http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DeumyOzKqgIhttp://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DeumyOzKqgI

Fathoming Selfishness

Once, a long time ago, he was broken.
Verbal sticks and stones,
They broke his soul.

His scars split to his skin
Like the crackled Earth calling
For the rain.
Not a drop came.

Drought
wrought
-almost to rot

And then he saw her

She came breezing by...
And her sultry sweat rubbed off on him.
As she pranced through the dusty streets,
She left colour in her wake

He ran.
He bought himself a crimson shirt.
He sprayed himself with eau de regret
And offered himself to Ephemeral Effervescence.

She obliged.
Today, some thirty years hence,
Ephemeral has settled down
And opened a cafe – for one.

He now sports shirts of different colours.
Always bright when he goes outside.
But that parched soul has lifted slowly with the wind
Granule by granule
And today, he is just a red case,
With a red neck
And no-body to speak of.

Nothing Do U

your mind is philosophy.
your loyalty epically stays in love
and you love me in a way that
safely feels something like ‘prophetic.’
you see things in my soul
that elude my ordinary eyes
and i can feel it deeply when we talk.
it is in the way you casually lean your body
towards mine and then talk half-asleep,
it is in that unutterable way you look at me when no one is around,
it is in the sweetly serious way you say we should
talk a lot so that we don’t float past each other like space men
but rather grow together entwined.
i like it when we talk and your delightful mind
sparkles in conversation and your short white teeth
reveal a sweet, rare smile behind full, dark lips because simply put - when we are together, notin’ do u.
...you are now pressing hard against me.
and in your face i see
a fineness raw, exciting yet gentle.
all in one deliciously dark, square-jawed face...

...for there’s a fluid storm rising and billowing like harmattan
behind your pair of marble eyes.

memories of spring time, near and far

VII

by Rabindranath Tagore


Sing the song of the moment in careless carols, in the transient light of the day;
Sing of the fleeting smiles that vanish and never look back;
Sing of the flowers that bloom and fade without regret.
Weave not in memory’s thread the days that would glide into nights.
To the guests that must go bid God-speed, and wipe away all traces of their steps.
Let the moments end in moments with their cargo of fugitive songs.

With both hands snap the fetters you made with your own heart chords;
Take to your breast with a smile what is easy and simple and near.
Today is the festival of phantoms that know not when they die.
Let your laughter flush in meaningless mirth like twinkles of light on the ripples;
Let your life lightly dance on the verge of Time like a dew on the tip of a leaf.
Strike in the chords of your harp the fitful murmurs of moments.

In a Beautiful Country
by Kevin Prufer

A good way to fall in love
is to turn off the headlights
and drive very fast down dark roads.

Another way to fall in love
is to say they are only mints
and swallow them with a strong drink.

Then it is autumn in the body.
Your hands are cold.
Then it is winter and we are still at war.

The gold-haired girl is singing into your ear
about how we live in a beautiful country.
Snow sifts from the clouds

into your drink. It doesn't matter about the war.
A good way to fall in love
is to close up the garage and turn the engine on,

then down you'll fall through lovely mists
as a body might fall early one morning
from a high window into love. Love,

the broken glass. Love, the scissors
and the water basin. A good way to fall
is with a rope to catch you.

A good way is with something to drink
to help you march forward.
The gold-haired girl says, Don't worry

about the armies, says, We live in a time
full of love. You're thinking about this too much.
Slow down. Nothing bad will happen.

Every Day You Play

Every day you play with the light of the universe.
Subtle visitor, you arrive in the flower and the water.
You are more than this white head that I hold tightly
as a cluster of fruit, every day, between my hands.

You are like nobody since I love you.
Let me spread you out among yellow garlands.
Who writes your name in letters of smoke among the stars of the south?
Oh let me remember you as you were before you existed.

Suddenly the wind howls and bangs at my shut window.
The sky is a net crammed with shadowy fish.
Here all the winds let go sooner or later, all of them.
The rain takes off her clothes.

The birds go by, fleeing.
The wind. The wind.
I can contend only against the power of men.
The storm whirls dark leaves
and turns loose all the boats that were moored last night to the sky.

You are here. Oh, you do not run away.
You will answer me to the last cry.
Cling to me as though you were frightened.
Even so, at one time a strange shadow ran through your eyes.

Now, now too, little one, you bring me honeysuckle,
and even your breasts smell of it.
While the sad wind goes slaughtering butterflies
I love you, and my happiness bites the plum of your mouth.

How you must have suffered getting accustomed to me,
my savage, solitary soul, my name that sends them all running.
So many times we have seen the morning star burn, kissing our eyes,
and over our heads the gray light unwind in turning fans.

My words rained over you, stroking you.
A long time I have loved the sunned mother-of-pearl of your body.
I go so far as to think that you own the universe.
I will bring you happy flowers from the mountains, bluebells,
dark hazels, and rustic baskets of kisses.
I want
to do with you what spring does with the cherry trees.

Pablo Neruda

speak to her in yoruba, twi, swahili, sesarwa, setswana or shona.

she may not comprehend some,

but in all she will delight in a rhythm natural to her ear,

a movement instinctive to her tongue

and hopefully a reassurance that she has a home on the other side of the sea:

my sister is the soul in Africa’s golden daughters.

she has glistening brown eyes

like one who has stared at the earth for too long,

her nose is fantastically flat,

her lips are fabulously full

and every hair strand in her dreadlocks is twisted and locked just the way it ought,

her smile flashes bright and wide because home lives in her.

sister’s skin shines dark black,

her hands heal everything they touch

and her song echoes a revolution in the valley of my soul.

today, i won’t let her cast her head down just because of skin.

Heaven fell in love with her dark black before she knew dark black.

brown skin or dark skin, it is of God not shame.

in time, these foreign soils she trots will speak her name.

and today, sister’s going to shine that black and lift her chin, like a tarnished angel that just flicked the dust off her wing.

hmm..

it seems that the only good gestures that people make, or thoughts to which they lend a good word, are the things they have had to learn, acquire. acquire and consume unquestioningly, unquestioningly until the actions soothe, and words of the promise catch the air. kindness and generosity are never done out of self-will. what is self-will?

Just a Thought...

i suppose that the magnitude of humanity's plight (in our minds) correlates with its media coverage in this age (which correlates with resources/wealth.) the two are almost inextricably linked when i think of the heights of technological advancement we have reached and are still set to surpass.

but somehow i feel that the plight of the human condition is no worse than in centuries gone by, nor are the natural disasters more calamitous than before but we are just more aware of it due to technology.

... smile and let me see the gap between your teeth. turn around and let me see your calf muscles. OH MUKWANO!!

Bridges

Trust could never be in vain, as much as you are giving when you trust you are also fulfilling your own journey to learning to live in your skin.
A wise man once told me.

P O I S O N
*you don’t know how many times i told myself this can't do.

you're bad for me. i don’t see how something good could come from loving you.
the death of me must be your mission 'cause with every hug and kiss you’re snatching every bit of the strength that i’m gonna need to fight off the inevitable. you’re just like poison;
slowly moving through my system
breaking all of my defenses with time;
you’re just like poison.

what's the prognosis, how many doses am i needing now?
kiss me one more time before I die.

I would cut to let it drain into the stoppered sink. Half-full and then call them to pick me up from the crumpled heap I collapsed waiting.


"Hello. What are you doing?"

"Nothing. Waiting."

New Weblog

Hi to all chinchillers!

This is Dr. Indiatsi speaking and he has a new website/blog up! I have been working on the design for a bit and now its finally up. Please check it out and comment where necessary. Most importantly, Enjoy

http://www.ratchet-effect.com/

FREEDOM FROM NUNS

fighting to eat, and praying for laughter.
struggling to live, and hoping for sunrise.
with life already so tough, why complicate
further by restraining your access to life?
so here is one to all the chillers who take
life in their stride.

i love my chillers. i am in botswana right now and need sneha!

A CHILLER MOSAIC

so i am back in botswana. it is fun and dandy sometimes, and sometimes i am lost. i find myself gravitating towards expatriates and not being able to hang with the batswana themselves. my friends are zambian, zambian, english and indian. why is that? chillers, help.

Stay knocked down
limp, after contortment
and envelope the tomorrow

in your throbbing thighs,
in the yearning of their lips
that salivate day long, waiting

to be sought once more.

CORTEX FRONTAL

you came in and knocked me on my face -
i never thought i'd fall for you like this.

you came around and you knocked me down.

***
sometimes love comes around and it knocks you down -
just get back up
when it knocks you down.

if you know me at all, you know that my hero passed away last week. the man whom i always looked to in order to learn what art was about, and how to give audiences more than they expect - nothing held back. 

dear michael,

i love you. i am going to Neverland on tuesday to remember you with other fans. my art will speak your name and your lessons will show in it. my first facebook picture which i had on for months was one of you moonwalking because you are the force i wanted to associate my art with. i will forever strive.