Most of the days these days pass away in a light momentary flick of the eye; it seems as if their passing away takes me by surprise once in a while and I start struggling for the days...and months I have just missed.......there is neither any respite in memory too....it's just too blank to be referred to. Is this what dying is? It ain't but probably most nearly so.
There is nothing to report but just a few words one has learnt to put in the middle of sentences; beautiful sentences reporting nothing, carrying no meaning, without scope and eventually purposeless. I was talking about this state of intense druggedness with one of my friends whose parents had long ago forgotten to name him. He said it happened to him too, time to time. Sometimes, he said, he thought everything around him seemed irrelevant and unchallenging. The way he spoke about it was so clear a description of what I had been feeling that I almost wished to hug him; then he looked at a dog sitting serenely a few meters away from us; he looked at the dog and said " Last week I hit him with a large stone, and look it's still alive". Of course there wasn't any point in what he said. I just managed to look very calm and observant. After that I asked him what he did when this fit of emptyness hit him. He asked what could he do. After a few minutes, feeling a bit relieved to be away from his nameless presence, I bought a cigarette and pulled in some smoke: my lungs thanked me for the relief I gave them. I started to walk towards home, if there is any such thing. At least I knew where I had to move once the world had relieved me of its services for the day. What when I lose that sense too one day? Nowhere to go back to! Iy could be exciting in a vague sort of way. Am I awaiting that moment? I can't say no.

Solitude!

On a fake mattress, sitting with all the collected hopes and fantasies of one lifetime, with a mind full of stories, stories of things magically happening and changing the face of whatever HAS BEEN....., one sits and prays the mattress would take off. It doesn't. One waits. He isn't impatient; he is content waiting. And within his contentment is the ghost who knows and shouts "nothing's gonna happen". The mattress never takes off. Eventually......only eventually does the man abandons the desire for magic and looks about himself. He sees the leftover of defeats and abrupt ends ( things cut short). He sees incompletion everywhere. He tries to clear certain bits, but it's exhaustion he feels. So he sits and breathes heavily. The mattress bears his weight, to which he's thankful. He looks about again and sighs......then he goes to sleeps....

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