Bubbly

I hear the sound of a military jet flying past in the night sky, as I sit here, wondering at the world, listening to 'The End'.

Desperately in need of a stranger's hand in a desperate land...

Wish the aircraft was a Pakistani ace on a kamikaze mission to nuke the city and blot me out. To melt me into the curvature of the earth.

A life lived ordinarily doing ordinary things is still extraordinary since nothing is really ordinary. There is too much complexity around. And chaotic beauty. The sounds of beetles and warplanes. Intermingled with the throbbing which arises from a beating brow, a thousand kilometres away.

And the dogs keep fornicating, for it is their season. The happy time of the year, for the dogs. Maybe every year is the year of the dog, or the rabbit, or the rat.

Surrounded by walking prats, I am a zombie in a ghost world. The scriptures are probably right. Unless you are cut from the world, unless all your obligations and pretenses are nullified, you will remain a part of this world, like it or not. And unfortunately, this world is your world for the moment. Sad, isn't it?

Walking around on manless hillsides somewhere in the south western corner of Andhra, it was a relief to scream 'Fuck you' aloud at the world. Call it escapism, or anything else which suits you. But it felt good.

It's hard to scream your heart out. Let out all the anguish, agony and frustration, in an animalistic scream. The primal cry. I envy the dogs now, for they bark, when they please. I can't. I am tied and constrained by man made rules. It is suffocating. It is nauseating.

I want to scream. I have to go to some goddamn shit hole where no man walks, and scream my heart out. To get those pairs of scissors, and cut all the strings which make me a puppet to the blood world.

Colbie's singing now.