gray, white and black

if only..
everything was white and black
and nothing ever went a whack
never a trace and not a track
of hostility or adverse flack
never a hurry always slack
looking forward never back.....

but! oh!!!
there is always gray
and things often go astray
belligerency to one's dismay
always seems to find its way
alas! disorder and disarray
strewn all over everyday

[bored to death, hence rhyming!!]

cliche?

away away, far away
the mind wanders every day
is there a will? is there a way?
am i living a dull cliche?

Altered Ego!

Did you ever come across people who think so like you? you start off saying “I so agree with you”, “I know!!”, “Oh My God!! you are so like me!” “You must be my alter ego” and then shut up after a while because you dont want to risk sounding fake. [cut cut] But yet internally you are just thrilled at the prospect of finding your soulmate. You talk about pretty much everything under the sun at jet speed, from Capoeira, Bungee jumping, Salsa dancing, Radiology, Victoria Island, The Limited, fresh water pearls, Bahamas Cruises, all the time nodding and agreeing wholeheartedly. [snip snip]

An hour passes at the blink of an eye. The heart feels merrier, the head lighter. We talk talk talk. The lights are going off one by one. We make a date to go the local Martial Arts class the coming week. We exchange phone numbers. She promises to give me more information on the bath houses in Japan where she went vacationing for a month last year. I thank her profusely for the awesome chat we had. Without flinching a single face muscle I shell out 60 dollars and walk out happy and , 4 inches lesser frizz on the head. Yes folks!! Another victim of the evil conspiracy of the Barber Shop Banter.

When crap hits the ceiling!!

At the crack of night, Funnycide woke up and stretched her bony self, while knocking off a few things off the bedside table. The jangling sound really woke her up.
“Damn it! Another f*&^@ing damn night!! I hate this! I hate this!!” She cursed under her breath. She stretched herself and one of her cides cramped up immediately. Imperfecto Incepto!!

On the other hand, it was a perfect night, completely starless, cold and eerie as hell. There was a spell in the air, the kind of spell that would chill a normal being to the bone, but can put the worst of witches into the right mood. The spell was also popularly called Perfecto Tempero!! Funnycide walked out and took a whiff of the air and in a jiffy she was all pumped up for the night. This is going to be one helluva night, she thought all excited. She stretched her cides a little more, this time more carefully, and did a little jog to warm her body up. A few rounds on the broomstick, she thought, might actually get the mind go all-a-spinning-and-thinking and who knows, maybe tonight is the night of my spells!!

The WWW [Wicked Witch Web] consortium conference that has been going on for the last few months at the occult Dead Sea Covenstead really put Funnycide out of her spirits, if she indeed possessed any. The coven was bursting at the seams with new faces, new wands, new names and new titles. The neo-pagan tools that they used put her dull blade to further shame. The spells that the other witches had exhibited were unnerving. One was producing verse after verse out of thin air and another one created a whole imaginary world out there. If that is not demoralizing enough there are others that produce spells after spells practically every night. How in the cold hell do they do that? And here she was with her outdated charms and talismans.

All Funnycide ever wanted to do, was live up to her name. Be the witch she was born to be. The killjoy, the funny-cide, the sucker of happiness out of everybody’s lives!! How hard is that, one might wonder and even question if one has the audacity to, which takes not a whole lot, if one is cognizant that Funnycide possesses no dangerous skills at all.

Try she did. Every single night she woke up with just one strong resolve - To brew that magic elixir out of all the yuckily colored potions she possessed to make that one spell of all spells. The idea spell. But as mere mortals would say, life got in the way. Of what, is a question that remains unanswered for the good of witchkind. One day it was a broken wand, the other day it was a sneezing fit she contracted from an old Imagination potion bottle, and then there was the WWW conference. She exhibited all the symptoms of the Excuse-o-mania syndrome.

She remembered what her good old mother, Funnycide Sr, used to tell her on perfect nights like these. The only way to success for witches like us is to Show Up! Just get up at the stroke of midnight, get yourself to work and work your butt off till the break of dawn. Bloody Allen once said that 80% of being successful in life is just showing up. Another unknown witch also was quoted to have said, if at first you don’t succeed, do it like your mother told you.

So tonight the Crapola will burn, with all its might, like it never did before. Funnycide was determined and hence she went and circled the date in the calendar. Because very rarely did she feel like tonight and it has to be remembered. She jumped around excitedly, humming an eerie tune feeling all happy and already smelling success. But then the smell came a little strongly and pungently and that’s when she realized that it was not success yet, but her early night coffee freshly turned to a dirty black color, that contributed to the smell. She loved it when it stank like that. Purrrfect!! She purred. The night is turning out better than she hoped.

She started setting up Crapola. The ancestral cauldron that came down through generations was the first that came out. Then the philters and potions, the herbs, the baby fat, snakes, bat’s blood. Yuck, the whole place smells like hell, she smiled to herself. Now all she needed was the Idea Book. That had the recipes for all the spells in the world. She searched around. It cannot be more than an eon since she last used it, so it should be around; she deliberated, as she looked around. Damn!! It better be. What can she do without an Idea Book. Again? Fate’s funny game?

She swirled around in search of it and crashed against the mighty three legged creature sitting prettily just where she left it, in the middle of the room. It came down with a clanging loud noise.

Fizzola, the witch-with-a-fizz, the neighbor next door, started out of her romantic reverie and looked out of the window. “Hee hee hee!! Funnycide is up to her Crapola again!!” she chuckled to herself. She got her CocoCola from the Fridge and pulled up a chair to watch the fun, for lack of anything better to do.

“Holy f!*&^ing shit!!!” Funnycide yelled as the old cauldron fell on her foot crushing her pink painted pinkie under it.

“Hey Funny!! Need some help with the ‘spell’ings, haan?” Fizzola asked, with that wicked grin that could tick off even the Wicked Witch of the West! That’s a spell that she has honed and honed on for the last few years. “Chup Fizz!!!” yelled Funnycide back. She wasn’t feeling predominantly humorous for tongue-in-cheek jokes tonight.

All of a sudden the air got a little colder and in through the window sill slid Clasper, the ghost that hugs. “Funny, my good ole friend. Here, a hug for you!! Ooh! Wasn’t that cold.. brrrrr!!” “Clasper, now is not a good time, my dear silly ghost. Lets play this game some other time, ok?” “You called me a silly ghost?? I am miffed!!” “Hey, but isn’t silly better than a plain ghost?” “Prove it!!” Clasper said playfully sticking her tongue out!

Just in time, the Telepathy buzzed. Funnycide went to answer it and Clasper bored and tired from the long morning hours that she has been doing lately, slid out of the window again and disappeared. It was Pepster on the Telepathy. Pepster is the sauciest of witches around. She was also the founder of the Ya-Ya sisterhood that lasted successfully for quite an era with absolutely no activity. The mean witch was named after a really peppy, energetic hamster that her mom possessed. “Ya! So, you did not come again?!! Hmph!!” she snorted through the pathy. “But the broomstick broke, I swear” “Ya Ya! Self has heard that before. Broomstick broke; you were stuck in air traffic! Try something else!”
“Say, do you have a copy of the Idea Book?” “Idea Book? Har har har… Never possessed one. I always pull my spells out of thin air. And now that mom is here I don’t even have to do the pulling myself har har har. Btw self thinks Idea Books are passé!! Hrmmpphh” “Hmmm alright then, gotta go, be mean!!” “Ta!!”

Maybe Idea Books are in fact passé, Funnycide contemplated. Should she try her hand at freelance? Well, what has one got to lose when one never possessed anything!! The Crapola will be set tonight!! So the cauldron went back into its place, the fire under it lit and in went potion after potion as the heart desired. No method to the madness tonight. That will be tonight’s method. The potions all mixed into a thick gooey black liquid [if you could call it that!]. Slowly it started to simmer.

“YA YA!!” came an energetic yell from somewhere. It scared the crap out of Funnycide. “HEY Funny, How are you?” It was the HugMon. There is no escaping. Is her experiment jinxed?? Fate again? While Funnycide was pondering on the deep philosophies in life, HugMon stepped up and did what she usually does. Gave a nice hug to her. “You are fo fweet!! Fot are you fooking?” “Err mmm HugMon maybe you want to snap out of your F language.” “Fo funny!!”

“Have you been drinking one of those HallucinogeniColas again?” Funnycide asked, an eye still on the bubbling cauldron. “Fot.. err what do you mean!! I am naturally high! I was born this way!! Alright, yawn!! need to weed my backyard, perfect dark night.. me off!!” and the monster ran away.

The thick black gooey thing was turning into a quite a stinky thick black gooey thing. Quite exciting. It slowly melted into a more flowy liquid. The creative juices are flowing.

“Koh-NEE-cheewah!!”, another cheery voice. Hmmm tonight seemed the night of the witches, ghosts, monsters and what now? An Okiku? But before Funnycide could respond it disappeared, well, it never appeared in the first place.

Anyways, the substance in the cauldron bubbled a little more enthusiastically, more ferociously, almost singing a song of its own, a bad one at that. Funnycide bent down closer to take a good look at the stuff, her very own creation. The whole Crapola shook vehemently. The gurgling sound grew louder and louder and Funnycide’s heart thumped in resonance. She was getting more and more animated by the second. And then it happened. KABOOM!! The Crapola blew in Funnycide’s face. And what remained is what you see here.