THE DAY FINALLY ARRIVES...

Its been a while since I have been planning to put up this news on my blog. Was planning to do it on my birthday(which is on the sixth by the way), but could not hold it off anymore. The wait is finally over. I have managed to do what every wannabe/pseudo/dreamer writer wants to do atleast once in their lifetime. Yes I have. To you, my honest and faithful reader...I give you Cold Feet.





A scintillating and intriguing collection of short stories, they would surely give you goose pimples if not turn you as white as a sheet. If you have been someone who has always wanted to read beyond what engineering boys do besides college or women with/without jobs do all the time, I am sure this wont disappoint you. The rest of the criticism rests upon you, my faithful reader.

If you are interested to buy the book, you can buy it off the net right now at Serenewoods.com. It shall be available at bookstores soon. For anymore info you can get in touch with me at insanemindfreak@gmail.com. Spread the word. A new dark fiction writer is now in town.....

Waking Up

“Is it morning yet?”
“Nope.”
“Now is it morning?”
“Nope.”
“When do I wake up then?”
“Never.”

[P.S.- Big news update coming soon!do hang around...]

Breaking news!!

The entry sent into the "Clarity of Night" contest has managed to bag an "honorary mention"!! The unedited version of the story shall be put up soon on the blog. Till then, here is a story, which was done after Metamorphosis , incorporating a mix of narrative techniques. It also includes the staccato narrative that I used for the entry. Needless to say, feedback only makes a writer feel a writer, so drop in your words of wisdom, if deemed necessary.
Presenting, The Pill...

The Guy @ 12:05 p.m.

The biggest hallucination to live for is Life.
Right or wrong, good or evil, are like grapes on
A neglected table. Rotten or otherwise,
Who cares a shit?
Sometimes, the colors speak.
The red says its fading, the purple; rotating.
You want to stay afloat in this shithole, you gotta swim for
Life. Sometimes all you need is a telephone.
It gets you hooked or laid. Both or neither.
Sometimes or Always. You become the mirror after
The Pill. That’s when you see fangs and the burning eyes.
He is going to get you. I am the one. Time to shoot up to the stars.

The Room @ 12:20 p.m.

Torn wallpaper. Red and faded at places. Discarded needles from last month. Three legged table with flecks of cocaine. Bed with unwanted, dried stains. Blood, semen, puke. Necessarily not in that order. One eyed Bob Marley discarded cushion cover. One man lying in the corner, semi conscious. Waking and not liking. Misused telephone, being manhandled right now. Call the dealer. No purple.

The Dealer @ 12:35 p.m.

I don’t live to make the world a better place; no one does.
I scatter happiness though. A lot of it, sometimes.
I make you feel like being on a rainbow.
I make you see purple. I make your face melt and
then refreeze it. I make you feel Out of the Human and
Into the Soul.

Sometimes I make you feel bugs crawling all over.

It has to be just one pill this time. My rent is overdue.
I can’t let him die on me.

Not just yet.

The Pill @ 1 p.m.

I have landed.

Landing on a three legged table with specks of cocaine
for company doesn’t exactly make you feel like
Neil Armstrong. It makes me feel good though, that I am the
only one here. I will be gone in a while,
taking away guilt, pain, anguish, greed, hatred, neglect,
loneliness, jealousy, angst, disbelief, betrayal, lust,
redemption, loathing.

Can’t blame me. Gotta trip sometimes y'know…


The Guy @ 1:30 p.m.

Ever tried hypnotizing time? I have been doing it
for the past fifteen minutes. At one time, you want to
slow it down and shrink it at another. Sometimes you
want it to disappear, leaving you in a timeless,
spaceless…gap.
I have taken the pill. I can feel it starting to happen.
I go to the other side of the mirror now. Reverse.
What's in Flow here, is always the Wolf there…
Menacing. I don’t like goin' in there, but then again;
What’s left of this side anyways? The watch says its
half past while I have been hypnotizing time for only a quarter.
I guess I have hypnotized time.Purple time. The red is getting brighter.
The reverse is beginning. I am going into the mirror now.

Reverse.
Re-verse.
River. See.


m.p. 03:3 @ guy, The

LivE.
Colors see I.
ReddeR.
Life for Swim.
DiaL.
FloW.
Guy, The; Am I? High, am I?

Writer's Itch...

Aloha invisibles!

I would pretend that a lot of you would be reading this and would also be pretentious enough to care as to what have I been upto! There's a lot of writing that I am churning out which would find a way into the blog soon. Till then, you could choose to chomp on an entry that I sent into a competition here. The entry number is 36.Do tell me what you think of the piece ( dontknowwhattacallit!) for your feedback is essential and appreciated.If you choose not to do do so, be prepared to be turned to ash by the upcoming friday the thirteenth.Also stay tuned for a new story coming soon!

Adios me pumpkins for now!

[poof!]

Pages...

There is no plan B. You Have to believe me.

There is no "good" way of saying that you are dying.

So, I wont pretend.I will not try to tell you that I have lived a fulfilling life, and its time to put a period to the story of my existence. I wont tell you about glorified walks in illuminated gardens, the ones which I should have taken in my youth. I wont tell you of the soft gurgling rivulets that flowed through fields of gold while I sat next to it, hand in hand, a pretty damsel for company. Its not that I don't want to tell you this.

I cant tell you this.

Here I am, grovelling in muck, on all fours, like a lowly creature, fit to be forgotten and neglected. Whats worse is, the muck is actually not mud, or anything "muddy" that you would make it out to be. This muck, its a lot worse. Its made up of the worst things that you would imagine;you can imagine.I sit down, right in the middle of this desolate stretch of Your mind, where you generally don't want to step in.

Why cant I talk about all those beautiful things that I told you a while back?It is very simple; I am not assigned to do that. You see, each one of us here,we are given certain...objectives, if I may put it that way. Each one of us is supposed to handle a certain bunch of thoughts. you would have to be very unlucky to be me.I have the most painful bunch of thoughts; the fights, the crying, the stomping off, the break up.

Whats worse, I am dying.

What is "passing on"? What is to "expire"? Do you have to actually make an effort to be politically correct? Don't you think that actually defeats the purpose of death;of dying itself? The problem with you mortals is, you think death is a bad thing,just because you can afford to die.You think its a curse to die, to be removed;to be deleted. Its all a matter of perspective. You would have a totally different outlook had you been grovelling in the muck that I am in.

For the sake of an example, look at me. I have been trying to die for a while now. Existence to me is now just about a pittance. Every single time I think, the end is finally here, and I close my eyes, you bring me back.

Yes, you.

There are so many like me, grovelling in this muck, hoping to die out soon. Some have been lucky. The irony remains, that once we die, we don't turn into angels and fly off. That's the happier guys that I talked about a while back. When we die, we just cease to exist, and stay where we died. We Add to the muck. We ARE the muck.

Now do you see what I was talking about?

As a final word, all I would say is this; Please let me go. Move on. There are so many of my ilk; harbor them, cultivate them. I am too old and burnt out, I need to go now. You shall not be forgiven for what you are doing to me. Everyone has a right to die.

Please let me die...I beg you...Let...me...die...

Please...forget...
***********

Tears rolled down her eyes as she sat sipping coffee with her best friend.It had been two months, and she hoped that one day, he would be gone.Her friend held her hand.

"You have to let him go".

She sighed as she stared into her coffee. She whispered out the words, like steam dancing over the cup

"I cant forget him..."

[ What if memories felt pain,

What if the past died in vain,

What if it washed off like rain...

What if...you could be born again...]

Desktop thoughts...

Look at you.
Sitting there staring at the screen.
Wondering.
Imagining dreams, sunsets wild, thoughts red.
The stationary has been stagnating;
For you dont write with them anymore.
The pencil turns into a mourning body of wooden thoughts,
hoping to be revealed before a dying day.
The rest have retired to their litererary hibernations...

I sit here, staring, sharing, always caring.
Pretending to pull out rabbits from the throats of imaginary ravens...
Passing off dogs for dinosaurs...
But its a high...
Its Still a high....

[written for a very dear friend, whom I finally had the privelage to meet for the first time after knowing her for over a year. Sometimes, all a writer(pseudo or otherwise) needs is just one reader like her; thanks for being there! :) ]

The wait...

Its still raining.

Three days. Time feels like a bubble gum stuck to the sole of your shoe.
I don’t know how long this will go on. Water runs around in little transparent
veins, sniffing out dry places and vanquishing them. They told me to wait and I waited.
I waited with all the patience that a defeated man ought to have. Waited in remorse, waited in guilt, waited in a drenched bunch of emotions.

The sky never breaks into a morning.

It goes from black to grey to black again. No sun. All that is there, is the rain. Plummeting with all its might, running amok, making a fool out of all that is living or pretending to survive.

“Soak in my might; don’t fight.
Don’t even think about it;
Its not gonna be all right…”

They told me that they would send across someone to get me out of here, get me to some
place dry. I lapped up their promises, a mongrel, and hungry since eternity. I knew they would lie. Making hollow promises comes second to betrayal in the human palette of psychological actions. But this time, they did a bend.

He came.

Carrying some clothing and some food supplies, he told me that he had been air dropped some two kilometers away. They were going to come pick us up within hours. There were other distress calls that had been detected from all across the terrain, and they were trying to get to as many as they could. He was talking too much. And he could use some respect for me.

War? What war?

I knew that I had been a commander in some forgotten part of my memory. I did not remember when the war got over; all I remember is that the gunfire and the bombs exploding in the vicinity slowly faded away. Then every sound was overshadowed by
the loud patter of rain. It did not allow you to talk or think.

Think about the rain. Think about me. Am I not enough?

He was still speaking. I stared at him, not really looking. He was getting louder, trying to cut through my defenses. I could see his lips moving, flinching like a maniac, his face streaked with water, mud and a lot more that I could not make out. I don’t like his way of talking. I am a Commander. I was one at least. Respect, please. Just a little.

He should not have slapped me.

Now there are two of us. I am still holding on to the knife. He lies there, his throat opened up like a fluffy pillow. His eyes carry the look of disbelief. Don’t tell me he did not see that coming. People with such low manners, ought to expect it sooner or later. There was a loud explosion a while back and I saw a flaming bird come crashing down into the forest. Seems like someone banged my fire exit . I have food now. And company. Not very lively, but surely well mannered.

I am still waiting…