We be getting to meet world faymbus Ms Scout (she saying she faymbus from Timbuctoo to Mongolia. From horse’s mouth only)
We having butter chicken and beer and other snakes in Café 100, CP
(Saturday, 2-9-2006, 1 p.m.)
Please to come. Talk will happen about poetry, mans and angst. We all be happy eating drinking in the family way.
Confirm-note in comment-box. Thank you.
Below coming confirmed:
Honouring guest
Blow
Dhiraj
Shivam Vij
Himanshu Nautiyal
Prasoonk
Amitken
Rohit Malik
Masijeevi
Juggernaut
Varun
Amit Gupta (95% sure)
Aruni Kashyap
Me
~
Update: 1-9-06: Where be the ladies??? We need the ladies. Please. 10:4. Not good show, ladies. :-(
~
Monday, August 28, 2006
Saturday, August 19, 2006
Murder: An Experiment in Perspective
The Murderer
My eyes are nailed to the throat.
It’s lovedisgust I feel when
I see the thump-thump-a-thump
thump drum of life in a spot
a dot near the collar bone
hear the whimper-moan of fear
from the taped mouth, the blind eyes.
Don’t want to see the rise fall
rise fall of life. It’s a strain
to keep a body alive.
The Victim
I can smell it. The panic.
Rising like steam like heat like.
Flashbacks. Of quick childhood slaps.
The ice touch of steel cut slip
warm blood dark nightdaynight. Stink
of a watching mouth playing
near me. This darkness, my room.
I can see my face racing
in fast-forward slow-motion
through pasts, vast oceans until
everything zooms in to the
disengaged body, still head.
The Knife
The throat-skin gleams in the dark.
Question marks crisscrossed on veins
that already feign a past.
I ate this skin yesterday
and the day before and I
don’t remember well when else.
Skins feel much the same to me.
Yielding, allowing entry.
~
Here's an earlier experiment in perspective.
My eyes are nailed to the throat.
It’s lovedisgust I feel when
I see the thump-thump-a-thump
thump drum of life in a spot
a dot near the collar bone
hear the whimper-moan of fear
from the taped mouth, the blind eyes.
Don’t want to see the rise fall
rise fall of life. It’s a strain
to keep a body alive.
The Victim
I can smell it. The panic.
Rising like steam like heat like.
Flashbacks. Of quick childhood slaps.
The ice touch of steel cut slip
warm blood dark nightdaynight. Stink
of a watching mouth playing
near me. This darkness, my room.
I can see my face racing
in fast-forward slow-motion
through pasts, vast oceans until
everything zooms in to the
disengaged body, still head.
The Knife
The throat-skin gleams in the dark.
Question marks crisscrossed on veins
that already feign a past.
I ate this skin yesterday
and the day before and I
don’t remember well when else.
Skins feel much the same to me.
Yielding, allowing entry.
~
Here's an earlier experiment in perspective.
Saturday, August 05, 2006
The Paunch Sings a Paean to Itself
I am a bellyful of vowels
round and long like the tongues of owls
I am flakes of salted orange
circles sprinkled with mustard tinge
I am lazy days slow with sleep
Curves, pillows, warm bluesy bed sheets
I am Palash trees with kind flowers
Leisurely swollen hot colours
I am mirrors that shrink and think
distended with strangers and ink
~
round and long like the tongues of owls
I am flakes of salted orange
circles sprinkled with mustard tinge
I am lazy days slow with sleep
Curves, pillows, warm bluesy bed sheets
I am Palash trees with kind flowers
Leisurely swollen hot colours
I am mirrors that shrink and think
distended with strangers and ink
~
Thursday, August 03, 2006
Un-Joycean
When she started reading
those somersaulting words
she used to have short hair
shaved at the nape of the neck
the height of fashion
she was told
a cut to be stared at
imitated.
Her lover was shocked
by the heaviness
of Ulysses and once
when he flipped through the pages
during that month
of blooming bliss
she worried
half-heartedly
about Molly being understood.
~
those somersaulting words
she used to have short hair
shaved at the nape of the neck
the height of fashion
she was told
a cut to be stared at
imitated.
Her lover was shocked
by the heaviness
of Ulysses and once
when he flipped through the pages
during that month
of blooming bliss
she worried
half-heartedly
about Molly being understood.
~
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