Friday, August 8, 2008

GREAT EXPECTATIONS

ah..one of the corniest articles ever[certainly the corniest crock of shit i've ever dealt in ].. but hell,a man's gotta do what a man's gotta do..especially after vodka..cheers..clink!clank!.. glug glug glug!!..hic hic hic..corn aside, it was just an admission to myself of how extremely daft i'd been..and how i still revel in it..if u have a penchant for sadism,read on..








Hell, what do I want... what do i seek?? what is it about her?why is she so fucken drilled into the back of my cerebrum(not to mention the cerebellum,the medulla oblongata,the spinal cord, the spleen, the gall bladder,the kidneys,the nephrons...) why can't i just crap her out..maybe its because i still haven't digested the fact of her existence,an existence where i do not figure in even the most miniscule of proportions possible...she's still stuck there,somewhere.. don't ask me where.. like an undigested wishbonestuck in the oesophagus...and the worst fucken part is,she's gonna stay there till i choke..till i beg to god or my saviour below that either the wishbone get a passage to my stomach or i vomit her out...but, what if i'm too used to the pain of the stuck wishbone..do i wanna let it go.. its gonna kill me .. very very slowly if i might be allowed to raise the corny stakes a lil bit..its gonna rip asunder every tissue that it can..(obviously the lungs after the windpipe is thru)..its gonna stop me from being able to breathe..makin the hourglass slower and slower right in front of my eyes..and the best part is that i still won't be able to do fuck about it...i'm just gonna watch it,revel in the pain,because .. after all ,it is her,inside me...slowly moving on to puncture the heart and finally delay the flow of blood to a trickle .. and yeah.. even in the last fucken whezzing and sputtering breath its gonna be her... still inside...yeah...sad but true..this is probably all there was to the fucken bitch an a half called destiny,if the slut exists.coming back to the wishbone..she's not an introduction to the essay,scribbled in unintelligibly bad handwriting...but she is the body and the conclusion to it..highly inadvisable though it might be..she will be the end of it all...and why?could this be classified as another morbid delusion or does it have some substance to it as well..why is she the wishbone?Is it the unattainability factor?naah, not possible..why her,then? it could be any of those billions of bimbettes in town,but yet... its her..what was it that made her the sicilan thunderbolt..was it the moves?could it be the eyes? the hair... lets just keep the graphics out of it...But one fucken culprit would be seriously easy to blame..the rain.. it was no one else but those acid shots in disguise..(so much for air pollution and acid rain,eh?)..i guess its the feel of the wet shirt in the cold tropical shower, the kind that gives u goosebumps.. and the slushy boots that numbed me to the extent of having the time to watch each raindrop fall on her making each action and reaction of hers as excuisite as a chagall or a monet hanging on the wall of an art freak's residence..The way it used to drip off her hair,matting the jet black mass of it,bringing it down,caressing her skin,goin down her neck..the way it taxied on her eyelashes causing her to blink those metallic black resplendant eyes..exuding an almost beyond human radiance..the way it landed on the bridge of her nose..trickled down to her lips and fell off her cheek to join a puddle somewhere on the road..yeah, as u can figure,or probably not... it most probably was the rain that made her the wishbone,now desperately stuck somewhere..I still love it, I know it can never be rekindled.there is no hope but just a wish... i don't even know what that is..Is it for her to come back?when was she ever mine that she'd come back...?But hey, what else is wishful thinking all about.. as some wiseguy quipped long back,"if wishes were horses, then paupers would ride"....the pauper still stands in his stead..not hoping at all,but wishing nonetheless..looking up in the punishing sky..wishing for the dark clouds to part and a pardoning drop to fall,but is the raindrop ready to fall...? So the pauper shall wait in his paradox of a metaphorical desert for his treasured raindrop... a tear from heaven/hell..and carries on the false belief of gratification someday....

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