Blood and Dust, 3: Omdulgence

Continued from here

Welikala stretched luxuriously. The langur had been and gone in the night and his room was spotless. The golden light was shining in and was forming a mottled pattern on the Persian rug. The Cori was steaming in a mug on the bedside table. He took a sip.

Immediately the world went white, the flash of brilliance took him by surprise; it had been a couple of days since he'd had this particular blend, the Molten Universes of Om opened up before him and he was confronted with his choices. He briefly considered his options; the Vertu Palace would be interesting if Padmini and the girls were there. Although Padmini was beginning to bore him now, she was a bit too slutty. The Blistkreig was always great when you had a surge of blood lust to expend, but he needed something a bit more relaxing this morning, but nothing too quiet. He opted for the Blooming Landscapes.

He concentrated on the Gate to bring it closer, his mind sharpened by the influence of the Cori. Subconsciously, he took another long draft of the stuff. He wanted this hit to be a long one. Long and satisfying. He sighed in contentment as the blubbery gate resisted and then gave way beneath his advancing mind.

***
Back in his room in the 'real world', it must be noted here that the definition between real and virtual had blurred to a great extent due to recent developments, Glimmerang crept out from underneath Welikala's bed silently. He stretched, cautiously. Bribing that langur had paid off. 'Bribing a langur!' he grinned ruefully, 'if anyone had told me i'd be bribing langurs three years ago i'd have told my mom they were crazy!' at this he turned nostalgic and his eyes watered despite himself. Memories of his mother always brought about this affect.

He shook himself and set his jaw. He was thirteen now. And the only person old enough or close enough to undo the torment and evil that Welikala had unleashed upon the world. He must not falter now. Somehow, by any means possible, he must figure out a way to kill Welikala and absorb his powers, and use them to undo the spell that world had been cast beneath.

He was aware that simply killing him might make matters worse for everyone concerned; he must figure out how to take his powers first. Coming to his room to do this while he was fired out was something he'd thought of instinctively; Glimmering was a simple boy. And he'd felt that deep down, he had to see his opponent's face before he could figure out what to do. He slowly approached Welikala's prone form.

Welikala, in the meanwhile, had become aware of a presense in his er, presence. He always took care not to lose contact with the world of his physical body completely when he was firing up anywhere except in his Safe House. He slowly removed himself from the rowan haired, violet eyed forest nymph he'd been occupied with and gently extricated himself from the Omverse back underneath his closed eyelids. He waited.

Glimmerang was now standing next to the bed. He looked down at his opponent. An opponent who didn't even know his name. Indeed, Welikala, as far as he was aware, didnt even know of Glimmerang's existence. This realization brought upon a strange feeling of power and detachment, and he began to smile. Suddenly his eyes bulged out of their sockets for a brief moment and he dropped backwards to the floor, dead.

Welikala grunted in disgust and put away the beamer back under the sheets. 'Amateurs' he mutterred, he took another sip of the Cori and made ready to take up from where he'd left off. He hadn't survived to the grand old age of sixteen just by playing with barbie dolls.

living without the internet

is bloody peaceful...

Chapter One: Blood and Dust

Jamiraquai looked up. The playground was empty. there were empty chocolate wrappers being blown around in the dusty noontime air. The wind made slightly howling noises and everything was so still and poised that the very air spoke of impending violent movement.

Now was the time when Nercoprofanity would make his move. Jamiraquai tucked his lollipop into its holder, he pulled out his six gun and waited. Suddenly he saw a flash of movement to his left.

He turned, but there was no one there. Then he thought he heard a rustling behind him. But this time he didn't turn, he'd managed to come to his senses. ' Always remember to wait for the music' he told himself, repeating a lesson he'd learned many years ago. So he waited, body tense.

Suddenly there was a keening noise. And the strains of a violin played in a very screeching note penetrated the air. Jamiroquai frowned, he hated the drawn out stealthy suspense, he'd much rathar have heard the deep drum and bass of sudden confrontation.

He knew that Necroprofanity would be sneaking up like a snake in the dust now. The keening pitched higher, his enemy was closer. He reached for his belt knife but too late! the dust at his feet flew into the air blinding him and causing him to riase his arm to protect his face. Knife in hand, he staggered back.

Something then struck him in the stomach. his breath rushed out of him and he crashed into the dust. And Necroprofanity proceeded to claw the flesh of his stomach with his sharp beak while he pinned his arms to the ground. It all happaned in the space of a second.

Jamiroquai screamed like he was in the middle of a Slipknot track. Then he screamed like he was in the throes of the end of an Aerosmith song. He could feel the beak ripping through his flesh and into his guts. He could feel this vile manifestation of evil tear his bowels out in a feral rage.

He ripped his left arm free. And he plunged the dagger into the shadowy black shape eating into him.

To be continued....

Anyone want to?

what a strange long trip its been

Retrospective introspection. When i look back things seem strangely empty. So much more i could've done. So much more adventure to have had. I look back and wish i'd joined the army, wish i'd become a deep sea diver anything but this. Anything but to be stuck behind a desk.

All pipe dreams in pipe seams. lost in a metal atom's electron surge. Quantum physics pulls me in the diretion of the normal. Responsibility, safety, obligation, duty, they exist even though we may think it cool to diss them, these inherent characteristics of life. But one has duty on cannot escape from; and 'duty is as heavy as a mountain, death as light as a feather' as Robert Jordan would say.

But there is no need to be depressed. Inside me there is this surging torrent of unrest, some trapped energy that wont stop churing that keeps me going. Energy is everything, hope is nothing without energy, dreams are nothing without energy, plans are nothing, nothing exists without energy.

kaya

kaya or smoking pot. i was introduced to this term when someone said that my pot smoking posts would get me into trouble one day. Well guess what? it hasn't yet.

I haven't been smoked pot for a long time anyway, at least not much.i was at a wedding a coupla months ago and Adrian being his resourceful self had brought along a few bombers. Im talking Nagasaki style man. No offense to any one in Japan, i am a great admirer of you people, and i definitely want to spend some time over there to see the Samurais and witness a hari kiri. Ah the suicidal japs.

They cut themselves into pieces, they let their blood splatter over the walls before their passion to redeem themselves of lifelong shame ends. Usually right about when their life ends. And once you start, your life won't be all that long anyway.

Yes, stereotypical aint i?

But screw that as well.

This blog lost its point when i realized that i was holding back things when i wrote. mostly cos i wanted to be nice and politically correct, which is not what i set out to do. the Lair was always meant to shock and jarr the conscience, chiefly mine and not yours but if could jarr yours too that would only be a bonus.

People are way to busy being nice to notice that all that they are achieving is to shrug the dirt under the carpet and whistle a tune and smoke a cigarette, having a nice chat in the meanwhile, only to have the cat drag it back out and stink up the room.

And this stink usually ends up with a right royal boom, on account of the cigarrette fumes, oh shit im rhymin aint i?

Now some of you will assume, upon reading this post, that i am high. that is because most of you will think like this only when you are high. you will always think nice thoughts and hide what is truly inside because you think it is bad. So the badness goes right back inside and you preserve it til it festers and there is a mess inside with pus and dirty blood that will materialize when you are fifty years old and only contribute towards more social prejudice.

You are part of the barbaric horde.you will propogate and it hurts to think what your children will think when you condition them to become just like you. open but closed, world aware but just globally bemused. you dont know nothing and it pisses me off. yeah you're a know it all, who only knows things that make you comfortable with your world view.

So f you.

Getting back to the Nagasaki bombers. as we lit them up and inhaled the juice, a conversation ensued. they spoke about drug dealers and regional structures of distribution, of a wholesale importer who monopolizes the market. they talked about up and coming young stars with political affiliation, real time sri lankan hustlers hustling the Heavy Stuff.

They control the powerful; they have politicians in their palms. The police do them no harm because they buy them up wholesale too. you can't just deal in a designated area; you've gotta control everything around you. And as another cop turns a blind eye and as you and me just walk by another innocent teenager takes a puff of heroin, innocently hidden in an innocently proferred cancer stick.

Click click boom, his life ends there, shot dead in the head, and he's a dead man standing.

Organized crime; it is everywhere and nowhere. it moves invisible, its proponents are cast in society's admiring light. and there they hide. civilization and destitution, development and destruction; they live side by side, and on each other they thrive.

And you and i, we know this yet we choose to ignore it, for what can fighting do but invite in through your doors a visit from the darkside? a hammer blow to the head when you're sleeping?

Illusion, hidden thoughts, concealment. Dont speak out! you'll only disrupt order. keep it hidden, keep it safe.

Short termism will save the day..

So what am i suggesting? i'm calling you, and myself, a prick for being nice. cos being nice is uncomfortably close to being evil and imHo only being honest is anywhere close to being good.

Beat

Amid the brouhaha and the pain there comes a realisation that once, i too was a man. Once i too felt a woman between my hips, once i too felt blood trickle from cuts in my flesh. once i too fought; for ideals now become nought. Once i too remembered the loss of losing a loved one, all too well.

Once i did swell, with pride and my head full of achievement did tell; a tale of a proud man, right before he fell. once i too gave in to all desire, good and bad. Once i too was corrupt. Oh what a life I’ve had!

But now my gums have rotted and my speech once so golden reeks of death. Now my limbs fail me and my sense barely avail me. Now i too will pass like the loved ones i have lost and i find myself thinking of my legacy. Of the will that is but ink on paper, so empty. So lost. Now death greets me grinning. I never knew he exsited! But I lie. I knew in my heart of hearts, that he would find me, in the end he did.

now the guns have faded, there is no one to fight my last fight for me. And i, an old man, will not know the truth of life and its meaning, even though ive completed its fullest, most gruelling training. i will be let free to gallop the last paths of an ending but then what? will i even know?

but deep down once again, from that place which is in every man, comes a drumbeat of truth. It nags you so much and soon you resort to simply ignoring it. I too drowned it out with sound, sound from anything and everything my hands found; but now my hands have given up on me. and my ears lie listless; i cannot control what they listen to.

But that beat has now faded. the truth that i never knew has never become jaded, because it has escaped me. And such truth as was in the world that i sought, only turned out to be lies in the end.

JERK? A beyond Borders Forum Theater performance

BB is doing a Forum theater performance on the 29th of August

FT is an audience interactive mode of theater that lets the people watching stop, modify and redirect the story. It is loads of fun. And if you are the sadistic kind who likes to see actors suffer while they try to bring to life scenarios that are inside your head then this is right up your dark, dimly lit alley. Although in some cases you may be asked to come up on stage to perform a certain critical role yourself.

FT is great when it comes to dissecting complex social issues because of the myriad opinions involved. As such, a proactive, intelligent and participative audience is usually a key element.

JERK? focuses on ADHD, often a misunderstood condition in Sri Lanka. In fact, it is hardy known. Barely a thought is usually given to how sufferers cope up in a society that doesn't even recognize what they are suffering from. To illustrate, JERK? takes you through the rollercoaster ride of Rajeev; disturbed, distracted, a teenage rebel cum mathematical genius. The issues will be discussed as the story develops, through the various twists and turns of the plot.

It is for invitees only, so if you'd like to come please leave a comment, drop a mail, or even better text or call one of these numbers; 0777 335 320, 0777 491 718. Invites are limited, so you may want to make a little ha(-y while the sunshines)ste.

Views, reviews etc of previous Beyond Borders Forum theater can be found here