fade to some sort of browish, purple thing
it is simply evolution. a purified and corporate selection. spend all your time with people, every real available minute of your day, and you get to know them without knowing a thing about them.
soon you start to identify the drunks. the ones in pain and the ones with an agenda. the ones looking for prey. the ones looking for a prayer.
the overworked. the poor. the sad, the lonely, the hippie. the pensive. the shy. the cold, the naive. the self-assured. the cheaters. the good friends.
weaning myself off the coffee, slowly and slowly; that just means that i've had a little less and less the last few days. that just means i've been sleeping less and less and compensating less and less, the last few days.
i don't get headaches. my skin doesn't crawl, i don't get dizzy. i'm more susceptible to shivers, cold fronts along the backside. goosebumps and spasmodic muscle cramps. i'm more likely to shake. but right now is just the tired wired buzzing in my ears. meetings and formalities.
what a farce, this platform. the world is but a stage, of course. i ask, instead, if you know the play. i ask, instead, if you know your role. i ask if you know cues, i ask if you know lines.
do you know who the freaking audience is?
the suburbs burned last night. burned down, homeless cattle everywhere. rhythm and song, beating down the walls. burning down the house. roofs were raised, backs leaned back. minds were lost, up in here. up in here.
strings have been cut and harsh realities realized. bring on the loss, bring on the degradation. bring on the disappointment and the heartbreak. we've lifted off, now, and all these are trivialities, amongst the dirt and rubble. trivialities, of no concern to me and mine.
i was at breakfast this morning, with a couple hours of sleep under my belt. table shared with germans and brits and americans. the girl across from me, cheese omelet puffing out some steam as omelets are wont to do, she looks at me and notices my name tag. she asks if i'm indian, and i say that i am.
"my old boss," she said, "he had your name, he is indian too. where are you from?"
Pujab, i said.
"Punjab?," she nodded knowingly. "I hear people from there make good friends."
soon you start to identify the drunks. the ones in pain and the ones with an agenda. the ones looking for prey. the ones looking for a prayer.
the overworked. the poor. the sad, the lonely, the hippie. the pensive. the shy. the cold, the naive. the self-assured. the cheaters. the good friends.
weaning myself off the coffee, slowly and slowly; that just means that i've had a little less and less the last few days. that just means i've been sleeping less and less and compensating less and less, the last few days.
i don't get headaches. my skin doesn't crawl, i don't get dizzy. i'm more susceptible to shivers, cold fronts along the backside. goosebumps and spasmodic muscle cramps. i'm more likely to shake. but right now is just the tired wired buzzing in my ears. meetings and formalities.
what a farce, this platform. the world is but a stage, of course. i ask, instead, if you know the play. i ask, instead, if you know your role. i ask if you know cues, i ask if you know lines.
do you know who the freaking audience is?
the suburbs burned last night. burned down, homeless cattle everywhere. rhythm and song, beating down the walls. burning down the house. roofs were raised, backs leaned back. minds were lost, up in here. up in here.
strings have been cut and harsh realities realized. bring on the loss, bring on the degradation. bring on the disappointment and the heartbreak. we've lifted off, now, and all these are trivialities, amongst the dirt and rubble. trivialities, of no concern to me and mine.
i was at breakfast this morning, with a couple hours of sleep under my belt. table shared with germans and brits and americans. the girl across from me, cheese omelet puffing out some steam as omelets are wont to do, she looks at me and notices my name tag. she asks if i'm indian, and i say that i am.
"my old boss," she said, "he had your name, he is indian too. where are you from?"
Pujab, i said.
"Punjab?," she nodded knowingly. "I hear people from there make good friends."
posted by Mister Vikas at 2:14 PM
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