Yes and No

This passion curls and rests on her lips.

Just a few words, she says.

He twinkles back,

Damn this!!

Its probably yes...probably no.

Certainty is never written in water.

Your tongue and lips always moist

can never hold me.

Few words, maybe yes...

maybe no.

Berries, Phones And Pods

You know, it just blows me away that some folks put so much of dependency on this thing they call a blackberry or whatever equivalent. These ones I find completely mystifying. Their pride in being “connected” to everything and I mean everything, is somewhat bizarre to me. Take this friend of mine. He not only has a blackberry but also an i telephone that has not 1 or 2 but 3 g's in it although I don't really know whats the deal with the g's. And these he carries with him everyday and everywhere. And just in case, his top of the line i pod too.

Now, I’ve no idea of the things that a blackberry or an i telephone that has not 2 but 3 g's can do. But I see some friends checking their e mails with their berries and then answer calls with another phone. Mostly of the i telephone variety while another flicks out his i pod thing, after checking his mail with his berry and making a call with his HTC, and proudly shows the latest porn he downloaded. I find all this annoying on many levels. Especially when drinking at the pub. And there's another who claims that he actually blogs with that berry thing. This dude also tells me he reads on his i pod and that he has the whole books of the bible on his pod thingy.

Seriously, what makes it so indispensable that some people own and use more than one of these things at the same time is just beyond me.

So, say that you can call people, listen to music, watch porn, read a book, do mails, make appointments, book tickets, take photographs or videos, watch live TV programmes and everything else on your berry or your pod - that makes it a multifunctional item.

Well, thats all good and nice.

Very cool. Very clever.

But does it mean that you simplify your life by getting rid of the TV, DVD player, music system, phone, camera, videocam, computer, books and possibly your secretary? I don't think so. So if you’re still going to have all those things anyway, what’s the point of that berry or that i telephone or that pod thing?

Phones that play music and that pod thing that function as a phone – what da fuck is up with that? I don't have the luxury of a pod that plays music or one that function as a phone and play music but I would be very happy if, and only if I had one, it would just play music and do nothing else. I don’t think I need my pod to be a phone, a diary, an alarm clock, a radio, a DVD player, a TV, computer or a portable vagina. I fucking swear I saw a portable vagina at this sex shop the other day and that was hillarious. Can you believe this shit? A fucking portable vagina you can put in your pocket and bring to work, yo! Pocket pussy, y'all! How about that?

But I digress.

And how, in the name of sweet mother of Thor, can anyone enjoy porn on a 2 by 3 inch screen? Me, I'm into details. I like to see that little mole Ms Hikaru Koto has on the left cheek of her soft butt. You wouldn't get that kind of detail on a berry or a stupid pod. And that is why I've a nice 29 inch screen TV. I have all these things they put on a berry or a pod separately and they all work just fine. And for the life of me, I've never been overcome by an irresistible urge to watch skin action on a 2 by 3 inch screen anywhere, no matter how little else I have to do. Even on those bigg ass planes, when I could conceivably be expected to be bored and require entertainment, I don’t bother with the stupid screens on the back of the seat in front of me.

I don’t think I’m technologically challenged. Maybe fiscally. But I just don’t feel the necessity to be connected all the time to an electronic leash, everywhere I go. And I certainly don't need to watch tv on a 2 by 3. Technology is a utilitarian thing, as far as I'm concerned. If it does what I need, that will do. When an item that's meant to make your life simpler turns out to need training to operate, because it's complicated by the sheer number of things it does, those technological advances defeat the original purpose. Fucking simplicity.

I sometimes wonder what these folks would do, those very important, very tech-savvy people who are addicted to their berrys and pods, if they were disconnected from the electronic world. How would they survive the lack of entertainment at the touch of a teeny weeny little button on those thing with fucking tiny screen?

I’d read a book. Just your normal, printed book - the ones with words, which wouldn’t tell you the time, remind you of an appointment, play music, make a phone call, receive an email, take a photograph or do anything other than be something to read. The kind of book that would have pages made from paper that you could touch, smell and feel, the kind of book that wouldn’t need batteries, power or recharging.

That kind of...retro book, if you like.

And oh, my Nokia 1110 rawks!

Chill

The sun rises bright and fresh,
penetrates the windows and wraps its warmth
around my shoulders,
light-shards smile across the floor.

But it's a tease. I know it is...

But these are strange days,
sudden change of weather comes in the night,
windstorms in the afternoon,
morning mists on cold floors that yields to dark clouds and then the drizzle,
While the wind drives chill against my skin.

I want to believe the warm hug is especially for me,
that she's going to stay,
but warm is a fickle lover...
and I know...
...she'll be gone and I'll be cold.

Black Cat

I know you know this one.

They say if a black cat walks under the ladder you're climbing, you're fucked and if a black cat crosses your path, you're sure going to be doubly fucked.

Thats what happened after dinner just now as me and my dinner partner walked towards my ride. The feline of bad omen crossed our path which stopped my dinner partner dead in his track and prompted him to chant some unintelligible mantra, waving his hands around frantically in between. Totally blown away, I stood there staring at him.

"You can't be too careful. Bad luck, you know", he said.

So at the pub, and still curious, I asked him at what distance does the bad luck begins to affect me. That is, how far away does a black cat have to be? 2 feet? 12 1/2 maybe? A few hundred feet? Do I even have to fucking see the cat crossing my path for the bad luck to start or is it enough that a black cat cross my path at all, whether I see it or not? And does the cat have to be a specific breed? Like if it was a cross breed of a Siamese and a stray, would my bad luck be quadrupled in its affect or something?

He wasn't amused and said we shouldn't be questioning the spirit world, the fairy's and those small little beings that sometime appears to his grandfather.

But never mind that. Back to the black cat - does the same bad luck thing applies when you're driving? Say, when one runs across the road in front of you?

I mean, why can't these things be more precise?

Hey, you!

Yeah. You.

Happy birthday!

Convert

I left the saltmine at 6:30 in the PM and as I drove towards the general direction of Ruai, a good friend called and asked if I wanted to join him at a coffee shop for a few rounds of them amber coloured juice. I told him I was already proceeding towards Ruai, a venture he was very much against on the account that he was broke and so was I. And to rub it in, he reminded me of the critical condition of my tab over at the pub.

So I arrived at the coffee shop and took a seat at one of the empty tables and ordered a bucket of Stella. I was early and already at my second can when this smartly dressed person walked to my table and asked if he could join me.

There are a few banks in the vicinity and by the crumpled, rolled up sleeves of his cotton shirt, double pleated pants and his leather bag, he'd pass for a banker. I don't normally feel comfortable sharing tables with strangers but the dude looked legit and I nodded.

He held out his hands, confidently shook my hand and introduced himself.

"Jonathan Leong", he said.

I offered him a beer but he declined and ordered ice tea instead. And then we talked. He said he was from Malaya and in my backyard for a visit. We spoke of the weather, the flu thing and got into some political discussion because you can never go wrong with politics. Especially local politics.

I was enjoying his company until he asked, and casually too, if I was a religious person. Immediately then I knew where the question was leading.

"Not very. But I do go to church on Sunday's".

It had happened to me countless of times during my college days. And the modus operandi was always the same. Someone would befriend you and then try to make you embrace whatever religion they were selling while you were at your most vulnerable.

"Friend, have you had many dark moments?", he asked next.

I had already ravished four Stella by then and didn't really want to get into any heavy discussion on religion. But because I didn't want to be rude, I decided to make light of the situation before he could get started properly.

"Yeah, of course. Like right now. Being broke, you know. Thats dark to me", I bowed my head sadly.

But the look he gave me made me feel guilty.

"In all seriousness, friend, do you ever pray?"

"Sometimes. When I'm down and I need hope. But right now, I'm all good, really". I tried to slide out of it again but he kept calling me 'friend' and asking me questions that I had to answer 'yes' to.

"Do you believe in God, friend?"

"Sort of. But it's more my own version of God"

And then he exhaled loudly and placed his hands on the table, palms facing upwards. I knew then something big was coming.

"Friend, I am a Mormon", he finally declared.

And the way he said it was like a confession and the words were just left there, dangling in the air like he just told me he was gay or had fucking cancer or something. He looked at me earnestly but I just didn't know how to react.

"Really?", I nodded. "Thats nice".

It was a stupid thing to say but in all honesty, I just couldn't think of anything to say. And frankly, I had a bad impression about these bunch. I've gone through the same thing with the group-that-do-not-believe-in-blood-transfusion years ago and they are alright but a bit persistent. Thing is even though I don't really know much about these Moromon's, folks I know always talked about them in a negative way. But Jonathan was all good. He was cool.

"Friend, if I gave you some of our literature would you be prepared to read it? Don't worry. I'm not going to push anything on you. It's up to you".

"Sure. Why not?"

He then opened his leather briefcase and took out what looked like a thick, hard cover book and a few other materials and placed them on the table. I took one, flipped through and said my thanks.

He smiled and just like that he wished me well and walked away

------------------------------------------------

I read the thick book and found it interesting. Really. I'm not kidding.

Very science fiction-nish. Lots of strange beings with cool names. Like Nephi and Moron.

Unbearable Lightness of Being Me

The time tells me its 5:53pm and this is what I did at the office today :

- sorted out the various letters / memos / papers according to size and arranged them in neat piles.

- tapped two pens on the edge of my table to imitate a horse trotting along, then finally going at full gallop. For 20 minutes or thereabout.

- tried to compose a new song mainly about horses at trotting tempo with imaginary horses falling off the table to a sad death hundreds of millimetres below on the floor and with an imaginary funeral at the end for dramatic effect.

The song starts with a long and enchanting "Oooooooowwhhhhhhoooowww..."

- attempted not to move my head while looking out of the window to my right straining my eyeballs in the process. I tried so hard, I had dizzy spells for a few minutes.

- drew dust Jolly Roger on my monitor screen.

- made a call to Kobelco and asked if they sold Caterpillar. I was lucky. The receptionist on the other end was either too stupid to cut me off but I spent a good 15 minutes explaining that I was in dire need of a bulldozer type 150 DMTx-U876, 13 HpT with a swing load of 76.8 degrees to 10 tonnes. I left her my number and she hasn't called back.

- tried to fit a whole box of paper clips into a cigarette box holder and spent ten minutes disentangling the fucking load.

- summoned the power of my boredom to fast-forward into time, but apparently only succeeded in stopping it.

- and yawned 574,689 and a half times

Lift Me

I did not...

It was not like that.

It's this world,

Stained and now swiftly fading with time.

So...

Won't you please hold on to these cold cold hands...

And take these old cold feet,

Lift me up...

And lay me down...

Blood Sucking

I received a call from a relative yesterday evening informing me that one of his brother was sick and is now admitted at the hospital. They're from my village and from where I come, to qualify for a stint at our overcrowded state side hospital one has to have either cancer or something life threatening. So I knew it was something bad.

My first reaction was - do i need to know this shit right now?. There was already too much shit over at the saltmine to deal with and now this. But because these people are relations so I asked how he was doing. It was late evening and I had just left the saltmine and was about to reach the pub when she continued, "He was put under the knife since 6:00am and they aren't finished with him yet".

"How serious?", I asked.

"Very", she said.

So I detoured from the pub to the hospital and found a crowd at the ICU area. Mostly relations and looking very sombre. All was not well.

I didn't ask but someone said something about a ruptured vein, bad heart and busted kidney. The whole nine yards. One of the brothers later pulled me aside and asked what blood type I was because the brother needed 'A'.

I don't remember having any alcohol in the past 24 hours so I was good to give. And so early this morning I drove by at the blood bank and went through the works. Apart from the four or five blood sucking technicians who looked pretty busy, I found two other persons waiting in line to spill blood.

After filling up the necessary forms and going through the standard interview of which one of the question asked was if I had multiple sex partners in India in the past two months. Not a bad idea actually, but I had to disappoint him and declared that I haven't fucked an Indian national or for that matter, fucked in India in the last two months. I've been through this many times before and its always the last few questions that cracks me up.

Like - have you been tested positive for HIV? And I'm like what the fuck am I doing here spilling blood if I was positive.

I was later ushered to a bed next to a dude who smiled and said, "Isn't it great to know that we're actually saving lives?". I nodded and smiled back at him. I really wanted to tell him that my relation who was going to receive my pint of blood might not even make it. But I didn't want to spoil his day. I could tell he was excited and a little nervous. Could be a first timer.

It was all over in 30 minutes.

"You want this for a particular person?", one of the blood sucking technician asked.

"Yes. The name's on top of the page".

And then I left but with this thought though - why and how is it that I should feel great just because I spilled some blood and that I may possibly save a life? When I first drew blood many years ago, I never bothered that pint of blood was going to save a life. I didn't even care. I did it then because it was cool and besides them doctors will tell you its good for your health. They'll say excessive iron isn't good for the heart and shit. So its pretty much like what them ladies get every other month and that is why them ladies live longer, yo.

So even if my pint do save a life, I was already detached from it from when I left it at the blood bank and do I give a fuck? Hell, fucking No! Its very much like going to the sperm bank, you see. You take your pants down, jerk off to some bad porn and leave your shit there and then fucking leave. Yes, you may 'father' a son or a daughter but you'll never get to know your seed.

Does it matter? Fuck, no!

And it is not like my bag of blood has my name on it. Somebody needs it and if he lives because he/she had mine, so be it.

Maybe I just don't like this idea of 'saving lives'.