Wednesday, December 18, 2013

Hypnotic Rails

Rail On:

Thanks to this period of self-sacrifice, now I’ve this gift of cantering about in some hypnotic condition
Knowing a specter begins by having its own way of looking at things
Like my uncle’s usage of the attic in my building for ping pong battles
Or his mate’s Chinese galley for juggling long noodles
Or striking new deals for the mute- one to be imitated, as he notes in furrowed brows
That one in fifty Christmas trees are left un-illuminated- an abstract light upon the cold festivus if you will, wrongly seen as causing distress to the luminous ones
Giving rise to break-ups and patch-ups in one long ponderous supper
Where cryptic accusations mushroom spontaneously:
“A pig’s foot has no right to swagger”
“You’ve a way of being unaccompanied”
“But your number’s up little one! Here’s the news occupant- he’s an easterner, and artless. Once forced to hesitate, now he assembles stuff. His name is Vain”
But let’s come back to my new-found enlightenment
I used to be in showbiz, writing commercial jingles I thought were soulful
My pride had many telling chartbusters, why, I still remember rather fondly the following:
“It’s ripe! Spread it out!”
“There’s a bird amongst the hibiscus”
“Letters from Hunger”
They fired me when I wrote what I rightly presumed was my crowning glory- a personal masterpiece:
“What’s in a name if you’re niggardly?”
They accused me of racism, immorality and cheap digs, amongst others
Now I’m a freelance writer with little to do
Like the saint that ends a prayer that has to something to do with flowers
I can’t recall the name of the rose
Or the rot in the trunk
Or driving little devils hoping the gypsies will return for steam baths in the hot springs
Or the era where I was once pushed to the point of being speared by Roman Centurions, screaming, “Behold! See the sort of cuts made by these destructive creatures?”
No one heard, or feigned to answer, or answered
So I made a move on a big mat nobody noticed, like the dude’s rug
Went forlorn, looking for a building in which to store my bran
That, ladies and gentlemen, is the story of the artless easterner Vain, and his compadre in crime and rime, Egos
Today they journey to Legos
Something to do with solving puzzles, they both mutter
I wish them well, the dastardly buggers!

What's T(r)opic?:

It’s alright
For now I’ll take refuge in the Indian Plains
When winter departs to the southern hemisphere
I shall return home with the spring
For now I’ll stay put
The weather here has a pleasant ring
If you know what I mean

Mr Passenger:

As journeys go
It’s been a delightful journey
From the dams of the Dutch lowlands
To Delhi’s belly
The night’s reflection vanishes with the dawning sunrise
As I sip this early morning tea in Allahabad
There’s anticipation of the Benares pan
And the ancient Ghats
Bunked in my berth
Gyrating to the rhythm of the Shiv Ganga express train
Through the window
I see the Indian countryside pass by
There’s nothing spectacular about it
And that’s what makes it spectacular
Like a buddy you can be quiet with
Letting the aura do the talking
And when necessary
A word or two
In silent comfortability
Ensconced in the journey
Merged with the voyager
What emerges is an experience
And what’s left is the experience
From an experiment of goalless consciousness
Devoid of subject and object
There’s only static mobility, flexing everywhere

Steps on the Shore:

I remember the Ghats
The shores
The river
Modern dissolution into ancient rites
It was where I lost my belonging
It was here I was robbed off my longing
I hope I come across that thief, for I’ve thanks to give
And even out the reckoning

This River:

Like lovers separated
The Ganges awaits
Like lovers reunited
We’ll embrace

From a Cabin:

I ran out of paper
Found myself penning new remembrances
Urgently scribbling them down
Scattered along the adventures of Kafka on the Shore
No doubt it will be construed as desecration by some
And inspiration by others
When I’m done and pass it on
To yet another cat on the run

Carriage Courage:

With all of yesterday in me
How can I welcome tomorrow?
Is the question I’ll ponder today
With thanks to Leonard Cohen and more


Hold on brother
Hold on
Thirteen more days to go
And you’d have ushered in a brand new year
Forty-one to keep the count
Turn 2013 in memoriam
Welcome 2014
As you like it- on the road
Still plying yer trade as the weathered traveler
And the worded vagabond
If not the honorable gypsy
You so fancy

Newspaper Clips:

Last night I cheated
By taking cues from cryptic puzzles
And forming meaningless haikus

No Expectation:

Hope’s cheap and free
Desire’s a deadly deodorant
Dying’s expensive
Be careful what ya fish for-
Ya might bait it
Hook it
Catch it
Till it kills ya-
Cell by cell
Bone by bone
Organ by organ
Ashes to ashes
Dust to dust
It all goes bust

Ps: YourLustForLifeStartsRightNow!

No comments: