Door

He wasn't used to coming back home this late at night. It was really late. The clock had struck two almost an hour back, and it was no easy task getting the key to push itself neatly into the keyhole when you're this drunk. Still he persevered. His tipsy endeavours interrupted by a flood of thoughts of the previous few hours spent at a farewell party. It wasn't his farewell party. It was a party for one of his colleagues who was trading her work life for domestic drudgeries and marital bliss and seemed almost happy about it.
"Imagine, no more formal wear. To never having to wear any formals ever",  and to this they drank till the night was a haze of drunk jokes and farewell kisses.
It was these jokes that he tried to remember while reminding himself to stand up straight and get his door opened. Suddenly there it was..a rapid flush on the cheeks, palpitations, his entire world spinning..that obnoxious feeling he knew all too well.
Excessive alcohol doing its thing. He could feel his stomach contents effortlessly surging up his throat; trying to reacquaint him with the farewell binge.
The key was in the lock, his hand covered his mouth, he impatiently twisted the key twice to the right, heard it make the familiar 'click' that indicated the door was now unlocked. Hurriedly kicked open letting himself in—gagging..both his hands now pushing against his mouth, obstructing the flow of regurgitated pub food that was all too eager to let itself out, he ran with an urgency he never knew existed in his life, kicked his bathroom door and dedicated rest of the night to his toilet.

He woke up somewhere between dehydrated and ghostly pale. Realized he was late for work and promised himself to not think for a while because it really hurt his head. His brain felt tender and he feared that it had melted into a mass of bloody goo in his skull considering all the pounding it was getting. Oh the headache! he'd once seen a couple of beefed up muscle mountains at a gym, beating the life out of a truck tyre with a hammer that was far bigger than any hammer he'd ever seen. It was some sort of work out, and he pitied that tyre for all the beating it received. His head felt the same right now. Like that tyre, except it was being hammered by Thor.

An obscenely large cup of coffee and a tylenol later he tried fixing his sleepless swollen face with a hot shower, and adding to his disappointments was the fact that when he reached for his shampoo bottle it was empty.
"This day couldn't get any worse" he mournfully lathered his hair with soap and got on with his day.

It was almost seven in the evening when he reached back home, feeling tired but not as bad as he felt this morning he remembered, and called for pizza. Feeling dehydrated still, he scanned his fridge for beverage options.
"The only thing I drink tonight or ever for that matter is juice. Alcohol be damned for all I care".

He ate while watching TV and today was no exception. Between languorous sips of juice and merciless mastication of his teeth there was something about the room that had been unknowingly bothering him. He'd noticed how the coasters were stacked on top of each other on the far corner of the dining table and he'd given it no thought, until now.
"Why were they stacked on top of each other? When was the last time I even used coasters? The last time I had dinner at home was sometime last week and I can't even remember what I ate. Did I stack those coasters? Silly thoughts" he mused "who else would do it?"
He slept early tonight. He was tired from his previous night's wretch adventures and wanted to feel fit the next morning. He'd shut his eyes, willing himself to sleep but there was something bothering him. Something he couldn't quite figure out.

He was propped on his work desk, typing furiously on his machine—crunching numbers on excel when he remembered his empty shampoo bottle.
"I'd bought that bottle just a few weeks back. How and why did it get empty so soon."
As a way of reflex his fingers touched his hair. "I might be shampooing my hair much too much. I hope they don't start thinning"
A minute later he was googling shampoo+thinning hair.

Later that evening he reached back home with a box of happy meal and a new herbal shampoo bottle.
Coasters were still stacked and he tried not to let that bother him. He looked around his living room and at first glance nothing was amiss, but look real hard and he felt that somehow things were a bit different.
"Were these photo frames always placed like this. This one seems to look like it moved". He was looking at a picture of his family framed in a basic white frame that always stood slightly tilted, somewhat tipping to the left to look a bit slanted near the TV. It looked like it had shifted just a little. It was touching the television screen now.
He tried noticing every piece of furniture and small things that stood in and around. The miniature eiffel tower souvenir that stood on the book shelf had fallen back, and rested its tip against 'Contemporary poets'.  His spare watch that he sometimes wore for important meetings that was 'always' left on a chest of drawers next to the bookshelf was sitting atop his fridge.
"what the hell is going on", he grew alarmed. "maybe there was an earthquake or something while I was traveling. But that would only explain the eiffel tower falling backwards" he was scaring himself with these thoughts. "what about my watch? how did it get on top of the fridge?"
He remembered with a start and much to his relief a conversation he had with his very drunk friend about his automatic watch, and how sometimes from days of disuse it often stopped.
"you know how the fridge sometimes starts shaking with a start. There must be some fridge term for it. I don't know what it's called man. I'm drunk. Yeah. Keep it on the fridge and your expensive watch won't stop" he'd told him between tequila shots and salt licks.
"Yeah, that's why it's on the fridge. hah." he unboxed his happy meal, washed it down with juice and slept miserably. Something kept bothering him, and he couldn't figure out what.

He was staring solemnly at his coffee mug in the kitchen, still half asleep and unable to make sense of the world; his eyes floating around his hardly used kitchen and a dish left unwashed in the sink.
"why didn't I wash this dish? was it there yesterday?" he drained a big sip of coffee and squinted at the plate. "What did I eat yesterday? Fries. a burger. I didn't use any cutlery. Ate it right out of the box. Oh yeah, pizza. I'm getting lazy. This weekend I'm cleaning the whole house." A self satisfied smile, or as much a smile his sleepy face could deliver and he hurried into the shower.
Today was an important day. There was a board meeting after lunch and a lengthy discussion on the financial projections he'd been working on.  It called for his automatic watch and his crisp yuppie suit.
He was buttoning his shirt and rewinding the last few days in his head. "I ate the pizza out of the box too, didn't I. I can't seem to remember a damn thing". He slid his wardrobe door to retrieve his suit and nearly froze.
Crouched there among his clothes was a man. A man sitting in his wardrobe. Staring back at him with his pale face, sunk eyes, expressionless..not saying a word.

"What..what" his words couldn't come out. His entire body imitated a jelly and plopped on the floor. He could feel his heart knocking against his teeth, the cold floor against his back, and that man in his wardrobe still staring at him. He wanted to scream, but there was no voice in him. White shirt sodden with sweat, his yuppie suit still in the closet, his heart thumping so loud he thought he'd go deaf. His voice was drying up in his throat. he wanted to scream for help, to get up and run away, but his limbs were rooted in their place.
Those eyes still looking at him. That face looked haggard, and scared.
His suit still hung next to the crouching man. He wanted to shut the wardrobe door and make a run for it and somehow found his voice to yell—though all he could do was mutter some unintelligent gibberish. That face kept staring at him. He knew that face, he'd seen it..but he was too scared to remember it. His legs found the strength to move, and in a flash he stood himself up and ran out of the room, out of the house, down the stairs. Not once looking back. He dripped with sweat and reeked of fear and maniacally screamed and shouted when his voice came back to him. He was tearing his hair out by the time police arrived.
What a sorry sight he was; hysteric and caked in sweat. The worst possible combination. If he looked insane then what he was telling everyone sounded even more insane.
"A man has been living in my house. He..he lives in my wardrobe. I don't know how long he's been staying there. I started noticing a few things but didn't think much of it. Believe me. He lives in my closet were I hang my clothes"

"Sir, we have checked your house and there's no one" an annoyed policeman looked the hysteric man up and down and gave the verdict.

"I ..I..he must have escaped"

"That's not possible sir. You'd locked the door from outside and you still have your key and he couldn't have jumped through any windows either. You live on the 14th floor"

"But, how's that possible. I tell you a man was in my house. He's been living in my wardrobe"

"Now now sir. Let me take you back. You're just having a bad episode. We called your office. You've been stressed out lately. You need to rest."

He found himself on his bed. How long had he been asleep?
There were prescription medicines on his side table. He was still shaking when he stood up. Slowly he walked to his wardrobe and slid it open. It was empty. There was no one.
"Am I dreaming? It can't be. I'm still wearing the same shirt. It's not even buttoned properly. Have I gone mad?"
"To hell with this. To hell with all of it. If I'm mad then be it."
He isolated himself and shut completely inside his house. No one saw him stepping out. He called for food just once every day. Sometimes once in two days. No one heard from him. The curtains were always drawn, the windows closed and there was not a peep.

He was growing madder, he sensed it and stopped bothering about it. "I don't care about it anymore".
His house was his sanctuary. He woke up late and slept late, ate when he could and wanted to. Roamed around the house, it was his  mental ward, his living space..
 Sometimes he'd clean the house, arrange some furniture, play with coasters, check his automatic watch for pulse..but he couldn't shake off the feeling that someone was still in the house..that he was not alone. Some nights he couldn't sleep, bothered with voices that haunted him at odd hours of the nights. He'd stay in a fetal position for hours, bottled in his room for days. rarely even stepping out of his bed.
There were voices haunting him, someone talking, someone watching TV, cutlery, dishwasher. They haunted him more with each passing day. He wanted to believe the walls were thin, that it was his neighbours. Sometimes he heard these voices breathing close to his ears. It was so close, someone was right next to him. Someone was living in his house and he couldn't see it. He was right all along. There was someone in the house. No one would believe him. He was terrified of the sounds. He could hear laughter, sobs, snores, moans..shuffling feet near the door.

He was not alone. "Am I hallucinating or am I delusional. Is there really something or have I finally earned my ticket for a permanent vacation to the loony bin? "where is he? I can't see anyone. Get out of my house. It's my house. you hear me. It's my house." He cried every day in the shower. What had he become? a shadow. A shell. A gaunt skeletal existence of what he was. He remembered that farewell night when he'd drunk so much he couldn't stand.
"I was trying to remember jokes that night and now all I want is my misery to end." His eyes grew hollow, sallow faced excuse for life, he stayed huddled in his room. Terrified of the voices. "Someone at the door"
The door unlocked. He froze and sat quiet. Someone opened the door and stared at his face...it was a man wearing a white shirt who suddenly fell on the floor. "Why is he staring at me? He looks so familiar"

Playing house

Mornings are bright

and dark is each night

Oh the hopeful smiles that light each morning with the rising sun, then collapse into a puddle of decaying lichen when each night I cook for one.

Blankets that stay sizzling on one end of the bed while the other is vacant icy deserted dread.

Haunting an empty house with solitary breaths, turning on every noisy gadget to drown the hush.

Keep busy with a book, with a screen, swirling smoke from between fingers in ashen hope this grim peace lays in tatters—tortured and torn seam to seam. 

In stale air a wisp of smoke still lingers, until I blow it away in a tornado of lonely exhale. It disappears into a negated territory of created noises that fill a house of gadgets I've just switched on. 

A steady churn of washing machine like a derelict plane about to take off, gibberish on tv left unattended just so this place fills up with useless dialogues, a stranger's laugh/cough. 

Patterned suction noises of a tired vacuum cleaner too jaded to feed on insipid cleanliness, relentlessly plugged in..uselessly turned on. 

Oh I could do with some noises cacophonic screams and strange voices. A warm breath or two that aren't always mine. 

I'm painting the walls with solitary shadows, playing charades with it like a mime.

Anything that fills its cold gut, because it's quieter than a dead mouse..I could do with some babel..just so I'm not alone in my white walled house.

Today

So yeah..the fight scenes were kickass and the movie wasn't nearly as kickass.

I think they're going to come up with a justice league series, I think Jason Momoa is aquaman. I think I'm done with superhero stuff for a while now.

dude where's my life?

Procrastination should be an olympic event.

Why am I looking for distractions when I've clearly enough work to do? I mean there's a lot of stuff pending, and I couldn't cram all that into one week if I sat at it right now and started working on it, but nope!
I should probably make a list of distractions and maybe then they'd start resembling work too, and that'd keep me from doing them. Is it really that easy? If I pretend my real work as distractions and distractions as work, would my brain switch sides and work the way I want it to work?
But I guess what my brain desires is what I actually desire, and what does that mean? There's something else inside of me apart from my brain that desires?

work

• new painting
• new stories
• bake apple cake
• blog update
• get on with your goddamn book

Distractions

• daredevil season 2 (binge watch)
• psycho pass season 2 (binge watch)

now, all I need to do is switch labels and we're good to go. 

For all I know I'll end up working this time around, loyal to my ethics and not care about distractions. I've to find a way around this, and really..in my heart I know what's gonna happen. I'm already making popcorns..sigh.

uselessly useful-killing time machines

Soy milk should taste better.


I've unknowingly plummeted into a slot to become one of 'those kind of people' who possess odd things and believe even argue their existence in their lives as not only important but also necessary. viz; soy milk machine, bread machine, roomba to name a few.

What on earth? why do I even have these things? I was perfectly content buying soy milk in supermarkets, neatly packed in colourful cartons and tetrapacked beyond recognition. Until one day, in an epiphanic apparition of dead cartons I realized that I needed to make healthier choices and make soy milk at home.. My reasonings were it'd have no chemicals, no added sugar or bleach and that'd result in an overall improved life quality.
Imagine, less chemicals better health and peace of mind. What I didn't count on was that the resultant soy milk wouldn't taste anything like any soy milk I've had before. I thought the stuff in cartons was bad..but this is..umm..well..worse. It tastes like soybean milk..with more emphasis on the bean part and absolutely none on the milk. But alright! it's good for you..so what if it tastes like beans blowing their brains out to reek of that protein smell which can only be attributed to boiled/cooked beans? Mind over body I say..-I rest my case, I need this machine.

Now why do I have a bread machine? I make perfectly awesome and all kinds of breads in my oven. Focaccia, brioche, rolls, buns, baguettes, pizza..you name it. All, except the all important pan de mie. That..I cannot make in an oven..and that, is one bread that isn't available in our town. In fact there's no bread available in our town that isn't cake sweet (bread is largely eaten as a dessert here)..and although my requirements for sliced bread to make sandwiches are few, there are times when you can feel like you want a sandwich made of proper sized sliced bread..and that's when a bread machine comes in existence. This bread machine makes only one kind of bread and that is a pan de mie. - I rest my case, I kinda need this machine.

There's no reason why anyone should ever buy a roomba, except when you feel lonely and you need something actively running around your house that doesn't breathe nor needs feeding. If you're misguided enough to think that it'll actually clean your dust laden dirt sodden house then please do not be a damned fool. It's a flat disc for crying out loud, not a vacuum cleaner. How much dirt do you think it will swallow before barfing it all over your onyx floor?
It'll clean your house if your house is already sorta clean already, then it'll shine the very surface. If however your house is in urgent needs for a sweep from the gods, then a roomba is probably as useful as a third nipple on a man. A roomba is good fun to have when you want something industriously buzzing around on the floor, looking busy and eating miniscule particles of dust that you might have missed during the morning vacuum- I rest my case, I kinda need this machine.

Noneday

Just when you'd started to believe in the power of spring to colour the landscape with overzealous vibrance, you're reminded just how stupid you are with your fanciful wishes. The weather which was just momentarily sunlit orange is now restored to a ghostly kiss of grey cold and incessant rains. Ah! Rains. 

There isn't a spring thaw in sight. This week promises to stay wet, cold and cheerless. Black skies, bleak horizons and irritated souls by the power of grayskull. 

The pallid aura of this season is rather suicide friendly, and the insides of your house rather resemble an anal cavity of a dead cave.

Middle of the afternoon and it feels like dawn forgot to break ( great name for a band) and all you can do is switch on every which light to feel there's a bit of sunshine in this dreary existence. 

Woes

So I was locked out of my VPN account since last night, imagine that. Locked out. Why? because I was downloading a good print of the movie hateful eight on torrentz, and it had infringed some copyright laws.

Surprise, surprise. Yeah because pirate laws in sanctimonious first world internet waters amount to heresy. Oh, what blasphemous acts against god and earth alike did I commit by downloading a pirated movie. 

Oh hell. Just my luck that my VPN was connected through some American servers.

The reason I usually keep my VPN turned on while downloading movies is because I get a better download speed, and also because it's the first thing I do the moment I sit on my machine.

 So get this, I kept getting a message that you have been locked out of your VPN. 

Apparently I did not heed the copyright infringement warnings that were sent to me, nor reply to them because there were three warning mails in my inbox. 

Oh why oh why dear gods did I not reply to mails that were sent to me while I was sleeping? That's right, it was night as night could be in my time zone. But hey, how could you be asleep when your piracy amounts to sacrilege against the gods of Internet. You should be up walking on burning embers while spikes of redemption pierce through your unholy existence. You should be ashamed of third world download acts..It would've still been acceptable had you been a terrorist, blowing up babies and aeroplanes, but illegal downloads??how could anyone fall so low? 

So, I'd been locked out and I had to log back in without the VPN for affirmations..like it was some long lost love from a previous birth. 

Here's where it gets weird and proves to be a brilliant example of a catch22 situation.

To log back into the VPN account I needed to open its VPN site..but that's not possible.because all VPN sites here are BLOCKED! of course they're blocked..that's the reason why I need a goddam VPN in the first place..but now I've to redeem myself, by doing the impossible and log into the VPN site with correct username and password without any VPN site opening.. and don't even think that it could be done through an app, because all the app ever did was display that angry message in super passive aggressive black and white Times New Roman. 

 This is when you've haul up your socks and prepare yourself for some serious scrolling on yahoo.com (the one search engine that does open here), and by the time you reach the eighth page of determined VPN searching, you miraculously find a vpn site that does open. It must have passed through the great firewall undetected. 

If you're lucky that site might have a free trial period, and if you're unfortunate, and I was, you might have to buy a trial period for a month or so. Well, what do you do? 

You've already desecrated the consecrated grounds of righteous internet overlords and thus been exiled from the VPN temples, you've to buy your way back to the afterlife. 

That's exactly what I did. Bought another VPN to access an existing VPN for affirmations and a steamy session of hot digital fuckery.

Finally I got back my woeful identity, the temple doors have been opened and I'm on probation. So smite me lord if I'm ever to illegally download movies again, and smite me some more if I don't.

Just that I'll be more cautious and not go through the same channels. 

Death to first world internet laws. I'm backchanelling through every Asian country in existence.

Insect

I was making mental preparations for a five course meal for dinner; designing a menu in my head while I drove to work; what kind of proteins, starches, sauces and vegetables should I combine to make something of a humble gala for my dearest friend.

Designing a menu is something what I do for living. I'm a chef you see, of a small eatery in our small riverside town..probably the only eatery in our town that doesn't come with a side order of complementary hepatitis and salmonella..and I like to keep things a bit edgy, perhaps even eclectic by having a different menu every week; to keep everything from falling into a repetitive weariness. It'd be the death of my chef carrier if a customer came into my restaurant prattling the name of all the dishes on the menu like he just walked into a McDonalds expecting a toy with his meals.
There should be a bit of surprise I tell you; it injects vitality and develops curiosity..and I love curious customers who sometimes just check in to see what new I've on the menu..But hold on! I'm going off track here.
My five course meal plans were reduced to three course as I ponderously dunked a beer battered halibut fillet into an overworked deep fryer that afternoon, and by the time I was done shaving fennel for a particularly laborious evening summer salad, I'd come to the conclusion that best friends don't care what you feed them, as long as it's good food..and after all it's the company that matters. Food is secondary. And with that thought I drove back with a big pot of fish stew and fresh bread for main course, and decided on a cake and fruits for dinner.

I was still figuring out which beer to start icing when the phone rang "are we supposed to meet tonight for dinner. It's tonight isn't it? or is it next week, and don't tell me if we've already done dinner last week, because that'd mean I've already missed out on most appointments scheduled for this week".
"Yes, yes, it's today. In fact you should've been here some fifteen minutes back" I lied.
"Really? I apologize for being late. I'll be there as soon as possible. I've a surprise for you" he said this with a bare hint of melody in his low pitched voice, and I knew he was chuckling, albeit rather distractedly.
"Ok, I'm waiting. Come soon"
I didn't have to think too hard what the surprise would be.
Right from the time since we were little children swapping lies and muddy t-shirts I'd always known him to be a lot different from others our own age.
He had an odd love for insects and insect life. When he wasn't trapping butterflies and bees in small glass jars he was following ants with his father's magnifying glass and building up on his collection of various spiders and beetles.
His room was always stacked full of glass things. Jars and inverted glasses that housed fluttering things and crawling things.
I remember getting welts the size of fat coins that one time I had a sleepover in his room because of all the bed bugs that had somehow escaped their impenetrable prison.
He'd come a long way since then and taken insect love to new heights by turning himself into a world renowned entomologist. His love for these creatures had turned into dedication, and he'd buried himself to researching, studying and learning more and possibly everything he could about insects.
This mania had in turn taken a toll on him. Insects was all he spoke about..most conversations fused with lesser known, unknown insect facts, insect trivia, insect anecdotes, insect behaviour and insect stories.
His scientific papers and researches were most sought after by similar insect fanatics in the entomologist universe and he'd now taken to writing and publishing books that were strenuously detailed accounts of insect lives. They were energetically written and proved to be a rather painful read to someone whose only relation with insects was scraping them off their boots.
I had some of the choicest titles nestling in my bookshelf. 'Pine processionary march past of co-ordinated destruction'-apparently about some centipedes that fed on trees or like, and, 'Learn how to maintain a mushroom farm-a leafcutter ants autobiography'.
So when I say I knew what his surprise would be, I meant it. It had to be a new book.
He'd always been absent minded, letting his hair grow to uncouth lengths before he even realized he was being stared at. Often he had to be reminded to take a bath, or that he had to sleep. He was busier than his bees, working in his lab, absorbed in his insects, making notes and writing papers..and these past few weeks he'd seemed a lot more forgetful and engrossed and that to a discerning eye meant that there was a book in works, and this time it was his turn to surprise.

***

"Look, I ain't no stickler for details except for when we're plating at my restaurant, but what I see right now has blown me away to new parts of our solar system. I mean, what on earth man." I could hardly contain my bewildered happiness as I poured wine into our glasses.

Barely fifteen minutes after I'd hung up my friend had shown up at my doorstep..alarmingly well dressed and neat for a kooky entomologist, armed with a gift no less. "Since when did we start bringing presents?", my voice trailed off when my smiling insect friend, gently pushed forward a woman whom he'd been hiding behind his back, in a manner to surprise me..and surprised I was.
The only interaction I'd ever seen him having with the fairer sex was when he was murmuring to the females of his insect species, and yet here he was, grinning like the happiest man on earth, holding out a wine bottle and embracing a woman I'd never seen before.

To say that I was surprised would be an understatement..I was befuddled, totally thrown off guard and mentally kicking myself for not going ahead with the full five course menu. I mean there was my buddy with an actual person and all I had to offer was some stew and bread.
"haha, would you look at your face? you look like a puss moth caterpillar"
"a what?"
"you know, cerura vinula. It's like a caterpillar that has a face which sort of resembles a cat in a very..well..insect way. Well you know it's this.."
"No I don't want to know" I said jolting myself to reality just in time to avoid his thesis lengthed explanation of a caterpillar
"All I want to know is where are your manners? won't you introduce us?"

"So you remember when I'd left for Amazon rainforest last month" he spoke in his practical low pitched voice in between sips of wine. "We'd discovered some new species that had never been seen before. We saw these nymphs"
"Nymphs?" I interrupted.
"Yes, nymphs, not those naked women you've painted in your restaurant, but..umm..well let's say they're insect babies that will look the same when they grow up..except perhaps increase in size. As in, their form resembles that of a mature adult. That's to say they don't go through those usual larva, pupa and cocoon stages that butterflies etc go through. Does that make sense?"
"Yes" I declared with a victorious grin. "I get it, what about it"
"Well, so we discovered these tiny nymphs in the rainforest that disappeared in the thickets, and I followed them for a good long while until I realized that not only had I lost those fantastic creatures but also myself. I'd lost the trail and the team I'd come with. The more I tried to find my way back, the more lost I got until I finally gave up and decided on using the flares we'd all been provided, meant only to be fired in the contingency much as I found myself in. And while I was looking for a good spot to fire, I found her".  He looked at 'her' so passionately as he said these words that it almost made me uncomfortable to be around them,.
"You found her in the forest?" I said a bit urgently while tearing bread and serving stew to the new couple, hoping to snap him back to reality and on with the conversation. All this was making me more curious than I'd have liked.
"yes. she lived there"
"what?"
"with her people you know. They're a small tribe in those forests and she helped me get back to my team and also helped us make this new discovery. We found these insects that have hair made of wax growing out of their butt. Can you believe it, Like we have ear wax to protect our ears, those insects.."
"less insects, more story please" I said exasperated and wide eyed, for this was one heck of a story.
"Well that's it. I met her, we fell in love and now she has come back with me. We intend to marry soon". That was another surprise and a very happy one at that. We continued on with our meal. She hardly spoke. She was slim, dainty, almost frail. Nothing about her was extraordinary, except her eyes. Her eyes that looked like she was always silently praying. The way she looked at our beloved entomologist with her big moist eyes of mute devotion; of earnest adoration and wordless allegiance. It was assuring, they looked very much in love, and though this woman did not speak a word of our language, their hearts conversed as one.

***

"Come to my lab, hurry!" His voice sounded urgent but not alarming and I made a quick call to his lab.

"You'll never guess what surprise I have". 

"A new book", I said nonchalantly, for I'd been meaning to say these words in my nonchalant best since the time he visited me with his surprise a month back. "Spoilsport" he made a face. "there's something else too" he said in a way of admitting, going beetroot blush in the face.

I stared at him searching for a clue and waiting for him to say something as he shuffled uneasily on his feet.

"well, the thing is err..I have decided we'll consummate our, urr..relationship on the same day as book launch..you see, well..urr.. We're so much in love, and I want her madly, but she just looks so quiet and affectionate. Cares for me almost devotedly, looks at me with such staunch dedication, that I hadn't the heart. More so I was scared that perhaps I'd hurt her feelings..and this world would be so new to her, living in a forest all her life. But off late she looks like she's grown a bit, learnt to live in new surroundings and understand a lot more. I just wanted to share this bit with you..I don't know why"

"well, if it's my blessing you seek, then you have them dearest insect freak" 

"Just come over for dinner tonight, I've to talk to you about the book and bring one of your recherché cumin yogurt spring rolls too"

"Aye"

***

There was something different about his house. It looked more lived in and had started to gain a nest like feel about it. Things were in order and it was cleaner than usual.

My friend was still in his lab coat, pulling beers from the fridge and feeling them against his cheek to check and judge their chill. But my attention was directed someplace else, at a nondescript figure pottering in the background—fiddling with cutlery. 

He was right about her growing up. It wasn't as much physically as it was temperamentally. It was like her individuality had gained a few decades..and her eyes..her eyes awash with fossilized secrets, brimming with the same devotion I'd last seen, yet somehow flaming with a devout fervour that almost scared me. 

They looked like they'd been crying for ages..worshipping, praying.

"The book launch is next to next Saturday. Afternoon." he spoke between mouthfuls of springrolls and enthusiasm.

"How afternoon? I've a quick catering stop to make in the next town. Apparently a big birthday party. Speaking of which what about your catering for the book launch? You've not asked me about it"

"Afternoon as in regular afternoon. It's at 12:30pm. The catering is being done by the zoologist society and science club. They'd made me promise to let them be a part of it since long before. They bring the kind of food that appeals to most lab coat wearers. Amuse bouche is not really their style"

"Are you being sarcastic or seriously complementing me? What's your book called?"

"Will you come?" he squinted and half smiled knowingly.

"I will be a little late" I smiled back apologetically

"Then you don't get to know the name. It's about insects is all I can say"

"Fine, I'll be there..if I'm late, I'll stop by your house first and pick up my copy" I laughed and he made a fist to my face and laughed back and gently kissed her on the cheek. 

She was sitting beside him, listening to us, not understanding a word..her eyes bigger than I remembered.

***

I was running late. The Birthday party ended up being a wild success and I was the toast of that afternoon. They loved my little plates of amuse bouche and caviar studded diaphanous canapés. 

  I knew the book launch would be a wild success among the insect lovers fellowship and I was resolved to drop in on him unannounced and surprise him with a good bottle of vintage if he wasn't busy and if he was, I'd just leave the vintage with a sorry note and pick up my copy of his new book.

It was almost evening and the sky was streaked with purple notes..a little late I thought as I parked outside his house.

The house was not locked and I twisted the doorknob to let myself in. It was quiet..not a sound. He'd probably left for his lab. I could always visit him in his lab, and how about surprising him with his new book in my hand. He wouldn't tell me the name but I can find it on my own. I walked towards the kitchen and found a pile of books on the dining table, heaped hurriedly. With a real flick of wrist I picked one and heard a strange sound, like a low moan coming from one of the rooms. It was something of a restrained groan, almost a steady whine..a thin continuous whimper that suddenly stopped. 

Why did it sound so perilous? Book in my hand, its hardcover pressed against my chest, I walked softly towards the room. It was silent now. The hair on my hands were standing to attention, I was frightened..of what? I didn't know. Why was everything so eerie? that muffled silent groan that had suddenly died was still ringing in my ears. I was cold, sweating and now there were other sounds. Plopping sounds, like things falling on a carpeted floor, stripping noises, like someone tearing thick papers..and I could still hear a silent lamenting cry..It wasn't there, but my ears had absorbed it and played on repeat trying to drown other audible sounds.

Someone's tearing something, shredding? I had reached the door and my courage to push it open had evaporated. All I could hear was a dying groan, quiet sobs and plopping and tearing and suddenly it sounded like someone was chewing loudly..almost chomping..gnawing.

I pushed open the door with a brave jerk and it took my eyes several moments to adjust and understand what I really saw.

My friend was lying prostrate, naked on his back, softly convulsing, very softly, like he was shivering. But..how? there was a pool of blood near his neck that had soaked through the grey carpet making it a giant brown wet splotch..and his face..there was no face. His head was not attached to his neck..she was sitting on top of him, straddling him..holding his head. Eating it and riding him still. They were locked in an intercourse. She was chewing his face like a famished insect, his blood flowed down her mouth and on her breasts in little drops and pooled on his stomach. 

I was standing right in front of her, fear gripping me, my knees were wobbly. I couldn't move, and I couldn't scream. She was tearing out thick strips of his cheeks and feeding herself with such relish. Slivers of muscle and flesh hung out her mouth and she steadily chewed on them, slurping the thin fibres that stuck to her chin with blood. Her fingers were coated with gore, and one of his eyes plopped out and fell on the carpet. Greedily she stretched out her hand, picked up the eye and pushed it in her mouth, all the while he was still buried between her legs. 

She indifferently looked up at me with her mouth full, his head still in her hands, his chin was already bones, and she gnawed at his nose while staring at me..her eyes bulging, bug like..and a few seconds later she'd lost all interest and got back to devouring my friends head. I backed out silently, bolting the door behind me.. dialing the police, calling an ambulance and clutching his 'mammoth book of praying mantis mating ritual'.

The now of now

Did you know darling, sometimes my heart swells with so much love it becomes a burden to bear. 

So heavy it could've anchored titanic.

--

When you stare at the cerulean waters in agony from a distance not too far, seated on a petal rug thirsting to sip from the diamond surfaced purity, waiting to bathe in liquid indigo..when your craving convulsions can only be assuaged by devouring the water—soul and flesh, when you finally sink your hands and pull them out a lacerated mess; for you found in those, a tangle of thorns, a nest of needles and a world of spikes. Those are your waters now, to plunge in day and night. 

--

In that there was a dream of white serenity, of calm solitude, placid tranquility and zen— meditative stillness and harmonious silence and blissfull achromatic hush. 

Yet dreadful miserable times are these, and lost in translation those dreams..granted privacy of isolation, miserable seclusion and white quarantine.

Before I sleep

Things I can see outside of my curtains at this time of night are glowing mad neon lights..red and blue and bits of white.

Burning through darkness like luminescent monster eyes searching for an eclipse to swallow..staring at a blank cipher..beaming through an aether night. Did it think it could drill holes and pull out moments from tomorrow and perform a premortem? 

Another night

another night

collapsing eyes

avoiding sleep

escaping dreams

nocturnal fright

old memories

slowly creep

silently seep

abysmal deep

fears unleash

still asleep

breaking sweat

mangled heart

past regret

scratching wounds

bleeding wet

quickening breath

unreal dreams

choking me

wishing death

midnight strangle

matted hair

sweaty tangle

and jolt

mad bolt

silent scream

suddenly alive

still breathing

another night 

nocturnal fright

bad dream

present hauntings

ancient grievings 

snow way & a bit on binging

so yeah, there's been a bit of snow, everything's white and glistening..and excuse the innuendo.

A bit about binge watching..

I've mentioned somewhere in these forgotten archives about my inability to ration on tv/anime series, and how imperative it is to formulate something of a binge watchers anonymous, or binge rehab, cuz goddamnit I binge watch to the point that I'm ashamed of my existence..and then some. 

In the past two weeks, I've finished with an anime series (Unlimited blade works, 25 episodes), house of cards S01& S02, Narcos..and every couple days I update myself on the running American dad & Family guy seasons. 

So one can effectively say that I've no life.

I finished Herushingu (anime series) in two days exact (and I'm not proud of that), but can one help it if these things are so addictive? I've nothing in my system that even minutely resembles self control and when faced with enjoyable series dilemma it goes in for a complete search & destroy mode. It's like you've tasted blood and why stop with a small sip when you can plunge your head in the bloody cauldron and drink till you've emptied its contents, after which you move on to fresher pastures. 

Too much of a good thing is bloody wonderful..and then the inevitable..you've exhausted all the good stuff. Now lurk on the precipice of threadbare average and try to enjoy those..Been there, done that..and binge watched those as well. 

Life, where art thou? It could be possible you might have shimmered in front of me and received a swift kick in the pants cuz you might have gotten in the way of my binge watching. 

A cluster of everyday nothing

Ugh, I'd been wrestling with this Vpn for a day now. Trying to connect it every five minutes to no avail. It popped the same notification each time 'sorry, the server could not be reached'. 

I tried everything, all the different protocols, connecting through every possible country..but No. I was in web hell for twenty four hours. How much of this world could I possibly reach out through Baidu? 

I tried to sneak up on it and catch it unawares and get it connected but it wouldn't budge and kept showing me the same notification..no matter how many times I switched off my gadgets, rebooted the Vpn app, changed protocols like a digital harlot but sorry..so I gave it the finger, yelled out my favourite medieval curses hoping that they'd hex it to connect, but yesterday was a no internet zone for me. 

I ended up starting a new painting, which will hopefully be over today. Listening to the audiobook 'lies of Locke Lamora' and it gets better with every chapter. There've been instances when I'm so enraptured by the story development that I'd half  forgotten I was painting. So that'll continue on today. 

I've been meaning to write a story too, and it should be done soon.. Imagine that.. scheduling my day to write a story which will be 2000 words at max, maybe even less. Sigh, that's kinda meh. 

Had a sort of déjà vu with dreams again last night. Different script, horrible dream..patchwork movie marathon of pitiable weak moments. I woke up again in the middle of idiot hour sweating and feeling sorry for myself..forced myself to get some sleep and I was left undisturbed this morning and ended up waking up later than usual, evading the morning chores.

Probably buy a dreamcatcher of sorts, not that I promise myself anything. Maybe it's just a small night phase, and will wear out soon..or perhaps I'm thinking up all this stuff subconsciously and it comes to bother me each night. I don't know, but this has to stop. Maybe I should tire myself a lot more to get my usual dreamless sleep.

Gawd, I haven't even gotten around to making an account on Pinterest..I've a lot of pending stuff, and feels like I'm going about it slower than I should. I need to quicken my pace. 

Finished a fantastic book called 'Neverwhere' by Neil Gaiman. It's so well written and efficiently woven that I'm out of praises.

Ah, made some progress on my pet project and finally been able to scrap out a lot of stuff it didn't need. I've given it a better direction, but I need to sit and just give myself up to it with zero distractions and an even zeroer life. I mean just bury my head in words and write until my pens are on fire with friction and fiction (see what I did there?) and my head oozes out  brain matter in gobs and my eyes starts bubbling with tears. I really gotta give it whatever it takes and get it done with. Maybe turn myself a hermit for a while. That should work. 

I've decided to do some good music next week, even record a couple new chords for my uke..and catch up on whatever I've missed with my favourite bands and the unknown ones.

Listen to discographies upon discographies until all music's a jumble in my head, and musical notes pour out of my fingers. Yup, I've to go full blast renegade on this. Man, I miss music..and strumming a bit on my ukelele each day and sometimes at nights helps with the sanity. 

And lets not forget painting. There's a series of painting I've started but I'll keep interjecting with some more random ones every now and then, and I hope to keep regular appearances with the paintbrush and pens. 

Maybe a couple water color ones before I  start with fine liners. 

Ah, I so want to talk at length about water colours, but that's a proper post for another day. 

There are so many more updates and rants.. Soon. 

Snowed in dreams

It has ceased to rain and begun to snow, and I can't even..

Nights and dreams are an oddball team of malicious intents. 

they dip into the ancient archives of buried history stowed away in the darkest folds of your subconscious. Memories that you'd kicked into the dingiest most secretive corner in the vain hopes that they'd never be found again. Hoping they'd melt into nothing the same way a stray ice cube does, when you carelessly kick it under the refrigerator. 

Not only are these sizzling bits of regrettable moments found, but they're also played in cinemascopic dream HD with a clarity that trumps the most sophisticated 4K television, in crystal clear diamond hue, plastered across your eyes, while you see in 3D, those glaring mistakes you couldn't that moment ever find. 

Oh how the dreams cook up a melange of all your moments so deplorable in hindsight, that you've winced and worked hard to forget..and lo they regurgitate in a sewage rainbow of all night dreams..so real, they jolt you awake, and you heave a sigh of relief that none of it was real. It's all gone now..but you're sweating in a weather that's almost iceberg cozy..and you hate that you remember all that you'd pretended to forget, and like a lovely midnight sadist you try to remember it all again, clutching your blankets with sweaty palms. 

You know what the dream was about but can't remember it, think hard and it slips  further, like trying to balance a drop of mercury on your fingertips. The plot is hazy, but you know the script by heart ..a soft mumble to yourself followed by uneasy burrowing under sheets, a billion toss and turns and a silent prayer for an odd nightmare that can make you forget this dream. 

Slimy days in wet bogs

When you wake up to the thunderous roar of mother weather having a heart attack! 

It's the second day of ceaseless rains and just when I thought winter had ebbed into chipped flakes of orange rust ready to dissolve into spring warmth, it's come back with a Brr.

There's a frozen chill in the air, and we're back to adding a couple more woollen layers on our skin. 

The sky is every bit apocalyptic chic, raging black clouds sewn at its hem, spouting tundra showers of frigid dank.

The world outside is wet, black and apathetic..not very unlike any other day.

Rainy days bring with them a cocooning sense of concedable excuses, where you could get away with the worst of things, or work halfheartedly and no one would notice (or not even work at all). Hearts burn brighter than usual to compensate the gloom ( or perhaps it's my wishful thinking), or conceivably they just serve as a fuel to for procastination—after all it's raining, and you don't expect people to run errands and get caught in traffic jams or get wet or even fall sick.

Sunless bleak adds another dimension to your day at home. Like revelling in an extended, slightly bright night. Where chores can happen when they happen (it's so dark ), and you want to dismember your daily routine to festive fragments of celebratory off day and indulge because this day does not exist.

It's on days like these that you want to survive on either picking things out of your fridge without having to bother strolling into your kitchen, or shimmer into a domestic goddess mode and cook everything you wouldn't normally. Everything fried, everything sweet, lodged under warm sheets, nursing a cup of tea..in unlit cold tomb of your room leisurely hibernating. 

Mehning

Here it is, a dusk colored morning.

The night forgot to fade away, dolefully approached by a new day—angrily stepping in to take over its duty sans sun.

Facade morning..because if I scratch the surface, it's stil night someplace; its residue diffusing through parchment  space and flexible time from lovers lane.

A veil overhead of skeletal clouds..grey emaciated shroud; a mechanic cry, acid rain song.

Bracing moisture..aqueous fog. Mosaic museum of collective raindrops, fleeting languorously, gliding hurriedly..streaking transparent water lines on my window top. 

My unmade bed shabbily crowned by a crumpled blue bedspread, still warm from fickle laziness, pretending to curve the universe so our galaxies mingle, our times zones coalesce. 

An enlightenment for this purposeless Tuesday..the insides are artificially lit this morning to keep the day from withering away and the outside is dismally prophetic, dreadful dull grey. 

days 'n' life

Sometimes you could look back and say 'oh dear god, how did I live through that day..or that one for that matter..gawd, kill me, what was I thinking' or 'holy crap if I ever go through that again'.
But days are days, they come and go—from one to the next, and the next and the next..and then you forget; yet sometimes remember..with a fond smile, a wince, a missed heartbeat or an embarrassing flush to the face.

There are days you're worse for the wear. When enthusiastic friends message you to meet up, and you'd rather put a bullet in your head..you've all the time to spare, and still a bedraggled message, with a sweet emoji, and a 'sorry darling, so caught up with stuff..how about next week?' and a shameless message sent..because honestly..who's gonna bother with getting all dressy and step out of the house. 'It's raining for heaven's sake and I've just washed my hair'..brilliant excuses, and there's a whole encyclopedia full of 'em..neatly stacked alphabetically in cobwebbed recesses of a ramshackle subconscious.

Days when your thoughts are a jumble. 'Should I be doing this, or that..or what about that, and uh oh I clearly missed on doing these'. When thoughts are all over the place and you obstinately want to keep thinking about things to do and persistently come up with excuses to not do them. Pace walk..'let me get my head in order' with a cup of hot water..' now think, what is it that you should be doing?'..and then a glimpse of yourself in the mirror..'do I look fat today'? hmm..thoughts about finishing a painting and suddenly you remember you new dress. Two moments later you're preening in front of the mirror (missing case of cup of hot water-left conveniently someplace you can't remember till it's room temperature cool) and you're all decked up, complete with makeup, wondering why your enthusiastic friends couldn't have made a plan today to meet up? Suddenly with a start 'goddamn. I've things to do but now I'm hungry too..and would you look at the time..it's too late to start anything new'.

With days like these and days like those goes a week, and accumulates into a month and then a year's gone past. A fast forward movie in panoramic hallucinations edited with regrets and dubbed in moments lost—dialogues by self-deception, surround sound day dreams and illusion.. and ugh, all this sounds so preachy, cuz darling this lifeless life isn't entirely without life..there are fruitful days too and that's just peachy.

skeletal umbrage

odd days those when birds are chirping
the dull sky's shed its skin
disguised as spring
a thick layer of thin warmth
hides the blackout within

porous laminate of white-blue sky
when you gaze above and let out a smile
far above that lying lid
lurk mobs of angry clouds
black and blue, grey and angry
threat to tear apart the porous sanctity

they ooze viscous gloom
that plops in a rain of gelatinous doom
snaking its way into white insipid room
to congeal a shadow into forceful existence

so dulled it's almost white
virtually transparent
willing to blend into the surroundings
whiling its time tapping on keyboards
staring at screens
waiting to be torn apart by insignificant nothings

its only wish to obliterate
to perish or suffocate
a prayer each night

longing demise