Tuesday, August 18, 2015

I can’t believe my eyes or my ears or my hair or my toe nails.

There are voices, but I don’t know what they say. They are either distant whispers or my ears are clogged with water. All I hear is, someone sobbing — often for hours. Sometimes, I think it’s not just one person, they are out there in numbers; because there are different crying patterns.  Some moan with intermittent hiccups, some endlessly curse and howl. The voices that are clearer, also sound familiar, and although it’s someone or the other weeping, I hate to admit, that it’s mildly comforting. But the one’s that come from far-off, are unfamiliar and upsetting.  I wish, they could hear me, and for once, just shut up, the way I hear them, and beg them to shut up — all the time.
There is also very little or no light here. But that’s okay, I can still see what I want to. Maybe this is how it appears, when you’ve lived in the darkness for a while — your pupils adjust. They adjust to the idea of darkness and then you see a whole new world that you thought, you could only see with your open eyes or in bright light. And although, I can’t see what is out there, I know that I have seen, sometime in the recent past, the vast world, beyond these four walls, where these voices come from.

Wednesday, August 12, 2015

Alcohol – The social Glue

One wears super hero T-shirts, the other one drools when he talks — and he talks a lot, often yaps for hours, almost as if, he has never seen his frothy lips in the mirror, and as if, no one has ever told him, that it is almost impossible to draw logic, if surprisingly there is one, coming out of his disfigured skeletal jaws.
This first one goes by the name Sam, he wears floral knickers — mostly an inch or two above his pencil jeans, and has cravings for Fattoush, Pistachio and other pretentiously unutterable garbage.Litlatte_Wannabes
The second one is…well he is not Sam for all I care. He talks and chews gums at the same time. It never helps an unendingly drooling face. Does it? It never has, and one should tell him that. He judges moms who smoke and dads who don’t. He also gawks evidently at all age and shapes of bosoms that traject his sight radius; flat-boards, lemons, melons or mosquito bites — all of them, and then in his slobbery voice, passes judgmental remarks. He sounds corny, mostly for a 5 ft. scrawny motherfucker, who clearly has a lack of dressing-sense, but also because, yes, he drools. A lot!