Stone Of A Fortress ♠ The Pandora Matchbox

Claws Not Tame

2011-03-24T04:40:00.004+05:30

these tame claws

are but not benign

not lacklustre

not positive

for negative

these claws know harbour

know scratching in silence

in silhouettes and shadows

in the orchestras of light-play

and dark offspring-marks

when you cradle these appendages

these limbs

these flesh of chisel and plum

remember

to let

see your

eyes

these nails and hammers

that move music

play as silk

in a carnival of instruments

that are in my body

can unplug

those marbles

your coquettish tweed suit
needs no ironing
as these claws
needs no clipping

in meditation
they perch
and flow
like tides of water
venom of ice

you can smile
remember
that the eyes

dwell

and fingers linger...

Kuroshitsuji II

2010-09-03T02:22:00.002+05:30

I have this all covered in my anime blog at aevumus.wordpress.com

please visit for the overview of this awesome anime.

The Golden Panorama

2010-08-07T20:52:00.003+05:30

It is strictly limited
this world of eyes
coveting passion

in a language surreal

as organ-mind can host

you may complain

my accomplishments are unfriendly

friendly is the artery

that is direct in her sweet blood-romance

like love in a labyrinth quest

pretty vistas undressed

royally loyal to all and none

royally loyal to none and all

feeling dizzy as life cradles the orgasm

happiness can be gestures

behind a sky

covered by ancient moon and bold astronomy

my stars are never loose

never obstructed

from singing

a fate

nesting the original

Limit Knows Not

2010-07-23T20:55:00.001+05:30

Seraphim me rose to the clouds
burning blue upon her face

her veiled genius
errupted

no, no rain always needed
just her in dazzling heat

blue chromosome
that decodes dreams
DNA for water replication
DNA for limitless

you rose with me

Oh Sky immortal

Bask me also with the blue valour that knights you

The origin of the Brave
rests with you beautiful daughter...

Destinations

2010-07-23T20:00:00.002+05:30

Blinded by light
obsidian is better
like ornaments
dressed in Valkyrie ferocity

...drowned in silicon perfection
mutilated by expectations
like deformed paper flowers
experimental contours

rigid is life

no cup of love

for

drink

I'm liberated

from dream parasites

dreaming in open skies...

Game Over

2010-07-19T23:42:00.002+05:30

Written for a writing.com contest called try your luck - you have three colours you choose one and the author of the contest sends you a prompt which is the secret to that colour choice. So I tried my luck.

__________________________________________________________________________

The Game is over. Over is the Game. What is this game? What game? I listen attentively. The Game is Over. It must be over. The Game is Over.

Nestled in a heart throb of a moment. Blasted by the dogma of selfishness. It has begun and end as life of a series. Provocative, Warm. Death is Warm - defying stereotypical dogma; and is the placebo for life. The Game maybe placed into the will of lies. Lies create. They can build bones. Houses of fleshed linings. They can be human.

The Game is Over. The Game has to be over. Repetition is unnecessary as it is already in motion. The Grand Circle swallows the universe...

...and the Game is Over...

…1…

2…

3…

4…

…”Smile!” I am jostled partially awake by the camera who romances me with light and particles – a sexual Petri-dish sans the actually mixture as this seduces one to know of the saying light and love.

My temples. They are bruised internally. Or, what we commonly called headache – mucuous swells as the life-wrapping, numbing narcotic of the biological savagery that can flip the ecosystem of comfort – Or, what we commonly called cold: I think I was starting to get one.

“ C’mon Abbud…Let us go Androgynius…”

My name. Masculine. Pricilla sweeps away as the leaves of the loyal foliage who are the tailors of the wind: Winded – like dolls – what is happening?

“Pricilla! Pricilla!” my cry is shuddering – no, not fear, - but cold – not internal – stimuli external – summer chill of the memoirs of the rain.

“ Abbud! Abbud!” The cry is shrill like a cat wounded.

“ Pricilla! Pricilla!” what is happeninhg – what is -?

Dead body.

“ Abbud – Abbud…where are we…?”

“ I don’t know…”

“ But, weren’t you planning this trip…?” she grabs me, “ You called me and told me to take us here!” she was crying.

“ I did call…but I didn’t give you these directions…”

“ What do you mean!?” She screams.

Gunshot.

Grazes.

…Her Shoulder…

Not Badly hurt but the response “AHHHAHHHHHHH!!!!!”

is needed.

Fear…

The dead body. Carcass of a female. Pierced between the heart. Lips painted with two shades of lipstick. Blue Top. Red bottom. Face with Kajol and the hair – tied in a bun with a Japanese ornament. Body wearing kimono. Pretty and not Asian. African. Bronze paleness. Life ran. No paint preserves the poetry of the soul.

“ Abbud! Abbud!”

“ Run Pricilla! Run Pricilla!”

We are running now. We are running.

The landscape derelict. Beautifully abandoned. Like those kittens. Adaptable And Loveable. Wild and exquisite. Better than the painted nails of that life-size doll…no…NO WAIT!

“ AHHHHHH!!!!AHHHHHH!!!!!” Pricilla trips and falls as the girl dressed in a costume resembling a bunny – no not the exotic – but like the animal.

I am too shocked to speak. No, wait. It is a boy! Dressed as a girl!

What does this person want…? To change us…? Or to create something…?

Laws are heavy – so is Life – the machineries which manoeuvre has strange tactics to play the friend.

Pricilla screams as another fire hits off onto the ground. The bastard is following and I scream, “ Pricilla! Move now!”

And to the Wilderness we are hurled as one would hurl the stone from the height well suited to see none devoured by the abyss beyond the naked iris.

Tongue throbs with the heart. An illegal channel. Eyes shake – a pirate port to the extremities of dark shrouds.

We huddle close. Arms upon Arms. Face pressed Face. Eyes looking in the way scanners eat microscopic digits.

“Abbud – what’s happening?” Pricilla questions, “ What is going on…?”

“ How am I supposed to know!?” I scream with irritation but she withdraws temporarily then pounces with the defence of:

“ You decided we needed a damn trip! What the hell Abbud! What the hell! Aren’t you thinking of the damn fact that I don’t know anything and that you have literally screwed us over!”

“ I didn’t do anything! You are silly to think I put us in this situation – well, maybe – just maybe I did – but not purely with any intention!”

Pricilla looked, her grip loosened then hardened, “ What do you mean maybe?!”

“We are now in the game…” I instructed, “ Don’t be silly and forfeit because it isn’t like other games. This is a life decision.”

“ Is this a joke?!” she pushed away and stared at me with horror, “ You…you set this up…you bitch…you damn dirty bitch…”

“ Relax…As I stated I did not set this up…”

“Why the hell are you talking in riddles?!”

“ Shut Up Pricilla! Nor else we’ve had it!”

“ You shut up! You set us on some weird sick thing and you want me to shut it!”

“ I said I didn’t set us up – I did say it before to you that I didn’t give you these directions!” I grabbed her and shook her to get her to calm down, “ I said I was somewhat involved because…because of that desire…that desire I told you about remember…”

“ What…what desire…what desire…Abbud…?”

“ That desire – Pricilla…that one I told you when we were children and said that you never wanted me to change – remember that one Pricilla…” I looked at her and her horror realized my expectations, “ Yes, Pricilla…yes…yes…it’s that one dear Pricilla…”

Pricilla slouched and looked at me – then she slapped me: “All this time… You were hiding it…weren’t you…you miserable little…you are such a bad, evil girl…”

“ It’s not like that….Pricilla…” I clutched my face “ You know that our love is good…”

“ I told you never to do this…What can you possibly want more…?”

“ You know that I have had my dissatisfactions – you know that Pris – I can’t do it anymore…”

“ You shut it! You don’t know how much this is hurting me Abbud…”

Her neck craned upwards she acknowledged the night sky – only for a few minutes as the hand of the shadow grabbed her exposed throat and tried to strangulate her – our screams the Morse code to the interloper for our quietude’s destruction.

“ No Pricilla!” I scrambled up but I was kicked down momentarily as our interloper had his great feat of pleasure attempting to asphyxiate my comrade – my best friend – whom I hurt but now I can release at least from this vice grip of the bastard – I returned with a rebound kick to his back angled at a position from the laying stance on the ground as to make my shifting legs make his ears believe I am scrambling due to a bruise.

His grip loosens and he is pushed forward and Pricilla pushes him aside. She scrambles up with a scream and rushes to my arms, who kicked the menace to the ground. Then we both run again. Breaths high. Mind higher. Realm of insecurity and tension.

Not understanding the fates.

Pricilla screams. Another body. This one with eyes whiter than the last. Boy. Dressed as a little cupid. Hands stretched as if welcoming Christ. Body cold from mutability.

Pricilla weeps and clutches at me and I hug with eyes too shocked and tongue limp to speech. Scrawls of breaths are my protests. "What are we to do?...What are we to do…? ….What are we to do…?..."

“I…I don’t know….” I stumble for the tongue, “ I…just don’t know…”

“ Abbud – how did he know us…it is a he right – could it be a she…?”

“ Yes, could…I am scared that thing will catch us if we stop – let’s move…”

We resume running. Last catch of white….white death…no dark Grim reaper but snowy as angel feather…

“Abbud…” we walk, “ Remember when we first met in the kindergarden…?”

“ Oh yes…” I smile, “ I had just recently moved in the country and I was excited but also scared…because I did not know what to do…”

“ That Asian boy, Lee, he really liked you…” Pricilla stuck her tongue out to tease, “ Still does. He is the ruler of the chess frontier and has had a few girlfriends. Since kindergarten to now – geez we have grown older and may study at different universities but it’s obvious he still likes you…”

“ How come…? I mean how do you know this…?”

“ Oh Abbud Lee studies with me at my university and just the other day he came up to me…and he was like ‘Pricilla, you still good friends with Abbud…’ and I was ‘Yeah still the best of friends since we were like those toddlers…’ and he was grinning, you know he’s really cute and I was like, ‘Lee…?” then he popped it, the void bubble not anyone’s you know, ‘Pricilla…’ and I was like ‘Yeah’ and he says ‘ Pricilla please tell Abbud I like her a lot..I always have and I want to…if she wants…ask her out…’ and that was the confession,” Pricilla fell to the ground and I tried to pick her up, “ ..he took your number and everything…” and she was crying, “ I just wanted you know…in case we don’t make it…”

“ Pris stop talking like that and get up!” I demanded from her, her strength, and she realized this and stood up, “ We can’t give up…we have to do this accordingly…”

“ Abbud – this is insane! Let’s just run away!”

“ Let’s see if its possible…” I knew the insanity of it yet madmen like moi cannot resist the attic of vast distortions. Antoinette who unwillingly became Mrs. Rochester and Jane Eyre’s predecessor do not think yourself the only madwoman in those upstairs locked away.

“ Abbud… I trust you but…I’m not going to let you hurt yourself…”

“ Does this mean you’ll kill me if the thing doesn't…?” a wearisome smile to my wearied companion who stares with tears translucent.

“ If it saves you…”

I push her: “ You are a selfish bitch Pris…”

I begin walking without her but I hear the sad line:

“ I know Abbud – I know…”

Moonlight is the paradox. Cursed beauty who we cannot enjoy. Light allows us protection. The Wilderness dark. Night friendly. Cold in Summer chill. Night unfriendly. Paradoxes smile to each other as we travel with strained serenity.

These woods are unknown. Yet progress is but a line approach as we are taught generically. No compass in the cortex. No compass as a designed machine. Only lunar compass. We travel.

“When will we get out of these damn woods…?”

“ I don’t know – we have no option to go back as we don’t know where we are exactly and usually there are roads outside these wilderness parts – we might find someone to help us…”

Pricilla suddenly stopped and sat down. "Pricilla…get up…are you tired…?”

“ I can’t forget those two bodies Abbud – the first girl looked twenty and the boy nineteen…both younger than us by two or three years…why…why did that bastard do that to them…?”

“ I don’t know Pricilla…There were more bodies – did you see them…?”

“ Not as good as those two...Those other bodies…well…some were scattered so…” she looked deadpan – then she vomited.

I held her as she got rid of the nausea though memory is nausea uneasy to regurgitate. It sticks –\deadlier than bile. Only courage can cure it. One can do it with confidence – anyone can for courage knows no selections.

“ I’m sorry…I just those…I-“

“ Don’t think about it…Move on and be strong I know you can do it…”

We moved on. Unsure of what was chasing us.

Sure only of courage.

After a while we came to a clearing. The forest spans of vine and branch lesser and visibility clearer. Thus a danger and a blessing zygotic. We can see so can it.

We opened ourselves to the white – thus paradoxically interfering with death and eloping with life-light. We slowly went on a pace akin to jogging. We must be resolute to escape.

We will never be submissive.

“ About Lee…” Pricilla suddenly whispers, “ Will you date him if we survive – or shall I correctly say if you survive?”

“ Shut it Pricilla!” my hoarse whisper, “ If we survive it’ll be not me alone! …And something tells me you don’t want me to date him…”

She looks away sadly for a moment, “ What does it matter what I want?”

“ It always mattered and you know that but…” I can’t seem to speak it right, “ Listen Pricilla I –“

“ Let’s just keep moving.” She gets up and avoids it.

I feel like punching her but I know well that I can’t…is it my fault?

I had questioned it. At times. Now I feel the vulnerability. More vulnerable than this game. This is a game for the one who chases. I think I should try to play it well. To defeat sadness

“ Oh God, this one’s a girl…” Pricilla cried softly, “ She looks sixteen…” and she was wearing a Victorian gown.

“ Pricilla – these people were missing and now we find them dressed in weird costumes – this murderer why does he do this?”

“ I can’t think of any reason Abbud – except the one he’s a sick bastard!”

“ Here! Here! Girls!” so our attacker is a man.

Abbud and I look around and see him. Tall, dark and screwed – features pale. Hollow eyes. This killer has been killed too. No wonder he doesn’t realize anything.

“ And here I thought why not Abbud and Pricilla – why not Ms. Abbud Zafer and Ms. Pricilla Stevens! – one for the hermaphrodite and one for the blondie!” the murderer knew us! How?! – wait, do I know you from somewhere…?

“ You….look familiar…”

“ Do I Abbud…?” he sneered, “ Good, listen I am in a big bad mood already so why don’t you just stop running!”

“ Like Hell we will!” Pricilla shouted and he growled and I knew him instantly.

“ I know you…you got expelled from high school – you were with us in kindergarten you made dresses and girls loved you and made good suits for guys…then they found you…you had kidnapped a model just so she would look nice in your dress…you drugged her so badly she almost died…it’s you Rick…Rick…it’s you…I haven’t seen you in ages…”

“ Well yeah!” he threw tantrums like a child, “ All these people didn’t want to wear my clothes either – oh, blondie I sent you these directions – you idiot – I printed it and put it on your desk I ripped out Abbud’s original one!”

“ Well Rick can you make me a dress now – listen Rick make me clothes that will make me look like a boy you can do that right…”

“ No Abbud!”

“ Abbud – a masculine name…” I cry, “ My parents hated the fact that I was born a girl so they gave me the name anyway, they thought I was going to be a boy. I am not going to disappoint them anymore…”

“ Abbud – Abbud – wearing clothes won’t change that! You will still be a girl!”

“ No – I won’t – I will go away after this…I just want to pass off as a boy first and Rick can do that…Rick can dress people up so nicely it looks like they are the opposite sex when he aims for it…I can do this…”

“ No wonder you use to act boyish…but I knew this desire of yours, I read your diary in school…” Rick confesses.

“ No – I was always like that now just I’ll be shifting gears…” I smile, “ Do this for me Rick Ok…”

“Yes, Yes, Yes…” Rick states maniacally, “ But first you must die…you must die…you understand right…?”

“ No I won’t…make me something pretty…”

Rick had designed something from before. I wore it. It made me look like a man. I was so happy…I am so happy! I am happy…what’s wrong with me? Pricilla is right – dressing doesn’t change anything then why am I doing this…? Then once I remembered as a child…I dressed as a boy…went out as a boy…played with the boys…made them believe I was a boy…their parents commented to mine that I was a good boy…they said they had no boys…they saw me…remorse…if only I could be like this truly…I thought the clothes were magic…

…I had told Pricilla that if I could find the right clothes…I would keep them…for they would make me a boy…she cried as she loved me the way I was but…why did I sostubbornly cling to this parasite of a childhood fallacy?

I am happy being a girl…

“ There, done…” Rick smiled with glee.

“ Thanks I’ll keep the clothes…though I don’t want to be a boy anymore…”

“ Oh Abbud…” Pricilla cried.

“ And I can’t believe I was ignoring the fact that you are a murderer! I’m gonna take you away!”

“ I knew it! You are like them! They also did this to me! They don’t want to transform the way I transform them!” Rick tried to stab me with a knife I moved away and Pricilla jumped in trying to snake it out of his hands.

He pushed her aside. And – I slipped… a separate knife… into his abdomen… “I’m sorry Rick…but…you can’t transform someone who knows the truth…”

Rick slumped. Cold and Dead.

“ Oh Abbud – I love you!” Pricilla embraced me.

“ I know, listen Pris I’m sorry I can’t love you the way you want me too but I do love you deeply…”

“ I know. I wouldn’t mind loving you as a man but I think you are fine just the way you are. It’s not because I’m lesbian…but it’s just you…”

“ Well, ok – let’s go…”

“ Are you really taking those clothes Abbud?”

“ Yeah – I don’t wanna make mistakes ever again, keeping these around can remind me…”

And The Game Is Over…

…we reached the road…to play better ones I suppose…

Infinitidious

2010-07-18T04:17:00.003+05:30

Caustic slid into metamorphosis
life dances with the flamed arched neck
orgasmic keys
mutated into
solace of the weed

cryptic and ghastly solar
etched rays between osmosis

|rapture foul
melody|uncertain

here lies the rest of peaces

birds withered

winged wish bones

all polluted

all growth

zygotic me

I in a lake of infinity wanderious...

SPAIN WON THANK YOU ALLAH ALMIGHTY

2010-07-12T03:05:00.003+05:30

SPAIN WINS 2010 WORLD CUP WAKA WAKA ALLAH ALMIGHTY THANK YOU

ALLAHHUAKBAR, SUBHAHANALLAH, MASHALLAH, ALHAMDULILLAH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

An Afternoon Nightmare

2010-07-10T18:14:00.002+05:30

Easiness does not equate to immorality always; the essence of a short span of life does not equate inexperience.

Her hard hands were not pressed by work but rather spirit-death. Succumbing to the nefarious dream over and over. Like challenges of life downed in alcoholic shots in a bar that was known for its vice and brawls.

The ballet had three step

The Stone Wall

The Garden Within

Emergence of The Forest Obscure

Well, listen - the forest obscuring what?

She had run past a palace made of bone and thickened it with curtains made of blood. Prosperity does always rquate morality. Her husband who had served as advocate to nausea was dying inside the palace of bone. She could free him. But, she didn't. You deserve that...You deserve that for selling our son to a pedophile...I know he must've killed himself by now...you dirty bastard...you are a sick fuck...

Mother! Mother!

She looks up and sees a boy with tears of red. It is blood obscure. It is blood ignored. It is blood parched.

Mother - kill father! Kill father like you killed you own! Kill! Kill!

The forest is her. All of her. That which is obscure.

Mother! Mother!

" Mother! Mom!" She opened her eyes and saw her boy. " Mom, you called me?"

" Yes, dear I did..." she hugged him - underneath her sofa cushion was a sharpened knife.

All she had to do was tell her boy to kill him. Then they'll know...they'll know...that fates are not bloodsealed but bonded

...by that taste of survival

blood must sacrifice itself as the failed virgin of abandonment

Persona Under Night

2010-07-08T14:53:00.001+05:30

{Written For A Vampire Contest in Writing.com}

If the night was an enemy I would naturally be one as well. The smooth center of evil’s skin. Like the sex of the virginal ones readying for a choice to be withdrawn or engaging. Like those old tales of sex; older yet persisting. I was hungry but not so much to attack.

A pedestrian walked by. He was crying. A suicidal wish? Let me assist – If Brutus can glamorously die into the pages of history after breaking the hearts of friends why are you to be ignored? Who knows, maybe you become a cadaver and persist equally well as those unwarranted tumor cells in a damn lab or better yet become some enticing urban legend that allows sex to happen to two teens cradling each other in this park’s denser bushes.

I prefer the park at day as well. Daylight will wound me if I dare to bare myself too much to it. She is a guardian of my chastity it seems – a holy mother bent on a nun’s secrecy to flesh. Nudity is akin to witchery and the only allowance of nudity is that of the practice of being stripped and to burn at the stakes with hungry perversions of eyes eating slowly with cannibalistic triumph. A necrophile’s open labyrinth added with the spices of hay and sugars of embers. I had seen the corpse after burning. It lacks soul but not vision. A puzzled expression of skin – the black residue of what was in past blood and organic delights: do not worry poor woman your flesh will be consumed by mongrels even if one as highly beautiful as yourself do not request it…For stealing is prohibited for man and those dogs do not know the vulgar art of thievery but are manipulated to eat. Flesh feeds flesh.

I am but not a human less but a human straight

What man is taught to do without teaching I do with the phase. For my life is a phase. Striped in a odd prisoner's dress. Murderer is human. Vampire is an animal who cannot steal.

The musical of your tears: Oh Poor man if I knew what stake burns at your heart?! What petridish is formed in your sorrow? Oh Poor man tell me and I shall release you…if the pain consumes too much…

The man does not wish to share words but tears he has a plenty. Oh poor little man – let me suffice with your neck vibrating with the sounds of wounded dreams, I presume my dear man that you cry for dreams? Or is it some damozel that has surrendered herself to the delicious drink of a different love? Oh, such a pity – and they say that the women want sentimental men now. I had always yearned for such a man – who did cry. Even when blood-flesh was me. As this undead phase I had gained a century to my liking

I did not stay as a Coy Mistress of poetic fame. Rather I light the bold candle of seduction sans seduction. In other words I dared to talk to a stranger.

Poor man crying into the night let me be Keats’ nightingale and give you the ode of other worlds and peace – let me cure your ills of a world turned melancholic and give you the blood-kiss; keys that grant a passage out of the worldly passage.

“ Are you alright?”

The man looked at me for a while. Then decided to go back to a weeping. Then all of sudden. He grabbed me quite forcefully for a human and grinned a demonic grin.

Oh dear a rapist. I knew the possibilities of that. Remove his equipment and like a fish out in land he’ll be choked in his ecstatic blood orgasm.

My pussy is mine. Or shall I use the proper label – vagina – nice names for the crotch.

“ Give me all your money!” he yells with a shaky voice. Hesitance. Gee – what a powerful ally…to his nature.

I give him a slap. It stings his sweet cheek. He huddles and cries. As if some gigantic bee has deflowered his flesh. Poor actor. You are no mugger or rapist. A preclude to who you really are.

I now notice that you carry a bag of sorts. A satchel type arrangement. Those brown leather bags carried buy erudite w0men and men.

“ Please don’t hit me again!” he weeps and requests and I feel sorry for slapping him. It was only to get him to bear his right senses.

“ I am sorry,’” I follow his posture by kneeling down next to him minus the uncontrollable shaking of course and the fit of tears that are so – how can I put it – eloquently expelled. It is not sadism that makes me describe him rather an admiration – he seems emotive and not egotistical. I love that of men and women; “ I had a feeling you’re not a fucking bastard but I hit you to get your senses back together.”

He looked up at me with sternness behind the water, “ So hard…?”

“ Do you not believe you were being hard on me making me believe you were going to rape me?”

“ I..I didn't…I just wanted to sound like a mugger…!”

“ Well your grin was that of a rapist!” I spat it out making him tremble aback. Then I smiled – if my excitement grew then obviously my eyes would glow – I tried to use my hair to hide my intentions. It was fun that way. Keeping him guessing my nature. Am I the docile? Am I the wild? Am I disastrous? Am I seductive? Am I…Am I…Am…I…

“ Uh…isn’t it wrong for you to be here…so late at night…?”

I look at his question and provide to it my fangs, “ What is that a sexist statement?”

“ Hey – I don’t mean that!”

“ I know what you mean…” I giggle, “ But you are here too…besides I think danger hardly considers sex…”

“ Uh…true…” he sobbed, “ And neither do tears…”

It seemed odd our statements. Were we engaging in the philosophical or is this quite a banter between strangers…? Funny, I had always thought that the weather served for such things. Then again such stereotypical notions are better left to the dull.

" Why are you crying?" I ask and he is somewhat offguard.

"Because I am sad!" he screams at me as if that is the best answer and the most obvious one.

I laugh, " I can see you are in pain...but why are you in pain?"

He looks down, " I am losing it."

" What? Your mind?" I ask steadily.

" I think so - I know so..."

" Why are you losing it?"

" Well, I can hardly decide on it...but I really want my theme to be that..."

" Uh..hello...you lost me here..." I wave my hand in front of him and he looks like he is in a trance.

Suddenly, he grabs my hand with little strength as if to get my attention (obviously, he has it), " Miss do you think it's ok to love your work?"

I look at him a bit impatiently. What do I tell this kid? Listen Moron I'm fucking over a hundred and work to me is like passing the fucking slab of boredom like some freebie or one nighter - so, yeah I don't love my work! Why the fuck would I - uh, right, he's staring at me. Shit.

" Why do you look so mad Miss?" then with more clarity, " Are...are you a prostitute?"

I felt like smacking the bastard, " I'm fucking leaving!" I speak angrily getting up but he grabs my legs and I was almost fall down, " What is it?!"

" Please don't leave!" He was crying again and I unhooked his fingers from my legs, " Hey man what gives?! Don't have to grab me!" I realize he was crying too hard so I got closer and I helped him up, " Listen, don't cry..."

" Well I assumed you were!" he protested, " You looked so angry!"

"Look, it's just maybe I don't do a worthwhile job ok?" I laughed, " It doesn't mean I pay the bills with sex..."

" Ummm...I'm sorry..." he looked so apologetic that I really felt angry at myself for getting fiery, " It's just I'm so confused..." he was silently crying, " I am thinking of my job...of my ex-wife...of my love of old stories...I don't know..."

" Did you get fired?" I've seen most humans drink toll they die over a lost profession or love. As he has managed the ex-wife a bit well I supposed that his job meant more to him now than ever.

" No...but I might be..." he looked very unhappy, " I am working to try to resurrect an old painting. But there's not much information on it. I don't think I'll be able to work at all for the exhibition. They might remove me or tell me to do some other project."

" And you want neither right?"

There was a nod, " I feel so lost!"

" That really doesn't make sense on why you wanted to steal money from me..."

" I don't have sufficient funds to do research or carry on sculpting various models for the piece..." he looked vulnerable all right.

" Stealing will only complicate your sadness..." I advised, " Listen, gather your bearings and keep on trying...I bet you will accomplish what you set out for..."

But that does not help him...he buries his face in his hands and a whole flood erupts as if he is burying his spirit in water to finish the job. Tsk...I realize that I can't abandon this mangy human. Ummm... he's not that mangy. I actually understand this artist's dilemmas after all now I understand that he loves his work because it's not a nine to five cage that most people complain about. He's one of those lucky ones. Able to do something that he likes.

" Listen boy..." I wasn't condescending him but given our species' calculative lifespans I was an old lady to him, " C'mon get a hold of course..."

As if fate was truing to test my patience he did the reverse of serenity - he began puking his guts out. Yuck! Oh! Poor Dear! I looked at him emptying his reserves - geez, he must be under a lot of mental pressure. I looked at him with an endearing quality as one would look at an abandoned child.

Before I could question him he suddenly fell down. Unconscious. In his own vomit. Yes the fates are like Puck from that midsummer's dream only the title is mislead. This is a nightmare.

Oh you good man devoted to your profession. How many are there like you?

I dragged your fallen form up carefully. Take out my water bottle (I can drink H20) and splash your vomit smothered parts. For a moment you do wake up as if jostled in traffic or in the elevator rush of business Mondays but then you revert back to your sleepiness - as if you are some warrior of some forgotten battle.

The dangers of leaving you here do not need seminars. I have decided I would help you. Of course the regulars of my race would say that this is blasphemous (if a religion of ours do exist; we are the undead and religion seemed to be with the purely living) and that I have condescended to save one who is considered 'lower' than me but I do not hesitate.

I once was you -once a human. To say otherwise is to deny I was born.

Also being helpless is not a human condition. It happens to any being stranded in this world. Limited does not escape the undead and immortality is still a relative term.

I take out his wallet. I look at his address. Oh, it's not far

"Wh...What...?"

"Well, I found some leftovers in the fridge...if you want I can microwave them for you..."

"No, May, I don't think..." suddenly his eyes looked popped out... " What the hell?! Who are you?!"

" Please, have some coffee first..." I laugh at his panic, " It's me ass...from the park..." then I look more serious, " It's not in my nature to babysit but after you went so sentimental I thought what the hell let me give this guy a break..."

The young man looks at me, " Oh yes...I am so sorry and Thank You...what time is it?"

" Well for starters it's a Saturday evening...you obviously did not get any sleep for a bit because you have been unconscious since last night and I stuck around to see your sculptors - by the way those are good, well done guy - and at around eleven in the morning a woman came by. She was surprised to see me. She bought some of your groceries, not without complaint, telling how silly and uncountable you are, I believe she was your ex-wife..."

" Did she have blonde hair...?"

" Yeah...."

" Yes, that's May..."

" Did you ask her to do your groceries...?" I gave a bit of a disgusted look because what was he a helpless infant, obviously, his ex acted as though he were Atlas and had told her to hold the world for a bit. But I can understand her irritation though - not many people like doing things for exes.But U think this guy should just grow up.

" Uh....yeah...I am not good with these things...and I had not much money left so I told her that I'll pay her back..." he rubbed his head and hair as if he were suffering a concussion.

So, the artist is not an independent. Now that won't do.

I took the nearby vase and splashed all of the water in it on his face. Of course the roses got thrown out on his bed. A vomit of roses. Better than the actual vomit.

"Hey what was that for?!"

" Your lack of direction." I stated seriously, "And your immaturity!" I was livid, " That woman obviously does not like you so why do you still depend on her?!"

" Because...I think...I think I still love her..." I look at him with disbelief as he confesses it.

" Paul dear you definitely need a life..."

" You know my name? And how did you find my apartment?"

God, it was like teaching a preschooler about birds and bees - I was annoyed because he refused to think, " Einstein your wallet gave me all those info!"

"Oh yeah..." then he looked cautious.

" Yeah you can check your wallet - I didn't take any of your money!" I did read his mind - no telekinesis - but body language are dead giveaways.

" I'm so sorry...I didn't mean to..."

"Well - you sure know how to make a girl feel welcomed..." I really wanted to leave, " First prostitution and now thievery - need I remind you Paul Orwell that I did not try to mug anyone last night..." he looked so alarmed at my irritation, good, count your lucky stars that you are seeing me angry by words and not by fangs, " Well as you now up and about...I'm gonna leave...hope you don't do stupid..."

" Please...wait...Thank you I'm so sorry...I..." he had scrambled out of bed and looked miserable, " You are right...May was right...I can't do anything right..."

The young man suddenly slumped on his own floor. He would be the perfect sub for a dominatrix. Nah - I'm just teasing. In fact. Why not tease him? After all - maybe it might fire up his dead spirits.

" Oh, what a baby boy you are Humpty Dumpty..." I grab his face, " Do you crack your cock anytime and everytime you see trouble?”

The man looked appalled, “ Are you this crude?”

“ When I need to be yes…” I smile, “ You obviously don’t know me kid…”

He mumbled something under his breath – sounded like “I” and “don’t” and I was confused, “What did you just say…?” I question – I had a feeling it was not an obscenity.

“ I said I just realized I don’t know your name…”

“ Well ain’t that beautiful…” I laugh, “ Well it’s Antonia…Antonia Euphores…”

“ Oh…”

“ Well, don’t just wait there…”

" Huh, what?"

" Show me this grand project of yours!"

I enchant him with a wild smile. He has not regained all his bearings. Nor else he would have seen the light in my eyes.

"Like Lightning Fla-shing - in the sky

There's a charm that is greater still

When my love's eyes are lowered

And all is fired by passion's kiss...

I see -"

" The Dull Flame Of Desire..." he finished the song and smiled at me, " Bjork right - 'The Dull Flame Of Desire' - a song she made out of a poem..." so, we know the same artist. Bjork was one of my favourite women. Carved in blood after my own heart. It would be plain cannabilism to taste her blood.

She reminded me of me and someone else...

Paul wore his glasses, it seemed he did wear them, and looked at me. The poor man seemed nervous. He obviously did not know what to think. I looked at him. There was much devotion he possessed in his work. She must have left him for that his ex-wife. By what I saw earlier she hated his works and had wanted him to be more of a businessman. She was certainly not interested in his creations.

"Uh... I haven't finished...you see my sculptor is based on a rare painting..."

" Really..."

" Yes, I think it was from the 1600s or the 1700s - it depicts a beautiful African-American women clothed in a pair of sails - I mean cloth from the ship's sails - and she is surrounded by fire. Most people don't know of the painting and the artist is unknown as well..."

The blood of mine cold and unkempt freezes more. The old poem of hell freezing in the second visit is within my body. Such a body of devotion met another body of devotion and now entails another body of devotion. If I had possessed human entrails then the nausea-attach would be my familiar. However, my familiar is my eyes - which hide from him - they glow bizarre - I sense.

Melancholy is such a sensitive fruit. Its seeds asphyxiate the innards of one as unholy as me.

" The painting has a vague history... the painting is called -"

" Petit Ange Thou Soul Escapes Ignorance..." I finish him. I have tears in my eyes. Kristy it is you...at the stakes...

" Yeah...wow you know about it Antonia...?" he looks impressed. " I had no idea..."

I turn away and do not meet his gaze. So this sepulchral is here. Within the paints that expelled me will expel this man from his fortress of blessed bliss. No...I cannot let such an altar sway...God though I am damned listen to me...listen to this unholy's prayer...

" Uh...are you alright Antonia?" he asked in innocence.

" Yes...I am fine..." I wipe myself from weeping and look at him.

" Oh Ok..." he smiles, " This painting has a vague history...it is done, as I said, by an unknown artist...it tells the story I think of a witch caught and burnt..."

" A farmer girl accussed of witchcraft and also a beloved intellect who was told that her place was with the slaves..." I mutter and exceed the safeties of control, " A beautiful woman killed because she would not convert from her own religion and was framed with the body of a dead priest..."

" What...are you sure?" he looked awfully shocked and impressed, " Wow Antonia you know a lot of this painting..."

" Yes I do..." I looked at him, " You do not need to worry about money Paul I will send you some money tomorrow - let's say you robbed my heart with your good tastes..."

Before he could stop me I wore my boots and left. The tears over flooding me. Kristy...someone has found you at last...

Excellence was at the tip, fiber and skin of your very being. It is under your tutelage I had learned of fruit planting and astronomy. Women were not easily admitted them to the arms of education yet you wooed and wielded all the armaments needed for wisdom. They had given you a poor name Kristy. Your real title you did not disclose. As Oroonoko proved to Behn the royalty in ones called slaves you proved to me that slavery was man made. Shackles and names do not destroy pure genius. It was pointless of them. Pointless of them to think of you as an exotic slave fit for fiddling on the earth and fucking in the shadows. You showed them that the earth is not only for reproduction but also to strengthen the heart and fucking is but a dog's rabid teeth and love making is the course for pure pleasures.

I had not asked you of your origins. Some had told me you were brought from India. Others said that Africa had bore you. You seemed to be of both and yet of none. You had spoken once of England. Of a house. In Childhood. Were you the mistress's keep? A gentleman's gentle slave? Oh Kristy if I had all my powers then I would have slaughtered all the injustices done to you!

In my sleep I weep.

Outside daylight screams with its yellow voice. Flames burn. Birds call. Traffic of the modern world collide with human sentences.

I, the considered nocturnal, dream.

" Antonia...you have done so much for me...I cannot relate...I...I want to meet you...I don't understand why you won't return my calls. You had given me your number upon my request and I had taken all the information and money you had given me but you refused credit and refused to give me your address. Antonia - I - I don't understand...I don't..Antonia...Antonia please...please contact me...Antonia I need to talk to you...please...I really need to..."

The message ends as I drink blood. No, I did not hunt. I usually buy my blood from reliable sources. After centuries of hunting you somewhat do get bored. I listen to the message a couple of more times. Paul...I miss you...maybe...I will visit...

Drops of blood come out of the corners of my mouth...they stain the carpet...dammit...what am I to say to the clean-up boy and lady in the morning?

When Paul slept he looked like an infant. Vulnerable, Pure and yet strong and wise. Such a paradox you are Orwell. I had observed his window during the day from the shadows of an alley. I could not bring the courage to meet him. I had seen him telling his wife something which almost made her slap him. This dispute was short lived as I heard May scream "fucker" and left before Paul could say anything else. What a woman she was and what a woman Paul had married. Obviously, no match as such was made in heaven. Heaven. A concept I had learned. A concept I had yearned to forget. A concept forever a concept. No Eden's gate opens for the undead. How radically stranded I am in this globe-flat thinking world.

Sometimes I am disdained of the saying "cogito ergo sum" as it implies perfectly to my state. I will forever be here to think. For I had thought the best way to have blood was to be bested by blood. Blood nothing but blood.

I then realized it was nightfall. I had slept with eyes open. The windows were partly open so I wasted no energy in the thinking of blood. I leapt and landed with the inhuman flexibility of a cat cum lion upon his lair. I had no idea as in why I had decided to choose such a feline's route. Oh yes, I wished to see the painting in private. Then I hesitated. Paul will be displeased. This was not a way he had invited me to his home.

My lust overcame prudence. A rather human tendency one could say. However, I renounced the painting's private audience and like some perverted peeping Jane saw Orwell as he slept. Nude. Signs of sex wafting underneath the sheets. Masturbation? Ah, yes, a lust to be rid of lust. Blood pumps to an erectile center and gushes as white fluids skimmed of the red.

I see sweat and they dance upon his hair. Oh Paul - you had seen some sexual playtime haven't you? A moan erupts and I am hungry now. You so innocently unoccupied with a member that seemed dissatisfied with only your hands. You moan again. Paul...are you dreaming?

" An-Antonia..."

" I am here Paul..."

You awaken...your dreams are realized and you see me in a white vintage dress like shirt and black slacks. You see me with my black hair and glowing eyes. You see me as though I am Galatea amongst the lumpy half-sculptors of dreams. No. I am not Galatea. I am Athena ain't I with Aphrodite's mask? I am seeing you my Venus as a Boy - Bjork couldn't have been more right when she named her song that. Your excited sex has gotten my wicked sense of humour (Oh no, those were not the lyrics) but I see you my male Venus.

" Antonia...how - how did you get in?"

" Through the window..."

He looked more closely now. This time I bare my eyes - they are no longer clothed with my hair or distance. The glow frightens him. Do you now realize human? Do you?

" Antonia..." he gasps, scared, " You are...this has to be a dream..."

" No...Paul...it's not...I apologize that I intruded here but I am no dream..."

" No - no - it has to be!" he was yelling, " Your eyes are glowing!"

" Some paw-prints then in your sands..." I state it teasingly as I rush towards him and with glowing eyes pressed my fingers upon his flesh. He is frightened beyond anything as I draw myself nearer I say, " Boo."

He is unconscious.

" Your still not dreaming." I tell him when he comes about. I think he realizes too. Now Paul looks too fearful. I take him in my arms and I catch his naked body against me kiss him before fear reenters his veins. I allow him to touch my breasts by placing his hands on them. I undress. I lick his neck. I hear him moan. I grab his manhood and he shrieks at my sudden action. I look into his eyes. " Do you want this to be a dream?"

I tease. For a moment he opens his mouth but then decides not to say anything. His eyes are closed for a while. But then he kisses me back. Hungry are we? There is no waste of time - no thinking of waste - a sort of heaven - he rushes for my breasts and my lips and my face, "Antonia...Antonia...I missed you so much..." he is almost about to cry. Had I not stated this century is for me? I want my men to be real...I want them to be human...so, they can feel in my stead..."Oh Paul..." I slowly confess, " You have done me a great thing..."

" You saved me Antonia..." he was holding me, so tightly, " I want us...I want us to know each other..."

Our lovemaking begins. After moments it ends. Paul looks at me with his eyes - I wish I can paint them. I had not painted anything after Kristy's immolation nor did I think I would.

"Did you paint it?" he finally asks.

I nod.

" So, what are you...? Who are you...?" he asks with innocence.

Am I a woman? Am I undead? Am I painter? Am I drone? Am I Kristy's pupil? Am I Blood demon? Am I born centuries before? Am I born again? Am I...Am I... Am I... Am I...

Path Of Moonlit Roses

2010-06-28T03:38:00.001+05:30

Wrote this for a contest in Writing.com ^_^ called Twisted Tales Contest. I hope it is as twisted as it can get.

____________

The Octopus-Man breathes me in with tendrils at play. Oh – my lover, my paramour-supreme do not tempt me to lose myself in girlish voyages as you loosen my dress with those effective appendages. How can I not sigh? He is so skilled. I dare not question now of his lovers past for I too have them – a serial of no-names, entities of stands (one-nighters minus the poetic) and brief intimacies are on my checkbook of amorousness. He might occupy whores and quickies but I do too. Maybe our frequencies might be the bridge; he being younger than I.

My clothes off and I ward off the evil (hehe) of his clothes (and they think I am a prune) – let’s cut to the chase – we do it and it’s great.

I thought the moon would be out tonight but he probably didn’t do these kinds of preferences and we were still diving into our ocean of ecstasies.

Afterwards – he might leave but I will be happy. I can feel his love for me.

“ And did you sleep well?” he grinned and I almost blushed, “ I meant…” he blushed too, “ I meant last night it rained.”

“ Really, no wonder there was no moon out.”

“ Yes. I bet you fell asleep before me.”

“ Naturally.” I blush.

He casually, “ Do you dream well?”

“ Only if I have to…” we giggle.

“Olivia, the villagefolk are quite a nuisance…”

“ What happened…?”

“ The other day a man was muttering about how I carry myself around inappropriately with married women.”

“ It might have been Ted. Don’t worry Marcus – he always snoops around where he has no business – besides what we do, has nothing to do with him.”

“ Yes but still – as I am visiting – you get it right – I am already the foreigner – I can’t risk becoming an outsider too…”

“ Oh please – you are a good student…”

“ They won’t buy that Olivia…”

“Please Marcus forget about them – let’s talk about us.”

Marcus, dear Marcus – when you smile – it really makes my day: “ Olivia, I am still uncertain about this.”

“ Don’t be…” I grin, “ Aren’t you a student and isn’t it my job to teach you?”

He laughs, so sweetly, “ God – there should be more people like you around Olivia.”

I grin and respond with my best: “Naturally.”

“ To me Marcus is an Octopus.”

“ If your husband caught you saying much on him –“

“ Please Cindy – let me have my Octopus-man…”

“ But even if he is a brilliant college student naturally he will leave and go back to where he is coming from.”

“ Cindy – I just want the Octopus-man and me to last…” the thought of losing this was unbearable. Though I know it would be lost…

“ You sure give them strange nicknames but I understand; your husband –“

“ – Is someone we don’t need to talk about.” I smiled, “ You don’t want him to know right?”

Cindy looked at me, perturbed, “ Olivia – you haven’t told him yet…”

“ No.” I casually state it. In fact, it was really none of her business.

“ But Olivia –“

“ Cindy, let’s just do our grocery shopping.”

“ I don’t know Olivia – I think you are treading in dangerous waters.”

I smile, “Naturally.”

There’s a piano in the room. With lovely wood polish; it looks vintage but it scents are quite fresh. Wood can do that to you. I can feel myself at comfort here – drinking lemon tea. It’s too hot nor else we would be sitting out back – she has a nice garden. There are some roses there. They remind me of the lush roses featured in Chiho Saito’s manga and anime called Revolutionary Girl Utena. Though they are only small pots and not an estate or a large body like in that show but they are red. Some are yellow and some pink and some white. She has other flowers too. Very pretty. My South Asian friend, Aidan, had a garden. It was actually his mother’s and she had many sunflowers and marigolds there. And bougainvillea. She does not have marigolds and bougainvilleas but she has sunflowers. Sweet and thick yellow with that budding brown centre – almost like a house in a middle of a ripe crop field. Very beautiful. Now that the rain had come they are enriched with the remnants of the dews – like bathed beauties they are sunning themselves in the tropic-like beach the village is to the eye.

I love villages.

“ I see you love my flowers…” she looked really pleased. You can see them from her due to her large glass doors – which were actually a part of a greater pair of wooden doors – which were a second layer. Like flowers buds they protected her home at night I guessed.

“ Yes I do.” I smile.

“ You are a romantic college boy aren’t you Marcus?”

“ I’ve always loved flowers Olivia. You have nice Bird Of Paradises too.” Then I looked, “ You have white roses and also white chrysanthemums as well.”

“ It’s hard to grow them.” She smiled at me as she sits down with her own tea, “ But that’s life – possessing challenges…” she laughs, “ I guess I love overcoming challenges.”

“ That’s very brave Olivia…” I comment, “ You are not like the other wives that I met here.”

“ Careful.” She snickers, “ Don’t want Ted to hear that now.”

“ I guess that he is a bit conservative isn’t he?” I looked wearily at her.

“ Oh, not only a bit – a lot my dear, he is also very religious.”

“ That’s ok I guess.”

“ He goes to church every Sunday.” Olivia’s eyes sparkled, “ And he hates me ‘cause I am not a frequent church-goer.”

“ Hate is a tad bit too strong a word don’t you think?” I asked with uncertainty.

“ No my dear Marcus…” she sips her tea and casually state it as if going through a home magazine, “ The man hates many people. That’s why he never liked my husband much either – thinks he’s a bad Christian.”

“ I suppose your husband doesn’t care.” I laugh, “ I have a good friend Aidan, he’s from Kolkata, he was a good Muslim but not conservative. In fact, he had many friends who used to sleep around.”

“ Naturally.” The way she looked at me made me blush. There’s no need for her to…nevermind.

“ But actually,” I continued, “ He had a great garden. Well his mother did and he helped.”

“ So, you’ve been to Kolkata?” there was a deep sparkle in her eyes. Like a child’s. I liked this a lot about her. It reminded me of something special. Naturally. I stifled my laughter. “Oh, how men are so lucky that they can travel!”

“ Well, I guess in small villages both men and women are not encouraged to travel…” I told her my assumption, “ I guess elders want their beliefs and traditions intact.”

“ Well you are right about that…” she looked displeased.

“ But Aidan and his sister travelled a lot…” I told, “ They has a large garden – in fact there were bloody hibiscuses there – drooping their long necks like drowsy flowers. As red as your roses.”

“ Drowsy flowers!” she looked fascinated, “ You love flowers this much Marcus?”

“ Well, yes…” I told.

“ Yes,” she sipped quietly now, “ Bloody flowers aren’t they…?”

“ The roses…?” I looked at her.

“ Yes, those bloody roses…” she sipped, “ So pretty as if they were in a slaughterhouse…”

“ Uh…” the analogy was a bit too intense. Too violent. Yet strangely coherent. “ Is slaughterhouse a – I mean it’s a good source of bloody…” I giggle, “ But, are they pleasant…to you…?”

She looked at me with a smile, “ No. Why would you think that?”

“ You said –“

“ I’m sorry…” she looked upset, “ Blood reminds me of bad memories.”

“ Oh, I’m sorry Olivia.”

“ And traveling too – have I always told you I always wanted to travel?”

“ Uh, no – but I figured by your excitement.” I smiled, trying to cheer her up.

“ My son is away now. I miss him dearly.”

“ By son you mean –“

“ Stepson – remember him, Ash, I told him about you…” Olivia looked at me with a pain I couldn’t identify with. I wanted to learn more.

“ Yes – but you never mentioned much about –“

“ He left the village.”

“ Oh.”

Olivia started to sob, “ He is so selfish like his father. I always thought he would take care of me.”

“ I understand Olivia.” I had gotten up and put an arm around her, “ Don’t be sad. You are a strong girl and you can take care of yourself.”

“ But Marcus…” she sobbed, “ One day I’ll become older then what…?” she looked so sad, “ Who’s going to take care of me then?”

“ Some people take a longer time to think things through…” I explained, “ I know he isn’t going to desert you – I think you’d always been a good mother to him.”

“ Yes…” she smiled, “ I tried to.” But then she glared, “ But, his father…” she sounded like she was growling in anger, “ He always used to give him a hard time…”

“ Yes – you kind of did mention your husband…” And what she said made him be branded as a jerk-off,
“ Where is he? I don’t see him around.” I don’t think I even wanted to meet him.

“ Probably loafing around…” she scowled, “ He’s a drunk you know – a useless drunk – my son Ash used to be so glum around him. He never got to talk or else he would get hit.”

“ He hit you too didn’t he?” I looked at Olivia – God, what a sad state.

“ Now he doesn’t bother anymore…” she sobbed, “ He never bothered with me but the last few days he’s acted that I never existed.”

I am livid, “ What a bastard!”

“ Well, he is sleeping with someone else you know… I bet this is isn’t his first infidelity.”

“ Well Olivia… You’ve got better things to do.”

“ Naturally.” She smiles. I think something is growing between us.

“ I hope it rains more…” I smile, “ It’s be a good excuse to come and visit…”

“ The garden…” she giggles.

“ Yes, the scent of flowers after the rain…” my eyes close on their own. Such a sweet memory.

I feel her looking at me. I can feel a smile on her face.

Wind comes.

Reminds me of hibiscus-heads drooping but suddenly awakened

Like a rain hysterically shouting with thunder we kiss and mate. I feel him in me. He is quick with his thrusts and I am quick with my own – accompanying with hips. I cry out as I remember that sweet compliment he gave me of my garden. I wonder what other sweet comments would follow. This swaying of ours. Like those bloody hibiscuses he spoke off. But I feel rose-bloody-red like catching fire in moonlight white hot flame but burning red.

I cry out again. I can feel him calling me and telling me how’d he make things better. I was so happy.

I feel I can be with him forever.

Though when he has to leave…

“ Marcus, when I woke – I saw you made breakfast.”

“ Yes.” He smiles, “ I figured you were tired.”

Of course, why wouldn’t I be? I giggle and smile, “ You’re so thoughtful.”

“ Did your husband come back. ‘Cause I ain’t serving him breakfast.”

“ No, don’t worry…” I look at the poached eggs and loaves of bread, “ He will probably eat at his mistress’s house.”

“ I had a feeling.” He laughed with a cruel condescension, “ I had thought though that he was passed out in the living room so, he didn’t notice my presence…”

“ Even if he did…” I casually told him as we were eating, “ He wouldn’t care. I told you how he doesn’t bother anymore.”

“ Well, ok…” he ate and looked outside into the garden, “ I have to go out today Olivia. You know I am a student. I must finish something if I begin it.”

“ Naturally.”I look at him. I knew he will leave… “ When you come back we will have tea out in the garden ok?"

“ I talked to Mrs. Hutchens today…” I told him casually, the man had offered me tea but I told him another time – for I had other plans.

He was good enough to not take this as an insult but told me to have some lemonade – on the house.
“ Well, Mrs. Hutchens is a sad one too.”

“ Well, she told me that her husband settled down in the big city with some hot blonde.”

“ You don’t know the half of it Marcus…” he was wiping a glass, it was kinda slow, I only saw a young boy eating blueberry cake by himself, looked like a High School student. “ She burned her husband’s car and screamed at his lawyer – almost chased him away with a butcher’s knife. It was actually Olivia and Mrs. Park that stopped her alright. It was quite horrible. I feel bad for Annie – her husband was the whole world to her.”

“ Well that’s how selfish some people are…” I finished the lemonade.

“ How’s Olivia? Is she doing well?”

“ Well, she’s fine.” I told him.

“ Well, well – college boy is here today Arty…” I heard a familiar voice, “ So, aren’t you supposed to be busy…”

“ Leave the boy alone Ted.” Arty looked sour and I decided to leave.

“ Hey wait Mr. College.” Ted caught my tee, “ What are you shameless – staying with Olivia Tiding – she’s got a son you know –“

“ I don’t think Olivia has any problem.” I realized his grip, “ Besides, it’s her house.”

“ You think I don’t know what you two are doing in there?!” Ted snarled.

“ I told you to leave the boy alone Ted!” Arty got in between us, “ The boy is still a visitor in our village and you best talk to him with respect.”

“ What visitor – do you see - him visiting all the married women – I tell you how these city boys are – they want to sleep with country girls and boast about it. He went to Annie today and we all know how vulnerable she is after her husband leaving her! You can’t trust a boy like him that’s for sure!”

“ I’m leaving – see you later Arty…”

“ Oh, you are back!” she greets me, “ What’s the matter?” she has seen my expression.

“ Let’s just say I met Ted.” I was so pissed off at that guy.

“ Well Screw him…” Olivia smiled, “ Whatever he said our little tea-party will cheer you up – and guess what? I plan on planting some Freesias– I think you’ll enjoy them.”

“Naturally.” Then I start giggling; I’ve been spending too much time with her – this was so unexpected but it blossomed well.

She giggles too. I think she understands.

It’s good if she does.

We are out now. We have been admiring the beauty of the garden. Despite our proximities we have not been close enough. Maybe in other ways, but, not always through words; I think the episode about the husband and stepson would not have even come out without the mentioning of blood and slaughterhouse.

“ The first time he’d given me a flower was during my first menstruation.”

I almost spit out the tea I was drinking, “Excuse me…excuse me…but what did you say…?”

“ He was courting me since I was fourteen.” She began sipping her tea with that casualness given to magazine-flipping, “ Many would say it was illegal – even his first wife knew – but that bitch was leaving him so it was not her business to stand in and do what’s right.”

“ Y-you were talking about flowers…?”

“ Well yes, the first time I had my period – he had given me a red Chrysanthemum and told me I was becoming like a real woman.” She still sipped the tea, “ I was so stupid and naïve then that I thought how my girlfriends would envy me – their boyfriends never did these kind of novel things for them!” she made a face, it conveyed disgust, “ I had no idea what he was really thinking…”

“ And what was that…?” I was swallowing the tea – gulping – my nervousness increasing.

“ That how stupid I was…” her eyes were dark – dead-like, sparkle gone, “ And how easy it was to fuck me and make me his slave…” she grew angry, “ I could have killed him then if I had known…he was a bastard then and even now…”

“ Didn’t anyone in your family know…?” this was serious, “ Try to stop you…”

“ Not really.” She looked down, “ I had a father and a mother who had thought it was best I marry him…he lived in a quiet village and they thought the hustle and bustle of city-life would take away my values and morals…” she laughed, “ Good thinking I must say…”

“ But he was older than you and he had a son!” this was preposterous, “ Surely, they didn’t – I mean – surely, they didn’t know the whole story…”

“ No my dear Marcus…” she sipped her tea, her hand hard on the cup, as if she was about to break it,
“ They knew more than me…they just thought an older man would make a fine babysitter – they were trash and they will always be trash…”

“ Oh God…” I felt miserable.

“ You are so good and innocent…” she was looking right at me, “ The world does not think like you Marcus…the world is quite cruel…”

“ I am really sorry…”

“ Do you pity me?”

“ No – I just – I just feel for you…”

That was all I was capable of saying.

“ You know, at least Ash didn’t turn out like his father...” she looked up at the sky, “ He was always an intelligent and understanding person…”

I looked at her. She looked like she was in a daze.

I clutch my chest. My naked breasts are freezing. A nightmare. From an ecstasy to a tragedy of thought. I looked next to me. He was still asleep. He sleeps quite heavily. I touch his pretty face. I shouldn’t have talked about my husband with him. My College boy – why am I doing this to you?

I should tell him everything.

No – maybe not yet.

I sleep next to my boy. He mumbles in his sleep as always.

Too bad he doesn’t know anything.

“ Are these all his books?” I asked extremely happy; the sight of books thrill me.

“ Yes – unlike his father – Ash loves to read…” she smiles but then with a sad tone, “ You know he wanted to destroy these books - my husband – he always hated the fact that Ash was different than him.”

“ You mean not a loser.” I grin.

“ Yes.” She laughs.

“ Oh, The Handmaid’s Tale…” I take it out as she has allowed me to read the books, “ One of Atwood’s finest…”

“ You like reading don’t you...?” she asked.

“ Well…yes…”

“ You like short stories…?”

“ Yes, I do.”

“ You know I used to live in London once…”

“ Really…?”

“ Well, yes…when I was around eleven years old…my father used to work with my Uncle there for three years before we came back and I recall that once I was preparing for Ordinary Level Examinations…and I picked up my love for short stories there – have you ever read The Landlady?”

“ No – I think I’ve heard of it…”

“ It’s one of my favourite short stories – it’s by Roald Dahl – it’s about a Landlady…”

“ Does it involve her sleeping with her tenants…”

“ Well then it would be quite necrophilic…” she giggles.

I look at her.

“ Have you read The Darling by Scott Bradfield?”

“ Yes, I read that one…” I looked at her smiling face, “ How she kills her father…quite what he deserves…”

“ Yes, Men like him deserve that…”

Her voice and eyes had a dark humour which I had not seen before. They were a bit more focused than her ‘sparkle’ moments and very deeply trance-like…” I suppose you like William Faulkner?”

“ Oh yeah Barn Burning…” I smile at the nostalgic feeling, “ You know I did that in my English class and my –“

“ Have you read A Rose For Emily…?”

“ Uh,...yeah I have…”

“ That’s one of my favourites too…”

Her dark humour eyes looked at me.

I looked at her.

“ When my husband used to hit me – I used to read those stories…”

“Oh…”

“ They used to make me feel a lot better…”

I looked at her dark humour eyes. They were glowing.

I can hear her footsteps at night. She might think I am sleeping but I can hear her. Is she a somnambulist? Is she awake?

Today – I was for the first time – disturbed.

That dark humour in her eyes and all those twisted tales.

I think I can feel noises, hear them – outside.

They sound so inhuman. They sound like weeping.

Was she crying?

I had a feeling he was awake when I sometimes walked at night.

Funny, I had left him sleeping.

But the glass doors must be opened. I look at the roses. Red, soaking – like my first menses. Like the first time I saw blood on Ash’s shoulder. That bastard had beaten him bad that time.

Oh – the moon is finally out.

It has risen beautifully.

As though after a long coma it has regained itself.

I find myself in that silver circle of the night.

“Do you wanna hear something?”

“ What? Music?”

“ Well, no…” I told him, “ Marcus – I had written this for my teacher…remember The Landlady? Well, that story was part of a past O’ Level Question paper…we had to answer questions about it… I just remembered that detail when you told me you studied Barn Burning in your first semester. Well you know in O’Levels how there is an essay section…?”

“ Yeah, Aidan told me – he did O’ Levels…”

“ Right – so there was an option that I could write something like a story that resembled the dark nature of Dahl’s original…”

“ But weren’t you too young to do your O’ Levels at eleven…?”

“ Well I just did past question papers for fun as an extra credit assignment for my teacher…” She smiled.

“ Wow that’s impressive…you must be real smart Olivia…” he grinned.

It was during these moments that an inconsolable despair was felt by me concerning him…he only here for two weeks and the fact he would leave paralyzed me with fear – did he have to leave…? …Staying was unnecessary for him…a college boy with a college fling…these things happen…these things were bound to happen…

“ Well, did you write a story then…?”

“ Yes - The question was The Horrible Truth of Mrs. Philpot’s Cellar – and I decided to write about it… do you wanna hear it…?”

“ Yeah sure…”

“ Ok here goes: Mrs. Philpot lived alone in a wild-looking cottage. She kept mostly to herself. This is what Billy was told. Billy News was the news of his town and his parents could not carry the shame. Arrangements had been made and Billy, though he didn’t want to, had to go to the country. He was to be live with a distant relative who was Mrs. Philpot. Mrs. Philpot was a widow and she seemed kind enough and Billy’s days with Mrs. Philpot were normal.

“ One night Billy got up to some screams. As they stopped suddenly, he thought he was dreaming them. After a while he felt Mrs. Philpot opening his door. She had made sure Billy was asleep. The next morning Billy acted normally though he was a bit frightened. Did he really hear a scream? That must be so because Mrs. Philpot never checked on him like that before. He started going over the rules. He had always felt Mrs. Philpot was strict. She always wanted him to go to bed early and keep away from her room unless absolutely necessary. She also told him not to go down the cellar. Of course, Billy thought it was because he heard how her late husband loved wine and kept heaps down there. As he drank sometimes with his friends he decided to keep away from the cellar. He already had heaps of problems. That night he decided to break the rules.

“ He walked down the to the cellar. It was dark so he brought a flashlight. He almost hit something. It was a corpse – red and glaring – looked like some parts of the body had been eaten. He wanted to vomit. The sight and smell made him disgusted. Then he felt something behind. It was wet. He looked around and saw more fresh bodies. Suddenly he heard Mrs. Philpot saying ‘What are you doing here? Oh no matter…I was annoyed by you anyway…” and with that she started chopping at him with a butcher’s knife. Grinding his flesh as if she was making pie. The next day Mrs. Philpots had stake and she spoke ‘Sweet Billy…you taste better than you behave…’ The End.”

Marcus looked unsteady. I…I hope I hadn’t frightened him…but then I confessed it: “ You know I wrote this when I felt like killing my parents…”

Marcus looked so alarmed suddenly, “ You did…?”

“ Yes, because they only cared about themselves…”

“ How have you been Marcus – the project going well?”

“ Yes, it’s fine – I think it’ll finish soon: ‘Women and Aspirations: Do Stereotypes Prevail?’ My research taught me that many housewives love to do things that aren’t stereotypical.”

“ Will you miss Olivia?”

“ Naturally…” I laugh as I realize I am sounding like her. Using the words like her: it can happen as she had a unique way about things. Though she creeped me out still – a lot. Those dark humoured eyes.

“ Don’t let Ted get to you…Olivia doesn’t have…entirely a spotless reputation in our village…and her husband let’s not talk about him…all we know is that her husband married her from the city and that he bought her here…they had a bad marriage from the beginning…then Ash used to always look up to her…they were almost the same age…I mean Ash grew up a bit with his biological mother then he was sent to live with his father…you know the only person who truly loved him was Olivia…”

“ Yeah she loves him still Arty…that’s why she’s so upset that he won’t come back…”

Art looked at me, “ It’s best if Ash doesn’t come back…”

“ Why Arty?” I questioned him, “ He’s the only family Olivia has…”

“ Well – everyone condemns her but they are a bunch of hypocrites they know what her husband –“

“ Listen Arty I know her husband. It’s a good thing I didn’t meet him yet. I mean c’mon the guy practically spends his entire day with his mistress and expects Olivia to feed him – he’s a useless asshole and I hope he gets what’s coming to him!”

Arty looked at me, “ Marcus I need to talk to you…”

At night I was sleeping and I felt a great burden upon my body. I couldn’t wake up though I wanted to. I felt the weight and the horrible feeling of being pinned down. Being helpless: it hurt…

I was sure now. It must that bastard Ted. It had to be him. He was always after me. The feeling was deepening as if fingernails were digging into my shoulders. I yelped a bit and the fingers seemed to be removed. I felt wet on my face and lips.

When I woke up in the morning I realized what a bad dream I was having. I was scared but I had to meet Arty.

I heard Olivia from the kitchen singing and cooking.

I still want to eat at Arty’s…

“ Here you go - eat up boy…”

“ Thanks Arty…I didn’t eat much at Olivia’s…”

“ Was it because I said I need to talk to you…?”

“ Yeah…I won’t lie but I am sure now that you weren’t wrong about her..”

“ Marcus…?”

“ Listen Arty…Olivia is strange…I think she walks at night in her sleep… and frankly she has this dark edge to her….I mean I wanted to overlook it first…but now I can’t…granted I love her gardens and her home and I love her a lot…but I just can’t dispel this thought that there’s something wrong with her…”

“ Well if you love her..you have to take her along with you Marcus…she’ll be heartbroken if you don’t nor else she’ll think you are using her just like her husband did.”

“ Why do I have to take along? Gee Arty I can’t give her a place to live – what is she going to do in a University? Sure I can tell her to apply but other than that what else can I do? I gotta be with my girlfriend you know –“

“ You got a girlfriend…?” Arty looked like he was shot.

“Yeah but I mean I can’t take Olivia there if she doesn’t wanna go it’s –“

“ Marcus…” Arty looked angry all of a sudden, “ You are just like her husband – fucking her and another woman on the side, you should be ashamed of yourself! So Ted was right about you!”

“ Arty…” I looked at his growing angry.

“ You better leave Marcus and I never want you here again. I respect Olivia a lot despite her being a crazy one and I can’t believe you would do this to her!”

“ Arty…”

“ I don’t wanna hear it!”

“ Arty…”

“ I said –“

“ What are you talking about?!”

Arty looked at me, “ If you are in a relationship with Olivia –“

“ Wow time-out I love Olivia but not like that. I have a great girlfriend and I love her ok. I have never had sex with Olivia. I am just her tenant. It was cheaper to stay with her so I did. I swear upon God – is that what you are thinking too? Man Arty I love Olivia but as a friend. I mean I feel for her. Her husband treats her so badly and Ash is nowhere.”

“ Her husband is dead.”

I looked at Arty, “ What..?”

“ Did she tell you that he was alive? It sometimes happens to her…she forgets but it happened here…”

“ What happened…?”

“ Cindy Park and her husband were having an affair. Of course Olivia knew it but her husband use to keep her shut…then Mr. Park knew it about it he came with a gun. They both were here. It was one of those slow days and they were here with some pals as to not make it obvious. But well Park shot her husband. Right in the head. He shot him other places too…make sure he dead…then he started pistol whipping and punching Cindy…he lost it…he’s in that place right nearby…Spring Falls Sanitarium…well Olivia barked at Cindy all obscenities but then she was ok with her. But the main problem was Ash…you see I think Olivia and Ash had a relationship even though they were legally related…I think they also consummated what they felt…but Ash was gone…and when he did come back Marcus he had a girlfriend in college. Olivia was heartbroken. She started losing it a bit. Of course some people suspected it too and they thought it was immoral – Ted even advised the priests to kick her out of church. Well they didn’t but she was not really welcomed in the village anymore but she stayed and kept on going…”

I felt an electric shock…she loved Ash as a lover…and her husband is dead…?

God Olivia must be more depressed than I thought.

“ Isn’t anyone treating her…?”

“ Yeah a doctor from Spring Falls…that also doesn’t put her in the good books with the people here…”

The doorbell rings and it is Cindy. I invite her in. We sit in the garden. We talk like old friends. We have tea. She asks me about Marcus. I tell her he left.

When she is preparing to leave I stop her and I slap her hard, “ You fucking slut – did you tell Ted anything about me and Marcus?!”

“No…No…of course not..” I slap her again harder and she falls to the floor breaking my tea cup, “ Slut –you’re gonna pay for that or else I’ll tell the doctor to bring back your pimp what you gonna do then you stupid fucking cunt!”

She was crying but I pulled her up by her hair and slapped her a couple of times more. Each time harder. Each time I laughed, “ You used to love it right – you tried to make it like before, right? Tried to remind me of how you used to screw him and steal from me! You know what slut! Ain’t gonna happen!” I punched her and kicked her abdomen. She spurted blood.

“ Clean this up slut and leave!”

She listened to my orders and left.

Marcus had left. No matter. He played his part. Though I loved him I knew he could never be mine. He once mentioned a girlfriend. Oh Marcus – if only you left her and stayed with me…Oh Marcus…

I got up and walked to my room and found him asleep. I called him, “ Terrance you awake my boy…?”

Terrance got up. He ran towards me but I slapped him. He fell down and cried and wailed: “ Sorry! Sorry!”

“ What did Momma tell you Terrance?”

“ But Mommy you were going to do it with Daddy and not me!”

“ Hush – you licked his face and dug into him – he would have realized everything…now c’mon be with me my Octopus-man…”

I wanted Cindy to tell others that Marcus was staying with me. I wanted others to think that I was sleeping with him. No one realized it. No one has to. I made Marcus afraid so that he would leave sooner and then no one would e curious anymore. He was not the first. I had tried with others. But I still want him… Terrance looks… like…. Ash. I wanted Ash. Ash – you bastard – how can you suddenly be embarrassed of our love? Why did you leave me? Marcus… I wanted to love you but Ash is still with me. That doctor and I made a deal. He would give me Terrance if I paid him a good deal. Sure. But I might kill him now and put the blame on Cindy. She’s a slut who deserves humiliation and pain always. After all I saw Terrance in Spring Falls when he had Cindy’s husband admitted and both the doctor and Cindy go there now – not me. Not lonely me. The Doctor told me Terrance has severe Oedipus Complex and killed his father then suffered a bit from memory distortions. He can fuck me and think I’m his Mommy.

As long as he looks like Ash – he’ll be the path to the one I had loved once as my Moonlit Roses.

(6,000 words)

A/N: Got information on flowers by searching various sites on the net. The O’Level paper question was real so I am not claiming it as mine. It belongs to EdExcel International. I just solved it like Olivia.

Thanking Allah Almighty

2010-06-23T02:57:00.001+05:30

Today I got three of my thesis books THANKS TO ALLAH ALMIGHTY ALLAHHUAKBAR, SUBHAHANALLAH, ALHAMDULILLAH, MASHALLAH.

They are:
"The Stand" by Stephen King
" The Road" by Cormac McCarthy &
" Blindness" by Jose Saramago

I got the vintage edition of "Blindness" which featured the characters in the movie it seemed that both Julian Moore and Danny Glover and another well known actor whose name I forgot all starred in it. Oh, its Mark Ruffalo found it out from Wikipedia as I am also correcting the spellings of the authors' names of novels "The Road" and "Blindness" Guess what I wrote before = Carthy MacCormack LOL

Well I started "The Stand" its over 1000 pages. Now, I gotta read and write notes 'cause it's obvious I won't remember. Gonna use the copy my bro sent me from Australia I think to do that ^_^

Thesis Crazy

2010-06-18T12:11:00.000+05:30

I am in deep shit. My midterms are next week and my thesis stuff also gets exams (the supervisor builds questions on what you have submitted and you get a thesis mid on that) the problem is that I haven't submitted anything. Bookstore dealers and erratic schedules are the cause - it's not my fault - my country doesn't have those books and I can't find proper PDFs now what the hell am I supposed to do?

Well, I can just wait. My supervisor was great Thanks to Allah Almighty - he stated to just email him anything I have done so that I can do my thesis midterms based on that - silly me I thought the thesis midterms were with the Finals of this semester until our Chair told that we must give a midterm. Bad fuck if you ask me.

Oh Well, let's see how we manage.

Updates

2010-06-17T15:32:00.001+05:30

I have made some updates to my blog Dose and if you are interested you can check them out ^_^

A Clean Wound

2010-06-16T19:05:00.000+05:30

There is no way to cut a clean wound
nestled in a body exclusive in a pensive 'anywhere'
'anything goes' pinned up with serenades
like water hardwired electric I see it

your ass
yeah I know
I'm not talking sense
'cause baby my heart was supposed to be here

it's a clean wound see?
Shylock's curry
Antonio's soulmate
Portia's butt
all up some shit
of tangled stupidities

There's nothing like a clean wound ok
better than ecstasy drug
better than anything cute

oh wait
I'm really bleeding to death
ok
which page was I on again?

Swelling

2010-06-16T11:37:00.000+05:30

I guess for a long time I had a friend – a best, true kind of friend – whom, I recognized as I wanted to write a piece of writing from my own life which we call non-fiction. I had always had a sense of satisfaction from this best friend of mine – mind the word always because you see I am not using it in its generic design – by always we usually mean something simultaneous and something frequently – but seasoned people know that simultaneity and frequency can vary and that joy exclusive and always to that generic label may not always be wrought. But by always I do mean in the sense that even though it did not take my breath away all the time it did so most of the time. That friend is: the sky.

To be frankly honest, I do not have many friends. As long as I can remember (and this is one place where my memory serves accurately a 100% or let’s say, if we minus that perfection which still has its flaws, a 99.9 or 99.5 %) friends was a subspecies in the life taxonomy I had not read upon with great variety, space or acceptability. In quite brief terms – I was the outcast of my class and one of those many people in school who were rejected as stupid/different/abnormal thus not suitable for friendship. I was always teased and ousted. No one wanted to sit with me. No one wanted to sit beside me. Once a person also stated that if I went to a sanatorium it would better than me staying here in school. I bet that statement was one that was just said and not meant fully, however, at many moments in time it hurt tremendously when I remembered or maybe even a little.

Well, as I had no friends I decided my best choice of action would be to love my own company which I can say was a success. Many parts of me enjoyed me, subtracting egotism in its most megalomaniac and narcissistic sense because parts of solitude do make sense to any human creature. But it would be a lie to say that many a times I did not long for company for I had thoroughly wanted it as one wants water in a desert. However, isolation did not deprive me of imagination or the comforts of a pen. True that the latter being was founded later in life and isolation was decreased by then with some friends at hand.

I must return to the sky for he is the friend I had decided to talk about. She is of different talents this sky friend of mine. To say she is inorganic would be quite insulting and those who believe this to an extremity would never understand the beauty of the sky and it would be pointless to discuss this with them. Inorganic in the generic sense maybe because in the sense that human beings, plants and animals perceive things the sky does not show evidence of such perceptions. Like rocks, stones, water and other minerals it is quiet and unnerving – it does waste and grow – but its growth and waste are nothing like the way we grow and waste. But I cannot think it is totally inorganic as an element of death – I cannot refuse it like that.

The sky can be grey. It can be colourful. It can be glum. It can be quite interesting display of patterns and/or it can even be quite alive with its warmth and blue flavour. The sky soothed me. He kissed me and she resonated into a beautiful paradigm-paradigmless entity of clashing, sailing, homogeneity and heterogeneity. She is quite friendly and open. She is quite vast and expansive. He is open and friendly. He does not have any perilous secrets nor does he be pathologically secretive. She is quite bounteous in her way of sharing her clothes and skin. Lovemaking with this She-He is quite good as the dynamic sex allows you your preferred hetero-homo-bisexualities without judgment.

This definition, this understanding and this belief of the sky came to me after a thought that I had regarding a day. A couple of days back I had wanted to blog about a day that was quite memorable. It was not memorable in the generic senses of events occurring and being so intense that I classify them as memorable – well, as I said, not in the usual sense. It was a day I came back home and did the most normal things I do as I do every single day.

I came back from my university. I probably ate something. I was going to loaf around like I do the entire day. In case you are wondering than yeah, you probably have it right, I am a procrastinator though I do not enjoy this occupation. I am a thesis student who could not buy her books as of yet so, I do loaf around. There are multiple apartment buildings to my right. A few years ago, in actuality, ten years ago when the millennium just began these apartments were not there. There was a normal house and a field cum garden. The house was made of brick and concrete as most houses are made of here in Dhaka. I recall that the house was a two floors shorter than ours. On its roof-flat hair I could see that the wall that attaches itself to the entrance had wickets drawn on it. Children used to play cricket on the roof. When I use to go to my own in-house verandah I used to see flower pots next to the white walls smoky now due to time with ash marks upon it. Sometimes a woman, who I recollected once wore a white sari and probably a yellow blouse, or maybe it was never yellow at all but I want to remember it as yellow – used to be near the pots. I couldn’t see their garden cum field probably due to tall trees that worked as curtains to their own world. That garden cum field had recently been turned into another multi-storied apartment. I feel like I have no privacy. My curtains are mostly drawn. I don’t like seeing rows of windows who also have a clear view. Before there was space there. Air was there. Breezes would come and go. It was an open party.

These fortifications make me weary. They do not provide any clean sheet to which I can lie down and make a canopy out of to rest – my hammock has been stolen by monetary profit and been replaced by the feeling as if jars of thick cloth has been pounded into your lungs. In one word it is hot. In more definite sense it is humid. The air clusters with a temperature. No relaxation. As though some diseased mammalian has decided it would die upon the sky. It’s rising in its death but not like a phoenix. It’s deaths are multifarious and occurs with waves of discomforting heat. The heat paralyzes any vistas. The trees that have seen me grow – who were maybe over hundreds of years old – are no longer a sight to enjoy. I can see them as ruined scenes after a war – embedded into the ashen fires of development and urbanization. It wearies the soul which hops into a cauldron of festering suffocation – claustrophobia is its fire – dwelling deep between the gashes of the flames – those fingers of non-stop combustion of illness.

However, these days the window has become my enemy and the air conditioning his pathogens. No longer do I wish this slide of glass and her arm-curtains to put me into that state of anxiety of feeling lost from air. I surrender myself to the natural views and dominate over glass and the views who love my reign of appreciation: paradoxical states of being controlled and controlling are but in the human creature. The day does not always improve. It does not shine. Summers of childhood had seemingly become extinct. The rays no longer a honey brew but an insane bee hungering for the sting to my lungs. I can see my internals weep. My viscera inverts on itself and coils into a form of reclusive illness. I can feeling my insides and outsides hating those tall mutants who have no originality. Those extremities of clay and cement: who rape the pluralities of nature as he too cries for decency.

I feel lost in a labyrinth of bricks and glass. The idea of such loss of direction creates a death of its own kind.

That day the window was open and I lay still in bed. There was a warmth in my sheets. A love that I drunk and felt intoxicated by. I cannot see much of a view whilst I am lying for there is none to be seen. There is another window – a projection in my own house’s design – from this angle – that does not provide much scenery but it is comforting as it is not an antagonist to my nature. It is not too high and allows me to bond with my sky. I can see it. It looked blue that day. Cerulean honesty. With white freckles. However, I thought it was still humidity galore. I dared not look at the steaming mass of festering heat outside. Dhaka had become a disaster. It’s asphyxiation was imminent and intensely felt. But then I felt the chase of breezes. On top of my mattress my toes were like buds feeling the sensuousness of air. Nostalgia cracked its yolk upon it or was I now the phoenix bird of lost unearthing myself out from the ash-shell of disintegration? I could feel a bliss as the sword air cut my bonds and was my womb of soul growth. I can see this womb cutting the bad diseases of congestion. The sun was hot but it made love with breeze. It seemed long lost their marriage was restored.

I felt like a restoration piece myself. I looked upon the trees swaying. Were they liberated as well? Could they not be like me? Disgusted by meaningless urbanization? Maybe. They had grown too with me even with if they were my elders. Even if they have seen hundreds of years past – there were like my kin – they have seen changes vaster than my own and to them dislike would be sterner as it was more well known. Their hearts encyclopedias to my own one-liner. My zygote body to their whole evolutions. I waved at them. Looking then at those watchful windows. No people there but still my eccentricity is my secret. I had said “Hi” to the trees – my own “Assalamualaikum” I didn’t want others who do not understand to bear witness.

Nostalgic swam with the yolk of the sky. It is a serene yellow mixed with the oil cerulean. I could not see the grand poach of a sun from this angle nor did I try to raising my head up. I only saw my elders dance to the wind but I had taken a break. I was in my usual spot – doing random stuff on the computer. However, I felt the summers of old bathe me. Swelling in me was the breeze, warmth and sky soaring of years before. I felt like the innocent child marveling the trees swaying and getting intoxicated by their dances. It was the vintage feeling again. Warm, lucid, overwhelming and so poignantly true and beautifully elegant. The wind mated with the sun and their lovely kisses melted the leaves of trees into golden-dark-velvet-green entities. The world felt like a known heaven again.

The open window had all of God’s promises.

The Dull Flame Of Desire - Crossed Hearts' Ballad

2010-06-04T04:00:00.002+05:30

Well after years of seeing others create videos I have finally done one! ^_^

This is my very first video I HAD EVER MADE AND I AM SO GLAD THAT IT WENT WELL AFTER HOURS OF EDITING, PROGRAM HANGING, SCENE SPLITTING AND TINKERING!!!!! I MEAN THIS IS A HARD VIDEO TO DO DUE TO THE INSTRUMENTAL NATURE OF THE SONG

I want to THANK ALLAH ALMIGHTY (ALLAHHUAKBAR, SUBHAHANALLAH, ALHAMDULILLAH, MASHALLAH - thanks to God Almighty) for making me able to make this.

Do you know God was kind enough to let me make accidents that turn out to be serendipitous to my whole project? It was really AWESOME and I was smirking and THANKING ALLAH ALMIGHTY 'CAUSE THIS IS THE FIRST EVER VIDEO I EVER, EVER MADE

Ok, The Truth is I tried. It may not be great, good or ok even but I tried. I WANNA THANK EVERYONE WHOSE VIDS I'D SEEN TO GET INSPIRED BE IT ANIME OR OTHERWISE - ESPECIALLY KUSOYARO FOR THE UTENA BACHELORETTE WHICH INTRODUCED ME FIRSTHAND THE JOYS OF MAKING VIDEOS AND THE GREATNESS OF BJORK - ALLAH ALMIGHTY BLESS YOU MAN

The Song: The Dull Flame Of Desire

Artists: Bjork and AntonyHegarty

Anime: Paradise Kiss

The Video FanSubs are not done by me neither am I claiming to have done them - this is done for solely fan reasons and I give everyone who did all the necessary original formatting their credit. I only made the fan video. So Thanks to you guys for your great work.

The song's meaning is very much explanatory to those who has seen the anime - if not this is a spoiler to the series.

Yukari's and George's Dull Flame of Desire is very prominent - so is Miwako and Hiroyuki's - Isabella is on the middleground and Kaoru, George's friend, understands this too.

Basically a video of tormented love, lust and of course desire.

We have a lot of thorns in our roses - thorns in which we step - predictably or unpredictably - the ballad of life is danced on paradoxical shoes more deadly/enchanting than Karen's - thus we blossom - thus our petals dance to the air...

And Lilith spoke

2010-06-03T12:46:00.002+05:30

Last night I envisioned a retelling of the tale of Lilith

She was no women but the first Androgyne

Man withing the female casket of bones and flesh

Women within the masculine bosom and the looks so entwined-ethereal

Feed me not with the sinner's apple but with the leaves of that knowledge wood

that scarred humanity - let me dance with sin in a periphery

but never drunk with its hollow dances of a tale too cut with chaos

Let me know man as a single; the woman as a double

Let me know woman as a single; the man as a double

Let me see the one called Azazel fallen for that which he constructed

Oh Allah let me see to know the bounties of sin and grace

To know Eve's purity and satan's malnutrition

Oh Allah the One who wrote the book by which Cosmos prays

Let me be embedded with the voluminous alphabets known as stars

Let me read as I make tea of these leaves

For You who knows all

Knows me

Let their fingers have blasphemies

I shelter no sainthood...

Vein Explusion

2010-06-02T14:20:00.002+05:30

That which was done to improvise - impoverish the necessity

came into the mouth of the apocalyptic - dreaming vices in a riddle

your corrupted semblance resemble those of biblical destructions

your lies crafted as but the poetic of bone-bound bondaged machine

you are called the threshold of nightmares and romantic disabilities;

why

oh why

why

Did you understand so little you mechanism of ill-trusted design?

Why was it not enough to cradle a love-enzyme enabling gestation?

You are so coil for striking a madness of pragmatism-dogmatism

Is this the cause of a resolute being? Or, the cause of a dominion of you?

I reject
I inject

cross veins

My madness

My Kingdom

My dominion

is of my own

Myriadic

2010-06-02T14:08:00.002+05:30

You blind denizen who has lost his slipper
I recall Solomon's scenarios

of streets visited by a paramour seeking

beau lost

The art that which emits me now

is warmth

Ai Wa Umi

on my mind

listening to it

dreaming

oh what a nuclei in the midst

like oiled up cells

bursting with life

maybe so

who knows anything

But then we might be sleeping

in a cocooned off-filled comfort

progression in regression

life twisting

an earth inside

an earth external

too many mouths talking

in a beautiful water

of me - whole.

Semester Beginnings

2010-05-19T04:52:00.003+05:30

Well, it was Sunday 16th 2010 - My summer semester was to begin.

I had spent the whole night talking to one of my best friends, Efadul Huq, due to lack of sleep - as I slept during the day - and had become quite nocturnal during my semester break.

Well, I got up and I think I breakfasted and was actually waiting for the computer guy to come so that my desktop internet would be reestablished - due to a storm my broadband lines were cut and he was supposed to come and fix them. He did not come. Alas I was going to have my other internet source in my laptop - though I kinda preferred to work in my desktop at home as I have reved it up with all my essentials in comparison with my laptop counterpart.

I took an unsteady nap thus getting a bit moody when my mom was playfully pushing me awake and she was like "Why are you so angry? I'm only kidding..." I apologized and I got ready. The first class was Biology 101 at 2pm. It was 1pm and if anyone knows Bangladesh, Dhaka then they know that traveling from a place called Dhanmondi to get to Mohakhali is a chore due to the plague, the epidemic called TRAFFIC JAM!!!!!!!!!

Anyway, I sorted out my things. Got in the car. My driver and I headed out. It was hot. That would be an understatement. It was humid. That too would be a child's word, a mosquito pinch or let's say a little prick of a statement. It was monstrously hot and humid somewhat comes close to a definition. Anyway, there we were sitting in the car and waiting around. Surprisingly, Thanks to Allah Almighty - a miracle of nature - I arrived at uni at 1:30pm. So after getting into the elevator at the 13th floor - surprisingly my bio teacher was there as well in the elevator - and I got down to my floor. I talked there with some of my friends. I also talked to a teacher basically on how and when shall I meet my thesis supervisor (actually my TA in past courses and a senior friend). She told me not to worry and that she will inform the Professor and that there will be a meeting with him. I was hoping I would meet him that day as I needed the "go" from him involving the thesis - as in if I am going the right way or how to structure and the books I am doing - so, it was time later on and I went to class.

Bio 101 is a basic course. The teacher was friendly. In fact I made arrangements during my advising so that I took my course with him as my friend suggested that he is a great teacher (this friend took a break from this semester). He went on telling on the basics "You might be a philosopher but in biology you are just a bunch of carbohydrates, fats and proteins..." that was kinda funny. He gave us the basics and class ended a bit earlier. I had decided - when no one else was speaking and he asked what we might do our first assignment papers on - to do it on mutation. I don't own maybe Eugene Victor Tooms from The X-Files classic paranormal monster set was going around my head. So, I went upstairs to my department and found my supervisor didn't arrive early so I left it to my TA friend to do what we though of before.

I then went to my Sociology 301 course called "Sociological Theory" which is a prerequisite to my Soc Minor and it was being taught by a sir I wanted to do courses with from last year but he went away to the States for a semester and I thought that he wasn't coming back soon. Cool, my expectations were not disappointed Thanks to Allah Almighty. He came back and it felt like manna after a starvation period I had with a previous SOC course. No, the Sir was nice but his course schedule was bony and not edible. Anyways, Sir was great. He wanted us to participate in something he called "Institutionalized Adda." which is non-directed discussion with any topic available. He asked if anyone wanted to volunteer and no one did. I opened my big mouth. I asked Sir if he saw movies? He said yes but not much and talked about how he recently saw Avatar with his son and then the movie conversation went to Pother Prachari a Bangladeshi classic movie - reflecting on so many issues (unfortunately, I haven't seen it).

The discussions were good and fun. Sir is a free person and it is easy to talk to him on various issues. We started talking on detective fiction and how the West shows have a good dynamism in their detective shows as in CSI and then I talked about The X-Files and I remember my friend commenting on its creepiness but Sir saying how he loved Mulder and Scully as much as I did (though he forgot that Mulder was the guy and Scully's name ^_^) I think that is extremely important in a teacher. Anyways class ended (I feel satisfied to say it was a great class). I went to my building back again hoping to see my supervisor. My TA regretted to tell me that he was in a rush and left. It was around 5pm and I wondered what I could do as I thought the sooner I talked to him the better. She advised me to go to my advisor and talk to her so that I could do something about the situation. I told my advisor. I said I had my Sup's number but that it would be weird to call him out of the blue. She agreed and I asked her if she would call him on my part. She agreed to help but thought best to SMS him. I told her I was willing to go to Dhaka University where my Sup also teaches so that I can talk to him and that it is imperative that I do so. She was writing the SMS. I made comments on the horrible weather which she did not acknowledge though she did chat with me. I thanked her immensely. I saw that she had taped a printout on Surahs (prayers) concerning their roles. I had not known those facets of them. I confessed that I do not know much on religion at times. We actually recited some Surahs together - yeah she is religious - and I thanked her again for helping me. She took my number and told me she is going to call me as soon as possible when she hears from my supervisor.

Well, there I was. In the car. Going back home. Kind of irritated that I hadn't talked to Sir. But hoping I would talk to him soon. I think I dozed off in the car a couple of times - oh yeah I did - I was really tired. I got home but not by the usual way as there were some political traffic on the road and police get extra bitchy then. I realized it though I feel asleep and asked my driver if we were going the right way and I thought I was misconceiving but I later realized I was right.

Getting home I saw the computer guy. He came late. But was efficient. He said he has to realign the wires so he would come back Monday Morning. I said ok. As I only have one class on Monday starting from 9:30 am and ending at 11:00am I told him to come around 11:30ish - he agreed and left.

Monday 17th - Had a big breakfast and was watching Space Chimps - it's a cool animation movie though couldn't finish watching it in MMnet1 or 2 as I had class. My SOC 370 class, Marriage and Family, was the same SOC Sir. We started talking about marriage. Then Sir asked why I was so quiet today (I was actually sitting at the back as I was kinda late). I asked Sir about the Kinsey Scale and how Kinsey defined that no one was a 100% heterosexual nor a 100% homosexual. Sir agreed that finding pure homosexuals and pure heterosexuals were hard to find - by the way my TA friend came into the class; she knows Sir well so she decided to come and sit in class - in fact, he enlightened on a gay student, whom he didn't know who was gay but who told him so was now having a heterosexual relationship - obviously, the opposite runs true as well. The facet that interested him the most was that more men are homophobic than women. He said it is socially ingratiated. He recollected that as a youth he was more prone to it but as he grew wiser it was obviously clear to him that it was not right to be homophobic. He admitted that he knows Bangladesh has issues on this but homosexual do exist potentially in religious oriented countries due to sexual frustrations. Also, he admitted that humans are not inherently monogamous - be they male or female - and that they are also mostly bisexual by nature - able to be attracted by both the sexes.

Afterwards, when coming home I asked if the computer guy came. The security guard said he did not. After an hour later the computer guy comes upstairs and says that he has been working downstairs in the garage and grounds for quite some time. He redirected by cable from across the street to my place. He had tied a chord to a room and pulled the rope up using that via a window. Connected it. Internet in Desktop again. MASHALLAH Success. Afterwards, my brother's in-laws - who we call Mom and Dad - came with my sister-in-law's younger brother and sister. They have come from Australia and was going to stay for a while - my Bro and my Bhabi (sister-in-law) still there. Bhabu's younger brother who is 13 years younger than me, bought me some stationaries as I like them. I excused myself as I couldn't sleep the night previous and turned on the nocturnal binds. I slept from 2:45pm to 8:00 pm and as Allah Almighty would have it so did Efad as I seen him give me a Good Morning on the chatbox. Mom and Dad came for dinner. Bhabi's younger sister who's like 3 or 4 got hurt - she fell down and cut her chin. She was not allowing Mom to touch it but Mom cleared the cut and put vaseline on it. Mom got scared if it became a permanent scar as Bhabi had under her chin - she said when my Mom appeared, as I told her my Mom knows of these things, that when the young girl's skin grows it might appear right on her chin. My Mom said she should bandaid and Nivea on it and that Nivea works wonders.

Tuesday 18th - Got to class a bit late. Nocturnal habits interfering. Saw some disturbing extremist religious videos with Efad the following night (Yeah I am a Night Owl and he is having no summer classes or stuffs to do yet). So went to class. HOT HUMID DISGUSTING. I had walk from the ground floor to the 9th as Elevator was full. The heat made me want to puke. Saw my good friend Samin on the stairs gave her a hug and said "Later Babe..." after telling her how DISGUSTING HOT IT WAS. Had class. It was a revision of the first. Sir said at the end that he usually doesn't do this but was making an exception as it was the beginning of the semester. I didn't have to write anything. Went to the 13th saw my Sup - I was supposed to meet him that day on 4:50 pm but he was here now and my advisor tried calling me on Sunday but I was dead asleep so I called her back on Monday morning and got the news - So I thought I should talk to him.

We sat down and he asked if I started anything yet. I told him " No" then started off with my plans. He agreed with them and told him to write chapters first and the intro last. We agreed we would communicate via SMS, calls and Email to set up meeting dates or for other stuff. Then I went to SOC 301 Had a BLAST ONCE MORE 0 Sir said as a sociologist he also is fascinated at seeing how we converse - and then came home.

I fell asleep. Waking up at 11 My parents reminded me it was Bro's Birthday. He read my card first, the one I secretly sent with Dad, and he cried a bit - he misses me. Mom and Dad had come and left. I had dinner with my Parents.Then stayed up the whole night again with Efad also doing stuff in the States (yeah so for him it is not Nocturnal) and talking to me after I had talked to my Dad.

In fact I have another SOC 370 class now - it's Wednesday 19th - my class starts at 9:30am and it is 7:17am and I supposed to wake up at 8. Well 15 mins of nap is good.

Three Eyes

2010-05-17T05:49:00.002+05:30

Three eyes
One body bagged

two souls in one

Three eyes

around legs

threesome induced

body bagged

Three eyes

complex love

like dotting nightmares

in polygraph

Three ties

Three eyes

crossroads birth

fork nods with a tongue

License

2010-05-17T05:46:00.001+05:30

To the bleeding corpse you cry

to living automatic no eye shine

to parer burned

we scribe

to papers now torn

we sew not

a ballad is but ballad sans

instruments entangled in their own entrails

stringed by vein-failure

life academic - life learned

soul writes

the world does not obey

Sense Life

2010-05-17T05:43:00.002+05:30

The farcry

ranges out
wades not
oceanic oxide
parasite foam

there diver

death culminates

you asphyxiate

the foamy frills

a worker's parallel

curves into

tentacles

and worms

no,

water

is free

life endures

exotic replenishes

Mutilated stars End

2010-05-17T05:40:00.002+05:30

The telescope mounted my eyes
it reproduced a tragedy
bend it back
the lenses cloud

your astronomy knows no senses

you are packed in the neutrons of sadomasochistic

pray, look at that bow

pray, look at that sword

that constellation armoured

the heavens soar to battle

Life in a package

2010-05-15T07:15:00.003+05:30

I realized my life is redundant. It is boring. I do the same boring routines. Repetitions is having an orgy in my existence. I feel shelved away like packaged meat - clustered in old pantries - smelling, rotting becoming infested by the mere thought of consumption. Alas - no angel sings sweetly in my ear of rejuvenation rather a reincarnation experimentative (in short: Same shit different day) mess of rather narrow functions down by the body.

In these two weeks of a so-called semester break I had done nothing. I had hordes of books but their harem of exquisite white and black skin tickled my fancy for a few and then I dropped them into their own world of free wanderings. It is not that I don't love to read rather that my ming wishing other things - even a more devout bibliophile might feel her wrenches being screwed out of place without other things to touch feel and love than those lovers/bedfellows/spouses/siblings/foster parents - the world exists between other dimensions.

I feel suffocated by a mass of obsolete metaphors and music - of deranged cliches and organs sucked out of their juice to the core surpassing minuscule cells - it is quite disgusting - it is quite a torment - a quartering of soul parts - an iron maiden's best orgasm detailed. I must thank Allah Almighty though due to comfort and blessings and I do - it's just this human malady of a heart craves/ponders/delights/hungers/cherishes the horizon of more.

I wonder if it is alright. Oh Allah tell me...is it alright? It is alright - right?

Climbers must kiss

2010-05-06T05:16:00.002+05:30

Your pent up bones

need release

like climbers kiss

on top of tress

you engage in orally stimulated speech

body language systemically wild

rich in hyper

space for a universe of motion

leading lamps

like photogenic smiles

come up in moves

detailed hermaphrodites

just awaiting birth

Your pent up bones

climbers must kiss

or fall

leading to falling bones

no machine exquisite

breed no breakage

grow up

climbers must kiss

Boy kiss

2010-05-06T05:09:00.003+05:30

Sweet fairytale boy
sliipping into coma-kiss

like a bliss is made

into a lore mode of loyalty

sweet sugar

no kiss

for you

your glass heart

needs breaking

twitching membranes

of heart forsaken in crash course

jet-bloomed turbulence

myth bold

myth frail

birth unavoidable

kisses in frost

love pines blood

in lips rigid with artificial stitches

bleed a bit

live a bit

no comatose

for you

handle well

responsible boy

responsible sex you girl

join in fairytale equity

join in kisses full in that flesh

Rushing forward

2010-05-06T05:05:00.001+05:30

Thunderous poison

thou art aphrodisiac

thou art solemn

a riddler of twisting bones

lifelines crackle

like veins postponing

blood flow

exploding

blood colours

It is fate

breathe on the tip

It is fate

breathe on the tip

grow more expressive

intensive love

made for machinistic sex

bled for regretful after taste

Mirth is boiled raw

you are but a poison synthesized as skin

Tuck

2010-05-06T04:56:00.002+05:30

Bedtucked world of moon-dropped love
like tickling fire with a mirth ascribed
to night I am forlorn
to the avarice I am spent

to think of mutiny now is senseless

thus I spill blackish-silver

from my tongue

like moon flower

to grow

Bedtucked heart that longs no slumber

think crab like fingers

pierced are the nails

like dandelion they grow

corrupt cutting

as biting you know

is a habit happening

habit to know

You bled like silver flow

your rich tongue knew

you are the art

I am the canvas

I am the artist

you are the brush

let us be born

one breath at a time

Dip Into Life

2010-05-05T21:12:00.003+05:30

You were spying on me
like the moon

when it's new

when it's excited

to be drunk and full

Your lips are satin wine
a fleshy paradox of love and lust

like mirth that calls itself your heart

and the oval world that is your soul

We are not the avarice seekers

not stunt coordinators

but we sail into eclipses

our sails better than polythene bright

like a seashell learning to sing

Life is always an equation

you'll never solve

always a tongue

whose language is thus revealed in letters

here and there

but we ate from some similar cup

grabbed and were nailed onto

weaved-sprung in the identity-mirrors

I guess I like you
You may not know

you are a glorious moon

your breath are the stars

I'm Feeling Sad Today

2010-05-02T22:34:00.002+05:30

God, am I a failure?

I feel like such a big failure. A dumb stupid failure. Who can't achieve anything. Who will never do much.

God, am I a loser?

Am I destined to watch others succeed while I have no success at all. Am I supposed to always feel this weight of unhappiness. Cannot I not complain?

I know that I have more than many others - and Allah Almighty Thank You For That - but also gaining more means I sometimes desire more within in what you have given me. Not of riches in the material sense. The riches of those things ebb away. I wanted something that was substantial.

I have no life other than this. This boring, putrid life. Which though is a blessing can act like a curse at times. I feel like screaming out at times and just feel like I could end in that scream. But, that doesn't happen.

I must face livid disappointments, humiliations and the unexpected failures that others do not know off. I feel so frustrated at times that I feel like going away - locking myself in frustrations and dreams - to have a balance of nightmares and blisses that I can control. But, that never happens away.

I have had this feeling more than once. I have had this feeling more than a couple of times. I just can't take it - being the loser all the time. It's not fair. It's Just NOT FAIR.

But I have experienced this so many times. This sadness. This in-excruciating sadness. The wrath of this sadness. In loneliness, bitterness and dysfunctionality. It has started to sicken me. I wish it would all end. But, I know I'm not going strong enough if I say that. That I am being a coward if I think that.

I feel really upset. Am I such a loser? Am I such a failure? Why do I have to meet with such disappointments when I see others around me not facing these things and gaining so much happiness or regular success. I feel down. As I said I do count my blessings. But sometimes it hurts a lot. A lot more than I can handle. I feel like being torn to pieces by the Angel of Death. But, I guess it would be wrong to think that. Wrong to think of such things,

I guess I am just sad. Sad of being a loser. But, I guess I gotta go on ahead.

ENG 440 Final Paper

2010-04-29T13:49:00.002+05:30

Efficiency on Hiatus

“ In the news they were telling how the electricity would stay during the exams. It went away for thirty minutes during one of my examinations; I was lucky to be sitting near a window during the exam but many people were obviously uncomfortable.” Ms Salma Akhtar, an HSC student, talks about her experience in one of her HSC examinations, which are on-going at the present, “ The exam halls are small and in each hall there are five to seven teachers present with the students.” she recounts her teachers’ frustrations due to the power suddenly being cut, “One of them said that they thought this was not going to happen while another stated that this is expected of the government.”

Salma Akhtar is amongst hundreds who are facing the crisis of perpetual power failures Dhaka. Bangladesh is still a developing economy but its capital Dhaka has seen massive urbanization over the past couple of years. The population has increased exponentially as well and most migrate to Dhaka for a better lifestyle. The situation is becoming worse without any sight of a solution. People’s lives depend on electrical power: they are the veins that construct society. From Dhanmondi’s residential areas to the commercial districts of Mirpur – Dhaka has become synonymous with power crisis.

“ Me and my wife don’t stay at home during the day because we have to work,” explains Md. Shahidul Islam, who is a chauffeur with his wife working in a garment factory. He lives in Mirpur, Pirerbhag, and it is not pleasant for him to go home after he has finished work. “ I go home late in the evening and there is no gas. There is no water either. We have to wait until the electricity comes back to prepare our dinner. Many a times I can’t take a shower. The electricity goes away up to three times at night and we can’t sleep.”

“ We only have electricity one to two hours a day.” States Mr Shonkor, a resident of Shaidabagh in the sweeper colony, “ Our own taps have dirty water so the Army and WASA has to give us water. They do so from nine to five each day. We had complained to the City Corporation but they told us measures were being taken to help us.”

On the 11th of April of this year the traffic of Mohakhali-Gulshan link road was affected for an hour for angry protestors taking to the street. According To The Daily Star issue of 12th April, people took to the streets with empty water holders and banners to state how frustrated they are to not receive a proper water supply. The same incident had occurred a week ago as citizens took to the same route protesting against the same cause.

“ It’s too bad.” Commented Md. Rafiuddin Bablu, Managing Director of Modhumita Cinema Hall in the Mirpur district, “ The electricity goes away more than two times a day. Most floors in my building have their personal generator. We have to pay 2000-4000 Tk. Worth of watt to compensate for the times the electricity goes away. We need generators to make equipment function such as elevators. Those who do not have generators have to climb up the stairs. It is very frustrating to have to do such things in the business areas – Mirpur is the heart of business in our country and if our government wishes to keep the blood-supply running then they will have to take action now.” Of course, it is not only the generators that increase the costs. Ms Salma Akhtar talks of the mayhem the residential areas have to endure due to the unreliability of power in Kuchukhet, “ Most people are happy when the electricity comes back for an hour then they start rushing to do all their chores and soon enough the circuits cannot take this extra pressure. Some people might have switched on their ACs or others are going for a shower or using water for other purposes so our building’s pump gets damaged. Our landlord had to buy a new one. Obviously, with such electric fluctuations any electronic device can go out of service.” She further states that other electronic devices can get damaged through the same means. Due to such reasons people will be adding more costs into their lives rather than alleviating them.

“ I usually work for 12 hours,” speaks Md. Belal Hossain, who is a CNG driver, “ I need to take gas twice during my rounds but there is not enough gas for all of us. It’s frustrating to sit 3-4 hours in a queue just for some gas – sometimes the person in front of me gets more gas than me because he came first. Some people even cut into the queue causing major hassles already within a hassle. I use to make Tk. 1500-1600 per day now that’s become only Tk. 1000. Many a times I want to take more customers but I cannot because there is not enough gas. So, I sit around. Sometimes I can’t go into areas where there is no electricity as it might become too dangerous thus I lose customers. I sometimes don’t even find gas at all in one pump thus I lose valuable hours by going around seeing if I can go somewhere else.”

"The present government has taken effective steps to import electricity on an urgent basis from India, Nepal, Bhutan, Myanmar and China," The Daily Star had quoted Prime Mister Sheikh Hasina’s efforts to reduce power shortages on 26th April, "We are aware of your sufferings," she spoke on the people’s problems. "Let me assure you this government will not leave any stone unturned to increase power and gas production." On April 27th The Daily Star also had quoted the PM on the new developments to increase energy efficiency by the means on coal mining in the pits from Barapukuria. “ Some people suggest it is possible to set up power plants of 10,000 megawatt capacity, some suggest it could be 15,000 megawatt. The power ministry may make a presentation on exactly what could be done with the Barapukuria coal.”

The PM had stated, as recorded by The Daily Star on the 3rd of April last year, "When we came to power in 1996, country's total power generation was only 1600 megawatt (MW) which was increased to 4,300 MW during our five-year tenure. We had adopted a power policy that electricity generation would be increased estimating the total national demand every year,"

The PM also stated: "But, unfortunately, the BNP-led four-party alliance did not follow our power policy. The alliance government did not install a single power plant in its tenure."

On the 27th The Daily Star Business section also informed the public of five deals being signed on power plants which are meant to be up commissioned by August 2011. The two foreign companies, plan to build five plants that will produce 420 megawatts. M

“ Many of my friends have to study with candles.” states Al-Amin Porosh, who asks people he meets of their struggles with power failures, “ They try to cope up with their chargers not having enough charge due to the lines always being cut off. Some of them do not have enough money to buy candles even. Some of my friends have generators but there’s no use in having them as they cannot supply efficient power throughout the house – if guests come they might have to study in another room that might have the lights but no fan. Even our photocopy store complained how they can’t do business in the evenings anymore due to power failures.” Ms Salma Akhtar experiences the inconveniences of her household due to power failures, “ It’s because we keep extra boiled water for drinking that we make it through the day. We use that to wash ourselves. In the heat it’s hard to concentrate on studies. A few days ago there was a session in our neighbourhood concerning load shedding and how stores should not be open after 8pm. A few days later there was a session on too much load shedding. We were told we might have ‘Digital Bangladesh’ as a topic in our HSC exams – we don’t have water or electricity it is comical that we still use such terms”

“ I think the government is trying to better the situation,” speaks Sheikh Nesar Ahmed Chowdhury, who has kept shop in Dhanmondi for 11 years, “ I only switch on the generator when I need to but when it is cooler I don’t.” When asked about the power cuts he seemed energetic and hopeful, “ There is no point in being frustrated. The government has confessed that there isn’t enough power for all of us. I think that by making more power stations the situation can be resolved. We are running on an old power station anyway. We need to make new ones then we can somehow manage the situation.” On asking him about his business he states, “ When the electricity goes away I don’t sell ice-cream. I tell my customers that I can’t open the refrigerator nor else all the ice-cream will eventually melt. We manage. Power failures do not bother us as they use to before.”

Promised Innovations or the increase of a crisis that has already been suffocating our country’s progression and happiness? It is hard to declare if the power plants would be in successful. But what of now? What of people like Mr Shonkor who do not get clean water and must have it given to him by delivery? What of students like Ms Salma Akhtar, who are losing vital time and energy? The situation must be resolved somewhat now nor else what is considered an hiatus now will be a permanent malady in our everyday lives.

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