Another face in the opaque crowd searching for some translucence to diffuse and project his myriad thoughts through this utterly abhorrent state of lame rigidity.

Thursday, April 28, 2011


(i) This is an experiment, somewhat like Odd Even.ts.
(ii) There are 12 parts, each part consisting of as many words as the number of days in the mentioned month. Like - 31 words. APR.on - 30 words.
(iii) There are 3 sets - the parts with 31 words each| the part with 29 words| the parts with 30 words each
(iv) The parts or the sets are not necessarily in the correct order of occurrence.
(v) On an unrelated topic - My Blog turned a year old at 8:09 pm(IST) on the 27th of April, 2011.

 Year 2008.

“And as we wind on down the road 
Our shadows taller than our souls.”
The metal bar slid over the strings of the lap steel guitar. The screech hit his eardrums – coerced his impotent hands to cease the rendering of mellifluous music turned noxious noise.

The smack and the coke in the same syringe.  He was speedballing. He was shivering with fever. Was he insane? She saw him and knew she had her story.

The beige cloth draped around the cherubic chillum had turned feuillemorte. Inhale! His sore throat bled. The diffused smoke ushered the diabolical entities to their alveoli seats. His hands shook compulsively.

“In my thoughts I have seen rings of smoke through the trees, 
And the voices of those who stand looking.”

She loved the acetic acid stains on her apron, the vinegar odour, the light through the red filter, the negatives and the photographs. She knew she was ‘developing’ a story.

The crowd was going insane. They should have been oscillating in unified trance then, with the reverberating rendition of liberating verses and psychedelic music. An hour gone. The stage was empty.

She stood still, stupefied. He excavated her words from the locked chest kept safe in a dungeon, and sung them. She knew, she should’ve captured. But she didn’t miss anything.

“And it's whispered that soon if we all call the tune 
Then the piper will lead us to reason.”

He changed the tuning from standard to open E, for the song “Juliet”.  His voice echoed – faded to the sounds of saxophone, piano and drums. He waited for his guitar solo.

The crescendo lingered. Lights changed colours like the chameleon – their long tongues ensnared him. The succeeding diminuendo got lost in his handcuffed silence. He recovered, improvised; then ended the song abruptly.

She wanted the photographs to live longer. She wanted them to speak the language he speaks. She wanted the story to be warm and brown. It had to be sepia.

“In a tree by the brook, there's a songbird who sings, 
Sometimes all of our thoughts are misgiven.”

As his opus terminated, the tentacles of an octopus like creature swung before him. From the heavens descended 'Cthulhu'. He clung to one of the tentacles and wished to escape doom.

It was probably her last chance to click the conclusion of her story, given his wretched appalling condition. She didn’t have a pass. She was a photographer, but a novice.

As he lay on his cot, staring at the ceiling fan, he wondered about Juliet and “Juliet”. The crescendo and diminuendo were dead. All that was left – the sound of shutter.

“Yes, there are two paths you can go by, but in the long run 
There's still time to change the road you're on.

Do we learn?
Do we earn?
Do we Year.N?
“And if you listen very hard 

The tune will come to you at last. 

When all are one and one is all 

To be a rock and not to roll.”

The quotes are from the song - Stairway to heaven by Led Zeppelin.

P.S. - Lethargy and the El Clasico forced me not to proofread the post. I apologise for the brazen and imbecilic mistakes.