Wednesday, August 19, 2009

THE INTERIM DAYS

Good to see ya again!

See who? You?
'You! hypocrite lecteur!- mon semblable,- mon frere!'

Fancy blowin' out ya brains before a computer writin' out these freakin' stuff! Where u been all o'these days?? Eh? Eh?

Those were the interim days.

What you doin' all thes' freakin' days maite? Petty gimmickman get these words out o'th' belly...desolate pseudointellectual wastin' out precious time geekin'out...What you doin' man, what?

Meditating on the punks.

Me punk, eh man? You needa powder your nose up. Wanna powder your nose? Got'em plenty up the envelope. Brains run hell lot quicker..need some?

Candy floss was great. Wasted beer, Gold Flake butts, oily gin. Oil drips from the punk's rider...

When I find myself in times of trouble, Mother Mary comes to me
Speakin' words o' wisdom
Let it be

What if oil drippy-drippy? 'Axle's got a chain. Big deal!' The Peninsula has a nocturnal left lane. 'Yez officer., you got me'

My digestion is going bad these days. Smelly hiccups all around. Eating pork is probably the idea that'll help me. Pork...with roasted maggots crawling out of rump fat layers. How the ship cannoned her way out on to the sea! And the blood bathed down the Odessa steps. And voices were heard screaming 'out of empty cisterns and exhausted wells.'

Had games of tennis with Silva and Wisler...

"what is more for reasons unknown in spite of the strides of physical culture the practice of sports such as tennis football running cycling swimming flying floating riding gliding conating camogie skating tennis of all kinds dying flying sports of all sorts autumn summer winter winter tennis of all kinds hockey of all sorts penicillin and succedanea in a word I resume flying gliding golf over nine and eighteen holes tennis of all sorts in a word for reasons unknown in Feckham Peckham Fulham Clapham namely concurrently simultaneously what is more for reasons unknown but time will tell to shrink and dwindle I resume Fulham Clapham in a word..."

Ah! There was what interested me above all! Were you caught up in a jiffy? What will you pay me for those bellyaches I bore for you a middays?

Shadows at nights whisper to me. Strands of smoke mingle with the charcoal fumes. The Dulus are cooking dinner. Bishey
came a moment ago. The torn kite bears his name...

Days rolled. Early showers were dead long since. And afternoons were never quiet. What will happen at dawn? What about those of your multicolored nocturnal pics? What about those midday bellyaches? Those strange itches down the thighs? Nothing?

NOTHING

"'On Margate Sands.
I can connect
Nothing with nothing.
The broken fingernails of dirty hands.
My people humble people who expect
Nothing.'
la la

To Carthage then I came

Burning burning burning burning
O Lord Thou pluckest me out
O Lord Thou pluckest

burning "

5 comments:

Som...getting it off my chest!! said...

This is great stuff...aajkal ki khub Faulkner ba Joyce porchis...ektu mil pelam. But it's really phenomanal...

Sam said...

@Som : We follow the trails of those oversized mammoths,
In vain mazes of hollow imitation...

Atindriyo said...

Incredible

Atindriyo said...

Hey, you write really well....Why don't you post more stuff?

phenomenal woman said...

Besh Steinbeck-marka style hoyechhe... Grapes of Wrath, specifically.
Tobe Baudelaire theke Eliot theke Eizenstein theke Bob Dylan theke blah blah blah... ato allusion-er kochkochani amar bhallage na.
:(
Abar nijei kerdani mere bola hoyechhe-
"...In vain mazes of hollow imitation..."

But sob miliye...
:)
Neat.