Tuesday, March 31, 2015

2155 : Man of peace

Speaking of favorite poetry, for some reason these lines by Dylan (Bob), and this is of course just a sliver of what I like about him, mean a lot to me :

Well, the howling wolf will howl tonight, the king snake will crawl
Trees that’ve stood for a thousand years suddenly will fall
Wanna get married? Do it now
Tomorrow all activity will cease
You know that sometimes Satan comes as a man of peace
Somewhere Mama’s weeping for her blue-eyed boy
She’s holding them little white shoes and that little broken toy
And he’s following a star
The same one them three men followed from the East
I hear that sometimes Satan comes as a man of peace

2154 : Whats the point

Its a strange life one is leading, if the high point of the day is a cover version of a song sung by a singer you dont particularly like :-)

:-) I do love the "Suhani Raat" rendition by Lata didi. I dont enjoy her shrill voice most of the time, but in this song (yes such a cover does exist), she is sublime. It feels like she is actually living the poetry instead of signing it.

I like it so much, that after I parked the car in my garage, I heard it all over again (with the car parked and my eyes closed), just for the sheer pleasure of the experience.

Fiza ka rang, aa chala hain, mausam-e-bahar mein !!

Truly submlime.

Sunday, March 29, 2015

2153 : Poison

She said she just hated red wine. He smiled and muttered, it reminded him of blood. 

"The blood that moves the body?", she asked in her waspy tone.

"Red that stops the movement, stills the mind", he whispered as if it were a secret.

She sang, "What if there is a conspiracy, a raucous trail that descended towards anemia?".

"Well, then, in that case the world does not need to know that I am the killer !!", he hummed staring deep into the chalice.

2152 : Rage against the machine

The sound of a blaring jazz trumpet. The car that honks and echoes of a V8 gone sour. The chatter of the lips and the platter of the feet. The surround sound of the children and the friends. The blinding fury of light, a circadian rhythm all gone wrong.

He was counting minutes, or more importantly he wanted to count minutes. Yet he was only able to count moments. He wanted to be silent, untouched and still for minutes.

Yet with tick, he had another loud soundstorm.

Within him, the emptiness rose. As the duel continued, the vacuum inducing from inside versus the valium seducing din from the outside - he simply slumped onto the pavement....crouching into a hunched position, and huge giant sized tears started flowing.

He never ever knew what caused it, but till his dying day he maintained that in that moment, he had felt like mourning. RIP.

2151 : End of the road

I have been away. Not for the first time in the last 24 months. "On the going away" is no longer just the name of a song, it is also a state of being.

As I type, I realize that a big part of me - does not want to write. Its not a writer's block, but instead it is the faint voice in my ears that is going "Why?" "Why?" "Why?"

Unfortunately I was weak schooled in Chinese Confucianism, else another more real part of me would have asked "Why Not?".

The question, any question like that is the bane of the storyteller. That rational question causes diarrhea, and the stories get flushed.

If there is never a reason to tell a story, then there is never a reason to wax poetic about life, and there is never a reason to sing aloud....and there never a reason to be here.

29 Palms. I can hear Robert Plant crooning.