an idiot blog for an idiot world

?

with 3 comments

down the hill and past the houses, the winding road and the concrete paths, through the bushes and over the bridge
there is a river by which stands a lonely figure clad in gray and slumped
as the waters bubble and gurgle over rocks and pebbles
this is where he comes to die everyday day by day as slow as time
the seasons turn and the greens turn to red to yellow to brown
he stares at the waters and plays with the leaves
each touch a caress each breath a kiss
there is often a green notebook and a blue pen that writes in black
each word he letters carefully and slowly
each letter he words slowly and carefully
this is the end this is the end
the clouds roll and change and move and shift and morph and switch and turn and transmute and diverge
he sees himself silhouetted against the sky
he hears himself talk when there are no words
he tastes his tongue his teeth his cheeks
he smells his fingers that he brings to his nose
he touches himself to make sure he’s really there

there is a man named Rana, who is a student. he walks the streets of Bronxville, Yonkers and New York City. he once knew people and they once knew him but as he got older, he didn’t know himself. he sees his name on his identity card, on his debit card, on the internet. he has seen his name in print, as a subject and as the author. and yet, there is nothing to celebrate. the joy of publishing is nothing he doesn’t know. there was once a time when time flowed forward, like a stream, in a line. he followed that line from the very beginning, year 1, year 2, year 3 and so on. now there are multiple possibilities and probabilities and Augustine and Einstein. he discovered film and Cleo from 5 to 7.

once I knew this Rana. we met long ago, when we both born, but since have diverged. he passes like the seasons, like the river, like the clouds and I stay the same. he changes with every perception, every subjectivity. he and I are like twin brothers, forever doomed to be conjoined. I don’t wish for separation, just understanding. what is this body? what are thoughts? we share thoughts, we share bodies, we share names, but we share nothing else. i am as he is.

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Written by Pranaya

May 19, 2010 at 3:00 PM

Posted in attempts.

3 Responses

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  1. i wish i could write like you.

    pratul

    May 20, 2010 at 11:19 AM

  2. you already do.

    pranaya

    May 20, 2010 at 12:50 PM

  3. this is beautiful

    mg

    May 21, 2010 at 7:19 AM


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