I don't know what I am about to write. This isn't the first time I've typed directly. But, there is always some thought. Something to hitch a verbal ride on. Now, 8:10 pm my time, I am a little hungry. What is hungry? I don't know where it comes from. Why do we want to fill ourselves every few hours - hot soup, cold dessert, breads that sometimes smell of mould (although I don't know what mould smells like), vegetables that have lost their lustre with the sprinkling of oil and garnishing (too much love can kill), bits of chicken lying remoreslessly in a bed of sauce so thick it coats the teeth and you give a barbequed smile. I don't know if I am spelling things right. I usually do.
I just had a sip of water. A sip does not quench thirst...it wets the lips. I could have just run my tongue along the slips, but it is lazing inside my mouth. It sleeps, as tongues are wont to do, as foetuses in wombs curl up and wait to be born. I don't know if foetuses wait to be born. One day we'd read their minds.
Today, I read a bit. Went over other people's words. Expressed myself. I went here, there, wherever I spotted something that caught my eye. I used to have a lot to say. I still do, but I have tied myself to things I may not want to be bound by. I chose it. Why? I don't know. It works. The choice.
Now, I've adjusted the light so it hits straight at this space. The reflection of the light is distracting. But I can see my reflection more clearly. I am frowning, a deep furrow on my brow, waiting for release. I straighten my face. How do you straighten your face? I don't know. I think you just unfrown and change the way you look at your own reflection.
I am thinking of two words I typed. Bloody sunset. I like it when the sun bleeds. How is that possible? I don't know. I can imagine it bleeding and the clouds mopping up the blood, and then the clouds will be red. And then they will disperse, like so many poppies in the sky.
Opium? I don't know.
(c) Farzana Versey
I just had a sip of water. A sip does not quench thirst...it wets the lips. I could have just run my tongue along the slips, but it is lazing inside my mouth. It sleeps, as tongues are wont to do, as foetuses in wombs curl up and wait to be born. I don't know if foetuses wait to be born. One day we'd read their minds.
Today, I read a bit. Went over other people's words. Expressed myself. I went here, there, wherever I spotted something that caught my eye. I used to have a lot to say. I still do, but I have tied myself to things I may not want to be bound by. I chose it. Why? I don't know. It works. The choice.
Now, I've adjusted the light so it hits straight at this space. The reflection of the light is distracting. But I can see my reflection more clearly. I am frowning, a deep furrow on my brow, waiting for release. I straighten my face. How do you straighten your face? I don't know. I think you just unfrown and change the way you look at your own reflection.
I am thinking of two words I typed. Bloody sunset. I like it when the sun bleeds. How is that possible? I don't know. I can imagine it bleeding and the clouds mopping up the blood, and then the clouds will be red. And then they will disperse, like so many poppies in the sky.
Opium? I don't know.
(c) Farzana Versey
5 comments:
Mold.
I like a subtle hint of it, a subterranean whiff of moistened musk - it's more smell than it is a taste. But than what's taste without the smell. There ought to be a 6th taste - recognized by smell. And without the mold, blue cheese would pass for feta, but crumble it on a wedge of a sweet ripe peach or a slice of a tart green apple and it opens the door to heavens. And before it became a mushroom, it was a mold - mold is a turning point, between fresh and rancid, a beginning of decay. Mold arrests decay and delays it, perhaps grants a different new life. A second chance. Thank you for recognizing the underdog.
The Mold
FV, There's fungus among us :-) Was going to comment with a "no comment" to a "no subject" post, but that just sounded too silly..
-Al
PS: Looks like news of the royal pregnancy is weighing on your mind :-) -- two posts involving foetuses (or is that foetii) on two consecutive days.
The Mold:
I smell the words before I taste them. Each sense that is overly sensitive works as the 6th sense. Like a third eye.
Thank you for so beautifully expressing the undisputed position of the 'mold'.
I was giving myself another chance at recognising the underdog.
---
Al:
Does fungus form on almost everything?
A 'No Comments' would have also been a comment.
PS: Hmm...did not think about foetuses on two consecutive days. But, then, how many million babies born everyday?!
FV: Does fungus form on almost everything?
almost all things organic, and yet an acquired taste for many -- fungus grows on you at the right level of humidity and inactivity.
-Al
PS: w.r.t you being a feminist, I may be an idiot but even I know you are not a non-feminist. :) good luck with your writings.
no internet activity for me for a while....silly things like getting pending work done.
Hi Al:
I meant "Doesn't fungus form on everything?". Hurried typing made it "does". Thanks for explaining.
PS: Am lost about the feminist reference here, but yes you are not an idiot :)
PPS: I understand you need to get work done, and am glad that you did not think of this as work! You know you will be missed and are always welcome here...like tomorrow...
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