Sunday, March 4, 2012

This one

Talks. And tries to make me
About my creative process as an artist and a writer
and my influences and my inspirations
and other bullshit people talk about.

I tell her that I write because
when it is 3 o'clock in the morning
and its a power cut and you're suffering
from chronic insomnia and you're drunk
and you've just
puked half your guts out
and you have a spare
there is nothing better to do.
Except make scary faces in the mirror I guess.
But that gets boring, eventually.

And she whines. Oh so much.
She tells me how she hates
Bengalis and Porcupine Tree and shallow people.
Makes plans about the future. For me too, which
slightly annoys me.
Makes the most amazing brownies. 
Writes poems.
Reads more than most. Then gets whinier.
Disappears. For days.
Because she can.

Makes me heart wrenchingly curious about
what she is doing right now.

Some chicks
just brighten up your day.

Saturday, March 3, 2012

Fish curry and rice.

Four car pileup. He says. The car crashed into the truck
Then the Tempo whammed into the car. Then the bus
hit the Tempo.
No one died though. Well, a dog did.
But that doesn't count.
Oh, a dumpster skidded on the broken glass and
collided with the divider
half an hour later.

I was there, he says, gnawing off the head of a fried fish
with his front teeth.
He had helped them
take out the bodies.
Seen a real live amputated leg
up close
for the first time in his life,
He smiles impatiently as he tells me.
Oh fun.

They serve good fish curry and rice here,
in this vermin infested, scavenger prone shithole
of a chai shop.
I often end up here in the evenings because there is
nothing else to do.
And their samosa paav is an commendable effort.
And it is right across the road from my favourite bar.
And because my only worry when I end up here
is how to balance the scalding teacup in one hand
and the cigarette in the other without burning myself
with either object.

I guess, there is no good fish or bad fish.
There is just, fish.
Unless you want to eat it.
Or it wants to eat you.

Wonder if they've moved the dead dog off the road yet.

Of guitars and paintbrushes....(and a few other things too) Headline Animator