Jazz

You do not want to read Morrison when there are tendrils of heartache tracing old fault lines in you. Not even those trivial tremors from when you didn’t email me when I thought you would, because if you do, read her then that is, then goodbye and thanks for all the fish because there’s no way you’re going to work out of her words whole.

And there’s no point in reading her really if you aren’t that well-lived we’ll say for properness; well-lived enough to have old fault lines, cracks, musty little secrets and memories that aren’t worth reliving.

Because in the smooth jagged exuberance of her notes lie the adolescent memories of a brazen old city that refuses to become jaded, the secret twist of an unsmiling dead girl’s intentions, the difficult knots of unlove in a maturing marriage the fierce madness of silence in a house where parrots are fed on affection where things lie exactly where they should and not where you expect they should and there’s also the stunning depth of a blank starless city sky and it’s all so casual you could miss it in a blink if not for the sudden sharp shooting sensation of recognition that crackles through old fault lines and fissures.

Thanks Go[ld]phish, I’ve barely begun. [Aptly, because I know you’re chuckling, I have nowhere to link your name.]

Skinny Cats

[Since we're on a pissy poetry roll, dahlings.]

***

Skinny cats
Slip through cracks
Deftly, softly, swiftly.
Their thin veins
And underfed frames
Make them agile and shifty

'Skinny Cat', by Ben Ditmars

Angry poems about you

WARNING
If you’re not eighteen yet, then don’t read another word. This post is not for you. Not because you can’t piss me off, but because this post contains inappropriate and uncensored thought and verbiage.

This is for all those who've pissed me off. Fuck you very much for chancing upon my life.

Radical You
I like sanitised environments
I like them
I like them
I like them
Neat. Sterile. Safe.
You can store all that intellectually stimulating chaos up your anus thankyouverymuch.
I’d much rather be safe.

My Many Nike Moments
Just because I laugh at your jokes
And look you in the eye
Doesn’t mean I like you.
Not this way or that
Do yourself a favour
Get stuffed.
Don’t think. Just do it.

Sleazy Platform Ticket Counter Man at Nizamuddin Railway Station
Your mouth is like a urinal mister
Your words slither like excrement
You’re violating me with your fuliginous spewage.
I want to poke your filthy groping eyes out.

In Public Spaces
Swagger an inch closer
I dare you swaggering swaggerer
I’ll stick your dick with an all-pin prick
And watch you stumble in pain.

Road Rage
I’d corner you against a wall and ram your rear repeatedly, but my car can’t takethe trauma.

Taximan and Automan
Who knew you had such talent?
Driving forth, looking back
Through the passenger watching rearview mirror!
Oh that long probing fondling stare
Makes me think you’ll do just as well without them.
So then, may I poke your eyes out with a rusty wrench?

My Childhood Paedophile
At the Chittaranjan Park Fish Market
For every chop chop chop
Quiver, flail and death
I picture the ceremony of your emasculation.

***

Fark along now. I've nothing more to say to you.

Unworthy

There is a nightmare on the prowl, my baby disappeared in a rambunctious carnival crowd; left me comforting my fingers on a bottle of ink, discovered in horror on a leaky sink. Awash with shame, I sank to the dirty loo floor, where’d my poor neglected child go? Hungry and spent she must be dead by now; I haven’t the courage to step out this door. Perhaps I’ll just die of desperate sorrow; they’ll discover my ink stained body on the pot tomorrow. But guilt is such an insidious thing; I’m awake in the afterlife, still feeling like shit.

Dear Blank Page

Don’t stare at me. I will have you arrested for attempted mind wreckage by the mind control police. You will be defiled with all kinds of disreputable, putrid, incoherent verbiage, and after every inch of you is covered in insulting nonsense, you will then be expunged into the ethernet unceremoniously, where you will disappear without a trace after languishing in an anonymous spam folder for a month.

Oh and. Some words mean exactly what I intend them to mean and not what you might think they’re supposed to mean just ‘cause some dictionary said so.

Sincerely
H

Dear Chinese stroke Taiwanese Spammer

Thanks so much for your spammy comments. They’re very pretty.

I’m planning to print some to decorate my office soft board, and for once I think U’s going to rue the fact that he doesn’t have his own blog.

Now, I really don’t want you to think I’m ungrateful or anything, but this note is to let you know that I have enough. My collection looks quite complete and I’m pretty certain I have a sample of every symbol in the script. So, really, you can safely exclude me from your next party list. I promise I won’t think the worst of you.

Hope the loving and playing for world peace plans go well.

Thanks for everything, again!

Will keep you posted [haha] on how the decorating goes.

XOXO [that’s British for snogs and hugs]
H

Still waiting

I’ve convinced myself all I need is just that one sharp, clever phrase to skid right back in here.

But. I haven’t found it.

So I keep creeping back secretly to check how the mounting count of indecipherable spam comments are maintaining the illusion that there is activity on Shout – that my routine utterances over the last three years continue to touch lives far and wide [porn peddling, viagra endorsing, real-estate mongering faceless sales-avatars count, of course] even though my head has collapsed in a slothful slump that seems unconquerable.

RBoH and LBoH lie fused, forgotten and unchallenged, wallowing beneath this new state of uncomfortable placidity. There is no friction no despair no sudden searing thrill of anxiety and therefore no jumpstart angst-ridden gritting of brain against brain that might birth a clever phrase or two.

It might be too optimistic to say I’m cured of my chronic inability to cope with nightmares, traffic and bad hair days – as a matter of fact I am sporting very bad hair. Newly acquired, thanks to U’s exceptional skill with blunt scissors, my quest for adventure-in-the-absence-of-angst and perhaps an inherited streak or two of borderline masochism.

But. The point is, I still haven’t found that phrase.

There is much I’ve endured in anticipation of its arrival. Not least my own poetry. I've written poems. I've sung to traffic. I've passed wind and it's passed me by without a flutter of inspiration.

Not a feather
Or a fart
Not a letter
Or even
Half a phrase
That’s middling tart.

There. Bear with me. I’m obviously not bearing down hard enough.

I know

It’s like fighting nausea. Constantly.

Such consummate know-it-allness.

Someone very wise said of someone who believes himself very wise “he has the amazing mental condition of thinking he's always right”.

***
I’m curious: how do far-out mainstream management environments cope with such an overwhelmingly acute concentration of collective I-know-best-to-the-power-of-infinity-plus-one-up-on-you Alpha-ness? Why don’t they implode from the ferocious sentience of it?

There has to be a neat chemical equation for this.

I just know there is.

Cut Cut

What is the point in writing fast and meeting deadlines when your writing lacks soul?

I’m pretending I know all about soul. Mostly I don’t.

But criticism is a God-given talent. And God, bless Her soul, gave everyone enough by which to live, love and prevail.

But I’m feeling defeated. And punctured. And tired. And weepy. [There’s got to be a fifth thing I’m feeling. There is. But it’s unrelated. It’s gorgeous. It’s like scaling mountains and crossing seas and turning cartwheels and winging bird flights and singing to a valley of flowers and honeybees.] But back to this. This horrid sense of being trapped.

I’m so afraid to take the plunge. To jump in and sully my fingers with the mess of mauling her words. One by one by one. It’s as M said “some people don’t like ever being seen as the bad guy. Even if it means sacrificing things bigger than themselves for it”. I am a selfish bastard like that. Selfish and weak.

This is where I stick out my lower lip, creep around on all fours, hold up sad-faced emoticons on eff-b and soak in your pity. Golum I am.

I wish I were Lady Macbeth. I’d edit ruthlessly.

***
Maybe I am. I just did. Liberation. Lalala.

Madonna I'm not

EMmmmmmm, do I whiiiiiiiiiiine? I was moonwalking my toes on the wall, being cute. Even on the phone, moonwalking your toes on a wall can produce aural nuances that are hard to resist. In a non-sexual way, of course. This is M we’re talking about.

To moonwalk your toes on a wall you must lie back in bed. Roll over on one side, facing said wall, and then proceed to give it the sort of footsie feel-up it’s never had since gravity.

But this is M.

She’s a hardass.

Of course you do! she said, like it was the most natural behaviour to exhibit, if you were H. She was munching on something, clearly not paying attention to subtle aural nuances.

Reaaaaalllllllllllllly? I whiiiiiiiiiiine? My wall was near shuddering, I’m certain. But M, heartless M, continued to respond with irritating honesty.

Yes. There are some people who laugh a lot. Some who sulk a lot and then, there are those who whine a lot. You’re of the third kind.

Silence.

I hate it when people start sentences with – there are two kinds of people in the world… But I couldn’t fault M on that. She said three. And to her credit, they weren’t mutually exclusive. Okay so maybe she needed another kind of prodding.

Like I’m thaaaaaaat annoying, M?

No. It’s not annoying. It’s just whiny. It’s like you like pink. You also whine.

But you don’t count M. You’ve known me nearly 12 years now. Do you think if someone new heard my voice they’d be irritated?

I would’ve taken her response seriously, but she paused.

Boshoolooh

This morning I woke up to the alarming sound of me saying something.

“Foosha mashkoona pashi pooka mashukina paachooo”

‘Tis a rare occurrence even in these parts to wake up mid-sentence. I lay as if still asleep, wondering how long it could go on.

“Peechie lacoo maiyashakaap poochika moopalooh”

I am so farking cute. And scary to wake up with.

Eff B Sir Vay - Too

So, because you asked, here it is Mister B Ditty Bop Dee Ditty Doo.

***

1. ONE OF YOUR SCARS, HOW DID YOU GET IT?— Motorcycle accident – I walked into a running motorcycle.

2. WHAT IS ON THE WALLS IN YOUR ROOM?— Home: Jamini Roy print and beautiful dreamcatcher The Sibling made for me. Office: random red ribbons, two dried chinar leaves M got me from Kashmir, a daffodil card, a pretty bookmark, and my disco party invite poster.

3. DO YOU SNORE, GRIND YOUR TEETH, OR TALK IN YOUR SLEEP?— I talk. A lot of crap, I’m told.

4. WHAT TYPE OF MUSIC DO YOU LISTEN TO?— Stuff that I can groove to/ singalong with.

5. DO YOU KNOW WHAT TIME YOU WERE BORN?— Afternoon

6. WHAT DO YOU WANT MORE THAN ANYTHING RIGHT NOW?— A snack.

7. WHAT DO YOU MISS?— The Sibling [who is not an object, as this daft question suggests]

8. WHAT IS YOUR MOST PRIZED POSSESSION(S)?— My apparent sanity/ apparently, my sanity.
9. HOW TALL ARE YOU?— 5’7¾”

10. DO YOU GET CLAUSTROPHOBIC?— Sometimes. Especially when warm, bad smells are involved.

11. DO YOU GET SCARED IN THE DARK?— Yes.

12. THE LAST PERSON TO MAKE YOU CRY?—Abhishek Bachhan. He should stop acting, though.

13. WHAT'S YOUR WORST FEAR?— Death of loved one/s.

14. WHAT KIND OF HAIR/EYE COLOR DO YOU LIKE ON THE OPPOSITE/SAME SEX?— Don’t care. Though natural red heads are rather striking.

15. WHERE CAN YOU SEE YOURSELF PROPOSING?— In an intimate moment?

16. COFFEE OR ENERGY DRINK?— Coffee

17. FAVORITE PIZZA TOPPING?— Shrimp, fish, olives, pepperoni

18. IF YOU COULD EAT ANYTHING RIGHT NOW, WHAT WOULD IT BE?— Sinful, dark, bitter choc. And strawberries. And gulab jamun.

19. FAVORITE COLOR OF ALL TIME?— Pink.

20. HAVE YOU EVER EATEN A GOLDFISH?— No

21. WHAT WAS THE FIRST MEANINGFUL GIFT YOU'VE EVER RECEIVED?— My Mum.

22. DO YOU KNOW SOMEONE WHO SLEEPWALKS?— No

23. ARE YOU DOUBLE JOINTED?— No

24. FAVORITE CLOTHING BRAND?— None.

26. DO YOU HAVE A PET RIGHT NOW?— No.

27. WHAT KIND ARE THEY?— Nothingish

28. WOULD YOU FALL IN LOVE KNOWING THAT THE PERSON IS LEAVING?— You don’t decide to fall in love. You just do, na? Even if that person were to leave and not turn back. Even once.

30. SAY A NUMBER FROM ONE TO A HUNDRED:— Four

31. BLONDES OR BRUNETTES?— Don’t care.

32. FAVORITE QUOTE?— None

33. FAVORITE PLACE?— My mum’s lap.

34. HAVE YOU BEEN OUT OF THE USA?— Yeah. For like most of my life, barring a few weeks.

35. YOUR WEAKNESSES?— Food.

36. MET ANYONE FAMOUS?— Manmohan – Top most famous person I’ve met. :-D

37. FIRST JOB?— Rather not recall it.

38. EVER MADE A PRANK CALL?— Hah. YA!

39. DO YOU THINK EVERYONE OUT THERE HAS A SOULMATE?— Don't know. Don't care.

40. WHAT WERE YOU DOING BEFORE YOU FILLED THIS OUT?— Working. No seriously. I was.

41. HAVE YOU EVER HAD SURGERY?— Yep. My thumb. When I was 5 or 6.

42. WHAT DO YOU GET COMPLIMENTED ABOUT MOST?— Pretty manners. On the road. Everyone seems to have something to say. Pity I can’t catch most of it ‘cause they’re yelling too loudly.

43. HAVE YOU EVER HAD BRACES?— No

44. WHAT DO YOU WANT FOR YOUR BIRTHDAY?— Nothing I can think of.

45. HOW MANY KIDS DO YOU WANT AND THEIR NAMES?— I’ll tell you if I have them with you.

46. WERE YOU NAMED AFTER ANYONE?— No. I’m assuming inanimate objects don’t count.

47. WHAT IS THE BIGGEST TURN OFF OF THE OPPOSITE/SAME SEX?— Dishonesty, no sense of fun, righteousness. In that order. [Oh and, dude, flatulence? Really? Don’t you fart? I do. Unequivocally.]

48. WHAT IS ONE THING YOU LIKE(D) ABOUT HIGH SCHOOL?— [‘twas the last] Institution I attended with the Sibling, cute guy at tuition and integration [calculus] – of which I remember jackshit. And my friends S & S. I know, ‘tisn’t one thing.

50. DO YOU LIKE YOUR HANDWRITING?— Obscenely much sometimes, not at all otherwise.

51. WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE LUNCH MEAT?— I’d have to copy Ben on this, cause I’m not entirely sure what lunch[eon] meat is, but his choice sounds impeccable. Lobster :-)

52. ANY BAD HABITS?— Procrastination [ditto Ben, again]

53. ARE YOU A JEALOUS PERSON?— Sometimes.

54. IF YOU WERE ANOTHER PERSON, WOULD YOU BE FRIENDS WITH YOU?— YA! I’d farking marry me.

55. DO YOU AGREE WITH FRIENDS WITH BENEFITS?— I’m not sure what this means. It’s a weirdly constructed question.

56. DO LOOKS MATTER?— If I love you, no. If the sight of you pisses me off, yes.

57. HOW DO YOU RELEASE ANGER?— Farking fark it in the farking balls.

58.Where is the best place to pick up the opposite/same sex?— Don’t know.

59. WHAT'S YOUR MAIN GOAL IN LIFE?— To be done with it.

60. WHAT WAS YOUR FAVORITE TOY AS A CHILD?— Apparently a yellow comb.

61. HOW MANY NUMBERS ARE IN YOUR CELL PHONE?— Over 600, 90% of which are random work related numbers… some not even relevant anymore. Don’t know why I don’t clear them.

62.WERE YOU A FAN OF BARNEY AS A LITTLE KID?— No.

63. DO YOU USE SARCASM?— Loooord no.

64. MASHED POTATOES OR MACARONI AND CHEESE?— Mashed potatoes

65. WHAT DO YOU LOOK FOR IN A GUY / GIRL?— Honesty, acute sense of fun, bedtime storytelling.

66. WHAT ARE YOUR NICKNAMES?— H, C, D.

67. FAVORITE SUPER POWER?— Pulling solid Au outta unlikely crevices.

68. WHAT'S YOUR FAVORITE TV SHOW?— None

69. WHAT'S THE BEST WAY TO DEAL WITH YOUR ENEMIES?— Farking fark them in the farking balls. No, but honestly… I don’t know.

70. WHAT'S YOUR FAVORITE ICE CREAM FLAVOR?— Strawberry, Chocolate. I’m boring like that.

71. DO YOU HAVE ALL YOUR FINGERS AND TOES?— Yes.

72. DO YOU HAVE A COMPUTER IN YOUR ROOM?— Yes. If a dysfunctional one counts.

73. PLANS FOR TONIGHT?— Yeehaw! How lovely that you should ask on a day I DO have a plan. Dinner. La la la.

74. WHERE DO YOU WANT TO LIVE WHEN YOU ARE OLDER?— Anywhere with family.

75. DO YOU WANT EVERYONE TO ANSWER THESE QUESTIONS?— If they’d like to.

76. WHAT ARE YOU LISTENING TO RIGHT NOW?— Myself, saying this question aloud in my head. And then the answer... deep hanh?

77. LAST THING YOU DRANK?— Tea.

78. LAST PERSON YOU TALKED TO ON THE PHONE?— Friend.

79. THE FIRST THING YOU NOTICE IN THE OPPOSITE/SAME SEX?— Smile.

80. WHAT DO YOU LIKE TO DO IN YOUR SPARE TIME?— Eat.

81. FAVORITE THING TO HATE?— When people do/say/assume that.

82. FAVORITE SEASON OF THE YEAR?— Summer.

83. WHAT'S YOUR FAVORITE TYPE OF CANDY?— If candy means choc. Bitter, dark, sinful.

84. HAVE YOU EVER REALLY AND TRULY HAD A BEST FRIEND?— Ya!

85. WHAT IS YOUR HAIR COLOR?— Brown/ black [and now bits of grey].

86. EYE COLOR?— Brown

87. SHOE SIZE?— 39

88. FAVORITE FAST FOOD PLACE?— Depends.

89. FAVORITE RESTAURANT?— Depends

90. DO YOU LIKE SUSHI?— Obscenely much.

91. WATCH TV TODAY?— Not yet.

92. FAVORITE DAY OF THE YEAR?— When the Sibling arrives home [It's all downhill thereon.]

93. PLAY ANY MUSICAL INSTRUMENTS?— Sitar. I tried. honestly.

94. LIBERAL OR CONSERVATIVE?— I’d imagine liberal.

95. KISSES OR HUGS?— Both.

96. RELATIONSHIPS OR ONE NIGHT STANDS?— Relationships

97. WHAT WAS THE LAST THING YOU BOUGHT?— Popcorn.

98. WOULD YOU EVER BE A HOUSEWIFE?— Can’t say. Depends on whose house, na?

99. WHAT BOOK ARE YOU READING?— Mill on the Floss/ A Guide to the Birds of East Africa/ Middlesex [yes I’m still reading it]

100. IF YOU CAN TRAVEL ANYWHERE WHERE WOULD YOU GO?— Moon.

'Little H' courtesy Ben.



***

Wow. Does this make me an eff-b sellout?

Limerence

She's in love with a glottal stop.

Dance baby

Ever get the feeling you want jump out of your skin, leap up on a pyre of dead wishes, smash your head into a billion unthinking bits, liberate your pieces in a lusty bellow of terror and wrath, throw your limbs about and dance. And dance. And dance your brain fucking blue?

?

Okay. Maybe not.

Jess asking.