Skip to main content

Only in a story

Only in fairy tales are there kids who
love their parents back without knowing about
the indifferent apathetic universe.

Only in lore are there kids who are grateful -
who are satisfied knowing-
that there are people who take charge of their life
and who care about them and feed them
and make troubles their own
Before going into the space of empty thought
and loss of purpose.

Only in a story is there a kid
who understands the value
of what he has not yet lost.

You can start a story about a man
who was happy about his job and his family
and about the little joys of life

You can start a story about a woman
whose family is everything for her
and who was sacrificial and truthful
and joyous and giving.

In reality, such a lady is in denial.
In reality, she is pretentious.
In reality, such a man is not curious
In reality, such a man is dull.
Question-less, flat.

Happiness in a tale is the lie
that must keep the possibility of real happiness alive.
Truths that we say automatically imply the great density
of the opposite as being equally as possible.

Don't give me those stories about happy, responsible people.
What it implies is too dark for me to live with.

Popular posts from this blog

लाल वस्तू

महाराजबागेतल्या गुंजेच्या झाडाखाली आईबरोबर बसून घालवलेल्या संध्याकाळी गुंजेचा पाला खाताना गुंजा वेचून, गोळा करून, घरी आणून सजवताना तशाच लाल गुंजांसारखे मखमली किडे पाळताना, त्यांना पावसाळ्यात पकडताना त्यांचा पाला गोळा करताना त्यांना लाजून गुर्फटताना बघताना, आईला दाखवताना मला थोडेच माहिति होते की हे अनुभव, आणि ह्या आठवणी कधी अशृ होतील आणि लाल शर्ट घालून त्या पावसाळ्याची आज तहान भागवावी लागेल

dumb tweets

are dumb tweets poetry? those about comical self deprecation? those about absurdity of lunchtimes the absurdity of predetermined systems the shit that is the economy the shit that is self preservation of social groups and the shit that is my period. aren't these the footsteps of revolutions built upon the personal that is the political a naked lump of clay - the self that has no rights without its body and identifiers. weren't the beats just writing tweets words, that fill up the spaces in empty cultural discourse a space for, a valence towards charged and electric words ionic words words that seem appropriate words in a new absurdist language a torrent, a warm current of intercontinental symbolically void and poisonous words. that live for a small slice like us and cicadas, chirp and die.

plant cuttings

 i am jealous of the seven plant cuttings that i got from my friend one sunday afternoon - a succulent called vicks that smells like a camphor some spotted snake like leaves a chain like cascade with cardoid leaves some needed to be cut exactly somewhere for the severed roots to understand they cannot sprout as leaves on the underside that they are needed to draw water that they used to be something that function is something to perform not something they were. all this for houseplants that wouldn't survive a day in soil outside i perhaps send my hands in this soil hoping they will become roots and my ears someday become leaves.