Thursday, 18 September 2008

Dream a little dream of me...

So I sit here in my make believe coffee shop, sitting and imagining the sounds of the match stick on its first strike against the matchbox, the tearing of the sugar sachet and to the many other sounds the clacking sound of the coffee cup on its saucer. The breeze is novel like, I would love if prince charming would walk in the same way, but I’m guessing today he chooses not to.

The simple thought of avoiding the glares of the older women walking across this very coffee shop, staring at every single smoke filled breath I heave out, seems to have flooded my mind. The street dogs are doing as they always do, chasing the flies that once flew over a rotting packet of bread from the bakery close by. I sit here dreaming of days when I could spend all my hours fantasizing every moment and clicking and clacking away on my character filled keyboard of my laptop.

For the many times that I’ve spent in coffee shops, almost always with friends, family, foes, strangers, ex’s and most of all those arbid people one “bumps” into who’s name we never seem to remember, but seem to recollect the exact name of the girl he was doing 3 years back; today was going to be coffee with me and me and me and me.

I wonder, there have been umpteen times my mother has spent hours trying to tell me that I could direct my dreams in any which way I wanted, but as ridiculous it seems, when I’m in my heavy state of dreaming in my half awake sleep, dreams never seem to go the way I want them to. For instance, the many mornings I’ve woken up in a sweat and all my mind would recollect fresh from my dream was one line, “Don’t go there, it’s dark and weary, Don’t go there” – I must have said that at least ten times, but truthfully as my dreamy brain tells me, I must have screamed it a seven hundred and thirty two times. Point being, that moron whom I was screaming to, did ‘go there’ and I did wake up in that sweat to not know what happened in the end!

Of butter sculpted bodies, I begin a new rush of thoughts. The twist and the turn of every inch of that body on me, the sudden rush in my head like a heavy dose of a brain freeze and the intense heat of a melting man, strong in his glory; this feeling I can’t express in mere words, but my mind seems to have collated a beautiful mash up of words, scents, images, feelings – of the more physical and a strange touch of references. The shift of control between two beings in a setting like this is something to look for. The concept of surrender, the idea of accomplishment, the moment of absolute joy and the smirked second of pride are the side effects of this DNA prescribed drug.

I could feel a sudden sense of emptiness. I feel a bit uneasy, a sudden overpowering weight over my back. This creeping allergy called guilt. He sensed my vulnerable self from miles away, in my trance he chooses to grip me. For all the times I’ve copied in a math test to the last time I easily spit a few nasty words at my closer friends. He drags me down, with a conscious effort to make me sick in my stomach. Small things I know, for some of the bigger sins wouldn’t have let me fall into these creepers in a coffee shop as this, would he?

Images of my mother, images of my neighbours, images of me when I was 6. Sounds of my father coming back home, sounds of the aircraft landing, sounds of my grandmother’s veena. The slow smile crawled its way back onto my face The feeling of falling asleep in the homemade cradle hanging off a ceiling fan, even though engraved in my memories purely because of stories from my parents, took me to the exact make belief sense of comfort. So as I spent my time sitting on this not so comfortable wooden chair, I sank into a bean bag like space, someplace I could easily go into, but have the hardest time getting out of. This is where I run blank. Almost surreally with no connotations or denotations to anything I was feeling or wasn’t feeling – just blank.

p.s.: I'm not quite sure if this done yet....

p.p.s.: I lately seem to be obsessed with ending my every post with a "p.s."!

Friday, 12 September 2008

Tuna one jumps over the fence....

Tuna one jumps over the fence....tuna two jumps over the fence... Zzzzzz ....tuna three jumps over the fence...tuna four jumps over the fence... Zzzz...

I can feel the sun warming my torso. My coat feels little frizzy, thanks to the unforgiving rains from this morning. I can smell cheese and toast as my dreams revolve around that can of tuna – damn what a killjoy!

In my state of lazy dreaming, from the not so frequent views I get as I sleepily open and close my eyes, I can see the leather feet stomping up and down the house, they seem to be screaming about something to the rubber feet in the other room. These things always seem to be in a rush, always communicating with their high pitched voices, I don’t quite understand them anyways, not like they totally ‘get me’! These weird looking beings that feed and clean me seem a bit insane all the time. Although I should say they do seem to share this unbelievable understanding that I have with tuna.

This ritual of stretching and constant basking on the warmed part of the carpet across the hall is religiously followed every morning, and during the white smushy stuff, that’s really cold takes over the window for a good few months when then it’s time to stick to the room stocked with the more valuable things in life and the tuna of course! This needs to be followed, as far as my mother goes this is the meaning of our life! This is what we are meant to do. And before I forget, for some reason we are supposed to run away from dogs! When I was in my mother, I had a test I had to pass and these things were on the paper, unless I gave the right answers, my mother says I wouldn’t have come out to bask in a sun such as this.

I could use some milk to drink, maybe I should stroll out and chase some flies or do you think I should probably scare some old woman on the road? My life is filled with such heavy quandaries and these beings, just because they are a bit larger than I feel they have so much to worry about!

Whoa!! I smell something, something too familiar. Wait, this has never happened in this house since the cat from the chicken crazy house came to visit me! This feeling is similar, but surely not the same! Jeez sometimes I wished I could kill this curiosity, it kills me when it makes me do things like this – get out of my most comfortable position on such a morning and actually see what this is! This curiosity thing actually does kill me – everyday!

Yaawwwnn..... My paws feel a bit wonky, the backyard door seems a little too far, but what is that smell? What is that weird familiarity that’s kicking in? What’s with the damn silence in this house suddenly?

The ‘rubber feet’ being is making the same high frequency sound that it made when the crawly thing moved in to this house. Gosh! If it is another crawly thing that’s moved in, I’ve had it! These crawly fellows I tell you, have the stubbiest of paws, I mean no fur and worst they take everything that’s mine and put it in their mouths!

Okay this is just getting more awkward by the minute! The ‘leather feet’ being is saying something to me and for some reason.... whoa!!! Easy! Easy with the picking me up, as much as I love lifts to the other rooms mind holding the weenie down there like that, won’t you?! So where are we going? Towards the backyard door I see! Good, saves me some serious walking! I notice something wrapped in a pink fuzzy towel! It has a tail, just like mine! Wait, wait OH MY GOD, this can’t be happening, it’s a HER!!

It’s a ‘her’ like me! Okay, I know that sounded really wrong, but it’s like my kind of fuzzy, fur coated tailed being! I haven’t seen one other than cousin Pobo; I’m just hoping she doesn’t turn out to be as crabby as her! Maybe all ‘she’s’ are that crabby type, I know my mother turns to become one of them when Pobo comes around or when the sleaze bag from the corner comes by.

My mother tells me I’m 44,874 years old, which means I’m in my teens, and in all the 44,874 years I haven’t felt this queasy in my stomach! And don’t you blame the tuna I had last night!

She is beautiful, so angel like. She’s asleep I can see that, I like that, her eyelashes long and gorgeous, and her fur seems so yummy! I’m sure she’s seeing the tuna jump over the fence too, unless her kind is into the sardines!

‘Rubber feet’ being is saying something, annoying thing keeps talking all the time, and please she is asleep! Your yakking is going to wake her up!

Rotten tuna!!! She’s waking up!!! No more lift time, let me down leather feet! Let me down now!

She’s cold, I can see that, but more than anything else she doesn’t feel home at all! I go around the little curled up lump that she’s lying in, a few circles just to register her in my head!

She’s opened her eyes; her lips are trying really hard to say something...

“Boy am I glad to see a face like yours, it’s been a while...”

That is all she had to say, those words kept ringing in my head the whole day, the hours passed till the sun set and the chilly breezes took over, she in her pink fuzzy towel and me in that warm spot across her. My head was overdosed with this almost alien and yet comfortable fuzzy warmth as I saw her fall in and out of her sleep.

Tuna one jumps over the fence....tuna two jumps over the fence... Zzzzzz ....tuna three jumps over the fence...tuna four jumps over the fence... Zzzz...

p.s.: I'm not even close to satisfied with this piece of writing...the pressures of the world outside my head have pushed me to post this up :)