Wednesday, June 23, 2010

It's a round brown world.

A flash of pour 
amuses her attention to the door
dictating a life of stories..
in the flow of  temporary rains,
everything follows the drains
Nothing left to bury
Only left with
Small windows and faith
leaves falling in death
bringing new life, more depth
to eyelashes and curls
fancying all that swirls
Its a round brown world
with moving perceptions in a herd.

Sunday, June 20, 2010

To gouge or not to?

        It’s more like a horror story, this. Except horror stories don’t make you laugh. Really. People laugh at funerals, I laugh when I’m buried alive. I do not know how long it has been since my burial. I don’t have sense of time here you see. But it’s been quite some time, for sure. I’ve been quite patient as of now. But now, I’m losing interest in this hideous joke of burying people alive. I mean come on, a man’s gotta breathe! This started off as a practical joke I’m guessing. I was asked to turn around and stand with my hands on my sides. I was blindfolded immediately and thrown into something with walls. Teenagers can be very convincing you know. I’m the new kid, so I had to do it. Not so much of a kid. I’m doing my grad late. Wait that is not the important part, this is. This burial thing. So yeah, mathematically and physically I have 7 more minutes to breathe till I run out of oxygen. 

    I suppose being new is very traumatic to a lot of people. I do not hyperventilate much on my first days because I’m a foster child, so I was used to this ragging and bullying. My friends say I’m very submissive. I give credit to their perception through imagination. Who says physicality is important? They don’t. So I did was I was asked to do. Being fascist is one thing, but submission is just a mere form of conformity. They said I had two options. I hope I chose the easier one. My bed has a four poster wall above it that says, “Be optimistic, and be alive”. I am now in a good home of a young woman with jurisdiction problems. Her charges will be dropped if she showed community service of taking care of another human being. I think she’s doing a very good job at that. Very efficient in love making and cooking, or so I’ve heard.

She once said to me,
“Poinson, I’d better not see you sneaking in the kitchen, the food is for the special guests, for special actions.” ( I omit a few unnecessary words she said to make her point ) I said,
“Yes, ma’am, whatever suits your pleasure.”
She had been very furious with me since. I do not know what I’d said wrong. It was just a passing comment. Things you say to end conversations. “Yes, ma’am”. “Whatever you say man”. There’s no room for contradiction or argument when someone asks you to do something. She says I’m the son of evil. I cannot be brazenly honest, it still affects my integrity. How, I fail to understand. I’m laughing at my own burial. You call that dishonest? I don’t think so. But who am I to contradict? Being evil is far too overrated I feel though.
I managed to move a little, but things seem immobile around here. Very suffocating for a large person like me. They’ll come get me, I’m sure they aren’t “evil”. I still haven’t managed to use quotations in the right places! I smell a lot of dirt, manure I think. Very thankfully I wasn’t dumped bare. 2 minutes. They should really come get me now. I have yoga class starting in 7 minutes. And it takes me five minutes to run to it every day. I think I’ll count sheep backwards. One sheep per second. That makes it 120 sheep in two minutes. I lost 30 sheep writing this down in my head. 
1..2…4…7…9…15..22…25….39…44…50……..88..89…..9- *sigh*