Monday, November 24, 2008

SHE LIVES

Here's one from the October 2004 chronicles... 

The girl with the wilted flower in her little head swayed her tresses in gay abandon, all the while smiling away at a bird in a tree pecking away at an acorn. Not for once, does she stare at length, at the sight about her, which is prettier, by far, than the animated activity up in the tree. She is a sweet little angel, full of freckles. She is all of six, at an age when innocence is still a faithful friend. She cries in joy as the bird takes to flight after moments of full-bellied dawdling.

As she wipes the tears from her eyes with a swish of her sleeve, she picks the wilted flower from her hair, brushes a few petals off, and resumes her walk back home.

Back home to an unlit room with no windows. Back home to a father with no work. Back to her siblings with no food in their potbellied empty tummies. back to her mother who's pregnant with the fifth of her seemingly never-ending progeny. Back to a thankless life that holds no promise, no joy, no hope, no love.

She talks in warbled words and nobody cares. A long day ahead of her, she laughs at the butterfly that perches upon a soaped vessel, near her feet, and gets back to work.

Sunday, July 27, 2008

Me, a name

(From March 2004; a repost from one of my many blogs)
it ain't easy being me...

Serenely apologetic at eight
Apologetically peripatetic at fifteen 
Peripatetically artistic at nineteen
Artistically didactic at twenty five
Didactically ludricious at sixty

Its damn tough to toe a straight line for a minute. 

And so, I digress.

Friday, June 13, 2008

Somewhere Far Away

Circa March 2007, my state of mind. From my poetry blog FOR BETTER OR VERSE


I'm not a little misunderstood
And I'm taking the blame
I'm baring my soul
It does seem lame
To walk your way
And tell you I don't think
the way you do.
I don't care if you don't like me
I ought never to.

I'm your punching bag
And I'm the shoulder you seek
I'm not your closest friend
I'm not looking to be.
I really shouldn't tell you
What it is I think of you.

I'm confused and am man enough
to say that I am.
A little more than you expected of me
You really should've shut your trap
And never really said
Those hurtful things
You never meant
To say anyway.

So look away
As you always have
And go away
Somewhere far away
Where you won't see me again.

Thursday, June 12, 2008

Year One - Rerun

Here's something I wrote in July 2003. When I was bored out of my skull. When I had nothing better to do. I think they called it a spoof. All i was doing was goofing around. Like I am now. Here goes...

Year One

A long time ago, I promised myself, I'd seriously begin writing with a vengeance. My sabbatical was a long one, and now that I look back upon it, needless as well. For all those familiar with the works of the utterly modest BRYAN DURHAM, the long wait has ended. Presenting to you, the complete works. One by bloody one


THE BOWELS, RELOADED / RETURN OF THE COMMODE DRAGON


Warning: If tastelessness isn’t your cuppa tea, stop now, else read on. And while you’re at it, drink your morning cuppa (coffee or tea, or whatever else your poison is), seated on your nearest “seat of wisdom”. I’m not responsible for the after-effects it will have on your bowel movements.


The Source is seated upon his most sagacious seat of infinite wisdom. These days, he doesn’t sweat as much (the air-conditioner is working, finally!) and as he dispenses those pearls he accumulated in the days he spent in isolation waiting for The One (One of those names wise men usually come up with), he stares at the multiple screens all around him and he quickly flushes and rises from his seat of learning.

Silence.

“I have waited a long time. What took you so long?”

“In case you haven’t noticed, this place is crawling with corrupt programs. It takes time to kick ass.”

“Speaking of ass…”

“Yeah! You stink…BAD. Do something about that air conditioner. And what is this with these multiple screens? You some exhibitionist or something?”

“Laugh while you can, Neo”, said the Source, with a loud fart, “I have 2 choices for you, “ Either save your beloved Zion from total destruction, or Trinity…”

“Trinity?”

“Fat Bastard’s taken a liking for her.”

“Fat Bastard? Here? I thought it was some Agent.”

“You see what you want to see. I see what is.” (READER’S NOTE: Actually it’s something the Waschowskis came up with, to maintain the element of surprise.)


What does our hero do now? He has had to fight off a hundred Agent Smiths, figure out that the Oracle is none but one of those plumbers who expect you to know everything there is about the commode and the sophisticated programming that goes into the making a top-of-the-line flushes. Morpheus wasn’t right, after all. All this is bullcrap. Gotta do the Superman thing, save the girl, and run.


“I already know what choice you’ll be making.”

“Yeah, let Bush take care of Zion. He knows a lot about how to deal with the likes of your wretched programs. He’s also known as THE COMMODE DRAGON. I’ll go do something about Trinity, or Fat Bastard’ll make sure I leave this friggin’ madhouse forever. You don’t really think I fell for that reality and freedom crap, did you? I was in it for that chick. Nothing else matters. So go shit all you can, old man. I ain’t falling for your crap.”

As he makes his way for the door that will eventually lead to Trinity. He slips on something slimy, and falls headlong, fancy sunglasses, leather jacket and all, into what seems like a pile of reddish-green crap that has been making the rounds of the septic tank tentatively called the Internet.

“I didn’t say it would be easy. I only said it would be the truth.”

“I’m gonna sue. This wasn’t in my contract.”

P.S.: Watch this space to find out what happens to Trinity. More On the Commode Dragon in the next installment in this ongoing series.

Thursday, May 29, 2008

A Beginning

As a kid, I remember looking out the kitchen door, poking my head out to catch the first whiffs of the monsoons. The aroma of the first of many drops on sun-baked terra firma will always stay with me. I have had a simple childhood. It's always slow days, the hours stretching away to bare a grudge that's been there as long as I can remember.