i see this in my head: they deliver to one another a curious silence. uzak, screaming together as they jump into the sky
here we are saddled with other kinds of distance, less heartbreaking and less grand because real life isn't, right? it just dissolves and moves on, absorbing new forms
us, and them: blood only courses when we're at a distance stealing time for each other. zzz lick. but just us and i and we disintergrate. i block from sight touch and smell all evidence you were in my head.
no there isn't an us without them
but clearly that isn't real. i see in you the hurt as you think of your her, a lithe warm body contorting to the sweat of who you couldn't be.
our demons make us real! knocked over by dissatisfaction discomfort and we are propelled to one another.
leaving you without fullstops is leaving space for more for less for change
Tuesday 28 September 2010
Thursday 23 September 2010
baarish
the rain fails it cannot calm anger
watch our shame as we bombard each other with our rants, writhing and gasping for air. us who eat more than we need and think less than we should, we are entitled to claim as our own the crater filled roads and crumbling bridges. and as the rains come down to flood us we clutch onto our concrete slabs and see everyone but those washed away. honk our horns and cry aloud. boycott! we yell, baying for blood. we who claim as our own the immense mammaries of the welfare state sit in bars and chuckle proudly at our excesses.
v is in kashmir, capturing the scent of an angry people. I make some vacuous joke and forget to think about children who collect tear gas shells fired to douse fear and disillusionment.
the rain comes down hard it washes us out and you can see our dirt, spread out for the world to smell
watch our shame as we bombard each other with our rants, writhing and gasping for air. us who eat more than we need and think less than we should, we are entitled to claim as our own the crater filled roads and crumbling bridges. and as the rains come down to flood us we clutch onto our concrete slabs and see everyone but those washed away. honk our horns and cry aloud. boycott! we yell, baying for blood. we who claim as our own the immense mammaries of the welfare state sit in bars and chuckle proudly at our excesses.
v is in kashmir, capturing the scent of an angry people. I make some vacuous joke and forget to think about children who collect tear gas shells fired to douse fear and disillusionment.
the rain comes down hard it washes us out and you can see our dirt, spread out for the world to smell
Monday 20 September 2010
little frog, big city
fresh, real rain and old music that belongs to someone else's heart and someone else's back
waiting to write is like waiting for rain like this. you want it and can smell it but it isn't here yet and won't come until the clothes are hung out to dry and then dada's lawn is keechad and you have to jump and slide to avoid the frogs.
little frog. I hate living in a city that made me scared of them, hopping in my bedroom. throat bobbing. then the chuha, little beady eyes looking up at me both of us stunned and waiting for the other to squeak
akira doesn't know what to do with the chuha in my room. she prefers socks and jhaarans that don't run away she doesn't walk enough i hate roads she loves mud it doesn't work.
noni and akira lick bite roll over each other the whole day- are 2 year olds supposed to be this smart?
but i still love the rain, everywhere. in my tropical home I tried to explain to my bemused class the rhythm of my bones: as goosebumps erupted in time to thunder and lightning. they didn't get it, they slip and fall I skip more alive then ever. driving in time to weird music slippery slippery roads and slippery thoughts . its scary I don't hear horns i just see your angry faces and want to laugh and i do. i love driving welcome me to your entitled spaces, carved out on roads that we defend so righteously.
car = fast i have to be somewhere now. entitled where ever you are. in a car you're angry and hidden outside you're wet and slippery and the horns are so loud . the metro is crowded like in Jharkhand, rolling slowing, sweaty mass moving as one. my hair gets stuck in a fierce lady's hairclip . i clambered onto a bus forgotten how much i love it but then its just the day you love everyone today. then there's the pretty girl you'd love anyway she catches your eye you smile because it feels good to be beautiful in an ugly city.
lady tramp woman
man how easily we inure ourselves to names like boxes how easily words I didn't know i knew come to me
finger cramps.
waiting to write is like waiting for rain like this. you want it and can smell it but it isn't here yet and won't come until the clothes are hung out to dry and then dada's lawn is keechad and you have to jump and slide to avoid the frogs.
little frog. I hate living in a city that made me scared of them, hopping in my bedroom. throat bobbing. then the chuha, little beady eyes looking up at me both of us stunned and waiting for the other to squeak
akira doesn't know what to do with the chuha in my room. she prefers socks and jhaarans that don't run away she doesn't walk enough i hate roads she loves mud it doesn't work.
noni and akira lick bite roll over each other the whole day- are 2 year olds supposed to be this smart?
but i still love the rain, everywhere. in my tropical home I tried to explain to my bemused class the rhythm of my bones: as goosebumps erupted in time to thunder and lightning. they didn't get it, they slip and fall I skip more alive then ever. driving in time to weird music slippery slippery roads and slippery thoughts . its scary I don't hear horns i just see your angry faces and want to laugh and i do. i love driving welcome me to your entitled spaces, carved out on roads that we defend so righteously.
car = fast i have to be somewhere now. entitled where ever you are. in a car you're angry and hidden outside you're wet and slippery and the horns are so loud . the metro is crowded like in Jharkhand, rolling slowing, sweaty mass moving as one. my hair gets stuck in a fierce lady's hairclip . i clambered onto a bus forgotten how much i love it but then its just the day you love everyone today. then there's the pretty girl you'd love anyway she catches your eye you smile because it feels good to be beautiful in an ugly city.
lady tramp woman
man how easily we inure ourselves to names like boxes how easily words I didn't know i knew come to me
finger cramps.
Wednesday 15 September 2010
Tuesday 14 September 2010
Sunday 5 September 2010
he does his work, and I mine.
Reading through words spewed in similar ways, all important words spun and flung at the world. Like Noni, hiding behind a door, we watch the counters, maps locations pointers. Hoping numbers stack up, re-reading surveying scrolling, changing links and colours, pictures and numbers.
Reading through words spewed in similar ways, all important words spun and flung at the world. Like Noni, hiding behind a door, we watch the counters, maps locations pointers. Hoping numbers stack up, re-reading surveying scrolling, changing links and colours, pictures and numbers.
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