50 ways to leave your lover

On a green grass-covered hill, there is a house. The house is owned by Mr. Swash, who lives alone ever since his wife passed away 14 years ago. Mr. Swash is a collector of all things. A broken toothpick holder, a cashmere napkin, model airplanes, holiday souvenirs, old cameras that don't work, and who knows what other curios decorate his shelves. He likes things that look like they have a personality to them, that have a story to tell, that come from somewhere and someone close or very far away, in another strange realm.

At night, before he goes to sleep, he drinks a cup of sweet brandy tea. It is usually a bitter cold outside and he pulls up his woolen socks before he climbs into bed. His bed is a hay loft in his attic and Mr. Swash is a sound sleeper. Every night while he sleeps, his curios come alive. The model fire-engine goes woot-woot in iterating circles. The toothpick holder picks a fight with the wristwatch. The hamburger fridge-magnet from Austria climbs up to the loft and watches Mr. Swash snore softly. And the tuxedo-clad spy figurine walks up to the poster of Betty Boop and says,

"Hi. I'm Mental. Orna Mental."

I'll be back

Understated elegance

It is going to start raining soon. This is just to document how uplifting the winds and anticipatory air make me feel. The trees are wild and thriving, lusting for the first shower of the year, since the cyclone, as am I! Everything around me looks like a happy collective. The most cynical of all are talking about it. Sneaky wind broken window pane is now tickling me with the torrent-to-be and it is so surreal! What have I done right to experience all of these beautiful days? I am humbled.

I am such a sucker for things nice.

Lament full circle

Either say something nice or nothing at all.
Don't hover ridiculously, with a foot on each edge.
Are you just sleep-deprived, attention-deprived, or money?
The pokerface is unnecessary.

Is it the routine, or
did you spend time with someone you didn't want?
Did the food splurge of starch, or the beer
make one visit to the washroom too many?

The absent moon make ya sad?
The banal talks, the heavy eyelids,
repetitive smoke or oily hair or squeaky voice?
Did you forget what it was that you didn't like?

Invitations that elicit the nod, but deprive the commitment?
A zero-obligation zone, say all the crap you want.
Just, please, remember that while filling your cup
make sure you know how to sieve.
Be choosy. Be so wise, it's audacious.
Stir.

Positive vibrations

Wherever I seem to look, there's no escaping this one. When you're in love, it shows. Oh, yes.
Words have new meanings. The world is beautiful. My skin is clearing up. My smile is wider and I laugh more, smirk less! I like people around me. It's colourful. I pick up phone calls!

Love. My chi is sorted. Thank you very much! :)

Novel practices

Footwear in my dreams,  seeds and stems on my couch, news on TV but what's on my boyish mind? I scratch my head a few times and take deep breaths. Slow down, heart. Death by cardiac arrest, age 23? I should think not.

Thought after thought unravels the day that was. Last night I got back from work and took a small walk through town to pick up a few things I had been putting off. The sea breeze laden air is heavy as I walk through the placid moisture of the air and pass sparse familiar faces. The town shuts down lazily early. I quicken my pace as I pass people and slow down on an empty stretches of  large pattered footpath. Reaching home, it was  a most definitive time to unwind all right. Yes, like those wind-up dolls. Yes, dolls. I figure this is the evening to get done with pending conversations with people. So I get them done with.

Showtime.

Inhale at contraction. 

Look at myself.

Bodies are puppet bags given to the mind.
Must intervene with subconscious habit formation to speed up brain activity. In fact, must eff with it!
You effing idiot. Love? Try PMS. And you're just fat

No. I concentrate. The Serpent soon rises. Meanders above my eyes as we sway. Scares me. But then,

There's really nothing to lose.

Detach. Focus and breathe. Blessed by the presence of my personal choice of elemental magnetism, the sea, nothing can go wrong. Nothing ever did. I start because it's time. I start because it fits. Optimum alignment, did I say?

Exhale at expansion.

Shot in the dark

"You think the world revolves around you!"

Ok, statement made. This time I don't even remember by who, but it's so iterated that all I remember is recognition snaking it's way forth the moment it was verbalised. By whoever the fuck.

"I am a nice person." Hah, I can't say that straight without smiling. Can't write that without smiling! "I swear, I am..."

Someone makes me sit and tells me how to breathe so that I burn lesser oxygen, for meditational purposes, of course, yas. Another makes me sit and tells me how I ought to understand more about cerebro-spinal fuckery (Laxative So Delightful) from her. What?

I want to shed it all. Fling away my weapons, my walls, my books, rubbish:people, some clothes maybe, technology, the matrix, understood truths. But everyday, my Quest is compromised, at first by the bastard alarm clock and subsequently by the endless (role)players which enter and leave my body at astonishing speeds. Night and day, night and day, night and day, I strive unique thought and superiority. Oh, I'm growing old and tired. Yes, I should give up. But hey, at times I do feel so refreshed, I tells ya. Motifuckingvated to fuck around further. By, and for, the giant toy store I wander through, innocent Alice-back at first, but furtively tumbling into the darn hole behind the curtain at the back end (of the store). Oh, you know there's no going back from that one. 

Expansion? Tell me how. Should I push out a third eye from a mental vagina? Should I stare at myself *astral top shot* and confirm how the world fucking does revolve around me?

Yeah, so...
Take a walk, baby, and just keep nodding, yo.