Wafts of dreamy, foggy air inundated the room with nostalgic cues to a derelict past and for a while the stillness of the moment seemed everlastingly comforting. An occasional glance at the bottle of wine, encouraged me. The red tranquility that passionately flowed, pursing my mouth, like a lover's devouring kiss, all inked on the paper that I let my pen gently traverse on. Hate I realised, was the perpetual state of my existence. In words not simpler did men often do justice to their cowardice. Men, of stature, these ignoble men, of many words, and profundity unparalleled, with lofty notions of right and wrong, and decisive. Decisiveness, its their decisiveness that I most despise. How foolish can man become. What do these men stand for? What can a man stand for?
I wish sometimes, I had not a mind, and a spirit I would be. I would wander aimlessly, wading through the long grasses in the Savannas or crossing rivers that poured into the Baltic Sea, and playing with the little black and sometimes white pebbles along the way. Then I would wander around robbing men and women of the pleasure of surreptitiously eying strange women and men by appearing before them like an eclipsing mass of nothingness or sit aimlessly in a corner of a street soaking the sun and looking at the old abandoned lump on the pavement and other indigent folk enjoying the sun with the same ardour, and endearing attachment as myself, and... just looking at people. Yes, I love people. I love their faces, their features, the lively suppleness with which they transform into symbols of love, hate, and fear, and calmness. And the puzzles people set out to solve each day, and how they are fooled into believing they have a reason to stand for something, stand for life maybe? And how they would rather put up with this torment for every ten more minutes of life, anything for life, and still keep wanting more of life ?
Nothing. There is nothing worthwhile standing for. There is no love worth endearing to, for not because it all must end in misery, but because its just not worth it. And I hate these men, who are urged to fight for a cause by some little impulsive tumor in their cerebral cortex, for their is no cause worthwhile standing for. Oh, the meaningless of it all! And yet, I despise myself and I truly, fervently, worship these men, and their ignorance. I wish one moment would pass that my mind didn't seek to reason with itself. No, a moment is transitory, and I cannot, cannot control my mind forever. I will shriek at you, for its a change over the monotony that ensues when I just let you be. I would rather just vomit and wrench my entrails till they bleed, than just sit by indolently smoking away this little cigarette into the nothingness where it belongs. No, I am a coward, and I would just smoke myself into nothingness thinking otherwise but not gathering the courage to do anything about it. I will laugh hysterically into the night in the loneliness of the moment that belongs to me alone, and if it is interrupted by the wind or by some unassuming bird, I will laugh a little more at the brittleness of even silence that I thought I could endear.
Out in the streets one day, I will explode into a fit of womanly anguish and simultaneously squirm like a little mouse in fear , sans reason, sans thoughtfulness, almost unexpectedly you would say. I don't want to attract attention! I just want to see the faces. The faces of all the people, some loathing me for taking up this little quadrangle of tarred road or a little space of their lives, that they wish to drive their cars over, only wishing if it were legal, so that they could drive it over me, and some people running off with a motley of supercilious smirks mixed with calculated reservation on their faces. Who knows who is better off at life, but they, these ignorant men and women, would unquestioningly believe that they are the ones unquestioningly happier and saner and richer and at peace. It is mystifying though, how an unexpected response by the universe puts people into such a paroxysm, and a quiet but repressed sense of unbounded satisfaction at the disruption of harmony ensues. But people, illogical, and ignorant as they are, repress desires. I won't, or maybe I will, for I am a coward. Oh, but the pleasure of the moment being one's own!
My room is unkempt, and so is my hair, so is my life. There is a portrait on the wall, and a fireplace where charred remains lie only to confirm their existence with me. And they think I will not lie? Could I be trusted? How unassuming, how naive, and innocently unfortunate, almost pitiable. Can anyone be trusted? The truth is not out there, its hidden and maybe its all meaningless. But this whole world still chooses to set out to live another day, to prove its existence to one another once again, that's all they do, and then get lost in the riffraff of it all and the tide of time, and in the anonymity of all existence. Scum, chemical scum spewed across the heavens. That is all we are. What can we stand for? There is nothing worth standing for, expect, maybe this one moment, and its guilty pleasures, for these pleasures are themselves meaningless.
And the smoke left my mouth in one final leap out to reach the stars and I let my pen slip, like my mind into slumber.
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