poem|as

[alecksgeorge]

oh

People of the land You do not know what peace looks like you haven’t swum or swam you haven’t breathed liquid forgive my impudence but you don’t know a damn about the softness of silence of the release of the bated breath I would invite you down to the murky waters where peace is drawn and quartered where there is nothing but the commonplace terror of the endless endless where the end is a means i truly would invite you if I could for my mind is savage but I have no jurisdiction there allow me hence to beautify the moment outside its suddenness a 4am unlockment a glimpse into the infinity the horrible triteful glory of cheap revelations the horrible divinity of existence the horrible horrible divinity and the horror, the utter utter horror of thankfulness “Nothing had changed, Everything had changed” The moment where my nemesis, that grisly master God attempts to forgive me and I shamelessly accept his forgiveness in order to strengthen my atheism in order that I can reconfigure everything that comes after away from the preexistent bending to restore my effortless guile my thanklessness, derision oh what joy to feel empathy once again that pointless hypocritical feeling the situation away from the baseness of level zero nudity to fuck fuck fuck fuck under wraps gloriously like a rabbit babbitt like Bataille Bataille Bataille like Chughtai Chughtai Chughtai to ephemeralise like an artist oh what joy what utter joy what salvation oh my oh my to momentarily concede to the dervishes the mystics before using up the rapture to set foot on land again to be ironic and dismissive once more what peace what peace away from water the invisible air of peace filling our lungs with normalcy you don’t know what that peace looks like you landbourne fuckers you sceptics, my kin

[alecksgeorge]

The Death of Poetry

Here I am Come to declare a death unto poetry Its flagellations wrathless Wrapped warped I am Come Here To speak bigly Of endings Of forgotten beginnings Middling on the volume The girth thickless Enriched But tasteless An assemblage called forth Elsewhere Away from the ravings of me Of death of death of death None whatsoever Innovated colonyism Polynesia burning In A figment of an atlas Thinking in battles Of big big words I however amn't unduly I am Come at a gatelessness Penury Away from 'them' Their Gates closed Butless pronunciation The slippery bread of a poor sod Is filled with water I am come on a black wing Sermony about A temporary death Followed by A permanent life Theoretical condiments in condoms Butless still But also noneless allless I am here, come to respondez sil vous: All are welcome Goods bads penguins Come one and all But sadly I cannot make it sorry I'm off goodbye sayonara Coulumbs measuring painpainfully I've scienticised And undone it also I'm pronunciator Once more But only for a minute or two though Just for being Just until yes Then once yes meaninglessed And black meaninglessed I meaninglessed Am meaninglessed Going meaninglessed Whoosh, I'm gone.

[alecksgeorge]

Losers

I just want to see the words pass before my eyes without much consequence. I want to fail to write a single word that deserves to be read. I want to sweat and be ashamed and walk through rainbow puddles of effluential water on the sidewalk of a crumbling city with not a single original thought in my mind. I want to smile at jams mixed or strawberry and discuss money and investment i want to look up the meaning of the word ‘happiness’ in the OED I want to get used to spices and be okay with the antacid war in my oesophagus. i want to learn how to drive and drive on country roads enjoyingenjoying nature i want the gaps in my hair to be married to the wind and i want my hair to fall back into place once the wind ceases i want to sweep floors, clean dusty shelves stand behind a counter for a few hours, for years and years and pay my rent once a year i want the stench of my body to not reach anyone for months and months and to be buried in an unmarked grave dispassionately by a pensioner

[alecksgeorge]

Sticks

And when you finally emerge I will look to you as a friend  I will cordially inquire, “What took you so long?” as my eyes will pretend to be distracted  by the golden chandelier and the passing coats and gowns. Your hands will tremble with lust you will be tired, for many have tried to  woo you and succeeded. Let me be another  to wax eloquent. You must be tired of my pining: you, with your poetic and novel ways. But to me you aren’t a whore - a lady of the night: I have dreamed and dreamed of your cold embrace unashamedly like a common false poet Maybe I am a false poet Maybe that’s why you appear. Take me with your sturdy hands as you navigate deeper and deeper along this eternal river. Take my bare hands: sticks as you  float above me and oar us through to your sweet home.

[alecksgeorge]

aflatoon

only fascists can be poets only fascists can hate poets in this aflatoon dunia maar kaat dhaad and us in between sleeping, slaying poetry ignorant, uneducated, illiterate deaf to the phantom rhyme of maar kaat dhaad

[alecksgeorge]

राष्ट्रगान

बंद कमरे में बैठा हूँ मैं राष्ट्रगान लिखने की कोशिश में। बाहर कबूतर परेशान हैं और उनकी गुटरगू से मैं पीडित। मैं पहली पंक्ति लिखता हूँ, "बंद कमरे में बैठा हूँ मैं" और एक झोंका आ दरवाज़े को खोल फ़ेकता है। मैं बाहर निकलता हूँ। कबूतर उड़ गए हैं, धूप बरकरार है, दूर कहीं लू उमड़ रही है। नीचे से पाटिल मैडम की आवाज़ आ रही है। "आई ग! कुत्रेया साला।" वे अपने बेटे को डाँट रहीं हैं। वह निकम्मा बदतमीज़ लडका। उनकी आँखें मुझ पर पड़ती है। "ये ले बीस रूपीया। मेरे लिए दूध लेके आ ना।" रास्ते पर गाड़ियां फ़ैली पड़ीं हैं, गाड़ियों के बीच भिखारियों कि अनगिनत साँसें। माथा हमारा पसीने से लथपथ, झंड़े कि तरह फ़हरा रहा है। "आधा लीटर दूध" दुकान में एक टीवी और उस पर कोई एक राष्ट्रगान चल रहा है।

[alecksgeorge]

Small Life

Make your life small A few centimeters are all you need They say small is beautiful And I say, yes, a life must be small Like a cute little puppy That can sit on your shoulder.  A book is a small thing: a malleable block that can disintegrate on touching. It can lie in a corner Uncomplainingly Full of years and years hardly visible. That's how a life should be-  Not too grotesque, Or barging into gravity. Just a thimbleful. Like a mist over Chandigarh Seen in a long shot From atop a building with a telephoto eye- Gray and gray- With a scooter speeding away in the distance. Or like a Bombay evening When the brow begins to cool And you walk in step with a million bodies-  Such is the smallness I decree over everyone's life. Nice and small and nice life.

[alecksgeorge]

wolf from pizar

In the land of earthen lamps, she lit up a candle her old pink paavada was dotted with wax her wrinkly belly looked well-oiled in the light and the wrinkles of her face, which had up until now remained hidden in the darkness, came alive.

She walked up to the ammayi who sat in her usual seat, peeling off the rancid jackfruits preparing a treat that no one wanted to eat. She was the last of the chatta-mundu women: a proud betel-eating nasrani.

She offered me a fleshy piece of the fruit calling me in her guttaral tongue as ‘eda’: I took it, hiding my revulsion, and swallowed it whole. Now, velyammachi, taking note of her good mood, said to her, “Ediyey, tell little Monukuttan about that wolf you saw in Paravoor.”

Ammayi remained silent Velyammachi was smiling I sensed a story about to erupt I fought against the taste of jackfruit that still lingered in my mouth

“I was sleeping in my bedroom. It was the night before your mother’s wedding. June is such a hot month. All the windows were open. I felt a hand around my neck. Someone was tugging at my necklace. A thief. He ran away when I got up and tried to grab him. I rushed outside with my eerkali-chulu. But he had run away. And then a wolf emerged from behind those curry-leaf bushes that are there outside the house even today. I thought it was a dog at first, but as it came nearer, it became clear that it was a wolf. So huge it was. Its eyes shone silver in the night. I couldn’t even look up to see if it was full moon. I was frozen in my spot. It bared its teeth and looked almost ready to jump. And then it said in loud voice, ‘Edi Theresiye, go inside you fool!’ It was my dead father’s voice! I rushed inside immediately. No one believed me the next day when I told them what had happened.

They were all busy with the wedding. But I am telling you, my father was there, protecting me.”

The electricity came back on fifteen minutes later, Ammayi slowly trudged towards the kitchen to get the curries out She looked weary.

I wondered why she never got married. Why she became the nanny of her brother’s children She brought out the red fish curry that was simmering like Mt Doom and had equal destructive potential She said, “Tomorrow we’ll fry those jackfruits into chips.” Everybody loves jackfruit chips!

[alecksgeorge]

Land

Each of my forefathers grew up in a different city. Moving all their lives:

all over the land, their eyes pregnant with a desire for a summit beyond their forefathers’ summit.

Each of my foremothers Each of them grew up in a different city. Moving all their lives:

all over the land, their necks towering over the wilderness surveying all that was left to fight for.

With arms and arms and arms With backs to backs to backs

They obliterated all that was them They embraced the invisible flag That was unfurled only at night.

And now it is my turn to take up arms: to fight the fight, the fight! And now it is my turn to turn away from the dream of my forefathers And now it is my turn to break the backs of my foremothers to search for my celestial city where the grime and dust noiselessly chant my name where crowds part as I walk the small distance, towards the throne my hands bloodied with the mad ink of the reckless night.

[alecksgeorge]

How Alexei Leonov became The First Man In Space (written some 11 years ago)

It really may matter whom you hate, This feeling may decide your fate, Every human, Lincoln or Tate, May be affected by until its very ‘late’.

Leonov hated Rasputin very much, In the whole wide world nobody’s hate was such. Any book with illustrations of Rasputin, whenever he would touch, It would land up in his menu for lunch.

He had broken into pieces the statue of Rasputin In the palace, on the seat of Rasputin he would never lean. Even Stalin was afraid of his hate. Not a word, in his presence, was uttered about Rasputin the late.

Now Rasputin, seated in heaven, was given this message, He on hearing this hastily gobbled his sausage. He rushed to God and informed him about his to-be voyage, To Earth again, to scare Leonov. Oh! What a sage!  

He wore his Sunday suit and sat in his chariot, Went down to Earth and met young Harriet She told him that Leonov was home practicing at his clarinet. Rasputin readied himself, revenge he had to get.

He appeared to Leonov and told him he was Rasputin’s ghost. Leonov on hearing ‘the word’ pounced on his neck, And passed through him like a holographic post, His steps he had to check.

Rasputin’s eyeballs then changed to fire, Courage was needed, yes it was dire. If you told anybody you would be called a liar. But Alexei’s courage you had to admire.

Rasputin followed him everywhere, From his bathroom till his school chair, From chess club to the fair. From the circus to the cancer care.

Leonov couldn’t handle this a frustrating case. He packed his luggage and tied his lace. Went to the space headquarters and climbed into a rocket. And flew off, to become the first man in space.

[alecksgeorge]

Egrets

O egrets of the gutters O egrets, not in sky, wallowing in the plume of your Pythagorean beliefs. See! See! Your whites can flow into the whites of the clouds. Me, a cyclops, alone, mighty, thrashing my limbs against each other, inventing enemies can be more than you, a flyer, a prince! O egrets, come! Smear yourselves against me For I am a roboton of your currency. Let me bear the weight of the mud that keeps you from flying. For it is your duty to bear the weight I currently bear, this ephemeral weight. For it is you who must clutch on to the heavens, lest it transcended its own burdens.

[firstplayme]

Fossil - Aasma

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CJuIOUFPs4g Folks We Got This in the Music Submission Box. Super Chill. Super Great Come up. We really enjoy this. Couldn’t Find much on Fossil - But wherever you are we are fans. This track is about 4 Weeks old. See below a Full download of their EP - Download EP

[theconceptofsound-deactivated20]

Fossil - Aasma

[alecksgeorge]

Movement

A nap parent chan geint he di rectiono fan object, ca used by acha ngeino b servat ionalpo sitiont hat pro videsan ewli neo fsight.

[alecksgeorge]

Untitled

a long long time ago when we were all babies we couldn't read or understand we were openly racist and funny we loved and hated yes we still hated the future but the reasons seemed to make sense we had just one world it’s so difficult now to be realistic to colour within the lines to love and to hate to say two much

[alecksgeorge]

One Song in Three Parts

1. Three Persons Where is this? But, no. It is everywhere. Colours unite and divide. But to the prism, it is just another day. Why aren't the colours solid? Why don't they meld into the prism? How are we so sure? That the ideas we think outshine every other. That we have the power to change this sorry world. We think of our superpowers. But all we do ever is enable this amoeba more and more everyday. - Green, endless green. Maybe they think that they should create Natural Parks and Sanctuaries to protect humans from their deadly logic. Hey! Maybe they do! - I await the beauty and the epics. But beyond the turn, there is only a lake 2. The Swirl Begins The first thought that comes to my mind is the shape of shapes. It's not about a square or a triangle or a circle in particular. Just the idea of symmetry in the Third Dimension. But sadly, so much brilliance and symmetry adds up to form so much asymmetry. Not that it isn't beautiful. But somehow the point is lost in the heap. What is perfect? Thankfully my train of thought takes me to more beautiful places. Where 'symmetry', 'meaning' are just vibrations.. Sounds.. God! I want to believe!! But not believing is so much fun! Fuck that! Swirl!! 3. Paddy on the Rocks . [A Description] Zombies and Aliens do not reside here. We walk along without any fear. Why do you ask? We wish we could tell. Somehow we realise that it is here we can smell. Drop. Stop. Swirl. Up.. Write. Wish i didn't. No i don't. We all just don't know what we would do, if we could do whatever we think we wanted to do. Swirl. Down. SsHHhhh...

[alecksgeorge]

Fair Weather

Just about right -  the temper/ a church builds itself ants, and I am in! agree/ meant/ whatever you say the next second, I feel like a fool,

you fool!

    Turning clouds               Thunder

We must run    “here take my umbrella” You’re much faster I hear a set of dialogues    “The weather is gloomy.”    “Yes, the weather is gloomy.” I am sweating