Tag Archives: gray

It Only Takes That One Precise Second You’ve Already Seen Before

I was watching a video about New York and on the 18th second I felt that inexplicable pang of a moment’s recurrence, so precise it hits you right at the center of your gut. The other day, the same blow struck me while our car turned from a church’s parking lot onto a street where the double-parked cars are covered with dust and fallen leaves. Shortly before the car made that turn, there was an encounter that I’ve been trying to wrap my head on. The universe plays funny games. The universe often changes the rules of the game just when you’ve wrapped your head around it.

There is no music to accompany this entry because my sister is asleep at the foot of my bed. No sentiment of an empty Saturday morning because it is a Tuesday and it will not be quite as empty as I hope the day would be since we are supposed to celebrate freedom of national proportions, no matter how fallacious it actually is. They say moments that recur, AKA de ja vu, are memories of a future one has already witnessed. Again, fallacious because how can one have memories of a future? Imagined futures, maybe. But then those shouldn’t be called memories, they are like streaks of clairvoyance. Some people believe that experiencing deja vu means that one is on the right track in life. One gets a glimpse of the future precisely because it is the path one must tread. I think there is no one right track. Moreover, I think one can actually define and make a track right if desired. Isn’t it strange how human beings associate the accuracy of a life’s course with a splitsecond of certainty yet the circumstances around it without due clarity? Uncanny, Freud would label it.

I mull over this because it has obstructed my original intention for blogging which is to talk about excruciating longing. Because now I am fixated with the idea that I may be experiencing the right kind of desire because the recent experience of a recurring moment is supposed to justify the predicament I find myself in. When the car turned from the church gates to the street, certainty hits me like an arrow to a bullseye. And yet, in as quick as the moment hits me, uncertainty washes over me like an Indian monsoon. Whatever. I’ll leave it to the wind and the drizzle of this gray morning. I’ll keep to my sheets and clench my fist under the pillow. Because when I turn to my side you will not be there. In another morning, maybe, you will be. But until then, I have nothing but arrows from the universe, hitting me in precise target points I never knew existed.

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Kingdom of Concrete: Born from the Gutters

The rains have stopped but the city continues to sweat itself out onto the gutters. It flows down the drains. Down there beneath the paved streets where  the secrets pile up to give birth to the creatures of mud that appear at each street corner, arms outstretched, feeding on pity, living off chance. We see them everyday. And they see us. Their stares, awfully real and yet dismissively ordinary, pierce deep. They touch us with their frail fingers that always seem to be about to break. So unlike us yet parcels of our soul is what gives them life. They have no parents, no homes, no ancestry. They are the city’s children, belonging to no one but to the concrete kingdom alone. They form in the ditches and return to dust. We know them well yet everyday we forget. They are everywhere we look,  faceless in our memories. They wait to be born from the gutters.  They wait to fill our streets. 

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The city has all these stories waiting to be told. Every now and then I hear one from the fire escape, or it comes to me as I walk through a dimly lit alley. I’ve told a few before. So here it is, words coming together to create the world of the Kingdom of Concrete

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