This was my entry to a short story writing contest. The first and last lines were given and the rest was subject to my imagination as long as I could keep it within 300 words. About whack jobs The donkey brayed loud in my ear – hee haw hee haw. I couldn’t tell if he was mocking me or just being an ass. Especially since, moments ago he had asked me for a whiskey on the rocks. I was contemplating the possibility of evolution and talking donkeys when he hollered into my ears again “You listen to The Doors?” I was used to this junkie like thought disconnect. And The Doors did accompany me to Krypton – the best planet in the 937 galaxies known to everybody but mankind. I am Superman, if you were wondering. People can’t tell the difference between fiction and reality these days. “You listen to The doors?” he asks again. “Of course. Why?” I reply. “Simply” he says, the impish grin quite evident, if you can think beyond his yellow teeth and lack of dental health. One word answers should be banned. Good music is my mojo and I don’t give up easily. I fish for an interesting conversation and add “The ghost song is my fave what’s yours?” “Stoned immaculate” he blurts. Surprise! Surprise! Whatever else did I expect from a talking ass who listens to The Doors. A welcome pause is ushered in. The conversation gropes for leads to enter the world of weirdness again. But the insanity is shortlived. I hear my mom bellow from below. “Time to rise and get to work” “Time to grow up and be the adult you are” Groggy yet lucid, I wonder if the two are interconnected. No answers hit me. Hell, who needs the answers. My thoughts meander back to the talking donkey. So what if my dream reeks of strangeness. Calvin has his Hobbes and I have my talking ass. Bouts of madness … that’s all I want in my life. This entry went on to win the first place. The competition was devoid of any real talent ... hence ;-)

At a signal

We all come to stop briefly;
The red reacquaints us with the rage within,
Silent curses make their rounds.

A waif appears, pulling her knotted hair;
A different red in her eyes,
Of rage again, but justified.

Streams of helplessness part her now black face;
But the streams purge no more,
They trail off at the edges of her parched, broken lips.

Above, the grey urban sky and greyer clouds waltz;
A dance that culminates in little drops,
The rain makes her eyes smile.

A moment on and those eyes burn again;
Realization of a deluge being ushered in,
Existential woes take precedence again.

A hand reaches out, beseeches for a hungry stomach;
The other holds a mangled, plastic tricolor,
While her eyes, they hold the eyes of my mind.

Uneasy I look around, seek familiarity;
Ah, there, in the oblivious eyes around I see green,
And across the crossing, green again, beckons.

So we hurry along;
It's a stampede here,
Some will die, while some others, aren't alive any more.

A crazy little thing called quirk

No I ain't gonna drop on you a load of that self-help crap. My posts so far have reeked of philosophy. I have been accused of being too serious in what is supposed to be an innocuous blog.

I protested of course ...

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Me: " Blog implies random thought. And, besides this space is called 'life a muse' ..."

She: "Nobody likes sermons. And don't educate me on the raison d'etre of a blog. By doing so you are assuming that you're smarter. By doing so..."

... yackety yak yak ...

... more yackety yak yak ....

and then finally "Understood? 'Life a muse'. No".

Pause.

She: "Get a life - Amuse."

Pause again.

She: "Am I clear ?"

Me:"Crystal. Shall I dance ?"

Me: "Ouch".
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Anyways.

Each of us is proprietor to our little world. And we all bring to the table something that we can call our very own. (Wait! This isn't a sermon)

By this I'm also referring to idiosyncrasies. We all have our share of oddities.
I am drawing up a list of such weird habits that I have come across.
These are bona fide observations and may result in me being reduced to a pariah. But my friends are a understanding lot... ( I hope )

These are some quirks that I have come to live with.

* Some people like to wear shades. What's quirky about that ? Well, they are goggles and are worn to beat the glare of sunlight. Agreed. But why the hell do you need to wear them at night ?

* Some people like to crack thier knuckles. It's their way of announcing their arrival, readiness or of simply getting attention. Losers. But if you go beyond what they are showing you ... it is nervous energy released with irritating 'pops'. (I'm guilty as charged on this account)

* Some people wear their vests inside out. That way the manufacturer's tag is prevented from accomplishing it's chief objective - to irritate you. Just snip it and be rid of it dude !

* Some people snort while laughing. Well it's nice to know your joke was well received and a snort is a sure enough indicator that the amused object isn't faking it. But hell, a snort is a snort. Snort-a-doodle-do.

* And some people just snort. The air you inhale makes rounds in your diaphragm or something, drops the oxygen, picks up the carbon-di-oxide and heads out.

We all vent hot air into this world. We do. In some way or the other.

But what if the body refused a smooth exit. Well then some people just have to snort their way out. So while conversing with you they would go ...

"... So you think I'm lying .. (snort) .... I'm not .... (snort) ... If you look into my eyes ...(snort) ... you'll see ... (snort) ... that I meant every word ... (snort) ... I said."

It's hard to take someone seriously under these circumstances. You'll agree.

* Some people don't like chocolate. This one's headed for Ripley's believe it or not. How can anyone not like chocolate ? Maybe this dark brown thing reminds them of the time they were seduced by it.

* Some people bathe; get dressed and booted and then brush their teeth. ( "???" .... ya I know)

*Some people are inquisitive. What's wrong with that? Well, nothing. I'm all for the pursuit of knowledge. But it is disconcerting when you're asked after a movie

"Who was the director ?"
"Who was the actor?"
"He is married na ?" .... "This is his second marriage na?"
"Who was his first wife ?"
"Who is the cameraman ?"

Just kill me, damn it. Do it. Now.

* Some folks like to wear sweaters, jackets and cardigans. No matter what the weather. Nothing's wrong with that. We live in an unpredictable world. No harm in being prepared at all times.

Ya, ya I'm talking about myself.

You want some help in wiping that smile off your face ?

* Some people like to roll their sleeves up. It a way of showing to all concerned that you're ready for work. And if you push your sleeves up every now and then, then you surely have got the message across. A good habit this. (Ya, ya guilty again)

* Some girls like to pat. They like to place their palms on your hands every 47 seconds (You can check). Hell, I have no reason to complain and I admit I used to love it. But when the conversation moves on to some other guy and that creep is then treated to the same pleasure. You were the one she chose to bless minutes ago and now ...

"&#^~&$ " !!!

You undertstand. Your empathy means a lot to me.

You'll believe anything ;-)

* Gait Bait. But some people love attention. How else can you explain their need to drag their feet while walking ? You should all try this. And throw in extra large footwear for the effect. You are ensured of a unique background score to accompany you wherever you go.

I have a recurring nightmare where a giant amoeba is slithering towards me. I wonder why.

Help me ...

Please !

* Some people like sporting long nails. I confess. Women with long, painted nails turn me on. But, unpainted and long nails. Unacceptable. Why display, in all its ugliness, what your body wants you to do away with ? And if you want to hold on to it then give the manicurist some business. And yes, paint it.

Oh you did. Well then, "How are you doing ?"

Then there are guys who sport long nails. No comments here.

A variant of this sect is a bunch of guys who let the little finger of their left hand (ya it's got to be the left) get the privilege of displaying extra keratin. This special honour to an otherwise inconspicuous finger has an objective - To ease the clearing of their nasal canal. That wriggling little finger sure helps you get rid of that troublesome mucus.

An in order to reward a job well done, this nail is the only one that gets the honour of a paint job. Disgusting and easily me pet peeve.

In Transit

I brace myself for the ride ahead.
Inadequately attired ... excited.
The naked, sinuating road embraces me.
The engine finds its bearings and the pace is set.
Above, through the flitting grey clouds, a glimpse of the eternal voyeur.
A crescent today ... she's smiling back.

Neither lonesome nor silent, this night wouldn't linger on.
Maybe it's the soughing wind.
It whispers, licks, bites, twirls, giggles and then leaves.
She'll be back though ... over now, over again.
Teasing me all the time.
And, then it happens.
Little drops at first ... caressing me.
Trickling all over me, tickling me all over.
I quiver, I shudder ... quenched.
It drenches me, sweet release this.
Breathless, I gasp.
Exhale yet?
Well, exhale now.

I afford observation a moment.
There, the missing element – day’s orb, ushered in.
The rustling, the chirping, the blushing sky;
All lauding a journey well made.
An extended pause, the mind shall now rest.
Briefly though.
The picture is now complete.
But the paintbrush awaits another canvas.