I observed the Alps from the office kitchen when the weather was nice. Waited for the water to boil and sipped tea afterwards, gazing at the mountains. Guten tag, said somebody passing by. G'day, I answered.
Did you enjoy your food?, repeated uninterested waiters their routine question over and over in different places. I blankly nodded while my grim expression screamed no-bloody-way! everywhere I went.
Everywhere but Swagat, the place to eat Indian in this city.
Stared through the hotel window at night. Flipped through TV channels. Scrutinised my face in the mirror. No, I wasn't bored, just lifeless.
If I was expecting redemption through driving home in blizzard, it hadn't come.
Where the heck is warmth?
22 February 2009
16 February 2009
Burnt out
Why, oh why, didn't I bite his cock off when I had a chance, thinks she, looking at me with a mix of hate, disgrace — and love. I'm trying to stay as cold and numb as possible; and it's not too difficult. Been there, done that.
She's smoking at a solid pace of 5 ciggies an hour. Having her fifteenth, meaning we've already been sitting here for 3 hours.
I told her everything she eagerly wanted to hear. That perhaps smoking 40 a day ain't the best way to keep a non-smoker by her side. That being regularly three hours late for meetings ain't the best way to keep a reasonably square guy. And that otherwise she's close to perfect. And I'm sorry; 'cos — to a degree — I am.
She's desperately trying to keep her cool and hide her wetting eyes. I'm walking her off. One more hug, a brief fleeting kiss, a sigh and it's over. Night is closing on me, I'm suffocating; exhausted by the experience, I need to fall asleep to breathe again.
She's smoking at a solid pace of 5 ciggies an hour. Having her fifteenth, meaning we've already been sitting here for 3 hours.
I told her everything she eagerly wanted to hear. That perhaps smoking 40 a day ain't the best way to keep a non-smoker by her side. That being regularly three hours late for meetings ain't the best way to keep a reasonably square guy. And that otherwise she's close to perfect. And I'm sorry; 'cos — to a degree — I am.
She's desperately trying to keep her cool and hide her wetting eyes. I'm walking her off. One more hug, a brief fleeting kiss, a sigh and it's over. Night is closing on me, I'm suffocating; exhausted by the experience, I need to fall asleep to breathe again.
01 February 2009
Là-bas
This is very much like the old days; my place deserted in the same way my soul is. Nothing but mess and leftovers remind me of once glamorous youth of yesteryear. It's late at night; emptiness is asking questions, demanding answers. I cannot fall asleep. A zombie-to-be is staring into darkness. Would be watching a movie instead; if I only understood French. Tonight, it'd be Les nuits fauves for sure.
Hanging around, lingering, reflecting. This is me, brainwashed by never-ending commitments; by useless, unimportant responsibility. Not blaming anyone, not even myself. It is how it is — a conformist approach by a conformist scumbag. Am too weak to look for a quick fix tonight, just making a note.
On the light side, it's been snowing today.
Hanging around, lingering, reflecting. This is me, brainwashed by never-ending commitments; by useless, unimportant responsibility. Not blaming anyone, not even myself. It is how it is — a conformist approach by a conformist scumbag. Am too weak to look for a quick fix tonight, just making a note.
On the light side, it's been snowing today.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)