Spinoza’s Harmony VIII

1005

Harmony is when you don’t defy constant nor the pertinent change.

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Dedicated to Bad Writing

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All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental

Woke up this morning and No
I had no hangover

My spirits never betray me
Unlike my wicked conscience

“Oh! You pathetic lousy worthless compulsive drinker…
You are doomed, doomed, doomed”

“What the hell, I won’t drink tonight
Just let me be, will ya?”

I log on social sites
No likes, no comments
On WordPress,
Facebook or Twitter
Stumble upon, Pininterest,
Google plus
Nothing
Everyone’s got so much to say
And no time for me

Alas! My idea to start a peaceful day
Is doomed…

Swami smirked “Why don’t you like a few,
Make comments on their post?
They won’t like you back but sure will reply….perhaps!”

Swami is my dear friend
He never leaves a chance
To pull me down
“Why?”
He scores followers with such ease
That self-righteous prick
Writes mushy stuff
Motivates losers with borrowed quotes
Can you?
Not me…

Before I react
The doorbell screamed
I received my credit card statement
Marked URGENT in red
I flung the envelope
It landed in some corner
We’ll find it
Not before I get endless calls from the bank

I click on reader
“What’s wrong with people?
I have no clue
They update about spring
Spring and blooms
Look, there’s a bloom!
A picture
Look, here’s a bloom here!
A picture
Look, no bloom!
A slideshow
And they think street photography
Is all about walking on the street
Taking random pictures
Infringe upon people’s privacy”

Swami said, as matter of fact
“That’s what street photography is”

“No, there’s more to it”

Swami retorts “There’s more to what they do”

“Whatever…It’s time for my siesta.
Marquez recommends it in times of cholera”

I crawled to my bed
And dozed off…

When I woke up
The sun was gone
Swami was gone
I looked around
Cracked ceiling
Grouchy fan
Peeled off walls were closing in on me…
I need a drink

I finished a quarter
Do I feel better?
Yup
Do I feel better?
I don’t think so…

Something pissed her off
Something I must have said
I stare at the lit hollows in the dark sky
Some call them stars
Her voice is all I yearn for
I just want to hold her and cry
She’s all I got
I’ll do whatever she says
Should I call her and plead?
What if she yells
Bangs the phone on me?
Help me please!
My anguished heart needs respite
I service my soul with another quarter
And dial her
I hear her sweet voice
From the machine
She left town for a week

She left me dry
In misery and pain
Swami is right
Women, they just love it!

Where do I go?
I got no place to go
She’s all I had…
Swami…Not again!
Whatever…
My voice dialing
Not equipped to handle my slurs
Hears Swami’s name right
That’s a sign
Swami is my true friend
He hurts me
But he never lies
I should not be mean
In fact I should request him
To be my guest blogger
That’s a smart comeback plan
Hm!

I hear Swami
But from the machine
“I’m off for a week,
For a long pending assignment”

Human Science

1 (3)
Einstein’s lesser known work
But a masterpiece
A handbook
“How to become a legend”
In this book, he researched
Thinkers, scientists, philosophers
Listed a pattern to their behavior

Highlights are as follows :
You have to be an idler
A COMPULSIVE ONE
You’ve successfully reached the high points
Of excessive indulgence and self pity
“No one loves me, none understands me”
Perfect.

One day, you wake up in a gutter
Hungover
Shaken by a pig
And you ask why?

A strange curiosity takes over
And you decide to resolve it
Though by now, it’s obvious
You’ve got nothing to lose
– A keynote to success

Eventually,
You figure it out
Mindlessly,
You run on the street
What do you expect?
You’ll be beaten to pulp
Of course!
Thrown back in the same gutter
Where it all began…

Don’t be sad
You are dead, better off
There sure is more…

A few decades later
You begin from the beginning
Born again
Oblivious, that a son of another mother
Has reclaimed your findings
Twisted a few squares and triangles
Here and there
Yes,
The Noble man

And you
Ignorant of the greatest revelation
Will play with trashy toys
Smile,
You know them from before
Sleep off,
Unaware…

But I pray
You never encounter
A paedophile pig
Rocking your cradle…
There’s nothing worse than that.
Someday,
I’ll find a gun and kill them.

A Guide to Recognizing Your Saints

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Metal detectors blare
I walk on through
Guarding men ignore
A frenzied mind
On the loose…

The signal blinks green
I climb on the train
To find a schmuck
In my window seat
I clench my teeth
Let out a bellow…
He finds his middle seat.

Obese jerks around me
Not a hard guess
Who’s to fart or snore or both
I bemoan
This is my refuge
I deserted the town
That was my home…

A young lady in her 20’s
On the berth facing mine
Married for three years, is on a trip
Alone this time.
How do I know?
She makes two hundred and sixteen calls
Half of them to inform
She is fine, aboard, missing them already
The other half to hatch her shenanigans
For the next five days
Battery died, Oops!
“I’ve few more calls to make”

She pulls out her charger
But the single plug point is engaged to mine
She looks at me, I drift away
She rambles
Do I CARE?!
She gets on her feet, starts making her bed
Her arse dangles before my face
I ignore her, drop my head
She pursues, bends on her knees
Shoving her bags underneath the berth
Tonight she’ll sprawl
In front of me.

I turn to the glass window
Only to see myself and her in the reflection
Gimme a break!
I speak in silent words…

I ain’t going to see through her valley
However deep and sublime it seems
I shan’t endure, appraise my senses
The color of her skivvies.
Her long legs are a piece
But look at her arms, not waxed
She thinks she’s a blonde?!
Two out of ten
That’s all she gets
I can score better than that.

Lecherous bastards do have a few
Leftover mortal morals!

Air whistled
Engine blasted
Bukowski screamed
I bring on the reading light
“Ham on Rye”

Rolling Over

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My low life
A mindless celebration
Past indulged wasted
Wavering faith
Vacillating between hilarity and despair
Present humped by installments
Future chiseled by installments
plus late fee charges
I’m fifty-five
midlife crisis ?
I’m a poet
Forever in crisis
Am I complaining ?
Oh No !
I’m dealing with life
Very good

Oh yes !
I gel my hair, style my bald patch
A cover shy with bare strands of grey
An over-sized beer belly
I camouflage flawless
Walking straighter, tighter
My shirt tucked in
I can barely breathe
Dammit..

I enter a packed bar, music buzzing
Spirits flowing, swirling bodies
Rubbing asses, indiscreet
I step in real cool
To the groovy beat
A couple of drinks
Witty conversation
and she’ll be all over me

And so it happens, every single night
My regular barkeep, a nice soul
He hears me
Till I go quiet
He slides me the check
So long!
And I am gone

Did you notice me?