Tomic Riter

Tag: story

  • On my upcoming debut novel.

    Crossed 7000 words in my first novel’s draft. I have wasted a lot of days by not writing enough. But then , what is enough? How much will be enough? How to define the word ‘enough’ when it comes to writing. I have no idea and I got no will to define it. Sometimes, writing happens a lot. Sometimes, it doesn’t happen a lot. I guess that’s it. That’s how I can put it.

    Also, I renewed my wordpress account today. That means I have completed a year here with this website. It has been great! Met some really good writers. I thought all the good ones have died, I was convinced of it. But no, few are still out there doing a great work. I really thank you for it.

    On my novel, I guess it would be genre-less. I write on life and I write as I live. I am not a great story teller but I can surely tell a hell lot of lies. I guess that’s what it would take to finish the first draft.

    Wherever you are, have a good time!

    Copyright © Tomic Riter. All rights reserved.

  • I had a dream.

    I had a dream. Well, fuck it. It’s been a long time. I have been drunk so much since then. One bottle after another. One night after another. One song and then another. Nothing ends. Everything is on repeat. The food, the people, the bars, the cities, the roads, the beer cans. Everything. How would you like a table next to mine? You might like it. But were you here, you wouldn’t have a choice but to hate it. It’s like that. Life without choice. Zero from birth to death, from death to rebirth, from rebirth to another cycle of bondage and torment. How would you like that? You wouldn’t, I guess. It’s like that. You liking this and disliking that and in the end, you die. I am dead anyways and still drunk.

    Copyright © Tomic Riter. All rights reserved.

  • From my red room.

    From my red room. Dirty as hell and unattended. The only light before my midnight. The only songful haven in this goddamn graveyard where not a grass grows. This is my red room and I come alive here and fall dead here almost every day. My disgraceful coffin inside which I lie and I lust for you and twist and turn in your absence. You light me on fire and run away to your video conference or an interview. I wait for you and your errands to end. I wait for you. I kiss you a million times inside my head. I kiss you here and then I kiss you there and in no time, I am kissing you everywhere. My red room keeps glowing brighter. It is open for you all days of the year, all hours of the day, all years of my life.

    Copyright © Tomic Riter. All rights reserved.

  • All 700 days of my life.

    It’s the same road, only more damaged. I am heading on the same route and coming back via the same route. It’s the same dust rising and settling down and, the next morning, rising again. It’s the same people greeting me in the noon, the same tea in the evening, the same foolishness all day. The same men occupying the same chairs, breaking the same desks, laughing at the same jokes. The same people asking for silly favours, the same people farting egos, the same people screaming for nothing worthwhile. The same sky with nothing but clouds and a handful of rain. All the seven hundred of my life and I cannot differentiate any one from any other.

  • 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.