The rabid ambience was yet to wear away when I first introduced myself to the blood-curdling stories of the Bourbon dynasty. The Lust, the lustre, the greed, the grandeur, the horror and the honour. Smoked screen blurring vision.
Random thoughts on the part of this ambler were never entertained by the republican university. What they hoot for is method…to succeed…or to elude success…no cynicism.
Fragments of muffled thoughts, philistine parchments of prosaic paranoia (like this one); a multi-womb woman jutting out of a carnival of colors…all these were essential components of Dali’s creation. And he entertained and provoked simultaneously.
And Bohemian Rhapsody was indeed the cynical confession of a murderer, who might have had his wife infected with AIDS. The theme to all the disparaged teachnicians’ collective biopic.
What do all these add up to? The question mark as in De La Mare’s Listener? Or the tridentical drawing along the Nazcan hills? Maybe a little bit of frustration over some clichéd midnight coffee. The perfect Bohemian setting marred by a glimmer of despair. A welcome to the next experience. Journey of the sojourner has just began, a pause does not really mean a thing. The piper has to be ready at the gates of dawn, in duty clothes, with a pen and a paean.
No pun, no fun.
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1 comment:
wow! lovely unstructured narrative style? r u souvik? :D
if u r, ur wriitng style is so differemt from what i expected lol beautiful imageries and bohemian aroma of coffee
bless...
~scio amo
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