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Main Lover >>> [Z]  Coming soon.  #fuckingauras #itiswhatitis #MainLover #fouronthefloor

- by Devika Dave

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MONGREL FAITH

my faith is a mangled faith piecemeal apologetic tiny shifts and incorporations like tectonic plates magpie-like appropriation from all and sundry i may know a line or two from the book of Revelations Quran-thians (j/k) Brahmanism my base New Age murkiness like icing on the cake and overall a grand nothing my tokenism superficial and strange but this works (for me) is this the stink of privilege? (probably) there will be no whipping or burning at the stake no acid on my face [dramatic outtakes surreal and far away] all this is vague a foggy, fugue state cluttered and obtuse but this is better than the abuse of the absolute tracts of text that i will never understand fight over / kill for i am happy; rudderless, free carrying my imperfectly stapled faith/s around with me

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SURVEILLANCE                                                 (Diveagar, Maharashtra) the soothing whoosh-swoosh of the sea, faraway rises to meet the moon giant leaves droop (alien landscapes, what can i say) attempt to gobble us albeit half heartedly and we try and hide from the Watchmen who fly on lights that glow and recede now pinpricks fancy bikes on the sly temperamental butterflies buzzing with self importance cats hunting mice blind to us, as we spy on them! the sea grows even more silver and we run after the waves of boredom like thrilled jehadis we bide our time then abandon the amphetamine-addled trees, the aloof breeze and the moon, that borrows the sea for a while   Picture of Kim Jong-un, b/w picture of Mr Bigeyes-hiding-his-face (?) are both off my tumblr feed, original creators unknown. Photograph of the sea beach is “Iceland” by Breanna Box. The artworks “Silver Moon”, “Pink fizz” and “Binoculars” are by me. 

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v day vendetta

we ruptured at the right time and the world order was restored astraea redux / my acid reflux king and queen back on the throne. my love is a gentle love savoury vague like the mist but how would you know? regular little Robespierre that you are i’ll wait for your overthrow.

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SMUT

smutty wordsmithy this should be easy? like cuttlefish spurting brown, repugnant verse or a slightly terse labia minora just before the gold rush HAH! the hysteria when we first learn to equivocate but truth must out! try and locate it to feelings, and such to Dionysus. BUT FOLLOW THE LOCUSTS! they know where the party’s at (no not really) i just wanted to say that all this decay grey matter now fecal matter what does it matter? where should i go with all this wordsmithy meatcarvin’ and carpentry  fuckin’ pity monologus monobogus just bearin’ my cross mono oh pop goes the bloody weasel

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3!

This entire spring-summer I have obsessed about -

1) The Apolline and the Dionysian (more details on that in another note soon)

2) The Cardinal Grand Cross earlier in April.   (oh and apparently today is Friday the 13th along with a Full Moon?!)

Moral of the story: Truth must out! (and the dead must resurrect!) Lawl. 

Happy 3.

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Bo Bartlett School of the Americas

Forster: only connect temperance, when I oscillate Jupiter in Cancer love, faith

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Terrible Twos / Dark Energy

'Cause All We Are Is Dust is two today! Tumblr revealed this amazing fact via email just now, wouldn't have remembered otherwise. Haven't posted anything in ages, but I feel like I must, to mark this ahem, joyous occasion.  ....... long fingers of dark energy cosmic darkness accelerating no bugle blown the universe unending unlimited to deep frontiers our heads too you know (new vistas of thought?) (new age aloofness?) it’s crept in filled matter and minds filled vast atomic spaces huge football fields of emptiness with floating micro particles subatomic smidgeons dark in our brains silent energy dark silent in the universe 70% or thereabouts unobtrusive watching occupying the question is does it have a personnalité? 

is it really benign

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WIP

I love long drives on Delhi main roads. My ride over the DND everyday feels like freedom. Sitting in the front seat of our racing car, I feel regal, inspecting the landscape with affection. The Kash Phool near the Yamuna was an aristocratic white two months ago, now it's a dark, dark brown, poverty stricken and demure in the oft-smoggy morning air. I love these no man's land bits around Delhi. One can always see the setting sun from these parts.  

It is time for an adventure, and that is the only way to live, the only way! New things must be done. Plunge in, re-invent, evolve. The narrative must be built from scratch, because right now, it is all very dark and speculative, but thrilling, in a quiet sort of way.

The wind direction has changed, whoosh-a whoosh-a whoosh!

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The Gossips-Norman Rockwell

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Glumdon, briefly

I roamed Glumdon in the grey rain, hoping against hope that I'd find a friend.

And I did, in the elusive sunshine on aloof mornings when the winds would be high. I’d go for walks, walk for miles in wet shoes but with a blissful heart. I met frisky animals (alive - jumpy squirrels, ducks and swans), as well as those dead (sharks, flies, a cow's head with leaking blood) in the Natural History Museum and in the works of Hirst. I saw sensible flowers that braved the cold and chose to bloom. I walked through lanes and bylanes of West and Central London, Hackney Wick, Islington, Seven Sisters, Tottenham and other random neighbourhoods, market places and canals, eating Danish pastries with coffee, sausage rolls 2 for 1 pound; smoked salmon and cream cheese bagels, or waffles with strawberries and chocolate sauce, cheesy mushroom crepes, or fish and chips and doner kebabs. I ate like a queen, because I hadn't eaten in four months.

A French tea seller who found me near Piccadilly Circus, greeted me with a beaming “Hello smiling P!” He liked walking in parks, and slowly peeling oranges. His grandmum had been friends with Jean Genet, he said. He liked martial arts and was saving to go to China. He examined my thin wrists with a start, because he had never seen anything quite so thin.

I found other friends; we ate sushi and Vietnamese, and walked in graffiti infested lands, and made up stories about wan looking kings in stuffy suits. Lonely, smiling soul who said he’d cycled alone in Japan, not speaking with anyone for 5 days straight, until he had to walk up to people to ask for the time. This was just to hear human voices and partake in human interactions, inventing stories to pass the time.

I don’t ever need to do that, I am quite used to the quiet. In fact, I love the quiet.

Yet another was often lost in reveries, who muttered admonitions to himself, and I’d sit quietly, glad of his company, mulling thoughts so different from his, and yet, existentially similar. I cuddled like I cuddled no other, and tried to kill our vulnerability with some warmth.

Sometimes, I would forget the sound of my own voice when set amidst large groups, their thoughts racing in tearing, hurried accents of 60 miles an hour. Blazing stars, lonely snowflakes, artists, actors, all in search of the spectacular.

I would cheerily smile on, even when I wouldn't know what to say, beer in hand, watching and picking up cultural traits. Though on my last night out, I did get up to do a mild mdma-dance, to celebrate all that had come and gone, all those whose lives had intersected with mine fleetingly, only to again be gone.

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Balanced Breakfast by Thomas Sullivan

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stoned

I'll be going home soon for a spot of Christmas and a family wedding. This is my third time this year, and I sometimes think that at the rate at which I keep going home, I ought to just go back and remain there forever. Be one of those miserable Calcutta folk who compromise with all the muck, cluster fuck and minuscule amount of opportunities, and stay on, at peace.

I somehow cannot seem to get under the skin of this new city. It's mostly because I have not tried. I have refused to engage, much like I sometimes refuse to connect with/to people. and I have wisely or unwisely decided this is not where I will be spending the "rest of my life" even though I am not too sure where I'd rather be (other than home) and what I'd rather be doing. My imagination does show me in wondrous situations and scenes, but I have learnt the hard way that sometimes, things just Do Not go according to Plan.

My friend recently mentioned that his state of mind is that of a nomad. Unfortunately for a certified recluse, the Home is a very important concept. And Home is what I have Not been able to set up here. I am still living out of 2 suitcases and a backpack. My most important companions are my laptop, headphones and the portable internet connection. I don't feel settled, but most importantly, I have not allowed myself to.

This state of psychological and creative limbo is to blame for my paucity of thought and writing.

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of coincidences

I was just watching a rather silly horror show featuring an attractive male duo. They got thrown into jail and as they sat speaking of "Escape from Alcatraz" I realized that MY FOLKS are probably IN THERE right this sodding minute! Hahaha. Coincidence #1. 

A lame Coincidence #2 is that the sister told the mother today that she wants to see a shark scuttle around their ferry. This is before I told her that when it comes to sharks, I am the new authority in town. Not really.

AhahaHAHAAhahaha. I have been concocting all the captions of a book on Sharks for kids. Poor kids! Now, I am eagerly awaiting the third coincidence.

Yay! I love sporadic bursts of hilarity. So much colour.

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colourbomb: Gavin Goo