Monday, March 17, 2008

Gin Soaked Boy

Its a me, myself, Irene post. Its a gin in the gin soaked boy post.

-- I am still having a love affair with Ice Cream.
-- I hate pastries. I’ll eat them if you get them and I’ll buy them for you too. But inside, I’m squirming when I’m eating.
-- If you dress grunge or have short hair, my look will linger when it falls on you. In that linger, I will even have imagined a life with you, complete with smiles, cries, Parisian cafes, Tuscan vineyards and long conversations (I think I fall in love easily...which is also to say that I flit...unless I cling).
-- If you dress pretty, I’ll give you only the customary look.
-- I think you can make out a lot about a person by the music they listen to. I am undecided about making anything out on a first meeting though.
-- I am also undecided about photographs.
-- I open up 60% of myself very fast, 20% after a little prodding, alcohol and trust, the other 15% if I love you. The remaining 5% nobody has known. I wish that were not so (Those numbers are approximate).
-- I don’t know where I want to be when I’m 39. I also take great solace and pride in that fact.
-- I’m afraid of spiders, watching horror movies alone and losing my parents.
-- I get nervous every time I talk in front of a group of people, even though I get over that nervousness in the first minute itself.
-- I want more vacation days.

Wednesday, March 12, 2008

The Birthday Song

Plus 1.
Another day and they told me it added a whole year. Cause sometimes, you need a reason to party.

Saturday, March 1, 2008

Black Hole Sun

You’ve been walking to the same beat so many times, the monotony comforts more than it hurts. Like a cocaine addiction, it charmed you in first, then made you want to fight it and now you’re too afraid to move away. For you know for a fact that if you move out into the light, it’ll turn you into flesh and bones. Reality will pierce you through the retina.

You enter the bar where you get your daily drink. There's a girl sitting alone, short black dress and red, very red, lipstick on. She looks at you. Her look lingers. She catches a glimpse of the guy she’s waiting for in you. She waits for you to get your hand stamped from the doorman and turn, realises you’re not him, sighs and turns to her Caipirinha.

You walk straight to the loo. Look at yourself in the mirror. Your look lingers. You catch a glimpse of the guy you’ve been waiting for, in you. Then you sigh and turn.

*fiction of the mad science genre*