Digging for Meaning

dreams and hopes. heavy shapeless things. high on life, we smoke up reality and puff out dreams. they are round and edgeless, because we want them to be likewise. how free and light it felt while smoking it all up. how wonderful and colorful and full of love. and then while we were dreaming, bloody scheming silent slimy serpent of time slithered past us without us ever letting know. and all remained is the slime of memories, that touch of the serpent. just the nagging alive feeling of some dead moment of past and from time to time, the cloud of dreams clear up and we are left staring at the brutal blandness of reality and we are left wondering, 'where the fuck was I all this while?' and 'what the fuck am I doing now?' and 'why the *your favourite expletive* have i not tried flying?' all this while, afraid and dreaming letting the dreams add to itself weight of rust until it gets too heavy to fly. giving up on the fact that reality and dreams

I can never fathom that its already 2010. 2010! shouldn't cars be flying, and armies of clones being produced. and where are our spaceships and aliens? its so unreal. every time i have to write the date, it takes some thinking before accepting that what i am writing as current year is an actuality. that the world is not as fantastical, and won't be for a while. My sense of time  has stuck at 1999 apparently. the world was to end with Y2K or WWIII or famines or floods or meteor strikes. well, the world has had tastes of all these at places, but mostly we are ok. Anyways, so there are 2 theories we came up with to explain it all. 1. mademoiselle sonal jhuj says that this is due to the fact that our childhood was spent in 90s. in school we had to write dates in school note books every day. hence we were always aware of the time. once we got out of school, we were divorced from the practice of writing date everyday. and hence we lost the anchor that the date column was. drifti

what good is a cell phone? you stare at it for long. hoping for it to ring. hoping for it to light up with that name.  and its bloody unmoving. and then it makes noise when you don't want anything to do with it or anything else at all. if only it could carry a smile with it as well, instead of the dumb smiley. a real smile. the infectious one. if only it could carry touch, the caring 'i am here' touch. a real tight hold on the silent cowering fingers.