Fade Out

I walk down this road with my favorite two friends, feeling like Chad – I wonder what ever happened to our system. Though you won’t find me screaming in a frenzied horny perplexed constipation – No sir you won’t hear me screaming. I see my problems in her eyes and his and those and I choose to decimate them to their destined spot of virtuosity just the way i decimate my problems to the bottom of my flame – don’t blame me if it’s hot.

In the church of the dead, people walk in and people walk out serenading the gods of worship with sprigs of a timely death. Some cry they couldn’t turn up and some cry they turned up and then some cry in joy that they turned up and felt what was a journey through the toxic filled world with the other side, the church is in session. The gods on the other hand are nowhere to be found physically, but mentally they seem to lurk the depths of every moment passed. It’s hard to understand how the gods of mystique invades our lives. It’s easy to tell if the gods of worship existed once upon a time for the simple fact of the humanely touch of cold in blood Japanese reality. So now for the moronically inclined part of all of us that exists in the fact that we all worship some gd some time or the other. The fact lies in the fact that we all go through journeys of crass to the oblivion and crass that surpasses the heights of the skies. So for now all I’ll say is the shoosh the liturgy is in process followed by the ever loved sermon. Mass is in session!!!

“A journey into two lives through one singular life, one breathe and one body. Not too sure about the soul, the left goes right and the right becomes left forward. The eye behind the scene comes out to wallow in the ozone of fade-outs and the deaf comes to debate the land stuck in between. Eternal flames carried and delivered in torches of hope, glory and peace.”

Sometimes he felt that somebody was continuously chasing him, maybe it was his shadow. He swung from time to time from tree top to tree top, from roof top to roof top, maybe it was the carbonic fluid that raped his nostrils. Under the bridge, they all seemed to have lost a bit of their blood; some even drew some there just like Chad.

Powder boy believed it would make him fuck faster than a speeding bullet, concentrate harder than a lion; all eyes set on his prey. Powder boy never did learn until he saw lil’ red head there, standing in a corner ignoring the facts of life or rather should I say trying to ignore the facts of life. Years passed by and one tiresome night, powder boy found lil’ red head in a bed, his bed singing tunes of white ships craving for land just that the land was at a call away, a word away rather a sentence away – “I can’t do this”.

Powder boy loved his little mansion, he loved the little arcs with its beauty scripted into the crevices of gold, the sunflowers that bloomed into a deep scenic pleasure and the auburn hair of glory that lay by his side. A trick it was, a damn trick. A trick that life had played on him, he saw lil’ red head in a different shade, a shade that he saw as red, pictured as red but somehow never felt red, maybe he missed the tattoo’s of a cuisine, a bottle of rum too late , drunken tattoos… but it was never red.

Midway through the reins of an open night and a closed day, the chalk was never red for Powder boy, he skimmed through the remains of what it was to fuck faster than a bullet, a speeding train, a jet, never knowing what pure meant but his reasoning somehow was to feel pure… live pure. Like a gazelle he ran through the gardens of Eden only to see a rather blackened feast of souls waiting to reunite with they new friend, they other it seemed… then Powder boy stood up from his beaten self, took a punch full of grit and buried with it the remains of Powder boy… or so he thought.

Daze is what he felt, the rain came down on him… and it seemed to pour down, it seem to flood his thought flow with ideas, concepts that were never thought of from an otherwise point of view, from a point of view that was straight out of the book of the top-most leaf on the coconut tree. From it flowed the pure form of them and from that it dripped the rawer form of them following the same concept that of a rain-drop coming down on them, invading they space like alien intruders. Such was life, and life was such, it came full circle and it never meant a thing and didn’t mean a god damn thing now for sure… at least for Powder boy. The branches were breaking off withering in the damp moisture of paradise, withering away till it finally fell down and broke into a few more pieces.

Acres after acre of guilt ridden journeys set in, riding his body like a smurf through damnation…an evil smurf under tonnes of sunshine it all seemed to sink in like the world was on his shoulders, like his shoulder bore what the world sowed, he was way deeper than he thought and carbonated fluid is where he started, green ozone layers is what followed and heat waves and Antarctica followed just like the rat who followed the Pied Piper. All those rats died and he came back, but that was left for an aftermath yet to happen… The rats had to be dealt with. Powder boy made a deal with his fellow rats and they proposed it to the Pied Piper, after the Piper threw them a proposal of contact… Piper wasn’t quite dealing with just rats, he was dealing with smurfs… smurfs who were disguised as rats.

A tear rolled down across her face to meet her lips, it lacked the salt and it seemed to lack the moistness of a loved one. The tear seemed transparent, and she turned around and said “You scare me, you scare me to death”. The line fell on deaf ears and on a heart that just about beat, a heart that once pumped more than just blood. Her eyes spoke of a joy of seeing him and sang a song that rung in the bells that took its toll of fear, sadness and deceit… the sorrow in her voice croaked like an old frog, but his mind won over his heart and he turned a deaf ear… all six senses stood there raped and under nourished in the turmoil of some shoot.

So he went back into his dream, moving around in circles. Saving a soul that had killed him once, totally hollow, grenades going off around him, but he ran… he ran like his compatriot soul’s life depended on it, he didn’t care about what happened to him… just that soul who took more from him than any one else had… his life, his childhood and his sense of family-hood. Maybe, it was his way of saving himself, his life and his family if he had saved this soul… that soul would be faithful to him and would’ve owed him something and he would have asked him for all three of what he took away from, maybe only one if he had to bargain but just something – a little something.

The choppers came down from nowhere, with there oozies and the next thing he knows is missiles following his scrawny little ass, he weaves, he jumps, he goes under all the while pulling around his soul like a rag doll… funny how helpless he seemed in this world and even to a greater extent – the fact that powder boy had all the power in this cellophane game of Need for Speed on armed rebound. The power instigated him, the power he felt it all went to his right side all the while slowing down his already trailing left side. The left side was slowing down at an exact opposite rate his right side was going at. with all the ideas that he came up, with all the concepts… they all summed up for a sleepless night, his sleepless night.

What started as a black and white dream was starting to deviate and deviate fast off track, off scale and deep down inside he knew it was killing him, the sleepless nights, the exhausted body, the reddened eyes everything. It was scaring him, he knew all about it but just couldn’t stop even when it was taking the diversion to nightmare street. It went from nightmare to ordeal to smurfs again, it always seemed to go full circle… well up until the color red came back and with it a hope, a dream yet again but this time of being pure… white with shades of red.

This time red doesn’t give up, the sorrow that croaked is wafted away into a closet and his skin is set on incineration mode, the psychobility looks at his purer side and shudders with fear. The scenes set for a high spirited showdown of the best – red, powder, black, white, sorrow, guilt, happiness and glory. It had the flavors to set the weakened hearts on their way to kingdom-com… the flick goes blank… numbness follows and the ground seems to vanish from below and the fragments of those instated with a law of opinionated thoughts falls away, withers away just like he was always followed and marked with a cross that spelt red in peaceful colors.

“No matter how much the feeling of being alone grows on you, in to you. We are NEVER alone, there is always that one guardian angel watching over your back.”

THE END

Sitting at the usual caffeine bar, going through the usual routine of the where’s and the what’s of life and as usual my mind came across an unusually usual concept that seemed to titillate the mind. Skank gangs have taken over the world and it is them and the whole world of insects that are driving me through sleepless nights night in and night out. So much so, that I decided on working tonight, working on something that could have and should have been finished or could be finished post day break.

The siren is most probability a signal that danger lurks and our world’s population is at a point of decline. Seasons come and seasons go, but unlike a lot of peers, colleagues, co-students, relatives the rains never seem to establish what I have been taught is the most romantic weather of all year round’, I am talking about none other than the monsoons. Living in a country where monsoons in my early days were all about “the city is flooded, so its a day off from school”, that would only mean not going to school, not getting caned for not doing my homework and happily spending the days indoors playing some weird board game or just playing a game of “Basketbalized Soccer”. Then when I turned a little older and school was out of my life, the monsoons followed me like a shadow bringing with it the sadistic pleasures of having to go through soft pornography on display at every nook and corner, even the doper zone was converted into what would always be known as the “make-out dungeon”. The world just wasn’t fair, and it got worse when here I am, with a girl to love, friends by my side and a loving mother as a root for the insanity in my life that overflows with great dismay, any how back to my favorite season. As I was saying the monsoon now for me is this great parody of creepiness, stickiness, pleasures (of coffee & rum) and wet white tee shirts with the points of pleasure looking me straight in the face, bringing out the lust in me that exists.

Now for my concept, the world revolves around cheap sex, cheap booze and wicked hangovers in my Mizo brothers words. The world has been hit and hit hard by the skank gangs hitting every god damn paradise that ever existed, the house of hell for starters – Ambreen, Nazuk, Sanjali, Nimrit, Gin, Vodka… You name it and they’ve taken over the world… our world and most importantly my world just like the monsoon. And just like the monsoon, it brings with the creepy feeling of guilt, the stickiness of lies, the pleasures of Mars and well nothing would be an understatement to the clothes they wear. Now, if you expect me to go the social way and tell you that we should ban them and they should really be banished from society, you are totally wrong for the simple reason – Skank Gangs, monsoons and Life all have this about them – You can never get sick of them no matter how much they wank off in your face.

As for me, what started of as a concept and ended up in a slushy mix of dust, mud, salt, Co2, and a million other bodily and un-bodily toxins I have come to the conclusion that I or any other human will always want something to be perfect no matter how “not possible” it is.

Sometimes I wonder what is it that makes this world move on. From good to bad, from bad to worse and from worse to good. The world always seems to evolve full circle all the while stationary on an axis of an illusionary point of intersection. Radius’ seemed to have been the flavor, stem and root of all educational institute violence. However, all said and done and coming back to the valid point of this almost pointless journey we all go through clinging all the while picking up stones so the wolf behind you won’t find the way back to your little shell, in all probability the answer lies in the simple fact that it has always been subtly embedded in a shell. Waiting for that one tug at the pin, waiting for that one hint of an impact. That one spark that sets off a million storms, that one creative that sets of a million ideas and that one indecisive politician that sparks off a world war. It’s way too philosiphical and way too complexed to egin from a spark that intigates a match. It goes way more deeper than that for example, the step before that would be that crave for a smoke or the crave to feel like the Pope.

All said and done, this world will probably keep turning up, down, round, around, over, under, through and so on and so forth. A pendulum if you ask me. In all probability also the fact lies in the fact that Homo Sapiens need to lighten up and stand, stop and stop wondering all the while they take in a deep whiff of the polluted, dusty, carbonized air that is a little more than on surround sound.

I came across a woman, no wait she ain’t a woman – she’s the most adorable well not so little (comparatively to me) girl about six months and a few days back and she’s still as quietly not-so-innocent as the day I met her… However all said and done she’s one of the sweetest girls I’ve come across. Maybe it’s the fact that she’s saggi maybe…

… Ladies and Gentlemen and all of you’al still confused about which way you wanna go… I present to you Ms. Aishwariya Sharma aka Aish…

Okay, three reasons I’m blogging about her… One as mentioned earlier the sweetness factor, two – I told her I would blog about her someday and three – She has the heart to give me my space on Iexplorehere even though she had already taken the spot…

…I tried to give her back an equal spot and all with THIS but It doesn’t quite match up to how sweet she is…

Okay enough of being nice to her… Back to making her write five articles a day and taking her trip whenever I can

P:S: Aish, I hope you don’t need notes for this one!!!

The waves that attack our ear drums, flushing out a sense of panic… genocide… madness…

I said let her cry and let her sing… Let her go.. let her walk right out on me… she was the same girl I fell in love with… Damn, that song makes so much – it scares me to a creepy story of the rising and lowering of the stock markets… I bought em’ shares and I picked up the pieces… I gotta pick em up pieces since she went… …You’re killing the same part of me that you brought alive a year ago…

Behind suicides on blackened clouds, over the silver lining of a moon and under the brunt of a dying sun… a sun that never dies. It’ weird how a man enumerates in his silence, the most brutal ways of killing another human being. It’s funny how a knee to the cartilage of a nose can entertain to an extent that you could die for it. It’s weird how all these social diseased victims can go die for all I care. The woman in the dowry case, the burn victim, the rape victim, the crippled fuck who got ran over by a train… all of them can be hung by a hook attached to their shoulder and be writhing in pain mercilessly… I’d still find a silent piece of entertainment in it… Charlie Chaplin’s back in action… Charlie Chaplin turned evil… Charlie Chaplin wants to go kill somebody, wants to go kill himself… suicide if you may say!!!

The fact that people build you up to the point of no return and then lay you down to wriggle in pain with a nerve pulled here and a nerve pulled there – I guess it’s the same thing as going on an evil roller coaster ride – Cowabunga Baby!!! I guess I’m caught in this moment where the only thing that could save me would be the sight of a dying Camel – Yes! The damn Camel died – I killed it!! Happy now??? I needed to Rise Above I guess… I got the whole concept chartered out on canvas with Camel Blood – Charlie Chaplin turned Jack the Ripper and ripped through the souls of a lot taking with him the roof-top… Excuse him now – Charlie feels suicidal now… It’s either him or you who sees the morning tomorrow!!!

Newspaper Clipping – Charlie Chaplin dies: Blood rises in Alcohol stream!!!

The Kid around the corner shouts – Step up…Step up. Read all about it!!!

The Glorified Peon – He bought it and shat while he read!!!

My head hurts, my spirit is more or less dead, an emotional wreck but then again I’m at office… a place once Four walls were built…and now the remains of a few bricks melt away with the chaotic silence… I’m at work… I’m supposed to be different here and I’m supposed to greet everyone with a smile and a smile I give them… A wreck disguised with a smile… How are you today? Oh! You didn’t like my idea!! Oh thats okay I’ll just go back to the drawing board… all this and more with a smile…

And then sometimes I wonder..and introspective into the mind of Gary – Gary, why did you change to the person you are, it would be the best to be what you were at these times – It would’ve paid to be that obnoxious lil’ punk running around like Bruce Dickenson though the jack got substituted by a hand of violence… Oh well, I’m heading to the drawing board again… The concept: Death of the hand that fed. The spirit: My ideas skewed beyond repair. The aftermath: The rape of the mind!!!

Maybe, however all said and done – I need to change yet again, I feel like Ozzy when he crooned to tunes of Changes… I’m going thru’ changes…