Where the busy bees are all you can hear

Because the ones that are ACTUALLY working hard are doing their work in utter silence. You know what I mean right.

There is this kind of people who seem to be doing a lot, running around here and there, chasing this and that but not really doing anything much at all? You must know what I am talking about.

And then of course there are the quiet, dedicated types who prefer not to speak at all cause that would mean expending energy which could be better utilised for completing the job at hand.

You must know what I mean.

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Where we attempt to steal some strawberries

Why not.

Of all the things you can steal in this world, and the Lord knoweth there are more than a few, strawberries make for a pretty good deal. Refreshing, providers of energy, biodegradable and hence leave no paper trail whatsoever. Good for the environment and all that.

Also, what is the worst that could happen to you if you stole some strawberries? Like the absolute worst worst?

Depends on how poor you are. Justice is a function of your wealth or lack thereof.

Damn kro, why you gotta go all serious all of a sudden?

But why?

.

What does failure look like? And I mean absolute, hopeless failure? Eyes downcast, ruffled hair which never stays still, raggedly clothes. A half shuffling kind of walk, back hunched so that eye contact can be completely avoided. Hands held close to the body. Slow, confused movements that have no real purpose. No real value. Words that are always mumbled out. Half eaten.

Damn kro, you really went dark there didnt you?

Just like I like my chicken.

.

Strawberries.

Red juicy strawberries.

Little packets of sugar and tart.

Step into my mouth.

Strawberries

Red juicy strawberries.

.

Ta-da.

 

 

Posted in complete and utter bullshit, Shut yaaver mouth, Stop making Sense | Leave a comment

Where the reasons are hidden under piles of dried coconut shells

I always thought that there was more to that pile of dried coconuts then was let on. That if you started tossing aside the coconuts, one by one, you would soon find the reasons. Hiding there, slightly smelly because of the fermenting coconuts, but otherwise quite confident that they would not be found.

After all, who looks under a pile of coconuts?

Well done, reasons. Well done.

You could hide a lot of things under the coconuts I suppose. I mean it just has to be able to withstand the weight of all the coconuts. And it also better be bloody important. No point in making the pile if there ain’t anything valuable hidden under the pile.

Though, of course, that is quite a personal matter. What could be very important for one…. and so on and so forth.

The moral of this story? Yes there is a moral. There is ALWAYS a moral. Sometimes though they are hard to find. Or hidden.

Ta-da.

(The moral is to always look UNDER that pile of coconuts)

You never know what you will find.

 

Posted in Fatty Speaks, Its complicated, Shut yaaver mouth | Leave a comment

Where the final days are long gone, but you still think that they are here to stay

It is all an illusion dear friend.

Moh maya. Sab kuch maya hai dost.

Sab kuch?

Sab kuch?

Even this deer antler that is dangerously close to your nether regions?

Okay maybe not that. Ouch. Okay, okay definitely not that.

Goddam aggressive deer fellow.

.

I wouldn’t mind having horns really. They look kinda cool, can be used to hang shopping bags, and would probably make for some great stories. Plus, you could paint them in different colours.

Which is probably the most important aspect of them all.

Painted horns.

Yeah, so where were we?

Nowhere, like always, kro. Nowhere. No one knows where this has come from, no fucking one knows where it is going to go. And the present, well the fucking present is just one big shitpile of shit knows what.

I am guessing this is not a good time to ask you for some career advice then?

.

Got me toes cleaned today. Like properly cleaned. Was quite a relaxing experience cause the music was very soft and appealing. And the experts hands were super soft, yet firm. Plus, it was good to see the dead skin being rubbed off. And all the dirt falling down like a hailstorm of dirt. Proper fucking hailstorm only.

 

 

Posted in Neurotia | Leave a comment

Where we fall in line, partly because the other option just did not shape up

Lame.

Very lame.

You are so, very lame.

So, very, very lame.

Alright alright. Someone hand me a crutch already.

Crutches can be such dangerous creations no? Providing support while weakening you bit by bit. Until you are convinced that you always need the crutch. Forgetting the days and years when you were absolutely fine without the crutch. Unable to remember how it was to be completely self-reliant.

Crutches. You evil bastards.

Don’t think I am not on to you. You and your evil ways.

Bastards.

.

Anyway, moving on to happier news, the clouds refuse to go away. Wait, do you mean like in a allegorical sense where you can’t see the sun, and the clouds are blocking your view etc etc? Cause if it is, then that ain’t really happier news. Unless of course you are one of those people who get off on painful news.

Then it definitely is happier news.

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I wonder what ambiguity would look like if it was a person. Probably have slightly asymmetrical features. Just enough to confuse you, make you pause and take another look. I wonder what she would wear. And I wonder what she would sound like. And if you kissed her, would she taste faintly of days gone by.

Woh, where you going with this kro? You been listening to ben harper again have you not? The taste of days gone by it seems. Who died and made you the resident poet?

You did.

I did?

Yeah you did.

Oh okay then.

.

Nowadays when I look at buildings I see cages. And I see some more cages when I look at cars. And hear the words “EMI” and “interest free loans” and “buy now” and “sale”. Surely, the best cage in the world is one which does not allow the captive to realise its captivity? Rather, that cage would be the one with the lowest rate of breakout attempts. That is the kind of cage you want to build if you don’t want to demoralise the captive too much.

Keep them in the cage without them even realising that they are in a cage. Why give the hope of escape, and the consequential disappointment of failure, when you can give them the happiness of contentment? Let their ignorance simmer, make sure it does not boil over into realisation. Make sure of that.

What good is a cage if it encourages freedom?

.

Taste of days gone by it seems.

Your face.

 

Posted in Stop making Sense, Tatti Drama | Leave a comment

Where we turn new leaves, because the older ones crumble into dust so easily

Gotta admit, there is something beautiful about decay. The way things turn into what they were not. The change, the inevitable change. How long can it be kept at bay? Sooner or later, it will begin. Or it has already begun. Now, it waits. Just waits. And decays. Bit by bit.

Which is also why I think I should not have eaten that fried rice that was in the bottom shelf of the fridge today. Not a good idea.

I think that decay gonna come out real soon if you know what I mean. And not in a nice way.

If you know what I mean.

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I don’t like how our fingers have been adapted for typing. Surely, they could be put to better use. Whose bright idea was that anyway? Perhaps in another few million years, our fingers would actually evolve into typing experts. Slightly flat, just slightly to give you that tactile feel.

Or probably by that time we won’t be typing too much.

And then the typer-friendly fingers will cause some more stress or something like that.

Maybe they will evolve quicker as time goes by. Maybe evolution will speed up because of a mutation to the evolution process. That is possible no? After all, if it is as chaotic as everyone seems to make it out to be, a little speeding up of things is not that difficult to disbelieve,

Imagine.

Evolution in seconds. Micro-seconds.

Blink and that fucking dinosaur has become a flying eagle.

Or something like that.

Speed it up. Make it go faster.

And faster.

Until it stops. And breathes.

And begins to decay.

.

Posted in Stop making Sense, Tatti Drama | Leave a comment

Where we pretend that the chutney is spicy, making ooo aaa noises to keep the hosts happy

Like you have never done that.

I think time has a way of decreasing your affinity towards charades. Perhaps you realise that time is finite, and there is little point in wasting it on falsehoods. Or maybe your brain simply slows down, preventing you from putting up the show. Holding you down, making you struggle to be the person that everyone wants you to be.

Or maybe this is what they mean by the wisdom that only comes with time. Tinged with a bit of sadness because you know you could have done so much had you known then what you know now. Or may be the sadness is because you know that even if you knew, you wouldn’t have done anything differently.

The inevitability of decline.

Y so sad kro? Think happy thoughts.

Okay then.

.

I have this sneaky suspicion that ponies have a crack addiction. There is just something about their eyes and the way they keep shaking their heads. Making that neigh neigh noise except the pitch is way higher than it ought to be.

Mules I am not so sure. I think mules are just like “fuck this shit, and put that shit on my back till I die” types. They are like those old aunts in the simpsons. Without the chain smoking of course.

Must be pretty bloody difficult to chain smoke with them hooves and all that. Close near impossible I reckon.

Reckon?

What the fuck?

That is one word I am quite sure I will never ever ever be able to use in a casual conversation. Just cannot see that happening.

Ever. Like ever ever.

.

Anyway, where were we? Yes, on mules. And charades. And windows that are so dusty that they barely let any light through.

That sounds quite poetic kro.

You reckon?

.

Ta-da

 

Posted in Stop making Sense, Tatti Drama | Leave a comment