Circumspecte

When it's this quiet, you know someone or some thing is up to no good.  Plotting and scheming and devising plans anew, all for the amusement of what it/they can do to you. It's like an airplane ride.  You get on, make yourself comfortable, listen to the safety instructions – or not - and let your thoughts wonder far beyond the height of clouds upon which you ride. The pilot's voice comes onto the PA system; introduces him/herself as well as his co-fate holders.  You hear it, but you don't really listen, because if anyone ever asked you anew, you'd never even be able to recollect the first letter of his/her first name. And so you begin. Some turbulence here, a couple of cumuli nimbus clouds there, wait is that a bird or a plane gliding next to me? No sir, simply your imagination running wild upon the pasture of sky. Doze in, doze out, icky airplane food, yet you gobble it all down. And the musings. Oh my, those musings. Such injustice they do to the very pl...

This is a piece that found me in the dead of night (3am). Originally typed it on my phone, and wonder of wonders, my screen froze and I lost the original. I have tried my best to recapture what I remember of the original piece, although, knowing what that one was, I doubt this comes close. All the same, enjoy, and do share your thoughts :) -- Atypical Love Affair It starts quite innocently, as most love affairs do. A spoken word here, a stolen glance there, a shiver down the spine. It starts with the simple mention of a name, but it’s the mysterious undertones - the whos, whats, wheres, hows and whys - those are what send you spiraling forth. No turning back, drawn in under the spell, you hold your breath to relive it one more time. Burning desire coursing through your soul, exhale suspended long after the moment unfolds. It awakens, like most love affairs do. A fluttering of lips against skin, eyes locked in duel, palm in hand. Yet even after the winds tamper those imprints,...

 Inspired by a condominium of thoughts, and stylistically influenced by my interpretation of Regina Spektor's "Eet" They call it an outer body experience. And they're right, that's exactly what it is. It's like floating out in the universe, and watching the earth chug along on its axis. Like planning a speech to the very last detail, only to be tongue-tied when the grand moment arrives. Kin to doing the very thing you said you would never, ever, for the life of you do, and being achingly conscious as you're doing it. It's like being a mannequin on Fashion Ave. in NYC, oohed and aahed at, but never quite understood. -- They call it an outer body experience, but they forget the inner-body element. The fact that each is a universe onto themselves, and that's what makes living so  annoyingly complex. Eerily similar to that Grey's episode where a woman awoke during surgery and stared  down at her entrails. Unable to move, unable to scream, unab...

First post in a month! It's been a while coming and it's finally here. Warm breeze playing softly on the nape of your neck, you gaze up enthralled. There it is. What you have longed for for eons on end; finally within your grasp. You take in the expanse of it all. The red-golden-green colors silently inviting you to indulge. Yet, you hesitate. Maybe it's because some call it the forbidden fruit. That last drop of water that tips the calabash over. Come to think of it, it's quite ironic that it should be titled as such when its seeds are commonplace. At one point or another, everyone falls for its charm and after that, you're never quite the same. You either get sucked into its sweet succulent juices or you feel the stinging burn of its acrid taste. Bittersweet. The silent buzz of a bee draws you out of your reverie and you shuffle across the vast, green lawn to the foot of the tree. Some say its the exact replica of its ancestor in the garden of Eden...

[I always found this kind of writing fascinating. So I decided to try my hands at one. Would be interesting to see what peeps make of it. Enjoy! ] Good Cop: Don’t click on it . Bad Cop: Oh, why ever not, you know you want to. Good Cop: Just don’t! You’re setting yourself back. Bad Cop: C’mon, it’s just a photo, geez Mother Theresa. Good Cop: Don’t, don’t…please. Too late. The page was loaded, and she succumbed herself to the painful pangs that slashed at her heart. He looked so happy. So dashing. So…without her. Good Cop: Why do you do this to me? To yourself? To Us? Why? She didn’t know why. But she kept coming back to this place. This no-man’s land. Where she saw everything she ever wanted, but never achieved. Bad Cop: You need this. You need to see the reality of the situation, and deal with it. And maybe, just maybe, after seeing it so many times, one day you’ll take a look and be numb to it all. But that day hadn’t yet come. So instead, she kept going...