Monday, November 28, 2016

Two weddings

I was at a wedding ceremony.

The pastor prayed, preached for an hour, prayed, dictated the vows to the couple, prayed, had them sign the legal certificate, prayed and went on his way to prayers elsewhere. We who remained ate and listened to saccharine speeches wishing the couple all the best, meanwhile we caught up with old friends. Then we all departed.

The next day I arrived late to another wedding. Its format must have been much like the first, but I walked in while a choir was singing. Next item on the agenda was the signing of the certificate. The pastor spent a hood deal of time lightheartedly casting doubt on the groom's potential for steadfastness while in the same vein greatly exaggerating the bride's loyalty and virtue. While he was joking, he carried on for such a duration that I got tired. What kind of precedent is that to set for a marriage? Right on the wedding day, setting up the wife as prefect over the husband, with authority to henpeck him in good times or bad. But he was joking, right. Fortunately it was over eventually and everyone soon trooped off to a reception at a different venue halfway across town.

Wednesday, November 23, 2016

Dark Night of the Soul

The killjoy tone of this blog probably drove all readers away by now. It remains desolate, my haunted hall in which to face my inner demons, in the snatches of relative calm when I am not fighting or fleeing.

Many monsters inhabit the uncharted depths of the mind. In the absence of distractions, in solitude, the surface of the mind is penetrated, but sight sees only far enough to predict "more darkness ahead."

When your life is in a dark phase, like mine has been for many years, you do what it takes, you keep going, pushing on the best you can, until you are out of the valley of the shadow of death.

Life sometimes throws you its spare change in its careless haste to bombard you with lemons. An old flame reaches out, a good guitar solo, a beautiful girl's smile, a ray of sunshine through the clouds on a cloudy day. You treasure these trinkets dearly, they are gone too fast.

The void, the black empty chasm in which my heart is suspended, an unfeeling vacuum, it engulfs everything eventually.

Company provides less than fleeting escape. It is a chance encounter with a similarly afflicted soul, also rootless, suspended in the void, driven by forces of gravity and of propulsion beyond sight or control; you just happen to cross paths.

With a little luck you might exchange cordial noises to momentarily drown out the void's oppressive silence, to occupy each other's minds with irrelevant distractions, because the void is mind-bogglingly vast, and all of it aches in both your chests, and we in mercy turn blind eyes at others' voids, because what can we do anyway?

Will we recite canned motivational lines, for the void to swallow whole the minute we find ourselves alone again? No. Crack a joke. Laugh. It won't echo back. Float away on your lugubrious way.

Or maybe reach out, grasp and hold onto the other? Perhaps they grasp and hold as well? Have one another at least?

Is it less of a void when many are in it? Or do voids combine forces, confounding the efforts of those who would assemble armies against them?

Monday, November 14, 2016

Blindsided

From a great height, far out of sight, struck a blow that fell with devastating effect upon a towering tree in whose shadow we rested.

Tuesday, October 11, 2016

The Pit

Young man, after many days pass, remember these cold lonely nights, when you just can't understand why, and the bits that make any sense loudly blame you.

Remember these too long nights, how you ache for contact, real human contact, but all the phone yields is group chat nonsense, and sleep is sweet unconscious escape.

Remember these sad nights, in which the future looms pitch black, and the present is only dim, and the past only slightly better lit through the rosiest tinted glasses you can scramble together.

Many years hence remember these dire nights, how often they come; how you embrace brutal truths, kissing their cruel feet in submission; how you surrender to despair only to rouse yourself to revive a desperate, belated resistance; how you clutch at unavailing straws of hope as a swirling vortex sucks you to an inevitable fate; how the light at the end of the tunnel recedes further away; how none but GOD sees, hears or cares for your struggles.

Young man remember.

Monday, October 10, 2016

Ceasefire

Tired of ignoring me and of being ignored, the scorned woman worked herself into as mighty an indignation as all her insincerity could muster. I did not see her approach my desk, but her voice right in my ear calling my name made me look up and greet her with a mixture of pleasant surprise and calmness.

Her voice wavered, she anxiously stammered out her demand. "I'm leaving in ten minutes. Are we gonna talk or what."

I obliged.

****

The confrontation was relocated to a conference room, away from prying eyes and overhearing ears.

She settled across the table from me and fixed me a hateful glare, which she could not long sustain. I was amused by her, how she was trying to act the victim, hoping to bring me to heel with the sheer fury of her affected outrage at my "accusations."

I held her gaze as her stream of grievances gained rapidity and her animated gestures all over the conference table stretched my smile.

At length she too began to suppress a smile. Then, unable to meet my incredulous gaze any longer, she was forced to close her eyes to maintain her indignation.

She detected that the battle was lost already, but even a dying horse has some kicks to kick.  Desperation drove her argument into far-fetched premises and non-sequitur conclusions. It was then that all apprehensions that I had about this degenerating into an ill-tempered shouting match, they all retreated and took cover behind her closed eyelids.

More words came out of her mouth but they had ceased to register sense in my brain. What I did decipher from the jumbled, rambling protestations of innocence was not an inkling innocence, but the feeling that she cared enough to give it a shot despite obvious stage fright in the glare of my steady gaze.

It warmed my heart.

Tuesday, October 4, 2016

The Exclusivity Illusion

All that exuberance that sprung from  a little attention from a cute colleague made me careless. When I'm careless all I hear is raucous applause in my ears: "go! go! go!" I lowered my horns and charged towards the fluttering red rag.

At first she was nervous and defensive as we settled down to eat.

Red wine mellowed her down gradually but wonderfully. An unceasing stream of words flowed from her lips, I revelled in the delivery, her relaxed tone, her moving lips. Soothing music rounded out the atmosphere.

The hours crawled by, the wine ran out. Nothing remained with which to quench the thirst.

Nothing signified that she had a boyfriend.

Friday, September 30, 2016

The Thirst is Real

Whenever I get thirsty in the midst of a working day a strange thing happens: I get a very hard and very uncompromising erection. My thirst erection is harder than my normal erection, but it is a very asexual erection. Fortunately all it takes to mellow the little guy down is three glasses of water, which should not be a problem so long as I can make it to the dispenser without being spotted by those who lack understanding.

I'm only saying this because girls have taken to referring to men who give them any attention as "thirsty," as if we regard their vacuous inanities as cool water. No, princess, the thirst is real. If you get out of our way we might make it to the water dispenser.

Thursday, September 22, 2016

Mere Ramblings. Do not read.

This being my blog I should have declared that I got a job at the start of this year, and updated everyone about it too. Did not.

I also stopped writing long-winded tales about the girls and myself, tales which, summarized, would simply say "Friend Zone." All those tales do is convey fuzzy feelings of some guy (me) having a crush and reading too much into mundane interactions with skirtwearers, which is a pathetic sight coz everybody who knows anything knows I ain't getting any. Another one the other day voluntarily declared herself to be in the sister zone, can you imagine such an outrage.

I have enough work and play on my plate nowadays not to think about these things too much, ever since I basically accepted that my long experience in being alone qualifies me for many more years of solitude.

Then I realized I enjoy and look forward to it now. Freedom, etc.

But the other day one of my female colleagues stopped giving me curious glances and started staring deep into my eyes and seeking me out at every half chance and roaming back and forth past my desk and looking for excuses to make me go to her desk and saying pretty much any old thing to keep us talking. Yea she likes me, her company is tolerable, despite her multitude of feminine quirks, no actual red flags. And I have a rough idea what this pretty petite perky bombshell wants.

A colleague observed our electric dynamic and drew up a mock marriage certificate on a sticky note, what a clown.

So, lunch hour, this lady and I were chatting during a long leisurely walk to exactly nowhere (the walk facilitated the talk). When we ran out of small talk she started to tell me how many "admirers" I have in the workplace. Even as I tried to coax her into listing their names, I could see how bothered by it she is.

Back to the topic at hand - me. I'm rambling here, it's allowed if your blog has not yet hit triple-digit following. Also bragging a bit. Gimme a break, such things don't happen to me everyday.

All that remains to be seen is whether I will remain true to form and ruin this indestructible opportunity by losing it in a thick fog of rationalizations, foremost of which is my ideological zealotry for the single life, which zealotry now faces, ahem, challenges.

Tuesday, September 13, 2016

The Gods of the Copybook Headings - Rudyard Kipling

AS I PASS through my incarnations in every age and race,
I make my proper prostrations to the Gods of the Market Place.
Peering through reverent fingers I watch them flourish and fall,
And the Gods of the Copybook Headings, I notice, outlast them all.
We were living in trees when they met us. They showed us each in turn
That Water would certainly wet us, as Fire would certainly burn:
But we found them lacking in Uplift, Vision and Breadth of Mind,
So we left them to teach the Gorillas while we followed the March of Mankind.
We moved as the Spirit listed. They never altered their pace,
Being neither cloud nor wind-borne like the Gods of the Market Place,
But they always caught up with our progress, and presently word would come
That a tribe had been wiped off its icefield, or the lights had gone out in Rome.
With the Hopes that our World is built on they were utterly out of touch,
They denied that the Moon was Stilton ; they denied she was even Dutch;
They denied that Wishes were Horses ; they denied that a Pig had Wings ;
So we worshipped the Gods of the Market Who promised these beautiful things.
When the Cambrian measures were forming, They promised perpetual peace.
They swore, if we gave them our weapons, that the wars of the tribes would cease.
But when we disarmed They sold us and delivered us bound to our foe,
And the Gods of the Copybook Headings said: "Stick to the Devil you know."
On the first Feminian Sandstones we were promised the Fuller Life
(Which started by loving our neighbour and ended by loving his wife)
Till our women had no more children and the men lost reason and faith,
And the Gods of the Copybook Headings said: "The Wages of Sin is Death."
In the Carboniferous Epoch we were promised abundance for all,
By robbing selected Peter to pay for collective Paul;
But, though we had plenty of money, there was nothing our money could buy,
And the Gods of the Copybook Headings said: "If you don't work you die."
Then the Gods of the Market tumbled, and their smooth-tongued wizards withdrew
And the hearts of the meanest were humbled and began to believe it was true
That All is not Gold that Glitters , and Two and Two make Four
And the Gods of the Copybook Headings limped up to explain it once more.
As it will be in the future, it was at the birth of Man
There are only four things certain since Social Progress began.
That the Dog returns to his Vomit and the Sow returns to her Mire,
And the burnt Fool's bandaged finger goes wabbling back to the Fire;
And that after this is accomplished, and the brave new world begins
When all men are paid for existing and no man must pay for his sins,
As surely as Water will wet us, as surely as Fire will burn,
The Gods of the Copybook Headings with terror and slaughter return!

Wednesday, September 7, 2016

Double Standards

There was a headline story some time back, in which a man grew a pair of breasts after sleeping with a married woman (not his own wife). This unnatural development allegedly arose because the woman's husband had arranged with forces of darkness to inflict a pair of breasts on all trespassers.

Now the print article openly displayed the man's black-magic-induced breasts whereas a woman's wholesome natural breasts would never be so brazenly published. It makes one wonder really how twisted the media is. Is shock value that important?

It's kind of instructive however that a pair of breasts on a man is not desirable whereas women prize their packages highly. If sleeping around were proven to grow busts, then more women would do it do it do it, but their problem would be where to find men to sleep around with, for they would certainly avoid sleeping around.

But this is a case involving forces of darkness.

The natural world clearly demonstrates that the social double standards between the genders arise from their anatomical  biological differences.

PS: Leave people's spouses alone.