“But how do we dance?”, they ask. “We are but mannequins on display, elaborating or possibly just hinting times told, perhaps of rot and decay”.
The view was vivid, the coffee strong. And with a song we hummed along the way down to the shore. The waters behaved.
And the breeze told a story of past times (perhaps it was assumed by the song we sung).
Entangled glamorous contraptions; perhaps not so.
But directed in segments,
onto strange paths.
Then, finally, to rest.
As it seems to run through your veins, even in its assumed coldness(the temperature about being rather low), it boils and warms you up. Or perhaps that is how you wish to feel, and that is exactly how you do feel. It makes you shiver, but you know it’s worth it. Those jittery moves, crazy eyes staring in excitement. Elysium. This is as close as we can get to those Gods we create. Between trembling lips, we allow more to flow. An outstretched arm must grab onto its share, or swat in the panic of not having the substance at the tips of its self. As cold fingers wring the last drop of concentrated divinity, a calm washes over. A sway now. I don’t need a hug. Just another measure more of happiness for me, and I’m done. For now.
This is me, my coffee-caffeinated self speaking. We are one.
We are free.
Have you ever felt like a nomad even though you aren’t really one?
I wish I were a nomad. Then I’d be and belong nowhere, but claim every place as not rejecting me since I’d just be passing by all the time. Never belonging.
Belonging is a funny concept. Who decides where and why you belong where, to what extent and how? You could do anything ’cause no one could claim you as belonging to them. Falling into their category and being this speck of a larger whole. You’d be an outsider; not necessarily a troublemaker (although they will surely call you one). Your own person in a way. No one decides for you nor controls you but yourself.
Were you never fascinated by witchcraft? Their practices and processes? Drawing funnies on the floor, setting fire to things and dancing around it in the moonlight? Brewing herbal remedies that actually work because you know your body’s reactions and what happens should you mix saffron with ale or so. A little bong or hookah pot beside you. Or perhaps a cat while you’re riding back and forth on a rocking chair.
But I almost romantacise that which contests.
Drowned by the frenzy and the multiple ridiculous claims about Starbucks’ entry to india being a “realised dream”, my in-mouth barf seems to be ignored. However, I’m just part of the privileged class who can afford to mouth-barf food. Of course we have it as a TATA initiative. A bunch of rich people who think it sensible to donate to Harvard.
But then again, what faith can I have in a Democracy if a Communist setup thrives on Capitalism?
You can’t expect your day to go brilliantly if you find fungus growing on your coffee. Yes, it was my mistake. I just left it there.
Which brings me to think. If you take things for granted, why can’t you expect it to turn mouldy and allow itself to be fed off and just form a layer over it’s self to keep it from you?
Yet again, what if it has made various attempts to communicate and get your attention, only to be ignored or conveniently listened to? When you find the fungus then, it always seems to make sense to trash the whole thing and not just scrape the top off. I think I planned this little.
Constant reminders around me, like taunts, get me to realise that I should probably have sulked less. That when I thought of something, I should have acted upon it.
All I have now are misplaced thoughts. Just here and there. Joined together by stops. Punctuation.
“Okay”s and “Yeah”s
Good Morning to me. And Good Night too.
From me to my own self. Selfish. Always. 🙂
A researched work on the problem of patriarchy among middle class girls. I have a lot of problems with the terms and data collected in this book, but it’s pretty valid.
No, we aren’t as safe as you like to believe, idiots.
I don’t need your citizens (Indian men) controlling me because you have a warped idea of how people with vaginas (or people you assume to have vaginas) are supposed to behave.
What does one do for a year and a half? I don’t see a job rearing itself in my face either, and that is usually a relief for most, but I could really do with not just something to get my mind off things that seem to upset me for now. Additionally, I would much rather learn and be productive, so to speak, than hang around doing nothing. So I made these beads:
Anyway, gorgeous people tend to leave you behind when they start on new adventures. And all I can do is hope that it proves to be fun as well as a brilliant learning experience for the adorable little creature. Hopefully I shall stalk it soonly.