beauticians say
that we shouldn't sleep in our make up
but one day we'll be sleeping forever
and then
morticians will say
makeup is what we need
for our eternal sleep

that’s the thing with those trophy wife types,
never really mandible in *** like a jaw ought to be,
too stiff, too anorexic model type:
pooch pooch a handbag full of duck quack pouts of the lips.
i like mandible women, scary scarred women,
the types that will grow into fond babushkas
and cook you a broth.
ah all this crap with daddy longlegs walking into a paparazzi
web of flashes is ruining the red carpet,
i was about to frizz it up into cushion afro softness
that would be quicksand for high heels.
i need blotches i need survival skills that hold the skin together,
every wrinkle, every passing jest of “irrelevance,”
every amulet glow of feeling through the kaleidoscope of depression,
jet-lag i call it, although i rather call it trombone,
with the numbers it was bound to happen, leaving the mammalian
kingdom and entering the insect kingdom, it was bound to happen,
the lost identity tiling the earth, ploughing the eardrum for symphonies,
it was just waiting... just waiting... like a spider waiting
with the flies of the urbanisation of green & green...
can’t change my mind... blotches on skin and bulges of missing protein
on the hips... perfect girth for child rearing...
i don’t like perfect... it’s supposed to have an aesthetic aura of an art
gallery... instead it has an aesthetic aura of hygiene of a hospital;
i arrested all the beauticians while talking to the paediatricians
painting my nails with u.v. liquorice in this hospital of hygienic looks
but unhygienic romping pompoms that swayed man to chlamydia.

We're eating jellyfish
We're crashing oranges
We're bleeding evidence
We're smashing elements
We're erecting animals
We're subtracting syllables
We're electing cannibals
We're extracting visceral
We're worshipping magicians for a piece of the pie
We're recruiting musicians for a sound from on high
We're creating beauticians for a smack on the thigh
We're repeating contritions for an act un-divine
We're poking and prodding as we sing lullabies
We're rocking and rolling as she shifts to the side
We're planting and plowing as the baby lays quiet
We're twisting and shouting from the vat where we writhe
Rockabye baby, you've sure grown up fast
Let me embrace you, before I suffocate you
Rockabye baby, you've sure grown up fast
Let me cradle you, before I blast you away

the two play tic-tac-toe by prison correspondence.  the mutual doctor they once met through is now famous for being there when god was in labor.  I love my research when it brings me to my mother’s stone because my mother’s stone is without epitaph and because beside my mother’s stone is one engraved with a phone number which predates what everyone is doing.  I call the number and nothing.  the two unfold a couch into a bed and go their separate ways to check email.  their little devil details the car that didn’t get away.  I want this little devil so badly it murders the actor I look like.  the two stand in front of a movie poster and stand there just as they’ve planned.  a beauty shop closes its doors sending beauticians into a street crowded with beauticians for open carry.  I send Emily to search for Emily when Emily was pretty.

I was sitting at the Costa Café located in Indiranagar 12th Main road. To my right was the lane, sporadically disturbed by the wagons of sophisticated residents in the area. A Hollywood music puffed to the left of my ambience that comprised the café au lait hued interior, perfectly contrasted by the white Royal Genware Porcelain cutleries. It was a Sunday afternoon. The glass walls of the café were stained by the transparent drizzles of rain. I noticed my faded reflection on the glass wall. The eyes in the reflection held no sparkle. It was a pale face of a 32 year old adult, who has surrendered himself to Norns. Beards on the face was a sign of mental otiose. A good designation flavored with a terrific Pay Scale over the norms has filled the life with luxury. What more I need! I blinked. Tears occupied my vision to lubricate my eyes dried out of staring for long….
She entered into the Café with meek steps. She was wearing a bottle-green colored Patiala suit. Her head and upper body was veiled under a red Kashmiri stole. The veil was perhaps put on as a shelter against the drizzle. She seated opposite my position, three tables to my left. She slung her hand bag away on the opposite chair, removed the veil and threw it on the bag.

I skipped a heartbeat. I saw her after 11 cruel years. She looked fairer and chubbier. Her hair had grown longer; she managed to collect them into a neat plait, falling along her right shoulder touching her lap as she sat on the chair. A waiter came at her service. She bothered not to look at the menu and ordered a large Latte with a quick rise and drop of her eyes at the waiter. A streak of blue mascara made her eyes more stunning. However, those eyes have lost that magical grace. I remember her obsession for eye makeup. She used to imitate every step mentioned by the beauticians on YouTube. She had a rich collection of eyeliner, mascara, eye shadows and what not.  Her concentration during eye makeup was firm. When I had asked her why she put so much make up on eyes despite being a blessed beauty, she had always replied that the color on her eyes proves her chirpy soul of having me as her partner. Every time when she had cried in my arms after a storm of misunderstandings between us, she had pulled my shirt to bury her face within the hug, and ended up smudging her eye makeup over my shirt chest. She had conceded the smudging as the decay of her soul due to misunderstanding. I had always laughed at her childish theories and underestimated it for being absurd. Now that she had left my life, I realized she was never immature. Each small act of love and care for me was priceless. Her love theories held a deeper meaning that always hued her soul bright. But I was blind. I remained blindfolded by the silky rich aims. Neither could I see deep into her mesmerizing eyes, nor could I shelter inside her majestic heart. It was already very late. Her soul has already decayed along with the colors of her eyes. All that was left behind was a feeble streak of fate.

The waiter appeared to serve her order. This time she thanked him with raised eyes and a forced smile. She added some sugar to the coffee, stirred it and then cupped her palms around the coffee cup to soak in some warmth. I spotted a diamond ring in her left ring finger. A spark of reality exploded inside my core. To re-confirm, I looked at her hair parting on the forehead.  There was a small vermilion mark. She was married.

Suddenly the Hollywood music at the background became loud. I realized the café was crowded enough. The drizzles of rain had stopped and the sky was clear. I could see her reflection on the glass wall to my right. A long life has passed. I failed to catch hold of the most beautiful gift ever. The eminence of huge money earned is limited only to the conspicuous objects. I have already lost the angelic affection of the most beautiful girl I could ever imagine. A vacant chair opposite to me proved the destitution of my soul. Neither have I owned an engagement ring, nor a friend to lend an ear to listen to my mental adversity.  The greed to eat money has left me diseased. What do I have? I blinked. Tears occupied my vision to lubricate my eyes guilty of every moment ridiculed for disparaging the people who selflessly loved me.

Most days of the year a visit here
would involve a rinse blow and trim,
but on Halloween it’s a whole different scene
As the Queens of the night wander in.
Our regular staff has this day off-
It helps keep their heads in the zone.
To help “Jason” and “Freddie” get themselves ready
We’ve beauticians from good funeral homes,
If you wish to appear as a zombie or Ghoul
These girls will help get your “Freak “on
By the time you stagger up out of your chair
You’ll look like you’re long dead and gone.
With a wicked gleam they will paint your *** green-
You may fear it won’t ever come off.
Some bolts on your neck and, oh what the heck,
You can tell folks you’re Boris Karloff.
If a ghost is your quest you will be most impressed
You will look just like Lizzie the Queen
It’s quite the parade as they head out our door
To march in the West village scene.
“You look Boo-tiful dears”, I say to all here
As we all celebrate Halloween.



    x

I rhythmically sway to music that crashes over in waves from musically-inclined hobos who crap in caves. I know what's right over deeds wrong, over the dead bodies of men killed by King Kong. A **** tune that plays 27 hours is a really long song, longer than the 'round-the-world maneuver that emanated in Kowloon, Hong Kong. Beauticians who incorporate raw sewage in perms, subject clients needlessly to raw sewage germs.

Terrestrial Dale Evans & pet glands mock all celestial pale heavens
declarational & recordational 'cause of her muddy, Texan wet lands
that lathered her sluice slit from elbow joint to her clock's set hands
after they're chronometrically calibrated to dampen E.U. debt bands
over 666 beautiful beauty-shop-owning beauticians who rent stands

Terrestrial Dale Evans & pet glands mock all celestial pale heavens
declarational & recordational 'cause of her muddy, Texan wet lands
that lathered her sluice slit from elbow joint to her clock's set hands
after they're chronometrically calibrated to dampen E.U. debt bands
over 666 beautiful beauty-shop-owning beauticians who rent stands

Terrestrial Dale Evans & pet glands mock all celestial pale heavens
declarational & recordational 'cause of her muddy, Texan wet lands
that lathered her sluice slit from elbow joint to her clock's set hands
after they're chronometrically calibrated to dampen E.U. debt bands
over 666 beautiful beauty-shop-owning beauticians who rent stands

Note
Cain:

How many hours did they laugh together,
Than naught?

Forget this thought.

A round
Square.

A beauticians supply.

A single Crayola
Of no color
But friendship as it fades.

Sleep means Sleep
Where forfeiting
The Plague o' Plague

Let us not think
Of our

Mortality.

I listen to the fire
And the see
The blindness of man.

An eagle in free fall fornicating
Has more sense
Than we.

The most intelligent beings on earth
Without instinct.

Here we are,
Rings
Of a chain

Of a machine
Of a machine
Of a machine

We are too distracted

To see.

*

Light is the greatest provider of hope
And

Hopeless dread.

To fail is to live another day

If one chooses.

Remember the dolphin.

They've always had a choice and,
They're still here.