Where my senile memories go

NOTE: I apologize for this popup-post since I am not due for another post until another week, after my post on mirrors yesterday. Now, knowing I have a couple of smart-headed followers, I will not say more than that it’s fictional. Yes. But if you claim it has splashes of reality, figures! As at now, I am not sure if it’s gonna be in traditional poetry form or just plain prose because a couple of us are on a campaign to ban poor works of modern writing shamefully mimicking wonderful traditional poetry; and even though I am regarded as primarily poetic, I still have to tread cautiously lest I be sent to the gallows also for crime-of-art.

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____________________
I have seen it all…

Nothing surprises me again
Born a twin to this madman, we experienced a lot of life together. I am more level-headed though. Years ago, I took up job at a new place as a sales representative. I have always been in this business of human contact and take particular pleasure in reading the human mind, besides manipulating it for the purpose of money when marketing. Sorry for calling things the way they are, but many of us manipulate others for various purposes. And sometimes we think these purposes are selfless. As if it matters! I AM NOT TRYING TO EXCUSE MYSELF. And please feel free to judge me. (Yes, I tire of this don’t-judge-me philosophy that’s on the rave.) In another life, I might have been a psychologist or a forensic expert.

Enter the new girl.

If you, Reader, are into fairy-tale mushy-musheries then you might describe her as the quiet sun minding its business, yet the radiance it gives at day or night cannot be denied, though it never blows its trumpet. (Sunstroke is more a case of one-man’s-meat-being-another’s-poison.) Or you might describe the experience of seeing her as a philosopher who tastes ecstasy that leaves him wanting more. (Wonder why I use the word ecstasy a lot these days. Note please: I discourage doping on ecstasy!) Or you might describe your feeling as a confusion/disorganisation that makes perfect sense to you.

Without any dilly-dally on shilly-shallies, we would meet at work and go about the day’s business with perfectly courteous professionalism. We would part at evening, after a long day’s work and would never even speak of catching a drink. No, not a date. Not anything fancy. Just a drink at a non-remarkable place.

The first year, I handled the feelings well. I had no desire to wanna know her beyond the immediate business at hand.

The second year was slightly more overwhelming. The little attention to HER that I deliberately denied her during the first year came back with a little interest. It was easy for me to notice some of those little things beyond her body itself. I know it’s a bit unfair on other men, but my involvement with humans have meant I had to train my peripheral vision. So I could see my environment more easily just like ladies can (since it’s been noted ladies have better peripheral vision than guys. This means they can spot the guys shamelessly eyeing them out of the corners of their eyes.)

The third year I became concerned –about my welfare –enough to wanna know more about her. Questions I would like to ask her –like “How are you?” at the start of each day, or “How are you finding the work demands on YOU? since it was her first working experience. I had absolutely no problem with walking up to her and asking despite the feelings I had. But I knew this all along, since the first year when the feelings visited me, that nothing could probably come out of it.

It is life, isn’t it!

The fourth year and the feelings have persisted like a tough climate over the Sahara. Definite. Undeniable. Unstopping. Demanding attention. Yet untouchable.
I would not even seek closure. What does that word even mean?

The feelings were heavy in my eyes
For any who cared to look
But I busied their lazy bottoms
With reading her body gestures
The feelings were lodged in my throat
I could eat and swallow hard
The feelings would make my heart skip
But trained in relaxation techniques
I’d sooner regulate my heart rate
The feelings were tied to my dreams and skull
But I gave no indulgence to daydreams

Days turned to years and my five-year contract was soon over there.
I never asked if her heart was sold out to another
If she would wish to see me another day
I never knew even her second name!

It was just another passing phase of life. It is just another thing that happens in life. Nothing surprises me.

Times in my life come and go. I remain unchanging right at my core.
Well, except when I mope about how those four years went without even a monument erected in their memories.

Well, here’s one. Till the day wordpress.com crashes.

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14 responses to “Where my senile memories go

  1. A fitting monument… until you mentioned the WordPress crash… does this mean my stuff wont last as long as the pyramids???

  2. Doc, I am really happy to know you my friend. Your humour and abundance of sheer life is affirming in ways that I doubt you fully understand, for how could you over these airwaves and microbubbles?

    I seldom am able to tell if you’re talking about yourself or a fantasy. This is high art.

    On a more odd note, you should really set PMAO at peace and assure him that WordPress is already targeting his blog for permanent deletion. Imminently.

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