notes,scribbles,bubbles,visions,hallucinations and what have you

Saturday, August 14, 2004


time-8:00 am
place-muruguesa naicker mansion
hmmmmm.....stretch, yawn, rub eyes, clear head, yawn, scratch. find tooth-brush and tooth-paste, open the door and walk, squinting at the early morning rude sun. Stop by at one of the many windows(they all look alike), peer inside and yell
Mr: Nell: "Mr Neo,its me your morning early demon, awake...shake dreams from your hair. New day has dawned upon us."
Mr Neo: "Hmmmmm.........ahhhhhhhhhh, 15 minutes?" today in a semi-foetal position, (its amazing how he sleeps in different positions every day)
Mr Nell: "'Sure old chap, I'll iron and shave meanwhile."

I'm a morning person, I like mornings genuinely, like one would like rainbows, clear skies and hot tea after a sudden helter-skelter...pell-mell downpour. However, I don't look like a morning person always looking like I'm back from a week-long bender with a clique with a death wish to drink and drug itself to death.

I look at myself unappreciately, wash my face removing the cobwebs of sleep from around my eyes and begin brushing my teeth in earnest. The guy to my right has shoved his tongue cleaner up his tonsils and starts emanating the most nauseating, guttural noises and then continues to spit his grotesque find all over the white sink. Heaven help.

The local mullah is crooning soulfully and is exploring a new octaval range. His voice seems to pierce through the air, rushes to my brain and slots itself like electric liquid platinum. I listen with new born big eyed wakefulness. New strains of music make their debut into the morning weaving into the mullah's beseeching supplication. Suprabatham. Tabla, vocals, sitar and other instruments, the morning comes alive and cries gleefully.

Wake up and hear the music.


Tuesday, August 03, 2004

he dusts the stars from his blue-black bed
lifts his incandescent cloud mattress
peers shyly, waiting for the moon to draw her curtains
hurls himself from the sleepy sky
is this a day for violins or violence?

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