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Friday, March 30, 2007
Ordinary Love Story II
You're strolling aimlessly down the "tools&misc." aisle at the hypermarket.
You're still loyally holding her silky hand, The Girl You Used To Know.
Your soles squeak against the freshly varnished floor. The air smells of glue and anti-rust products.
She squeezes your hand, your sign to halt.
With feigned expertise, she examines a stand of hand saws and casually picks up a miniature one.
She flails it carelessly in the air for a while, playfully - and poorly - mimicking the knights of the dark ages, before she abruptly swings it and brings it to your neck.
Your skin creases under its blade.
You feel its chill steel, its acuate teeth.

"So, soldier of love!" she whispers in your ear in an authoritary voice that seeps with manic passion. Her warm breath infiltrates and entices you. Lured into a battle you know you can't win, you close your eyes in surrender like the graceful defeated soldier you were trained to be. You vanish into sweet hypnosis. "You know it's the 21st of March, the equinox of the Spring. It's this time of the year when the length of night and day are perfectly equal...."

She pushes the blade lightly, you swallow apprehensively.
Two beads of blood start oozing shyly on your skin.
She dips her index into one and carefully drags it to draw half a heart.
You can hear her mutter in her softest voice.
"Per...fec...tlyyy...."
She's totally rapt in what she's doing, her tongue is feasting on her bruised lips, her brows joined together at a very awkward angle.
She dips her index into the other pearl of thick viscous blood and draws the second half.
She trots back snappily, stands still for an immortal second, the head tilted to the side, admiring her immaculate heart in its shrill red tone and keen easy curves.
"..... equal!" she exclaims lively, triumphly.

She indulges into a fit of exuberant mad laughter.
She doesn't know it, but you weep and weep and weep......

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posted by Maxxed`ouT at 9:15 PM | Permalink | 11 comments links to this post
Friday, March 23, 2007
Ordinary Love Story I
You're sat next to each other on a solo bench in a prairie on a tranquil sunny Sunday afternoon. You and The Girl You Used To Know.
Your eyes are lustfully devouring a delicious vista of evergreen stretching undisturbed ahead of you. Hers are numbly fixated straight ahead on the alleged moot nothingness of the scenery. As if hindered by invisible horse blinds, she's avoiding your eyes at all cost.
Bothered by the sun, you close yours shut. You see things like in a blind man's dream.
She's comfortably biting her lip in an autonomic fashion.
Her fingers skilfully catch a stray strand of her shiny hair, curl, twist and coil it, then briskly let it loose. Free to fall unattended on her graceful shoulder. Time and again.
The moment is so poignant, so incisive, yet there's something so oddly mundane about it.
She finally turns her head your way, and in a trained voice she asks if you'd care to hold her hand.
"Would you care to hold my hand?"
"Yes, i'd love to hold your hand." Your apparent enthusiasm has just betrayed you. "For yours are the softest hands i've ever seen."
She moves closer and coquettishly grabs your awkward hand. Her skin is soft, warm and inviting.
You feel her nail drawing perfect perpetual ever-so-growing circles in your palm.
Again, things like in a blind man's dream.
Then she skilfully catches your index. Curls. Twists. Coils. And briskly let it loose. Free to fall, not-so-gracefully, as if independent of the rest of your hand.
You swallow your pain, the lump in your throat.
She comfortably bites her lip, until it bleeds.
She swallows her blood.
 "For yours are the softest hands i've ever seen." You whisper, time and again.

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posted by Maxxed`ouT at 4:59 PM | Permalink | 7 comments links to this post
Friday, March 16, 2007
Gone Fishin'.....
 
posted by Maxxed`ouT at 10:32 PM | Permalink | links to this post
Sunday, March 11, 2007
With My Back To The World
I woke up the other day, and in my head, i was an instant stranger.
An outcast.
Adrift from everything i know, everything i could possibly relate to.
I roved my head in search of an anchor, something i could clutch and hold on to before life as i know it becomes a distant faded memory.
I turn to it. Teach me how to be my own friend.

My friends needed re-approval.
My family needed re-integration.
My emotions needed re-habilitation.
And i needed to be re-introduced again to them all.
I turn to it. Teach me how to appreciate lukewarm feelings. How to believe in make-belief.

 I realised a utopia of human virtues had poisoned my every thought.
With such a frame of reference, i stood absolutely no chance.
I needed to learn that opposites existed for a reason.
That the bad served the good, and vice versa.
Not all harps should be tuned.
Not all science should be applicable.
Not all people should have substance.
Not all religions should be whole.
I tried to shout my frustration with it all.
Luckily, words like "happiness" and "contentment" still made perfect sense in my head.
The context was just lost on them.
They needed to be re-located and re-defined in order for them to serve their respective purposes once again.
I turn to it. Teach me how to accept.

I needed to write again.
Only on paper i find prespective.
It struck me how all my sentences were fancy and original and always ended with a dot.
All my margins just had to be equal.
All my lines just had to be straight.
So i wrote speeches and recited them to imaginary masses.
I observed their faces, they were all duplicates.
"If i could get one to cheer, they all will." i thought to myself "Should they applaud, i'd become a clone myself."
But noone did, and they all walked out on me.
I stood before a vacant field, holier than thou.
I shed a silent tear but it didn't wash away my ink.
My book was even more vain and patronising than i am.
I turn to it. Teach me how vanity is the quicksand of reason. Teach me how to rant aimlessly about my day. How to speak utter non-sense, and still manage to be heard.

Devoid of all my senses, betrayed by my experience and let down by my power of judgment, i had no choice but to rely on my instinct for vision and guidance.
I had to count on it to tell me the truth.
Having failed me time and again, so little faith i had in it.
I waited for signs, for things to tell me things about things.
And as i waited in vain, all my instincts boiled into one.
Fear.
Fear that i'm waiting alone.
Fear that i had missed the signs.
But most of all, fear that my instinct was no longer an inborn impulse.
That it was no longer free from prejudice, free from decay.
Fear that my instinct had been, just like me, bruised and biased.
I turn to it. Teach me how to be pristine again.

In the darkness, a cat creeps silently from behind me.
I only take notice when it snuggles playfully between my legs and nestles its head on my bare foot.
It stretches lazily as it gives me weary pleading gazes.
A gorgeous domestic marbled Bengal, obviously lost.
Its amber eyes shine in defiance.
I approach it with an empty hand.
It licks my palm then realising there's nothing there, it starts to tap on it demandingly with its paw.
"Let no heart be faint." i remember.
I turn to it. Teach me how pride is sometimes sinful. How it won't keep me warm at night.

She loves me not.
I turn to it. Teach me how to feed on my obsessions. How to not let them feed on me.

I woke up the other day, and in my head, i was an instant stranger.
I sat me down, and we got to know each other.
Turns out we had a lot in common....
I was amazed at how, with your back to the world, you could sometimes still get a much better view!

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posted by Maxxed`ouT at 3:18 AM | Permalink | 8 comments links to this post