chapter1 ... continued

Same was with my dearest of friends; he lived for his love affairs, with this world and its atmosphere, the narrow streets in large cities, and big highways in small countries, made in imitation of those in more modern and advanced civilizations. To him controversy was a way of life, the essence of what his existence meant, and even in love denial for him was ultimate. Loving some thing, and not being able to get it, to fight the desire and the wantonness, everything that was, had to have an opposite. For him at least, but not for me, his belief that everything that is must have a balancing effect, that if there were too much good in this world and no evil, this world would collapse, implode, unable to digest all the sweetness that was encaged in the tiny hemisphere. To him evil was necessary for good to exist.
That made it easy for him to understand the extent to which some people went to have their way, but for all the philosophy and the big words that were even banished from modern dictionaries, he was a romantic to the core. His constant failures to deny love, and acknowledge hate as the only true emotion in this world were invisible to his own eyes, yet surrounded him every where he went. This time, he was truly caught, for never before had he been bewitched by one of the opposite sex, the worst trap any romantic can fall into, true love mixed with a dash of denial and topped with lack of guts to go up to the person and say out loud what he felt.
The reason behind his newfound lack in confidence was that he had never loved something alive before this incident, something that has a choice and may say no when you said yes. He was trying to cover it up unsuccessfully, by saying that the extent to which he loved this woman, had to be balanced by her hating him, just as much as he hated himself for loving her or just as much as he loved her, which was by and large in the same ratio. The least he could do to maintain balance for the sake of the world was to make sure that she at least didn’t love him. That was as far as his hypocrisy went, he couldn’t make himself imagine being hated by his true love. That was a minor development in his otherwise unchangeable character. I had a feeling the next few months would bring about many changes in a terrain where change was a stranger.
Hassan, that is my friend’s name, thought that if he made her love him he would be part of another person’s dilemma. That some evil might befall another man, or animal for all the happiness he would be enjoying. Unbelievable to some, but true to a very large extent in Hassan’s mind which held nothing much in regard to opinions, and that too was usually borrowed from other people’s high headed discussions.....(continued)

prologue continued....

Most common people who tend to consider themselves normal because they follow the norms of society and find it easy to relate to other people around them, call dreamers as weak, strange weird and other one word and two word names that do not even begin to define the sort of people we really are. All this name-calling does not help our relation ship at all and only causes the rift between the drones, and us only to widen to an extent that it may never be bridged. At least not in our lifetime, mainly because people of our breed tend not to live very long lives, our average life span not withstanding we do try to eliminate the pain in our lives at the source of it, by foolishly eliminating life itself.
Contrary to what I am, I have tried to remain sober and true to life in the past ten minutes of story telling, but nothing that I say is a promise that the status quo would be maintained for any long period of time. However due to my new found reason to live, I can try to assure you that I will not take you for the ride of your life. This is not an original story, nothing man made in this world is original, and it cannot be, period. Why? Is a different issue for a different time and a different chapter, I cannot really promise that it will be pondered on either, maybe if I remember it, I will give forth my opinion on human beings and their delusions about being original.
This is a story of tendrils of smoke, black lungs, more pin pricks in human flesh than a pincushion, your boss’s voodoo doll that you have hidden under your bed, and other stuff related to the downside of having more than your share of fun in one lifetime, not that you would remember anything the next morning.
Please bear with me as I iron out a few minor details, wrinkles in the bed sheet so to speak. You would know how it feels when you look at a painting that has been put up but has this ever so slight tilt to the right; you feel the need to put it right. If you cannot reach that painting, or it is in the dinning room of some one you have gone visiting, then through out your visit you find yourself looking up at the tilted picture as if it is a ritual until you can leave the place and embrace sanity away from the painting’s hung disposition.
Please remember that what ever follows has happened before, it is happening now somewhere in this smaller than it was once world and it will happen again unless human kind, either vanishes from the face of the earth in the brightest moment of the rock’s history, or if we manage to achieve the much dreamed about utopia. Only the vanishing part seems any likely and would also be very nice for the future of this planet and all chicken on it as well.



CHAPTER 1

“She is so beautiful” he moaned ever so balefully looking at me as if to gain some sympathy, or maybe he just looked as if he could do with some sympathy, whatever the confusion his condition though expected was not good at all. He lay sprawled on the leather-upholstered couch, one leg dangling so that his toe almost touched the Iranian rug, and the other foot; completing his designated pair, rested on a small stool. Light from the sinking sun filtered through the dirty window illuminating his face a bit, if not his brain.
It was pretty obvious that he was smitten with the girl he was talking about; at least it was a girl and not a car. Last time he came down like this with all his articulations drowning in his eternal undying love for HER, it turned out it was a classic car and he couldn’t get HER out of his mind for a minute.
I felt cruel, considering his predicament was real and as serious as any other one sided love affair but it did not have much effect on me. Maybe because I had never been in his shoes, dainty as they were I tend to step lightly where daintiness is at hand. When it came to my thoughts about my friends and their continuous flirtations with love I was a nobody, a pure dyed in the wool outsider, who knew no bench mark to define or categorize the extent of seriousness in people’s emotions.
I merely looked at him as if he were an object in a museum, cold and beautiful, something you are not allowed to touch either. But despite all the rules and laws in the world, there are people who touch stuff in the museum and then there are people who steal them for which touching is a prerequisite. All of this happens for their vested interests, could be monetary or maybe touching the artifact just because it is forbidden, takes them to a high that nothing else in this world can. It can also be the selfish, obsessive and possessive nature of human beings, to capture and enslave something that you cherish, so that no one other than you can ever get near it see it taste it or breath it. Sometimes, it is just good to touch it, to know that it is there, that it exists; some things and some people are so beautiful, that you cannot imagine their existence until you have actually touched them.
It is not necessary to touch them physically, an emotional connection, even a disagreement strong or weak can both lead to a co-existence of two different people, both feeding off each other’s presence, life blood without even knowing that the other person ever existed. Controversial statements but still very possible, you know another person is there, ever present, his or her existence felt in every other thing that you do or don’t but you never know who you do it for or how................(continued...)

PROLOGUE

Not knowing where life was eventually going to lead, I marched on. A lone soldier amongst millions, no one to worry about, no sorrows, no tears, neither of sadness nor of joy. Life was a long railroad track along which I was swept, like a vagabond sail torn off some old ship ravaged by pirates. Life had no meaning, and even if it did it would have been really painful. It would be good if it continued and ended the same way. There would be the consolation of the thought that it was only something meaningless that had ended. Something that meant nothing to anyone, not even death itself thought much of this mockery, a character whose job was to mimic life. The greatest thing about being what I am is that you can be anyone you want, anyone you wish, anyone you look up to, dream to be, dread to be. Your best and your worst nightmares are at your doorstep; all but a single knock away.
You didn’t even have to close your eyes, and you could be in dreamland. Even if there were an Alice and her fabled wonderland, I had it beat by such a long margin that if she knew she would beg me to let her play. I can be your Knight in the shiniest armor, the last hope for planet earth. Make me your friend and I will be the Huckleberry Finn for you that Tom Sawyer never ever had.
But in reality, I was nothing but a mere daydreamer, a man who had promised a lot, shown the potential of being the genuine article. The prodigious child that every teacher dreamed of having for a student but never got. No, this is not where I daydream, this is where I reminiscence, this is how it all started. The tiny seed that got planted by innocent onlookers, watered by unwitting patrons and my ludicrous imagination which later grew into a thousand-year-old rain forest of hopes; rotten to the root and unable to bear fruit for any creation on this planet. The infection seemingly benign and common had seeped in so bad that not even vultures would have a piece of this cake.
Self pity? You couldn’t possibly know what the word meant, no one could, and frankly I don’t think I will ever know what it really means. I have never shed tears for my self nor felt anything much while shedding them for others in pain. Only the tears roll down when I dream of saving some one in pain and come out all painted in glory. Life has always found a way to get around hardships and give the tiring mind a rest; those are some of the excuses that a man or a woman who wished to dream his troubles away would give, to dream. To run so far away from reality that the taint of society cannot possibly find a way to reach them, hidden in their little hidey-holes where they themselves are only just comfortable. The comfort spawned from the thought that they reside in a place where no one else would ever feel comfortable enough to stay for long and disturb their sleep.

day dreams

We didn’t have much to do; hell there wasn’t much we could do. The sky was totally unapproachable, thick clouds and occasional whiff of mist stood its ground between our sight and the speckled blanket enveloping our universe. The sky isn’t really there, it is just something we underachievers talk about reaching knowing we cannot cause it just isn’t there. Space without sunlight is what it is. It was really quite beautiful there, in its gloom and tiny noises of snow falling off the tall pines that surrounded us. Every now and then one of them would shudder as if they couldn’t handle the weight of snow on their shoulders. I could most definitely relate with the thought, I don’t know whether the rest could or not, but I tried to be honest, knowing my limitations and I knew that I could never come close to encroaching them. The clouds overhead rumbled as if brooding, whether they wanted to shed more snowy tears over this valley of fear and suppressed human emotions or not. No one actually knew how long we had waited there in the cold darkness. Huddled together like a fresh dog litter trying to stave off the cold, willing it away. It burned it was so cold, went through the pores in our skin and even the adrenaline induced sweat seemed to freeze in the glands, however the tears never stopped flowing. Warm flowing salt kept making steamy streaky tracks along some quivering whitened faces as if some skiers had had a day full of fun and frolic in the alps.
Cynicism aside life could get worse, the thought of being dead was a blessing now, it might have been worse if i had wanted to stay alive, especially after what I had seen people go through. Painful is what having a heart is, does not allow you to feel pain for yourself, if you see others in worst. Would have been better off had I seen only with my eyes and nothing else. I got involved, biggest mistake I ever made in my entire life, I had always been a bystander sometimes enjoying but always observing what happened around me. Observing yes, but only objectively, no emotions involved what so ever. There was never a need to do so, I was so right, I have always hated being right and I was when I thought that to stay aloof, away, the heir to the throne in introvertism; if there is such an ism, would be near to perfect. Nothing really can be perfect, but one thing is for sure. No one human being can stay away from humanity for long; every man is an animal, part of a society. Some sort of an emotion always creeps through let it be good-natured or bad there is always an underlying current of emotions. I don’t think us humans are deserving of so much nor can one man or woman bear so much pain or hate love, distress ...there aren’t enough shades of gray to cover the feelings and emotional ebb and flow that one might go through in one micro second."

some more poetry type thing

Twisted thoughts flowing
Sleeping they were,
Don’t know what gave them wings
Shame, embarrassment, lies and deceit
Head in knees
The little boy is crying
His soul is dying
With every word that is said
Between every line
Leave it all behind
Refuse to resign
Ourselves to truth that drowns inside
Forever gone innocence
Slipping like tears
All shame and fears
Stripped of garb and cloth
Naked flesh, strutting the streets
Flushed with egos
The sea is rising
To meet the moon
Spell it out, it reads soon
The tide is high
But its only noon
The little boy cries,
Singing with his soul
She leaves him now
The sun is cold
A mother wishing his hunger away
Not knowing what hurts so
She such a fool
You can’t get what you wish for
It never works that way
We get what we deserve
The devil sings as he may
The sun shall rise
On someone’s day
Tears will fall
Where someone’s love once lay
They all still lie
Waiting to die
Thinking, of days gone by
When the young were shy
Some would laugh, while some would lie
For every lie, someone would die
The moon wept, seas rose high
The world grows cold
And the sky just dies
The little boy cries
His mother to him lies
Wait a bit longer
Dinner just arrives
Let the kid sleep, she begs
Deep,
Somewhere deep
Where every dream dies, where he is not alone
Where every one cries