In an alternate parallel universe there'd be an unmarried yaya sister-hood of sorts. I'd be doing what you’re passionate about since the time I was 14! There wouldn’t be a crazy, twisted, sadistic evil witch of Narnia-esque authoritarian figure in my life to quell your happiness. Beauty would only be skin deep. The interesting, pleasant dream of a Santa-esque flying dog and widening streets as I step by making me feel like a princess would be a familiar occurrence :) I'd only have a smile brighter then sunshine. The walk back home with you under the star kissed sky would last forever and a day. There would be more soul mates then one.
Ageing would be a term nonexistent, an unheard of concept. Babies would be strictly optional. So would jobs, office politics and growing up. I could prevent the emotional scars and pain my loved ones and individuals closest to me would undergo.
The soul pain and crippling hurt I could make it all go away. Tears would be alien in my perfect world.
Perfect wouldn’t a standardized prototype. Ironically, you'd definitely have bigger feet! Life would go on. Beautiful, pleasant memories with
pangs of nostalgia would last time encapsulated in a vacuum. Eternity would mean more than just a ‘word’. marriage by capture would be legal.
My life wouldn’t resemble a prolonged, stretched too far lie. There'd be more than five moments in my life when I actually felt pure, unadulterated joy and bliss. I'd be able to differentiate between love and lust. Then again, I probably wouldn’t want to.
Shades of grey would cease to exist. Life would be best lived in extremes. Shades of black n white. My mistakes, choices, expectations, like Paulo Coelho said in ‘Veronika decides to die’ life itself would be controlled and dominated by me n me alone.
True friends would be easy to find. Sworn, genuine life-time enemies, even easier. My dawgie would be the one, true immortal being. The heavens would spring forth strawberry flavored manna. It would be compulsorily served to all mankind the world-over three times a day.
I'd be able to wish upon a favorable shooting star, that would be bestow upon me its choicest blessings. I could embark through time travel. The wisdom in your eyes would be a gradual process, not from having grown up too much, too fast. Tarnished, untainted, preserved innocence with no one to take advantage of wouldn’t be a rare occurrence. Betrayals would be few. Escapism would be a way of life. The bohemian guy with a killer sense of humor, camouflaging as part of the furniture would actually walk up to my table :) We’d greedily gorge on steak, onion and chips and a pleasantly cool ice tea. There’d be no oil nor food dribbling onto his blue and green checked shirt. Then again it would make for a cute moment that we could laugh about if it actually happened.
I wouldn’t want something that’s obviously not good for me! Life would be all about making myself happy. Fate and destiny would be coincidental terms. karma would be just, for a change! I’d be able to fly only as far as my wings would carry me, along the realms of the boundless universe, to far off distant, exotic lands. The grass wouldn’t always be greener on the other side.
Paedophiles and rapists would be castaway and thrown overboard for good. You'd think a million times before walking away from ‘us’. genius would be appreciated before it terminates at the grave. I could go back in time, and erase certain moments in my life so that regrets wouldn’t exist or do tings differently if only to see how the cards would unfold this time around .The fortune teller wouldn’t always be right. The fine line between reality and illusion wouldn’t be so blurred. All men and women would be born equal and remain equal thereafter their entire lives over. I’d be able to replicate my 20th birthday all over again :) Paulo Coelho wouldn’t lie so damn convincingly and beautifully. If there’s a happy ending to it , it would be in my life just far a change!
Monday, January 25, 2010
A day in the life of L.E
‘Every good deed I perform is returned with a good one in store for me’, or so a popular proverb would have me believe. Well, in my life everything that could possibly go wrong, inevitably does! Sometimes, I marvel at the irony, sometimes I laugh at how little inconsequential things amalgamate, get contorted beyond recognition, assume gigantic proportions and attain entirely unimaginable results, unforeseen by me.
Foremost amongst these unintentional mishaps is the fact that I’m incredibly unlucky, more so, when utilizing technology. I-pods unceremoniously die on me, electric irons develop minds of their own and accidentally choose to explode, when I’m in their nearby vicinity and cell phone memory cards consistently refuse to store information regardless of the display screen citing the availability of plenty of empty space. Let me then humor you dear reader with an anecdote, at my expense that sometimes amuses my friends.
Post completing my degree in mass communications in college, I functioned primarily as an appendage of my parents, slothfully dependent on them to complete most of the activities and chores assigned to me. Free spirited, in a limboistic world of my own and consistently disorganized were qualities that I distinctly embodied, with an acquired ease.
Last year in the month of February, I had a job interview to attend. I was incredibly excited as the result would determine whether I would be a glamorous television reporter, as I had frequently envisioned in my child-hood, probably the first of its kind in my family.
Like the procrastinating bitch that I was, I happily left it all for ‘The Day’ right from the formal clothes I would be wearing, choosing decent shoes, projects I would be carrying, never mind the fact, that I didn’t even have any projects to begin with! Mom had specifically instructed me to avoid wearing the charming delicate, purple strappy stilettos I favored, for fear they would disintegrate.
Early in the morning i.e what I considered to be 10 o’ clock, I scurried, like a retard. Papers a flying, piles of cds being frantically rummaged through and tested, visuals and diagrammatic representations being hastily darkened, which I later decided as worthless and scrunged into a ball. I wondered what I’d do if I had additional time to prepare. I would indeed squander every bit of it, right down to the last nano sec of that I was sure. Homer Simpson had tough competition ahead.
The clock struck 11:00 o’clock. I sheepishly gaped. I still had to mail my resume to the boss, who would conduct the interview and I was not even in the possession of a copy of the sheet. That’s how organized I used to be. I had to be in his office at Dadar at 2:30 pm. Besides gathering the relevant documents, it would take me the better part of an hour and a half to reach the venue. I was not entirely sure, a part of me even wanted this supposed ‘prized’ job.
I arrived at the internet cafe by 11:30 and performed a background-check on the company, then the server failed and the NET WENT DOWN! I hadn’t mailed the interviewer my resume nor did I possess a copy of the doomed document. Yup, forget to mention, it was definitely not worth even a glance.
Mysteriously though I had discovered an old project earlier in my email inbox before the net had decided to pull the vanishing act on me. I requested the computer guy to copy it onto a cd. It was a miniscule attempt on my part to convince the interviewer of my apparent employability. The buffoon that the computer guy was, he delicately stroked a couple of keys and my entire assignment vanished, as though it never existed to begin with. Like a mirage to the dying nomad, like a cursory illusion. I momentarily wondered whether I had hallucinated. Dumbfounded is putting it mildly. Flabbergasted, foaming at the mouth would be more appropriate.
It was now 12 pm! At this point I was pondering whether to call the boss guy and bail out. I tarried to contemplate whether it was the computer guy that I was more enraged at or myself. The clock displayed the time as 12:30 pm and the net had returned. Gleefully, I proceeded and completed my work with astonishing speed.
Then the cyber cafe creep overcharged me! I know I resemble an angel that has descended out of heaven but spare me the unconcealed thievery. Disgusted I thrust the wad of cash into his hands and made a run for it.
The clock struck 1! I’m expected to be present at the venue at 2:30pm. Never mind the fact that it would take me an hour and a half to actually commute to dadar by train. From the cyber café, I had to reach home, get dressed, fill my bag with the basic necessities. There’s never really a dull moment with Ally around the place! Obviously, I skipped lunch and ran to reach the station to buy a ticket.
Luckily, I got a fast train. It was 2:30 and I was still at Dadar station. So far so good! 10 minutes late didn’t sound too bad or so I convinced myself as I didn’t want to panic. I looked down at the creak, that I realized was my broken shoe and all hope came crashing down!
Perfect! I laughed in my head, just when I was wondering what could possibly go wrong this time around. A little maharashtrian fisher woman passerby, told me to get them stitched. “Um”I fumbled. “I have to be in a job interview at sometime around NOW!” I asked her whether, she knew where god forsaken Naigaon ie the interview venue was. “I’ll ask around for you” is what she told me.
I took off my broken shoe and climbed the dadar railway station bridge filthy with cauliflower heads and rotting vegetables left to decay by insolent, uncaring vendors. I held the incriminating purple shoe in one hand. As the petite lady told me that I looked funny, I slipped off the other shoe as well. Together my companion of the 15 odd minutes of my life and I walked along to dadar market, in search of shoes at throw–away prices!
I was stared at smirkingly by the shoe salesman at the neighboring stall. I grinned and bore it. All the dude wanted to do was get a great bargain. Fifteen minutes into what was supposed to be my life-altering interview I was bargaining like a strange combination of a stock broker cum fisherwoman. “100 bucks” it was for a pair of dainty silver shoes, with a beautiful turquoise winged butterfly at the helm. But then I took my words back. “For a fifteen minute stint, that’s still too much to pay.” It was my alter ego talking now! 'Stingy ally' 'stingy ally'.
I called the interviewer and told him I was going to be late. He was having lunch. He told me to meet him at some weird, obscure hotel. “Err” Remembering horror stories of how gullible girls are kidnapped and trafficked under the pretext of an interview in Mumbai, I’m debating at the veracity and how genuine this job interview actually is.
My feet still unadorned and our interest piqued helpful lady and I strolled along to the next street. We glanced at the vendors and scanned the myriads of shoes on display for our rapacious eyes. I chose a bottle green pair, adorned with an emblem of a majestic sun, bronze and ornately carved with numerous rays, nesting cozily at the vertex of the straps.
We attempted to coax the street smart vendor to provide us with a cheaper bargain. He in turn deliberately amused us by quoting an exorbitant sum of 190 bcks! We blackmailed him by citing the previous shop and threatening to purchase the latter’s wares. He’d pleased if we did, considering he owned both stores, he so kindly informed us. We appreciated his tongue cheek humour and wit and quickly purchased the pair. It was a steal to say the least.
So lovely stranger lady had wrapped my physically afflicted, purple broken shoes in a plastic bag. I suddenly wondered whether she was going to take off, shoes et all. At this crucial moment I received a call from the interviewer who enquired as to my whereabouts and requested me to meet him at a neighboring coffee shop.
At Dadar market I was perplexed after enquiring with seven odd vegetable vendors ask who haven’t heard of ‘Barista’ in a lifetime, due to the paucity of civilized people to enquire from. Still other individuals directed me to the adjoining irani cafe upstairs, insanely beautiful with blue green painted french windows .
Enfin, I made an emergency call to the interviewer who told me that I was located in Dadar west. Barista was situated in the east and cited a Hanuman mandir [an Indian deity’s temple]! My companion the helpful lady decided to wash her hands clean off potential trouble. Me! She gave me a "wotcha upto gurl?" look that required little verbal proficiency. The meaning was conveyed through her eyes. I translated it accurately. “You told me you have to go to an office for an interview at a television station, later a food joint and now quelle horreurs! a coffee shop. I didn’t entirely blame her. The entire concept and last minute changes sounded seedy hollow and suspicious to my own ears. I bid her adieu. Farewell my friend. We shall meet someday again. Perhaps at another job interview.
She promised to keep me in her prayers and hoped that I’d get the job whilst returning the treasure, thats my pair of broken shoes, so beautifully wrapped in a plastic bag, that she borrowed from the street vendor , nevermind the that fact I was suspicious while questioning the reason why she was being nice to me and her ulterior motives. My faith in humanity restored, I smiled.
Oh yea! About the job? It was a successful interview. I got it! However outlandish or unfathomable it sounds. That day I promised myself that I’d cease to deliberately postpone important activities up to the last minute, shirk my responsibilities. I would grow up like a mature individual and take responsibility for my own actions and not blame anyone else for my own mistakes or transgressions. The prospect of losing my child hood dream made me realize how badly I actually desired it, the fervent desire that ran deep beyond and the realization that I would never be able to forgive myself if things had turned unpleasant or gone wrong.
Foremost amongst these unintentional mishaps is the fact that I’m incredibly unlucky, more so, when utilizing technology. I-pods unceremoniously die on me, electric irons develop minds of their own and accidentally choose to explode, when I’m in their nearby vicinity and cell phone memory cards consistently refuse to store information regardless of the display screen citing the availability of plenty of empty space. Let me then humor you dear reader with an anecdote, at my expense that sometimes amuses my friends.
Post completing my degree in mass communications in college, I functioned primarily as an appendage of my parents, slothfully dependent on them to complete most of the activities and chores assigned to me. Free spirited, in a limboistic world of my own and consistently disorganized were qualities that I distinctly embodied, with an acquired ease.
Last year in the month of February, I had a job interview to attend. I was incredibly excited as the result would determine whether I would be a glamorous television reporter, as I had frequently envisioned in my child-hood, probably the first of its kind in my family.
Like the procrastinating bitch that I was, I happily left it all for ‘The Day’ right from the formal clothes I would be wearing, choosing decent shoes, projects I would be carrying, never mind the fact, that I didn’t even have any projects to begin with! Mom had specifically instructed me to avoid wearing the charming delicate, purple strappy stilettos I favored, for fear they would disintegrate.
Early in the morning i.e what I considered to be 10 o’ clock, I scurried, like a retard. Papers a flying, piles of cds being frantically rummaged through and tested, visuals and diagrammatic representations being hastily darkened, which I later decided as worthless and scrunged into a ball. I wondered what I’d do if I had additional time to prepare. I would indeed squander every bit of it, right down to the last nano sec of that I was sure. Homer Simpson had tough competition ahead.
The clock struck 11:00 o’clock. I sheepishly gaped. I still had to mail my resume to the boss, who would conduct the interview and I was not even in the possession of a copy of the sheet. That’s how organized I used to be. I had to be in his office at Dadar at 2:30 pm. Besides gathering the relevant documents, it would take me the better part of an hour and a half to reach the venue. I was not entirely sure, a part of me even wanted this supposed ‘prized’ job.
I arrived at the internet cafe by 11:30 and performed a background-check on the company, then the server failed and the NET WENT DOWN! I hadn’t mailed the interviewer my resume nor did I possess a copy of the doomed document. Yup, forget to mention, it was definitely not worth even a glance.
Mysteriously though I had discovered an old project earlier in my email inbox before the net had decided to pull the vanishing act on me. I requested the computer guy to copy it onto a cd. It was a miniscule attempt on my part to convince the interviewer of my apparent employability. The buffoon that the computer guy was, he delicately stroked a couple of keys and my entire assignment vanished, as though it never existed to begin with. Like a mirage to the dying nomad, like a cursory illusion. I momentarily wondered whether I had hallucinated. Dumbfounded is putting it mildly. Flabbergasted, foaming at the mouth would be more appropriate.
It was now 12 pm! At this point I was pondering whether to call the boss guy and bail out. I tarried to contemplate whether it was the computer guy that I was more enraged at or myself. The clock displayed the time as 12:30 pm and the net had returned. Gleefully, I proceeded and completed my work with astonishing speed.
Then the cyber cafe creep overcharged me! I know I resemble an angel that has descended out of heaven but spare me the unconcealed thievery. Disgusted I thrust the wad of cash into his hands and made a run for it.
The clock struck 1! I’m expected to be present at the venue at 2:30pm. Never mind the fact that it would take me an hour and a half to actually commute to dadar by train. From the cyber café, I had to reach home, get dressed, fill my bag with the basic necessities. There’s never really a dull moment with Ally around the place! Obviously, I skipped lunch and ran to reach the station to buy a ticket.
Luckily, I got a fast train. It was 2:30 and I was still at Dadar station. So far so good! 10 minutes late didn’t sound too bad or so I convinced myself as I didn’t want to panic. I looked down at the creak, that I realized was my broken shoe and all hope came crashing down!
Perfect! I laughed in my head, just when I was wondering what could possibly go wrong this time around. A little maharashtrian fisher woman passerby, told me to get them stitched. “Um”I fumbled. “I have to be in a job interview at sometime around NOW!” I asked her whether, she knew where god forsaken Naigaon ie the interview venue was. “I’ll ask around for you” is what she told me.
I took off my broken shoe and climbed the dadar railway station bridge filthy with cauliflower heads and rotting vegetables left to decay by insolent, uncaring vendors. I held the incriminating purple shoe in one hand. As the petite lady told me that I looked funny, I slipped off the other shoe as well. Together my companion of the 15 odd minutes of my life and I walked along to dadar market, in search of shoes at throw–away prices!
I was stared at smirkingly by the shoe salesman at the neighboring stall. I grinned and bore it. All the dude wanted to do was get a great bargain. Fifteen minutes into what was supposed to be my life-altering interview I was bargaining like a strange combination of a stock broker cum fisherwoman. “100 bucks” it was for a pair of dainty silver shoes, with a beautiful turquoise winged butterfly at the helm. But then I took my words back. “For a fifteen minute stint, that’s still too much to pay.” It was my alter ego talking now! 'Stingy ally' 'stingy ally'.
I called the interviewer and told him I was going to be late. He was having lunch. He told me to meet him at some weird, obscure hotel. “Err” Remembering horror stories of how gullible girls are kidnapped and trafficked under the pretext of an interview in Mumbai, I’m debating at the veracity and how genuine this job interview actually is.
My feet still unadorned and our interest piqued helpful lady and I strolled along to the next street. We glanced at the vendors and scanned the myriads of shoes on display for our rapacious eyes. I chose a bottle green pair, adorned with an emblem of a majestic sun, bronze and ornately carved with numerous rays, nesting cozily at the vertex of the straps.
We attempted to coax the street smart vendor to provide us with a cheaper bargain. He in turn deliberately amused us by quoting an exorbitant sum of 190 bcks! We blackmailed him by citing the previous shop and threatening to purchase the latter’s wares. He’d pleased if we did, considering he owned both stores, he so kindly informed us. We appreciated his tongue cheek humour and wit and quickly purchased the pair. It was a steal to say the least.
So lovely stranger lady had wrapped my physically afflicted, purple broken shoes in a plastic bag. I suddenly wondered whether she was going to take off, shoes et all. At this crucial moment I received a call from the interviewer who enquired as to my whereabouts and requested me to meet him at a neighboring coffee shop.
At Dadar market I was perplexed after enquiring with seven odd vegetable vendors ask who haven’t heard of ‘Barista’ in a lifetime, due to the paucity of civilized people to enquire from. Still other individuals directed me to the adjoining irani cafe upstairs, insanely beautiful with blue green painted french windows .
Enfin, I made an emergency call to the interviewer who told me that I was located in Dadar west. Barista was situated in the east and cited a Hanuman mandir [an Indian deity’s temple]! My companion the helpful lady decided to wash her hands clean off potential trouble. Me! She gave me a "wotcha upto gurl?" look that required little verbal proficiency. The meaning was conveyed through her eyes. I translated it accurately. “You told me you have to go to an office for an interview at a television station, later a food joint and now quelle horreurs! a coffee shop. I didn’t entirely blame her. The entire concept and last minute changes sounded seedy hollow and suspicious to my own ears. I bid her adieu. Farewell my friend. We shall meet someday again. Perhaps at another job interview.
She promised to keep me in her prayers and hoped that I’d get the job whilst returning the treasure, thats my pair of broken shoes, so beautifully wrapped in a plastic bag, that she borrowed from the street vendor , nevermind the that fact I was suspicious while questioning the reason why she was being nice to me and her ulterior motives. My faith in humanity restored, I smiled.
Oh yea! About the job? It was a successful interview. I got it! However outlandish or unfathomable it sounds. That day I promised myself that I’d cease to deliberately postpone important activities up to the last minute, shirk my responsibilities. I would grow up like a mature individual and take responsibility for my own actions and not blame anyone else for my own mistakes or transgressions. The prospect of losing my child hood dream made me realize how badly I actually desired it, the fervent desire that ran deep beyond and the realization that I would never be able to forgive myself if things had turned unpleasant or gone wrong.
Wednesday, January 20, 2010
it happend one night
I lie across the exquisitely polished, rosewood encarved, canopied giant bed. Cold, frozen, frigid, I would probably give ‘ice princess’ competition, like a Tight arse bitch , a piece of meat , like a log of wood. It's not like i haven't done this before. You’d be surprised!
He caresses my hair smoothly, expertly even and kisses it. Swiftly, he plants a kiss on my forehead and I’m conned into believing he actually cares even if just a lil'. He puppy dog kisses my nose and gingerly, proceeds to trace the outline of my succulent lips. I tremble just the right amount whilst glimpsing a smile dawn across his tightly wraught lips. He nuzzles my cheek with the back of his hand, and murmurs something inaudible like "so soft". He pulls my cheek lovingly, with his black, long artistic fingers and then kisses them fingers. I'm charmed. He takes my hand in his. I hesitate, wondering what he's upto. He makes me trace the exterior of his pout. Slowly, somehow my hand finds itself entwined in his and he touches his lips to the back of my hand, like a princess, Behold the gentleman.
Every scar, the shape of my eyes, the slant of my brow, the texture of my skin, each beauty spot, every undulation. Bizarrely, i feel like he's tracing every distinct feature ,each detail and storing it in his mind for reference\ safe keeping, like he cant believe he's here with me, right now, like it’s a fantasy of sorts, his maybe! He blows softly in my right ear, gently, massages my collar bone. I blush like a newly acquired bride, on her clichéd honeymoon. His warm hand nestles on the small of ma back and begins to move back and forth, slowly, expertly, the master of all that he surveys. I’m still groggy from the last tequila I greedily gulped. The details flood me like a deluge. In a nutshell, I vaguely remember the stranger introducing himself to me at the club. The vodka, he had sent my way and us talking. Funny, charming regular guy, but "something not quite right with him" vibes!
Tequila shot, after tequila after tequila. 2:05, the bar closing, traipsing towards my SUV, him offering to drop me, snubly, emphatically refusing and now I find myself at the devil's lair itself. I shudder. He coos in my ear. He wants to kiss me. I glance blankly. Forthrightly he enquires, “How did the day go?" "So far, so good" I smile. "How do you want the night to go?" "That's entirely upto you now, isn’t it?" He moves his hand into the crotch of my pants and I’m mildly repulsed. I spot a delicate ruby encrusted bracelet I had lost 4 months back, on his dresser. I’m positively freaked out. He's grabbing my arse now. Mentally exhausted, emotionally overwhelmed. He is stronger than he appears, as he lays himself on top of me, frantically kissing me, grinding his crotch into me, you know where! I kiss him back like my life depended on it. "Bad kisser?" That's what’s Billy Clarence, high school sweetheart, soccer captain and one true love of my life, had said when i was 14,during them oh so confidential locker room conversions! I wish he could see me right now. I weave my hands through his hair, deftly rolling him over, so we’re positioned side by side. He’s kissing my neck now, his hands try to unfasten the hook, his face delving into my ample bosom, probably, the only time I have felt so proud of it. Dear God, he's engrossed in biting now!! My hand moves swiftly around his neck, across the table, swiftly picking the glass ashtray. praying he won’t see it and there’s an audible crack to his skull, the only sound reverberating, echoing ghastly, in the entire room. I make a run for it, without so much as glancing backwards. My silver heeled stilettos glint, in the dark.
He caresses my hair smoothly, expertly even and kisses it. Swiftly, he plants a kiss on my forehead and I’m conned into believing he actually cares even if just a lil'. He puppy dog kisses my nose and gingerly, proceeds to trace the outline of my succulent lips. I tremble just the right amount whilst glimpsing a smile dawn across his tightly wraught lips. He nuzzles my cheek with the back of his hand, and murmurs something inaudible like "so soft". He pulls my cheek lovingly, with his black, long artistic fingers and then kisses them fingers. I'm charmed. He takes my hand in his. I hesitate, wondering what he's upto. He makes me trace the exterior of his pout. Slowly, somehow my hand finds itself entwined in his and he touches his lips to the back of my hand, like a princess, Behold the gentleman.
Every scar, the shape of my eyes, the slant of my brow, the texture of my skin, each beauty spot, every undulation. Bizarrely, i feel like he's tracing every distinct feature ,each detail and storing it in his mind for reference\ safe keeping, like he cant believe he's here with me, right now, like it’s a fantasy of sorts, his maybe! He blows softly in my right ear, gently, massages my collar bone. I blush like a newly acquired bride, on her clichéd honeymoon. His warm hand nestles on the small of ma back and begins to move back and forth, slowly, expertly, the master of all that he surveys. I’m still groggy from the last tequila I greedily gulped. The details flood me like a deluge. In a nutshell, I vaguely remember the stranger introducing himself to me at the club. The vodka, he had sent my way and us talking. Funny, charming regular guy, but "something not quite right with him" vibes!
Tequila shot, after tequila after tequila. 2:05, the bar closing, traipsing towards my SUV, him offering to drop me, snubly, emphatically refusing and now I find myself at the devil's lair itself. I shudder. He coos in my ear. He wants to kiss me. I glance blankly. Forthrightly he enquires, “How did the day go?" "So far, so good" I smile. "How do you want the night to go?" "That's entirely upto you now, isn’t it?" He moves his hand into the crotch of my pants and I’m mildly repulsed. I spot a delicate ruby encrusted bracelet I had lost 4 months back, on his dresser. I’m positively freaked out. He's grabbing my arse now. Mentally exhausted, emotionally overwhelmed. He is stronger than he appears, as he lays himself on top of me, frantically kissing me, grinding his crotch into me, you know where! I kiss him back like my life depended on it. "Bad kisser?" That's what’s Billy Clarence, high school sweetheart, soccer captain and one true love of my life, had said when i was 14,during them oh so confidential locker room conversions! I wish he could see me right now. I weave my hands through his hair, deftly rolling him over, so we’re positioned side by side. He’s kissing my neck now, his hands try to unfasten the hook, his face delving into my ample bosom, probably, the only time I have felt so proud of it. Dear God, he's engrossed in biting now!! My hand moves swiftly around his neck, across the table, swiftly picking the glass ashtray. praying he won’t see it and there’s an audible crack to his skull, the only sound reverberating, echoing ghastly, in the entire room. I make a run for it, without so much as glancing backwards. My silver heeled stilettos glint, in the dark.
Sunday, January 10, 2010
An Ode
I'm standing at the ceiling-length stone-carved door-way
besides grotesquely, grinning winged gargoyles and blustering horned rams keen on charging at their prey.
I glimpse across the long corridor of an ancient majestic palace, the beautifully pleated drapes, and at the feline eyed, tarrying, charming Lady.
It's a dark, ethereal dusk ... ..
the mesmerizing almost haunting kinds,
Sneaking moon-light glances, slyly your way
Whilst moving stealthily forward.
Have you seen me, have you not?
it doesn't matter.
You're a vision to behold.
Of the sweetest kind.
Charming, delectably attired in drops of mercury and only the purest liquid silver ..
Coy, i think
And yet not quite.
You look up at me and smile seductively
I'm at once Entranced by your slender form.
Lovely lady in white
I want to call you mine forever,
But that's probably not to be ..
O fair maiden,
You give of yourself equally and uninhibitedly to all that seek you
Echoes of your voice beckoning my name, bounce against the cave-like stony ceiling
I'm pleased, not a little.
Enfold my weary arms around you, in a warm cosy embrace
Billows of electric blue smoke mingled with clouds of fog momentarily distract me.
Tilt your moist succulent lips, against mine
Sucking your precious nectar away.
The undeniable rush to my head,
soothing relief to my parched throat,
Its like you heal all.
With your magical touch.
Accelerated blood-flow in my veins
Quickens my now melancholic heart-beat.
I'm a crazed man trapped in self-destructive love of the worst kind.
I realize
Only a little too late ..
O gloriously sweet Vodka!
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