-++ SomeWhere Else ++-

Red green blue..
It's too good to be true..
$he's in my arms and i ..

In the Captioned Tshirt,
Red green blue..
Smoking pot, and craving more..
In an Aching body, sore..
For $he's in my arms, and i..


Dim-lit room shady, creaks..
And the freak, lay, craving..
$he's in my arms, and i..


I cut myself shaving,
I tried looking nice.,
But, vices like mine..
It won't suffice, Will it?


And he tried escaping..
through the crack in the freak..
And i had to kill it..


In the tinted shades over my glasses..
There was the freak, craving..
Paving his way through the chaos,
$he's in my arms, and i..
I am somewhere else..

++? What the Tweet ?++

 Insane Me - "Where am I?, Why am i here?"

And in my hours of insanity,"Why!", I wonder, do i always end up doing 'em things, @ times when they weren't supposed to be done. Be it washing clothes, i dip em into the water, and turn around only to find an empty can of washing powder, grinning frivolously. And, for the lack of a better expression, i grin back.

Why do i start writing crappy monologues like these, and i quote on "Sundays", when i could be sipping colas, and watching popcorn-flicks on television instead? And to make it look genuine, and less idiotic, i CAPITALIZE, and italicize a few of its words. Its strange, i'm strange. I wonder.

Why does the apartment "Fuse" go out, when i'm all alone, and the friend who could've fixed it, is out holidaying. It's stange is what it is, and i'm strange is what i am. Smiling ignorantly, after finding those glasses on my nose instead, which like most of us, i hate to admit, and need anonymity to confess. Asking about the Beer i never drink! Clawing away at that laptop, even while watching that television show, only to make sure i haven't got any important mail. As if, i get any important mails. As if, someone uses the computer on a Sunday afternoon, Oh Wait there's me!

May be its because, these are a part of me, i am a part of me. I feel sane at times, genuinely insane sometimes, and foolish most of the time.Yet, it feels good to feel foolish. Its feels good to be me. Its good to be me. Oh wait, i think my sanity is coming back now.

Sane Me - "Lets watch the News! And Hey, where my Beer?"

++- The boy who was Superman -++

And with a kiss on his forehead, mommy dearest put little Jamie to sleep. And off he went to Fairyland. The bestest of places for him, the place where he was God. And tonight, God descended, as superman. He kick-opened the closet to reveal, that "Allmani" Superman suit, "Wait, or was it Armani? duh, who cares, its exorbitantly priced", he mumbled! "Plus, i'm a kid, i'm supposed to spell it wrong." All Red-Blue , it shone with its invincible might.

 
                 With his creativity plunging beyond his limits, he even painted a newer Logo, with an articulated "J", to add his flavour to it. "Juperman?" - he shrugged. And, Shrugging some more, he rubbed the J off, replacing it with an S, now, that suits it. He gave a superficial, charming look @ the suit, and off he went.


Now, He had no secret identity to hide. Now, he stood apart, free from the influences of the mortal sins. As he flew, to save a soul, or many, she grabbed him by the arm. Lois Lane, she stood there, anxious, waiting to be saved, waiting to be loved. But, he, with an inquisitive stare, walked right past the melodrama.


"Who are you?", he questioned, as if she wasn't the love of his life, nor was he hers.
"Why am i obliged to save you?".


He wasn't intimidated by her. He hasn't felt love, or lust, or angst, or jealousy, or anger, no, not yet. He wasn't desiring her neverending tenderness, and love. No, not yet.


He just walked past the confusion. And the sign read, Superman has left the building, free from the mortal sins. To save a soul, or many. And, After a long and fiesty battle with evil, he retires. for with a kiss on his forehead, mommy dearest woke him up.

>--- something ♥ like love --->

That cloudy afternoon, the sight of her coming out of that door, kept looming in upon my anxious shadow. She could walk in anytime now. It's been an hour since she walked into that restaurant.

Her green T-shirt tugged in that familiarly funny way, was amusing . I could stare into those dark eyes of hers for days, or so I thought. I haven't found the courage yet. I haven't found the right words yet, that could express something like this, something so inexplicable, something.. something like love.

Her quirky smile, that I could only catch occasionally makes me grin. And it makes my day. My day, no matter how horrible it was before, it makes my day.

I thinks of her kurta's, often. I don't like them, they don't suit her. But, ah.. when she dresses in that spotless white shirt, it soothes my etched heart. It sprays my tainted feelings with purity.

I stare back at the door. She could walk in anytime now. It's been an hour since she walked in.

How she twitches her eyebrows when she's bored. How she makes me crave, not for ice-creams, not for a drink, but for her to twitch her eyebrow affectionately, amicably, adorably. How she somehow commands me to stay here glued to the bench, waiting for her to come out. To catch a glimpse of that glowing persona, and a loving smile.

And she walks out, of the door, completely ignorant. In a few gait filled steps, she's out of my sight. How could she ignore something so inexplicable. How could she ignore something like love.

And I stare back at the door.

** The view **

The hand trembled, partially frozen by the passing wind, and she sat, in that sultry winter evening by the fence, she sat trembling. The passerby stared, @ that bare elbow stretched out of that yellow pullover, as it reached out for something. He hinted at his eagerness to know what she was hiding, yet he passesby.

That rugged bag stored a bunch of things, including a black, iron tipped Violin. She started playing it with a deterministic consistency. The melody unheard, the touches of the bow, grim yet mysteriously melodious. Soon, the anxious crowd gathers, ready to applaud the act with a generous tribute of currency. The grim melody kept playing, and the crowd waited anxiously to applaud.

As the melodic progression neared the ending, the chatter of the crowd magnified. The clinking of coins, broke the concentration of the violinist, which was evident with the sudden shake of the head. She started to walk away, ignoring the pile of coins, glancing merrily @ the surprised eyes of a satisfied crowd.

The old man by the side, sensing the opportunity, came up as the crowd started to disperse, to collect his generous and effortless collection. She smiled, and moved on.

The view was breadthtaking. This was so inhumane. Or was it just human?