Friday, January 25, 2013

On reading



Sometimes a book just happen to you, it finds you, popping up from an exhibition that you almost didn't go to, from a dusty corner of a college library or a tiny book shop. The flirting is momentary, you know this is the real thing, there is no hesitation. You take it home, its love at first sight ("and ever and ever sight"). Suddenly all your life so far seem so mundane and banal, a new world of mellowness opens, you assimilate it, drown and resurrect in it, live its sublimity, you become the book. Curled up, sprawled over a bed, by the window, under a sheet in torch light, you meet; the book and you. You can’t help it, it is an inevitability. Every time a guest drops in, or you have to leave for work, you swear horribly, because all you want to do is be with it, to be locked in an eternal read with it, a passion that you have never felt for anything else, anyone else. It seems as though you were waiting all your life for this moment, this juncture, this awakening, it is the beginning of a new journey. You realise you can still be happy reading and rereading only this one book for the rest of your life. In love with you, Nabokov for Ada, for that ardor, for Speak, Memory for the universe you showed me. 

Sunday, January 20, 2013

27



Forever
joint aches 
poem
growing
poeming
Nabokov
Begging
Borrowing
Pending
Rushing
Freeze
"good women don't laugh so much like you do"
Hahahahahhahhahhahhahhahhahhahaahahhaha
*BIG CACKLE*
tentacle heads
Bend Sinister
Stars in a handful
a reassuring coconut tree
reheat
recycle
Juxtapose
Leaves replacing emotions
Draupadi
Hobbes
Coconut god
leaking boats
fasting
starving
writing
rewriting
brittle loves
forgettable love
loves with prickly skins
loves with exoskeletons
phantom-limbed loves
neurotic loves
loves stored in cocoons
still-born loves
drawing black holes
rustle of the afternoon wind
the ghost near fridge
the sound beyond the wall
pain
pain
it hurts like hell
hot oil splashes
burning nostrils
Pataphysics
ink on hands
postmodernism
taste of ink
salt
drawing at night
Joyce
sweat
you
YOU
mine
symbolism
mellowness
breaking
heart-break
open
fling
shards
>Insert love here<
bad meals
garlic
goosebumps
prayer beads
the eternally banging window
Russia
coins
joints
painful knuckles
the dripping tap
the annoying frogs pulling my hair
the howl of the door knob
alliterations
expectations
muttering
Bauldaire
rot
dandruff
dark circles
poverty
bread
more bread
dry
fish
death
fruit flies
mouthwashes
pauses
“Forgive me”
“You don’t understand”
wind
insomnia
borrowing
“nonsense!”
Alfred Jarry

Monday, January 7, 2013

mal·ad·just·ed

we fade as humans to each other
and become durations endured-
this day to this day; an argument,
a bundle of experience-
maybe someday, a tale.
who is this I, just a sense of disquiet
and you, an indecipherable language
I struggle to learn your alphabets.