Tomic Riter

Tag: absurd

  • Not so late.

    We could make love right now, right here. Right here and now in this little den of mine wherever nobody ever comes and only I am the one leaving. We could make love right here and now, only if your were here and I weren’t alone under the stars, staring right up, waiting for the sky to tear up like a whore and all the rotten cum to spurt out and run down and out of my sight and out of this world. We could make love right now in my chair but you aren’t here. You are buried under files, or you are losing your shit somewhere or battling another headache on your own. I wish I were there but I am here, wishing you here instead. I look around. Not a man. Not a dog. It’s so quiet. Utterly quiet. We could make love right here and now and break this quietness.

    Copyright © Tomic Riter. All rights reserved.

  • Things like that.

    I had plans. They kept failing. Nevermind. Now, I can tell everyone that failed plans do not stop a life, that life goes on anyways in one way or another. It might not be the way you wanted but it is still going on in a way. That’s nothing to feel sad about it. There’s still time, and things waiting to be done. It’s some hour of night and I am half naked in my red room, staring at the fan blades, watching them cutting air again and again. Not a word or a scream. All dead things are lying around so quietly. I can barely take it.

    Copyright © Tomic Riter. All rights reserved.

  • Getting on track.

    I have been away since a month I guess. But I have been writing. I am writing as and when I manage to get time. Now that’s a lie. I think I always have time to write. It’s just that sometimes, I am not writing. But it’s not like I am doing anything else either. Most of the time, I am just alive and breathing. It could get tiring but you have got no choice in that. You have got to get tired and you have got to keep going. Sometimes, it’s like that and there’s nothing to look forward to.

    Copyright © Tomic Riter. All rights reserved.

  • Head out.

    So far, nothing has been done. Only the thinking. But that doesn’t lead me to anywhere. That’s what happens to people doing regular jobs. They start losing sight of what they truly wanted. They get tired of working and at the same time, they begin to accept being stuck in the swamp. They even try to fall in love with the swamp. I dread that would be my fate too. I refuse to accept that.

    Copyright © Tomic Riter. All rights reserved.

  • Without choice.

    a bicycle came with its bells ringing

    I heard it having no choice

    the birds chirping before sunlight even started falling

    I heard it having no choice

    the motor running since yesterday night

    lifting water up over my head

    I heard it having no choice

    I played some jazz

    none of that could carry away whatever

    was haunting me from inside

    and so I remained like that,

    hearing without choice

    as I waited for the night.

    Copyright © Tomic Riter. All rights reserved.

  • Before pissing and a swollen throat.

    fruit-seller barber newspaper vendor

    the 2nd and 3rd streets are glowing just like yesterday

    a man fell last night of his bike

    I watched as men gathered around and I stopped my bike

    next to that man’s

    a hole had formed on one side of his hard head

    he could hardly get up

    and once he got up, the first thing he did was look straight at the spot where he had fallen

    and then he adjusted his spectacles, they got dirt on them

    ‘What happened?’ asked a man to him

    ‘Nothing. I don’t know,’ said the man as he was helped to a corner

    of the 2nd and 3rd street

    a car followed, a boy was driving

    fear on his face, he could shit right there

    he got down, was pushed to the same corner

    he spoke no word and looked all around like a newborn,

    only with bewilderment

    all the men moved from everywhere else to that corner

    and the cussing and yelling followed

    just like the last time when something like that had happened

    I started my bike and rode off to my usual bar

    and I luckily found a good enough spot to sit and drink

    for the remaining night.

    Copyright © Tomic Riter. All rights reserved.

  • With an unfilled stomach.

    Memory is a problem, so is imagination. I would prefer imagining nothing, remembering nothing. Dreaming drains me. My nightmares continue even after they have ended. For a change, I am listening to something else, something that is not jazz or blues or classic. The smell of a burning incense stick has made this place more livable. I can breathe without feeling, even for a little while, disgusted. A beer can emptied last night sits on my table. I pick it up and inhale. Pathetic. How could anybody drink such shit? And with this realization, how could anybody drink the same shit again the very next day without feeling anything. How could anybody do that unless it’s me doing that. Bagetelle No. 25. Ludwig van Beethoven. Tin tin tin tin tin tin tin the piano keys are struck down, emitting all the haunt at once and in daylight. I would empty my body of blood, if I could, as I listen to this. I need sadness. A tragedy would be better. Something that can bring me to tears for at least a whole night.

    Copyright © Tomic Riter. All rights reserved.

  • Celebration was an excuse.

    The smoke rose up from whatever burnt and drifted west towards a darkness that was unknown to me. The children had come out on the streets, burning their fingers with some kind of sudden urge to enjoy that evening. By 7, the whole town grew quite noisy. I began finding less pleasure than before in sitting outside and looking up, fixating at some random star. Although one can say that no star is random, that it is there in that position by some universal rule. I did not care much about rule or no rule. That there was a star above and it was shimmering and could be looked at was enough for me. For some reason, I felt this sudden uneasiness. Maybe it was all that noise. I felt getting up from my chair and have another drink or go outside – to where, I could not think. Somebody made a bonfire. I saw shadow of a kid dancing around the fire. He seemed quite happy. Maybe he was never wounded. Fear hadn’t found a place in his head. Good for him. The smoke was spreading evenly over the town. Some time later, a car went up in flames. Its owner looked worried. The bonfire was extinguished. The children were taken inside their homes like something ominous had happened, like death was lurking nearby, searching for a young victim. I sat in my balcony and watched and I realised that the town was not ready to grow quiet.

    Copyright © Tomic Riter. All rights reserved.

  • In the dumping ground.

    Meanwhile, the piglets gathered around an almost eaten rotten apple. They gathered around it and thought nothing. Creatures of action. Dirty, no doubt, but they acted and acted alone, and they ran fast when they felt afraid. I had eaten a half of that apple that morning when I realized that the other half had begun rotting. It didn’t taste bad. I washed my mouth and threw the apple out of a window. The dumping ground isn’t far from my home. My home is in a dumping ground. Garbage all around. Once in two days, a truck arrives to carry away all the garbage. Almost always, there’s more to carry away. It must be a tiring job – gathering the litter, driving away the piglets. The smell of it all. Nauseating! I watched the piglets gather around that rotten apple. One of them grabbed it by the teeth and ran off. The others ran behind it. The dumping ground fell quiet again. No rustling, no hustling. I went back inside and thought about cooking something instead.

    Copyright © Tomic Riter. All Rights Reserved.

  • Inside a clean room.

    For a night, these men and women forgot their woes. They stepped out of their homes. Some even saw the light. The others talked about whatever. I guess everybody talked. I was nowhere, drunk and proceeding as usual, locked inside without any God. Something reminds me that I cannot have peace, that I cannot have what they have. I can have recognition, yes, but not peace. Something keeps coming up. I have grown up in my own, hard way. I cannot ever be entirely clean. I cannot be here even though I want to be here. I am in three places or more at any given time. It’s the path to disappointment. I feel that I have never met myself. Calculus doesn’t help, nor finance, sometimes not even good music or a little walk. Sometimes I wish to leave my home and never return. Sometimes I wish I never went anywhere. More than anything else, I wish I never had this head so I won’t have to write all this.

    Copyright © Tomic Riter. All Rights Reserved.