Tomic Riter

Category: story

  • Anyways.

    I had been away from here, and while I was away, I hoped nothing much would happen. Four hours have passed but the water hasn’t dried, not completely. The puddle has reduced from ten inches wide to four inches wide. In another couple of hours, I won’t be able to see my reflection in the ground. I read few pages of a regular story of a wonderland not any less damned than the heads of these people running this world. But I read it anyways. I ate anyways and drank a little. Now isn’t the time to lose my consciousness, and if I do, then this time too shall pass. It will anyways.

    Copyright © Tomic Riter. All rights reserved.

  • Long ago you died, Mr Bergman.

    I watched you from the centre of my weary pupils. The dancing death. The men questioning what is what. The farce that is played out on the theatrical stage of a grand plague. The warrior’s prayer to Death to have some mercy upon him, and if not upon him then upon the others who he thinks deserve to live a little longer. But everybody’s time comes, and in your clever act it did come and with or with no love, men’s hearts were extinguished. The uneasiness, the fears all put to sleep. The darkness flew away and began another day. The kid lived. The cunning died without water, their legs thinner than wires, their spirits corrupted. They died while they were still damned. No salvation. I watched your genius and I thought, if this is not something worth watching, then what is. A world overflowing with man’s shit. You aren’t alive and I am glad you aren’t because now, it’s just all the good cinema getting murdered.

    Copyright © Tomic Riter. All rights reserved.

  • Past sleep.

    A little rain makes the landscape greener. I look at the 20-feet tall pigeon sitting outside the glass window. It’s eyeball emerald studded watches brainlessly. Am I registered as an enemy? I wish a door was provided for an escape. But now I have to sit here under eternal watch. Its wings almost metallic. I walk to the window. It beats its paw on the glass, probably denying communication. I bite into an apple and sit in a chair. It’s raining again. The tree spread out their branches to absorb as much as they can. I finish eating and watch the pigeon. It is now looking away from me. Acknowledging the impossibility of an escape, I put my head down on top of the table and wait to run out of time. I wake up quite later. It’s still evening. A clock hangs but it faces the other side. I find myself in my chair with an empty plate on the table. I look towards the window. It’s clear. Nothing is sitting outside, nothing is watching me. It stopped raining but not long ago. I get up and walk to the window. I can climb out of the window but I do not. Were I to go out, where would I go? How long would I be gone before I am back here? Won’t it be easier to confront the reality of not leaving than to return to the same place? I move away from the window and sit in the chair. Maybe the pigeon will come back.

    Copyright © Tomic Riter. All rights reserved.

  • This isn’t Kafka.

    Somewhere around one third of finishing this book, I start losing my shit. My speed decreases. My mind is somewhere else. I hate to think. I stop before reading another page. I keep the book down. Were it Kafka, I could have bought cigarettes and smoked all night. But this isn’t Kafka and I cannot buy anyways. I am kind of stuck. The remaining two third needs to be completed as well. I am not interested in knowing how it ends. Books with endings I hate to read. I hate stories that try to make sense.

    Copyright © Tomic Riter. All rights reserved.

  • In other world.

    As I read about a man without a shadow, I fail to comprehend it. Does not having a shadow affect that man’s conduct in any way? Can that really, finally, make him feel lonely? As a matter of fact, I have neved lived without my shadow. Even in absolute darkness, a shadow exists, only its colour is the same as that of the darkness and hence its outline cannot be recognised. But it exists and it hardly breaks unless the body itself breaks. The shadowless man makes me think all this. Had I not read about him, I would have been going along fine.

    Copyright © Tomic Riter. All rights reserved.

  • Before time.

    Darkness is gathering around me. Were I new here, I wouldn’t have been able to walk even a step. After thirty minutes or so, I return. A barking dog roams in wet skin. Now and then, something lights up, but not for long. Cold is becoming hot and I cannot do anything about it, about anything. No song has got a voice. It’s just me searching for a new addiction. A man climbs the road and where will he stop? Where will he stop if he ever decides to.

    Copyright © Tomic Riter. All rights reserved.

  • Collapse.

    I had a desire. I had to go home to fulfill that desire. Once I was at home, the desire was gone on its own. I didn’t have to make any effort. I simply forgot. No pain was brought to me in forgetting. Then, another desire arose and soon it was forgotten too. Just like that. I lost the will. Nietzsche used to say that will is important to live. He eventually committed suicide. The same noise fills my each day. I could walk out of here but this world is vast and it seems out of my reach. Between me standing up and me walking to the door, I am really not aware of how much time elapses.

    Copyright © Tomic Riter. All rights reserved.

  • Drunk in no rain.

    I have a perspective. While I write, I just write shit. There is no truth to find in my words. All of it is all that I have found. I am tired of thoughts and opinions, tired of seeing people talking and doing nothing. It takes less time and minimal effort to act than to talk and talk and talk. I do not know what men, most of them, are up to. By the time they have spent three decades of their life, they realise that they are nowhere, they are struggling to crawl out of some deep swamp. I am tired of watching that, and I am tired of watching man pushing himself in such a swamp. Big fucking idiots. All of them.

    Copyright © Tomic Riter. All rights reserved.

  • With half eyes.

    Copyright © Tomic Riter.

    The clouds seem unreachable, but are they? With this thought, I continue to look at them as they change colours and form and positions, as I change my own position and strive to become formless. I close my eyes, sometimes that enables me to listen to my own breath and feel how it empties me and fills me in no time, again and again. It doesn’t get tired like I do. The sunlight makes me dizzy. Only if the sun hung like this for an hour and kept shining on me like it does right now. But that won’t be happening. Night will come and I wonder what I will be doing then.

    Copyright © Tomic Riter. All rights reserved.

  • A night without light.

    A couple of hours before midnight, the guitars started plucking their own strings. A man was singing from somewhere deep down in his stomach. Following him, another voice rose and it was that of a woman. I had returned home from a long, pointless drill. Soon after that, the man ran away and the woman changed and so did her voice. The guitars broke and got replaced with drums and echoes. I made myself a bowl of hot soup and drank half and threw the rest of it. I ate something that I cannot remember now. However much I worked on it, I just couldn’t keep the insects out for long. They always found a way. They danced around me, sat on my hands, sipped my blood. They were leading better, more peaceful lives than I. The home looked fresh but only for a couple of days. After that, I always forgot and I didn’t care about how it looked. Another man started singing, and this time, he had a banjo sticking out of his windpipe. After a minute of hearing, any song became old.

    Copyright © Tomic Riter. All rights reserved.