a farmhouse, there was music and there was friends. Dunked in pool twice, free food, the drugged hippie happiness on every face at a festival called – Holi Cow! There was uber-couply-ness. There was drunken haze, clouds of colour and ribbons of music, hands held and hugs in the messy way that chaos takes over and you smile as you see it’s perfection.
Family stories of a similar vein swapped at night, cleaning the layers away and I felt at home like maybe it was exactly as it should be, not missing the kiddie-hood family joy of sleepy stories at night cuz there it was – family in my arms and around – the layers wash away like they have each time we did play. You know – I knew this was my favourite and now you know why… don’t you?
Suppose I said
I am on my best behavior
And there are times
I lose my worried mind
Would you want me when Im not myself?
Wait it out while I am someone else?
Suppose I said
Colors change for no good reason
And words will go
From poetry to prose
Would you want me when Im not myself?
Wait it out while I am someone else?
And i, in time, will come around
I always do for you
Suppose I said..
Youre my saving grace
Would you want me when Im not myself?
Wait it out while Im someone else?
Would you want me when Im not myself?
Wait it out while Im someone else?
Collar worn and lost. A dragonfly lay in the dirt waiting for rain to wash it away. Games they seem harmless make-believe and then they get twisted – cheaters are called on, punished, crying ensues. The childhood scraps and squabbles we play again. So follow the rules. Play the game. Be the den. Tag you’re it! Along lines of bullying and playing the field. Along the borders we run. Along side them playthings and toys we scheme our mind games. Plots like in Cluedo, being Miss Scarlett was always the most profitable – you got to the action quicker. You could call upon Mustard and blame Mrs Peacock. Always you could win. But then you could also be the murderer yourself.
Cluedo – like the little lists and notes left in inboxes now. Like the hints and whispers in public. Permissions and restrictions. Curfews and being disobedient. In blankets hidden lies the pair of dice. High rollers seldom place tiny bets… *grins in the lamp lit corner, cigar in mouth, watching tastefully crossed legs on display*
another set of memories in holdable form gone bye bye... makes me sad.
