Scribbling Some Stray Thoughts II

....everything you want to say has already been spoken, there is no novelty and less charm...I stuttered at the prospect of unwarranted verbal plagiarism and of being artificial. Which one was worse I couldn't decide. But, I still meant what I wanted to say. So much for exclusivity!


You are more like your father than I'd like you to be. Yes, we both hate him, I know, and that is why it would shock you to know this.You are equally moody, you choose to speak when you like it and when you don't, my words are lost on you,just like the droning of the bees and the buzzing of the flies would.You gaze at your tea with that determined indifference and a line of contempt at my voice.Tell you what...I am sick of trying to make up conversation and I am even more sick of this deadly silence.You hate me for my zeal for things that according to you are frivolous and useless.Your look leaves me feeling foolish and clownish.Could you spare me one day to feel good about myself and be happy about what makes me happy?


Dichotomy...dissecting it throughout...but it is dull...somewhere the interest ebbs...Is there an end to this seemingly endless wave of Hims and Hers.What is beyond this...something must be.Let's just leave it all here and set out to find that...I am not afraid if it is hideous or frightening,but something new I must have.


Nights are treacherous. One hand on that weak shoulder and I babble out my pains, my weakness. Oh, how I hate myself for it when there is light the next day.Keep falling and then rise again..in your own eyes.But,everytime the standard keeps getting lower and lower.


Children are the cruelest things God made.They carry sharp sabers hidden behind that garb of innocence and curiosity.


I can hear him talk to the maid about something.He repeatedly says "Is he altered?Is he good?"And I pity his knowledge of people and life.People donot change overnight and what is goodness?For him goodness would be limited to being religious and devout ;and being bad the exact opposite of it.What a shame 55 odd years could not make him understand things.He will get hurt and amaze at it."Oh,how could they?Aren't they afraid of God?"Jesus Christ!! He would breath his last between the covers of a book and never meet reality in the eye.Perhaps that is why he hates me so.I am hard and ruthless and donot expect goodness even from God.


In one rapid movement my hand sweeps the air trying to swish away that irritating fly.The book closes.Shit,I lost the page I was on.


Morning,breakfast,you and me.You gaze at me, it drills me and I am mad at you.Your gaze makes me feel insulted.Was that what you meant?You want me to question you and ask if anything was wrong.But, I am in no mood to placate you and your damned ego.I just keep looking at my plate and a smile creeps into my face.I smile all the time.I donot remember when was the first time I found it out.It was my weapon,just as yours was that gaze, piercing, questioning.I smile and pretend and pick up the gauntlet you throw.Still, I hate myself for such a cowardice. Why can't I just look squarely into your eyes and ask what the deal was without blushing.Perhaps,I want to avoid that look of victory in your face.You torment me,immensely and I might let you know that someday.But, not today.Till then I'll smile and pretend.


I get up more tired than I go to bed.It is terrible.My body aches all day long and I constantly feel the need for something.Only I don't know what.


You at the other end of the table, smile so beatifically. Jovial this morning, I see.Suddenly, my eyes are big and placid.Suddenly, I am beautiful.What the hec!!You are generous and take up the task of arranging the food.You ask me if I need another helping(which I didnot) and without waiting for my reply you stack some more unwanted food on my plate.I feel like smashing the platter against your face.All I do is thank you and work at my plate.Forcing down the tasteless mess I wonder why in the world am I stuck with you.I donot mean another person.I mean why can't I be on my own?Alone?Probably because I can tolerate you more than I can tolerate myself.I imagine a mirror half way across the table.The very thought of being with myself is unthinkable.I am almost scared of seeing myself on the other side of the table.You are asking me if the food is good(since you made it).I smile and say 'yes' and thank God for you are there.


I was born in a mad house and I will die in one.The more I think the more I believe it.Period.