The water melon tree.

There is overt sexual tension in this house.
I'm never comfortable, and for some reason i keep getting these strange vibes from god knows where.

Evening: She has her hands all over him. Do they not know i'm here? I'm feeling awkward, looking away from them, my face permanently turned the other direction. I think of getting up, but then i think that would only bring more attention to me and lead to an awkward situation for both parties.

Night: we're having dinner. somehow, her pregnant belly is adding to all these tensions. i keep looking back at her swelled up stomach, and i can't help imagine them doing it. I think it's only natural, that when i look at the fruit, the deed that led to it would cross my mind. Or perhaps i'm just perverted.


Morning: Saw my first nymph today. Now i know what he meant in Lolita. Though after a while i got used to the glamour and beauty.

Wisps of smoke-like wisdom

I'm sitting in the smoking room.

I'm the youngest in the room by a few decades. Since when did smoking become a habit of the old?
I feel like an infant in front of all these ancient relics.
Truth be told, i'm fed up of smoking these stupid cherry cigars that i bought at the duty-free shop.

I finally pluck up the courage and offer to exchange one of my cigars, for a full blown Marlboro red with an old lady, who i think is German.
She refuses, with a sweet smile, and gives me the marlboro for free. Now i feel even more like a kid.

Smoking the Marlboro, reading Leo Tolstoy, and occasionally writing interesting snippets in my diary.

The number of people in the room has really increased now. Smoke fills the room, reducing visibility, choking people and bringing tears to every pair of eyes in the room.

One Indian comes in, and then leaves in 5 seconds, leaving his cigarillo in the ashtray, saying the smoke is too much.

"Yahaan pe to sutta jalaane ki zaroorat hi nahin hai", he tells me before leaving. I smile and nod my head, thinking what a pussy he is.

As the Marlboro comes to an end, i regret not having bought the carton. Anyway, it's too late now.

In the plane:

As i watch this crappy plane safety video, i remember Tyler's theory in Fight Club, where he says that they have oxygen masks in planes because oxygen gets you high, so that everyone is calm during any catastrophies.
The girl in this animated cartoon also looks wayyy too happy for someone who's about to jump from a plane into the water. By the way, what happened to her son who was with her in the previous video? Abandoned during crisis? snigger

Something in the planeis making me giggly. perhaps its the difference in air pressure?

heehee.. can't seem to stop giggling.
The Sardar sitting next to me is giving me weird looks.

Over this power

There are many layers to this. More than meets the eye.
It is possible to walk through one layer to the other, or phase entirely through layers.
It is especially easy for me, since i have been doing this since childhood. Sometimes, i think I'm bigger than this all, bigger than the sound, the visions. But it's all just a coincidence, really. There's nothing special about me. OK, granted there is, but i haven't done anything to deserve it, and it could just as easily have been anyone else.
Just fate, natural selection, or whatever.

Perhaps these are all just delusions of grandeur. I really do hope they are.


Cuz if they're not, then.......

Downward Spiral

It's perfect. There's nothing better than the term downward spiral to describe a life that's going from bad to worse, or a situation that goes rapidly out of control.

It's in the nature of things to decay, go bad, get spoiled, die. and things very often do go from bad to worse.
A vicious circle, each event eating the other in one destructive bite.
hmmm...

I think I'm really pessimistic today.

The Voodoo Subject.

I have a voodoo doll in your name,
a hair from your mane.

This spell will work, as it always has.
The pain will stay, as it always does.

I'll poke a needle in your eye.
cut you up from inside,
pluck your limbs apart one by one...
my, we're gonna have so much fun!

The image of you screaming in pain,
brings a warm, happy feeling in my soul.
you'll try to escape in vain,
as i'll be bleeding your bowel.

You'll be sitting somewhere,
Unaware.
The shock of hurt.
When the blood will spurt.

leaves you bleeding,
without a clue,
of what just happened...

Scream all you want my love,
as you lie,
writhing in pain.

Every drop of your blood,
will be sweet revenge,
Served warm for a change.

And at last,
as i burn the voodoo doll to ash,
i can imagine, the smell of your flesh cooking.

as the straws burn,
there'll be a smile on my face. :)


(c) felix bambaboy

Night time frolic.

Saturday night at the club. Music too loud to hear myself think. I think this is the ninth cocktail in my hands. should go for some cocaine next.
I stand on my perch, looking into the crowd. Disco lights highlighting wild faces.
It's easy to differentiate the desperate singles from the non-committed and the unavailibles.
The desperates look here and there, eying for prey with sharp eyes.
rubbing against each other, the static friction inviting others to join in between.

I look over from my perch, and gently a smile comes over my face.




It's hunting time.

emo

best emoticon. ever.

Dream/State

My name is Madeline. I keep having this recurring dream, or should I say nightmare, after which I always wake up in a cold sweat. I think it’s from the time when I was 4 years old. This is how it goes-

I get down from the bright yellow school bus, books in hand, bag in tow,

A smile on my face. J

I open the front door to our house and enter with a cheerful shriek of” mommy, I’m home!”

I gaze in shock at the floor. All my dolls lay on the floor mutilated, violated. Their appendages have been cut through with some sort of sharp object. Some of their limbs are missing, some of their eyes are gouged out, some of their heads have been cut off.. And all of them are BLEEDING. The books fall from my hand in shock. I Cover my eyes and start to scream. The scream slowly builds up in volume. “aaaahhrrrRggggGGGHHHHHHH!!!!!

I rush towards my mommy’s bedroom, my feet seemingly moving on their own. I hastily push open the door and rush towards my mom. But something makes me stop in my tracks. My mom is kneeling on the floor. There is blood on her hands and her hair. I see some cuts in her hand and run towards her, wanting to make sure she’s okay. Wanting to take away her pain. “Mommy , are you okay? Who did this to you?” I ask frantically.

I too am on my knees now, her hands in my hands, her blood on my hands. HER BLOOD ON MY HANDS.

I wait for her reply, waiting for her to lift her face up so I can look into her eyes, those reassuring eyes. For I know that once I look into her eyes, everything will be fine. I know that she will wipe my tears and all will be good with the world.

She starts to mumble… the words make no sense.. slowly she lifts her face up.

I cant help it- I start to scream again “AAAAAAAIIIIIIEEEEEEE!!!!!”

ONE of her eyeballs is missing from its socket. My mouth lies open in shock, the scream never-ending. I am still staring at the socket, where there is empty apace, filled with raw flesh and blood, where an eye should have been. With shock I avert my eyes from the sight. Suddenly, her hand reaches out and grabs my ponytail. With such force it pains like I have never felt pain before.

PAIN SUCH AS I HAVE NEVER EXPERIENCED.

Still in shock, I grab her hands with my tiny fingers, trying to stop it but to no avail. I am wailing loudly now, crying my heart out. “Why is she doing this?” I am confused, but for now, the pain is all I can think about.

She drags me to the floor and then her other hand moves to the side, trying to reach for something. I look with tear-filled eyes and see the glint of a sharp knife. She grabs it and brings it towards herself… Now, I am screaming “ No, mommy, no !!!”

There is no expression on her face. Staring somewhere into the distance she brings it down, right into one of my eyes.

And she finally wakes up. Heavy breathing, her stomach in knots, body all wet from the sweat.

She throws the blanket over to the side, and gets off the bed. The way to the bathroom is dark, but she walks through it easily on memory, even though it has only been two nights since she’s here. The floor feels ice cold on her bare, wet feet. She welcomes the feeling, and takes off the rest of her clothes on the way, left on the floor, like discarded children.

After washing her face, she looks into the mirror. Looking at the deep dark circles, embedded beneath her eyes, black craters, and proof of a lack of satisfactory slumber. Without sleep, life slowly seems to be standing still…… still life…… a frozen painting… her, staring into the mirror… a snapshot saved in the mind.

Night is the only refuge now. Black as it is… night is the only solace.

Mornings, bright as they are, bring to light the harsh cruelty that is life… Mornings…

Mornings are meant for mourning. Mourning in black.

She sits on the couch and moans….