Friday, October 22, 2004

Wind vein

Today, I move back to chilled sinus of this cetacean house. A space that some might call an attic - but that in my opinion is pigeon holing. Today I announce the onset of winter. Yes children it is official - the dragons from summer have lost their fire and are cowering like those they terrorised.

I have bathed frequently in the last month (sometimes not more than 3 days between baths) and the world that knows me attributes it to my recently reacquired lonliness. But not even loss in love can inspire a man thus. It was my version of a saliva smeard finger looking for changing winds. The trauma of todays bath was cosmic. Only handwoven wool shawls would save me. The warmth of these shawls comes not from anything thermodynamics can explain. It is a love that the shawl and owner share in thanks for the creator of that length of hand woven wool.

The weaver of my shawl is god to me, for he is art, patience, and grace rolled into one protoplasmic entity. Hail weave rfull of grace.
I have figured this to be the reason why yuppies dont take to handicraft stuff well. It is an earthly bond and the shawl will treat you only as you treat it. If you bathe it for every haldi stain it gets, it will not be sympathetic. It is a true symbiosis.

The attic isnt haappy to have me back. Its hatch has its outh open in a shape that can only be interpreted as shock. It is shocked at my lack of facial hair and the generally presentable (this is a negative word..... trust me) nature of my clothes. I said sorry to my attic and added one more to this years never ending list of apologies. But the spirit of winter is unapologetic. If you find my farting unbearable go outside and freeze your testicles off. I will not apologise anymore.

I am the pupa where the class carefully watches as the creature appears, middle finger first, emerging unimaginbly uglier than before but happy to eat the heads of all the other pupae around the jar.

Love and lots of blood to come.

Bunkim 'Bloginder Singh' Donuts

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