What Ho?

- Hold up! I’m the one who needs to talk. And I might as well get done with it before I start drinking.

- What?

-What, ho?

- Look all these conversations of money and all that, they don’t lead to nowhere

- Right!

- What, ho?

- I mean, money Is easy. It was difficult when there were barons and all that, but today, its all about the way you talk.

- And its coz you can talk

- What, Ho?

- No you dumb bastards, you still haven’t figured who you are, have you?

- What do you mean?

- He He He

- Right for one person; he has understood! But why not you?

You see you haven’t understood who you are. And there lies the fault. When I was there with you, I used to think I had lack of exposure. No NO No. it wasn’t that, it was lack of space. You see. We had all the exposure. But we all had it, so we had lack of space. We didn’t have a big enough environment to fit us in. but once you get out of it. There is no exposure. There is no environment. Money is easy. It is there, and it isn’t, because it doesn’t matter. What matters is there is no competition. Coz that environment is missing. It’s a full circle. And a small one at that. And its tough to understand. But….what ho! You haven’t figured out, have you? Money doesn’t run us anymore. We have escaped. We are larger. Sorry as it might be. What Ho?

Music

Her habits…

- The strange thing with habits is that they take you for granted. Stick to you like a leach. Irritating, stubborn, painful, and full of excuses.

…were so irritating. She would put on her headphones as soon as I entered. It started after we got married. But that’s just one of the smaller mistakes we made together; marriage. The larger…let’s not. In her room, sitting at her desk, writing as always. Her headphones. That was her habit.

Mine. It was different. I had my headphones on, whether she be there or not. Oh! The sweet taste of music. Food or no food. Music I had to have. It put in more energy in me then all the food in the world would ever. And then of course the night calls. But I told her about it even before we started going out. How was it my fault, if I was a super hero! Can you blame me? I was born with special powers, and I needed music to sustain them. All the wretched criminals had run off: Yes! I was good at my work. But…

…she always thought it was wrong. I shouldn’t have been a hero to the world. She wanted me for herself. Her hero.

How it happens…

…we always realize things way too late. I should have taken them off at home. Even if we didn’t have something to talk about, at least I should have held her hand and sat quietly. That would have done much good as well. But habit! Parasites! They make you blind. Blind-er then love.

They gave me the letter smeared with blood.

“You were my perfect hero, fate made our lives imperfect.

Love always.

Two drops of whiskey

One touch of wine.”

Why my woman, even Curt Cobain had a better reason to die for, stupid as it might have been.

Habits! Habits! Habits!

Shucks! Frustrating habits!

- Love the worst of habits,

loss the final conclusion.

Super hero or no superhero!

Flash Of Genius

She rolled up her sleeve.

- What ho? , I said, with my head swinging to my forehead to finally make that slap sound. She was going to start again.

- They do it very often. Probably the alcohol ignites their souls. Fuming with rage, with heads held high they move forward to conquer the world. Ding-Ding-Ding! The world has already been conquered. But don’t remind them. These verbal vomits don’t lead anywhere.

- What ho? , I said again.

- Why is it that you think there is no god? , She had rolled up her sleeve. Eight pegs. Thats too damn rolling hard.

- Because he cannot save me from this argument right now!

I Am Tired

I am tired o' sweeping pain

Your torture is much too much

How you push upon without refrain

How you trouble with a smiling touch.