Category Archives: fiction

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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WHY I DON’T USE MY MIRROR

BACKGROUND: I am a recovering blockaholic and my most recent episode lasted over four weeks; over two weeks of waking up in the morning to dry dusty unpleasant desert wind blowing into my protected tropical bedroom reminiscent of the dryness in my art-life; over two weeks of early morning thoroughly-scrubbing-my-body-in-an-attempt-to-get-rid-of-the-frustration-stuck-on-my-artlifeless-body baths; over two weeks of wondering where my eyes went as I walked generally blindfolded throughout life unable to see those hidden things I used to see –the hidden world, the hidden souls, the hidden motives in men that cry out so clearly to me usually in queer dialects. Don’t get me wrong, I could have gone down the road of just writing anything, or even a journal, just for the sake of blogging, but I write with my eyes, not my hands.
NB: I do not in any way shamefully ignorantly insinuate that those who blog to describe their everyday lives are artless.
I am sorry to say this, but the only crack through my writer’s block I am having today is a theme I am moderately known for and have been told more than once to write on less frequently.
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WHY I DON’T USE MIRRORS

I know
I can see you, the sweet hair you pay due attention to grooming
Sincerely and politely I must say
You have quite an assorted collection of “weeds”
(Caution: I discourage doping!)
Blooming in that lovely forest up there
That speaks well for the well-fertilised soil of a brain you have
So rich with “the stuff” that you are eternally euphoric
You get so high and closed up in your world so often
Seeing things people don’t see
Seeing things people see in ways they don’t
That people can’t seem to understand you well
They ask you to explain what exactly you mean
And later to explain even the explanation you just gave
Worse yet you feel so grand and special despite all
In your most sober state you are grandiose
I ask what is the point of speaking
If you can’t really communicate with people around
Perhaps, one day you will feel pressed
But being so smart you will struggle with words
Simple enough to ask the janitor
The direction to the toilet….

I hope I bring out well the glowing form
Of your perfect lips
Full and firm
Dripping with wildness
Is art a curse
You very smoothly talk your way into men’s souls
Almost irresistibly
Because you happened to know the deep matters of the heart
Once upon a time
So, now you can speak like an angel
Like the sweet God himself
So that less than 5% of humans alive today
Can really tell your heart is as at this day vain and sly
For the lip-gloss that makes it look attractively slippery
Hides the acerbic acidic nature

Hahahahahahahahahahaha!!!
Please pardon my sardonic laughter
[Oh, and you needn’t worry about me cracking
And harming you with my splinters
I need you alive to come see me again tomorrow]
But you look like you could use a breast-reduction surgery
I get that you are trying to appear confident and collected
Believe me I know all too well about standing straight and tall
It’s just that you look too puffy
Like the centre of the universe
You are so vain one could see right through your chest wall
To the real intent and content of your heart
Hard to hide a heart so outstanding like yours
Sadly, few people could take their eyes off your awesome lips
To gaze lower down into your soul-pit

I should apologize I can’t exactly capture your heart
So clearly through your vanity
It is so grey
Muddled up with conflicts
Though fairy tales advise one to follow one’s heart
Well, thanks to what-I-do-not-know-since-I-never-leave-your-room
Your heart is lost in the greys
You can’t quite tell right from wrong
You call insane and warped cool
Your heart is the shape of a horseman riding the high seas
Gone gagaciously completely offshore
And you love the way you ride just like that
Your head stuck up your horse’s arse
(Caution: I discourage swear words!)

Oh your striking owl-eyes
Sharp and discerning
Your dewy-lewy eyes
Warm and mesmerising
I have heard you humans say
The eyes are a window to the soul
But your eyes mimic me
Hence my favourite body part
Your eyes reflect people’s souls
You see into them
And play the ball in their courts
It doesn’t help that you are into body language reading
To regular folks, you are regular
To the smarty pants,
You act totally regular and vulnerable
Not even showing signs you know their game
Your cover is good
And you don’t make a show of yourself
You prefer hiding under your skin
Well, that’s the fitting place anyway.
No wonder you hate me
Your mirror
Because whenever you look at me
You feel exposed
Not for the darkness in your soul
For you are not shamed of that
You are just averse to being exposed!

S T R U C K ! ! !

English: African Lion and Eland Antelope skele...

English: African Lion and Eland Antelope skeleton diorama to be displayed in the Museum of Osteology. Photo by Jay Villemarette (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

So hear
You know I am already a fool
When it comes to you
I stalk you like a haunter
A haunter ill-prepared
To apprehend the victim
So that each time
I come close to you
I am all amped up
Adrenaline pouring through my blood
As I prepare to hop on you
And claim you for myself
But at the climax of my anxiety
I am reminded that
There really is no way to bring it through
This lack makes me burn hotter with sickening desire

For a moment
You look in my direction
Just in time to see me on fire
Oh darn! I reek of burns
I try to run away
But the trail of smoke betrays me wickedly
You try to reach for me
But, again, I think
What will be the end to it
What happens after you catch up to me
Stand and stare me in the face
So I run
Adrenaline oozing through my sweat
A strong pheromone
On someone dreading attention
And you chase me
Why you do I don’t know
But I won’t even dare to ask that
If and when you should catch up with me

I just run
Like a foolish lion
Who faced a horned antelope
To discover late
That he hadn’t grown any tooth or claw!

The Cheetah And Lamb Saga

It’s been going on for a while today.

The cheetah at the lamb’s tail. But, it’d appear he is not hungry, because he’d stride up close to the lamb during the chase, take a little bite and watch with keenness how the lamb reacts. After, he’d step down his pace to allow the lamb recoup.

He favoured the tail at first. Since it wasn’t very painful, the lamb was able to recover easily and adjust to the experience. Then he moved up close and personal as he threw a clawed limb at the lamb’s side cracking a rib close to the lamb’s heart. Thankfully, the lamb’s heart was spared, the cheetah thought. It’d be a premature end to his fun. Now the lamb was beginning to understand as it felt the pain. At a time, the lamb saw the cheetah draw back. He was tired of the game. But, suddenly it felt the cheetah breathing down its neck where it stopped to rest. The cheetah had caught up with it again. The suddenness added more shock to the baseline fear of the whole experience. The lamb leapt up in horror. It was wrong. The cheetah knew his cards well and had upped his game.

Why wouldn’t the lamb just give up? Was its survival instinct that potent, or was the cheetah just playing its psyche just right. Give some hope, then also a little fear (leaving the lamb with a net gain of hope). Repeat the cycle many more times till the lamb gets used to having a little hope left. Then, in one quick clean move, dash the accumulated hopes.

The cheetah paused to rest again. Or, at least so to make the lamb think. Suddenly the cheetah saw two all-white eyes, stark, glaring at him above two rows of all-white teeth, huge, baring. The lamb knocked the cheetah quickly with a hoofed limb to the cheetah’s forehead sending him sprawling, out from under the tree where the cheetah was lounging.

In time, the lamb turned on the cheetah and gives him a run for his sanity.

“Inspiration is a male on heat!”
-JARCSH

BACKGROUND: It could be painful when you call yourself an artist, yet you can’t always seem to capture all you want or wish to capture and express properly. Inspiration would come on strong on you, making you feel warm all over and your head/mind bursting with aggressively taunting bits and pieces of imagination.

Initially, you could manage to live a normal life, undisturbed by days when you cannot express your art. Then, after getting used to making fine works of art -music, writing, graphics, theatre,… it starts becoming a part of you to wanna capture and express EVERYTHING that pops into your mind. Days when it’s organised; days when it’s random; nights you can’t sleep yet not much results to show. Yet, as strong and loud as inspiration is, it doesn’t always wait for you achieve orgasm. It comes on, drops all it has to drop, and leaps off you. Leaves you virtually stranded in the dark. High and dry. And cold. Please, pray you can quickly gather what bits you can, and perhaps your audience may enjoy it well enough not to notice you had to sweat using your own wits to piece the many parts together into a masterpiece.

I am not gonna advise any artist reading this to turn on his/her inspiration, but you know it takes a lot to stride at par with this mischievous cheetah called inspiration.

Thank you.

In time, heaven’s light crashes in on earth’s darkness. //symbolic writing//

The Earth seen from Apollo 17.

The Earth seen from Apollo 17. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Two ships flying in space a-tango
Earth and Heaven kingdom-ships
The Heaven ship could fly faster
But it kept close to the Earth ship

Often it would send power sparks
To give the Earth kingdom-ship a lift
Or Earth ship would have fared worse
The crew is the worst a ship could wish for

For long the two ships have been on parallel courses
Heaven’s Captain keeping a close watch
Because He has a stake in the other ship
For Earth carries unwilling captives of war

Left to the gods of the earth they’d run it aground
They resist heaven’s help even firing at it
They’d sooner crash earth than see the slaves free
Sadistic gods set against Heaven’s Captain

The Captain knew they’d soon hit the Hell Hole
But He would sooner crash his ship into earth
To get it off that self-destructive course
And He’d capture earth ship

He’d overthrow the lords of the earth ship
Free the slaves and set things straight
He’d force peace to reign aboard that ship
But the timing has to be right!