Staccato anthology of dreams.

*

As soon as I enter I become aware of the dog smell that fills the house. A hot concentrated odour that's different. Warm, sweaty, meaty, vinegary all at once. I wrinkle my nose not sure if I like it but unable to dislike it either because it smells so natural.

*

Hers is a strange face- at once young and old, firm and withered. Wrinkles fan out from her nose to the edges of her lipsticked mouth, spread along the sides of her cheeks and down her neck, making the still young cheeks look like islands in a choppy sea. She waits, hand on hip. 'Have you finished staring at me? Or is the menu written on my face?'

*

I like to watch the office crowd go by. Standing by the street, I suck in the air of their worlds- The dry metallic smell of the air conditioning, the salty smell of dried perspiration, coffee, cigarettes and then something I do not recognize. It brushes ever so slightly against the nostrils, so fine and delicate that it is hard to pin down. The people don't notice my quivering nostrils, and even if they do, they don't care.

I long to make myself a part of them. To wrap myself in their arrogance, my feet keeping time with theirs. To me, they seem like gods, and I long to be as invulnerable as they are.

*

I held the glass beneath my nose and pulled the fumes straight up my nostrils. The wine smelt sweet and spicy, like cinnamon and nutmeg, and sour and earthy. There was also a slight hint of chalk that hung back, almost out of sight. The smell filled my nostrils, delicate but well formed like a gazelle.

Then I took a sip.

The wine slid across my tongue like oil, and slipped effortlessly down my throat. Underneath its silky coat I could feel the muscle that held the various elements of it together. The smell gathered force after I had swallowed it, the warm juices that had been hiding beneath my tongue rushing into it., lifting it up and warming it so that the fumes rose to my throat, and once again, climbing up the dark nasal tunnels to my brain. I sad nothing and slowly took another mouthful.

Excepts from Smell.
-Radhika Jha.
(She's brilliant)

Hey Jesus, call me maybe?

Carter Road.

So, because I'm a passive-aggressive misanthrope I like spending time in solitary confinement, encapsulating everything that is fundamentally wrong with our society and wallowing in my own  mad world of childish hyperbole.

The other day, I sat at the promenade drinking in the faces of the many different people who passed by. Beautiful adolescent girls, old couples taking brisk evening walks together. Boys with their bikes, collectively checking out each girl that sashayed by and occasionally, ever so subtly, whistling at a few.

Pigeons flocked all around me making loud flapping noises, probably noticing the bag of bread scraps in my hand. I scattered a few crumbs around looking vacantly at the plump birds. I looked at the massive sun drowning in the deep over the horizon, and tried to think of something profound and philosophical, but couldn’t. I felt deflated. So I just sat still. The tranquility of the spot seeped gently into me. I sat still, afraid to move, lest the feeling escaped.

After what seemed like forever, I decided to get up. It was getting dark and my rear hurt from sitting in the same position for so long. I got up, turned around, and suddenly ran into a man, dropping the packet of bread crumbs in the process.

When I was a kid, I was sent to church every Sunday. In Sunday school there, the teachers would read us stories about Jesus from the bible. 
This man was exactly as I had imagined how Jesus might have looked like, with beautifully shaped eyes, the colour of wild honey and flowing, albeit short brown hair softly blowing with the sea breeze. I looked intently at him, unexpectedly bereft of speech. He removed the earphones plugging his ears, smiled understandingly and touched my hair with his long graceful fingers.

"Is everything all right? Can I lend you a hand?” He asked apologetically, as he surveyed the damage.

Suddenly every little detail of the moment became vivid-
The indifferent and loud crowd around us, the cool smoggy air that indicated the oncoming winter, the smell of the briny sea, the piquant smell of the spices from the nearby makeshift chaat stalls that had been set up post sun-down.

“Gosh. I… um, no thank you. I’m good.”

“You sure?” He grinned as he confirmed.

“Yes.” I smiled back shakily.

“Well, we’ve created quite a mess.”

“Yeah, but I just saw cleaner sweeping the area a while ago. She’ll return.”

“Yeah, but I just saw cleaner sweeping the area a while ago. She’ll return.”
“Okay then, I better leave. See you around. And sorry again.” He smiled and started to walk away.
I looked down at the scattered crumbs, hoping to find something he had accidentally left behind so that I could call out to him and resume conversation.
Nada.
I looked ahead but Jesus was swallowed by the darkness and people around.

SO YEAH. I WROTE THIS ABSOLUTELY POINTLESS BLOG ENTRY TO LET YOU GUYS KNOW THAT I'M A SLOW IDIOT BECAUSE I LET MY POTENTIAL SOULMATE SLIP RIGHT THROUGH MY FINGERS. UGH.