Its all just a puzzle to me

I really shouldn’t complain about how bad writers get popular reviews. I shouldn’t complain about how bad writing is still accepted because of the familiarity of the subject. I really shouldn’t complain because writing is tough and whether I think you’re writing is bad or the subject is weak you’ve put in a lot of effort and it takes guts to show your stuff to people. 

So, I’m moving all my writing to a new tumblog. Most of it at least. Its called IMetAManWhoWasntThere. Yes, very creative. Anyway, I’ll be reposting everything on it and hopfully I’ll keep writing.

Wish me luck. Better yet, Follow me.

She hadn’t wanted my help. She just wanted to see if I would help her.

The idea of a judgement is so seductive, you want it to be true. The final verdict to a life spent dying an unfair life in an unjust world. You get to plead your case, that too to an entity who has been privy to every action and the reasons for it. A entity you have been told is loving and just.

And if things go well, a bounty greater than anything you’ve heard of is yours. And its forever. And the farm animals are convinced.

You could hear the swoosh even after the crack. Such was a slap from my father. It was like a sonic boom.

The sound of it meant one of us children was getting it. It meant my turn was coming up soon. I remember how the blood used to drain out of my body and how the abdomen would heat up purely of fear. I remember how a clean one would work like anesthesia; How disorienting it was, to be on the receiving end of one of those leathery wallops that Dad was all too generous in dispensing.

They made me numb. The numbness is wearing off now and I find myself aflame. My heart burns as if a hot brand were put to it when I see him now.

I tell myself I still see him so that he wont feel hurt. I don’t know why I bother.

Growing up, my father always had something to say about how I looked. He never called me ugly - he called me a lot of things besides but he always made me feel like shit for trying to how do I put it - dress normally. He had a sort of Almish resistance against casual wear. His opposition to everything he considered to be against the principles of his fuckknowswhat belief system was of levels you would find common in Afghanistan and Iraq I guess. He’d point out kids who had some sort of glow on their faces that he alone could discern. Cocksucker.

He still calls me and I still answer his calls. I don’t want to but I don’t see any other way of doing things. What I really feel like doing is giving him a punch straight to the chin. If he was younger ..

I felt ugly in another way, like a bad egg. 

I knew you would never want me as much as I.

Such sweet pain I never had before.

Every glance squeezed at my lungs

And wound me tighter in this whirlpool.

Every kiss I knew might be the last.

Growing up at home felt like being pruned to be a bonsai tree. The tiny pot they’d have me take root in was the shape of the flask they hoped to hold they’re dreams in. It was not what I wanted. The word bull-simple comes to mind when I think of how I behaved in my growing years. I spoke to my brother about it once. About growing up. He called the environment we grew up in hostile. 

It was.

Coming out of home was the begining of me coming out of my shell. It scares me sometimes but mostly I am excited. This process of getting to know myself is unnerving. It’s like meeting a stranger you know you’re going to like.

I find myself blinded by their myopia. Your. Your myopia. Its your myopia that is blinding me. This is your cataract clouding my vision. I am lost in this fog of our combined illiteracy.I feel cold even as I burn from within. I see lights that look warm. Lights that look inviting but turn out to be no more than the combustion of idiocrasy fed from infinite streams of weakness. I am loathe to be here. I am loathe to be me, among you. And mostly I am full of loathing for the vileness that permeates from the cunning and taints us.It blackness my person and makes filthy my clothes.

Odd wrought the garden tamed
Oddly half and quarter maned
Yet his face no fear could ever weather
His will no force could cause to wither
And boldly brought he his lance, yet unnamed.

Mold, rot, and mildew rocky
Moldy roots to this tree stocky
Yet his back could not hold the green together
His psyche spoke when it fell to thither
And ghostly left he his home gawky.

Hustle, bustle to a romantic shape
Hustling none to his amorous escape
Yet his heart was at every elsewhere
His soul on a plane not anywhere
And rattly wrung his chest space.

Weak, wretched, this starved alley spectre
Weakly etched out a silhouette, this actor
Yet his mind was stuffed to brim with alien fallout
His learning of self was wronged and washed out
And speaking he sentenced hisself to noose vectored.

Birth began the journey he was handed
Birthly process, was more fool’s wisdom branded
Yet his every grain now seeks its mother
His bit by bit recalls its brothers
And yearly grows he his mild rewilded.

Beatty began work that very hour. His first task involved fetching files and sorting notes. His second task involved running errands. An envelope was to be delivered to one Mr. Abrax half way across Havering. Abrax was a friendly of the firm. The two firms operated as sister concerns, often referring clients to each other and also the one off instance of sharing of advice did take place. This day the envelope was thick from freshly typed summons and notices. Beatty was expected to deliver this one and return with a similar envelope.

He wanted to come off as a dedicated soldier and left at once. He took the 103 from South Street and arrived half an hour later at Manor Way. The second floor Abrax, Abrax & Pennyweather office was a short distance from the bus stop. Beatty hurried up the stairs and breathed heavily an introduction and his errand to the receptionist. She was Holloway. She had a librarian pompadour and matching blouse. She starred at him for longer than Beatty thought necessary, then took the envelope from him to inspect its contents. She took out a thicker envelope from her desk drawer and handed it to him once she was satisfied with the first.

He had not been told to confirm the files he was to collect, but the receptionists fastidiousness made him feel guilty of his laxity. He sat down to examine the hamper. The documents had notes scribbled along their headers where they were not attached to a formal reply. And they all were dated for the last month.

“The Maddocks’ files haven’t been cleared. They will be ready next week.”

Beatty got a distinct feeling that the receptionist was in someway responsible for he delay of this file.

“We will send them by post.”

He walked to the closest deli for a sandwich and was in a bus before the taste of it left his mouth. Back at the office, Riehle took the envelope and asked him to proof read a set of files that had to go out the next day. He shrugged off the delay on the Maddocks’ files, handed Beatty the keys to the room and left early to check on his wife.

Beatty did not leave until he was done proofing.

I remember little about kindergarten in the visual sense of the word, but i do remember the sense of being out of place. I never got what I was supposed to do there. School and college later I still don’t know what I needed an education for. I have been tamed to the extent that I don’t question this much, but I cannnot say I have learnt much.

I wish I had learned something in all those years.