and you bump into a bundle of strangers swivelling past a lamp post -half smiling and slightly tipsy. friday night blues and saturday morning jumbles spiralling over their uncomfortable gait, as they swish past a crumbling apartment, blotted with pastel red and moss. you follow them till the curve across Berry Street. heavy eyes and trembling fingertips silhouette against the morning sunshine. electric vapors of sweat and pointless babbling bead your neck till you switch over to a different bylane. you are greeted with a broken house, cigarette stubs, a condom wrapper and a bar of half-eaten chocolate with crystalline creases of teeth-marks.
and you stumble into this foot-step of new age schizophrenia.
not of mercy killing and raging abortion, but of a silent whisper which floats through your system on a friday night. you are reminded of chicago, and the frightening tingle of dimes and quarters looping across Michigan Avenue. and of waking manhattan bordered with ghettoes and strip clubs, that you were once tempted to enter. you skim through all the indulgences that flow past when you don't recognize those toothy grins. chemicals, sex, drugs and drinks. you energize on the thought of drunkeness in the basement of some fraternity house. some female insomniac groping you down your denim. you lose discomfort and allow yourself to skip into the viciousness of pounding african rhythms. your feet are wet. your shirt is a patch of paint and lipstick. you dance to broken beats and cosmetic flesh till your recollection fades away...point-blank.
you were told, once, life had far too many choices. Mr A just repeated it.
and you stumble into this foot-step of new age schizophrenia.
not of mercy killing and raging abortion, but of a silent whisper which floats through your system on a friday night. you are reminded of chicago, and the frightening tingle of dimes and quarters looping across Michigan Avenue. and of waking manhattan bordered with ghettoes and strip clubs, that you were once tempted to enter. you skim through all the indulgences that flow past when you don't recognize those toothy grins. chemicals, sex, drugs and drinks. you energize on the thought of drunkeness in the basement of some fraternity house. some female insomniac groping you down your denim. you lose discomfort and allow yourself to skip into the viciousness of pounding african rhythms. your feet are wet. your shirt is a patch of paint and lipstick. you dance to broken beats and cosmetic flesh till your recollection fades away...point-blank.
you were told, once, life had far too many choices. Mr A just repeated it.
9 comments:
Schizophrenia's a lot more peaceful than the definition you just accorded to it. The age we're in is beginning to seem more and more like a cult--and an endless, rampaging invite to it--one that everyone sees as a challenge, and no one really foresees as a threat. And maybe that's what excites the rest of the world about it.
It's about time they heard the voices in their heads that've been calling out to them for so very long. I know I hear mine every time I see a crushed beer can or a smashed car window. Just the voices--entwined with the silence of the sound of breaking glass and the endless scream of incompletion. When does it end?
so exactly how many women have been groping down your denims and what did you do about it?
alright, basu has asked the question foremost in my mind. :P
tho 'what did u do abt it'. knowing ur tendencies over the years . . . hmmmmm.
I like this take. maybe because it's more like thoughts strung together rather than whole lines that make the mind take a back-seat.
@ nemesis: maybe. i half-agree
@ basu: that should remain undisclosed! lol...only messing...
@ aruni rc: thank you. pray elaborate on my tendencies. nemesis intends to know
I do intend to know.
And how do you half-agree with anything? Either you agree or you don't.
Let's hear, then. About your semi-agreement patterns and previous encounters with genital groping by the fairer sex. The mere thought is plausibly unsettling. *Shudders* :P
what is all this? eto shob boro boro shobdo.
ah, the life of the typical college freshman... enjoy dormcest while you can. living far away from campus limits your opportunities to hot neighbors who live in their underwear and the weekly house parties.
so you're likely to get a lot more genital-groping in your first year of college. don't waste those little opportunities if possible.
@ nemesis: well i'll tell you more about my history in a next encounter.
@ spookymia: all this is a string of thoughts.
@ shobhik: these could also be random observations, you know.
you're a college freshman. it happens.
and if these truly are random observations, then i just made an educated guess, haha
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