driving me daisy

Flowers explode
in the gutters
and come down
in a shower
springs bubble
in the sewers
and the light
shimmers in the water
purely as a spectacle
this city can
do no better
than have you
as the lover
to whom it
opens its heart


All my attempts at writing have been offset by my experiments with streamlined thought. Notwithstanding which I would have churned out a bloody substantial body of work had it not been for the fact that all my experiments are thought experiments. Although a digression on the armchair would have been apposite I am quick to realize that that would have as little to do with streamlined writing as, without taking names, a psycho on pills.
But there come certain such periods of intense focus during which one becomes pathologically hooked to the moments that make up a day. Those are the sad times. These are the sad times.
Streamlined right now is a natural disinclination to speech; three parts reluctance, one part reticence and another pain. But coming back to the point, I have taken up the pen once more to record the minutes of each day.
Like that day when I went northwards. To College St. to buy textbooks. Which was simple. And easy enough. Then I roamed about a little confused, even a little frustrated, with location and timing. Location of Publications Division shop. Timings of selfsame shop. Found the shop. Found it closed. Then went off to Nakhoda Mosque area, and, there, in the shadow of the great prayerhouse, had Royaler biriyani. And, like the cabbieguy said, Royaler chaap. Packed some for home. Tipped modestly. Came out, found a tram and hopped in. Got off at Mullick Bazaar and took a cab home.
That above is all of a magical five hours. Streamlining, exercise I; Female voiceover, editing of.