graveyard of roses

First Post in 22 months

2010-06-05T22:10:00.000-07:00

Its been a while since I blogged and that has to been a combined effect of a lyadh and my extreme tech retardness by virtue of which I forgot the password to my blog. And so as you ponder on this extreme retardness,I without any further ado will calmly go about my business of making a return to blogging. Now a question might arise, Why Now?. Well the last year or so has been a time of sweeping changes, some painstaking and some warmfuzzy, paradigm shifts so to speak. And all these have been lingering bewitchingly,full of colour and air, with lively movement in the foreground and a convincing backdrop, then like the half blue half grey smoke from a smouldering joint, it shifted and dispersed. And as I think about it all that life has been good,it truly has. As long as I could add a bit of colour to the grimy bits, and the rest would fall into place. And so there was I waltzing with life, festooned it, decorated it with streamers, titillated it…. “I wake to sleep,and take my waking slow. I feel my fate in what I cannot fear. I learn by going where I have to go.” I looked at the accumulated dust that has seeped into the bindings of my books and songs that I’ve rarely listened to and re-realise there can’t be an amicable farewell,ever. It gets screwed up, eventually, then from the edge of chaos it resettles. And then “for all redemptive motion and every rainy day when he gives himself away”. Even though there are those moments of intense boredom and frustration when it seems that it’s all a fanciful concoction of a care crazed brain. Created out of the same granules of wishful thinking that I never bring to the fore, and they only venture through the darkened crevices where dreams muddle through. Full of topographical errors and anachronisms. Sometimes it will sound like as if they are merely as random disjointed and inchoate mumblings of the eskimo who loved to watch movies. They don’t resemble my grandiloquent visions,they can’t be replicated, like the smell of vodka, achingly close to my nose and they gust of breath on my earlobe. And I’m blissfully happy, I’ve learned life skills and I’m certain that something unprecedentedly beautiful has been taking place. And as I go about finding my way through this inky undergrowth, I realised I’m scared shitless because this is so complicated and I’m tarnishing it with a flashy phrase or wannabe psychedelic imagery. Its like waking up on the floor, with your slippers under your head. But this time you decide to lie back, the groud feels cool, the ceiling looks like the “korikath” of “Anath Babur Bhoy”,strangely alluring. I feel like a neon sign,shiny lights,grateful kisses and blood drawn from the fingertips. I’m now YOUR imagination,running down like Santosh Dutta crying aloud “Chutti, Chutti, Chutti” and this is when I feel alive and HAPPY. Thank You.

Forgot to give it a title

2008-08-30T11:43:00.000-07:00

And yet how ephemeral the pictures are,
Peopled with myriads whom my mind portrays
Searching through ruined citadels,
Departed souls with familiar gaze.
Your thoughts like old nightmares frighten me,
You roar like the sea; inside my cursed heart.
Time has hid all the locks
And thrown away the keys for mirth.
Floating round like the wind impalpable,
Dark and enticing is your distraction.
And you like Chaos shall open the latch,
Of the time-worn casket.
I will no longer be numb,
In your all-encompassing satisfaction.

LOVE/HATE

2008-08-16T05:47:00.000-07:00

Love…. Have I ever been in love, you might say that . Horrible isn’t it in what way? It makes you so vulnerable it opens your chest and opens your heart & it means someone can get inside you and mess you up. You build up all this defenses and build up this armour for years so that no one can hurt you, then one stupid person no different from any other stupid person, wanders into your stupid life. You give them a piece of you. They don’t ask for it. They do something dumb one day like kiss you or smile at you then your life isn’t yours anymore. Love takes hostages. It gets inside you. It eats you out & leaves you crying in the darkness. So sometimes a simple phrase like “maybe we should just be friends” or “how very perceptive” turns into a glass splinter working its way inside your heart . How picturesque! . It hurts. Not just in the imagination. Not just in the mind . It’s a soul-hurt , a body-hurt a real- gets-inside you-and-rips-you-apart-pain. Nothing should be able to do that . Especially love. I hate love.

Long gone

2008-08-05T08:34:00.000-07:00

Supper was over
And he was in the bedroom
As we lay shoeless atop the covers
I lay beside him in the crook
Between his strong arm and chest
And it was bliss
How his eyes told stories
Stories of a man’s avarice
His zealousness; his unbounded vitality
And staggering arrogance
And how he told those stories
In his unbounded captivating style
Still emotionally amongst the rawest of raw
Who at nineteen already
Had to shave his black stubble twice a day
In order to not to look like a hardened criminal
And I remembered the stories
Of the carnivore descendants of the giant apes
Who once inhabited the ancient forests
And then left the trees
Where all day long
They nibbled on leaves
They now came down to work
In faraway streets
And he said to me
“Come with me
We have long dark miles to tread
Before dawn comes along.”

FUCKING DARK- JOKER'S SONG

2008-07-19T23:16:00.000-07:00

Ever found yourself
In the dank cavern
Of the endless fuck-ups that make up life.
An ordeal and a purgatory
With its smudged frieze
Like the soiled lipstick of a hooker.
Of mold & mildew running along
The cracked whitewashed walls
Stains in every hue
Of the excremental rainbow
And seepage blotches
Leaking from corpses.
The ghoulish realm
Which derived no light at all
From the slits of the grime clouded glass
Like the eyes that stare out from
Beheaded bodies bubbling blood.
Where vaporous creatures
Spiraled malevolently up from
The earth’s innards.
It’s a place bereft
Of not just a sunny window
Generating images of Hades
Cerberus & Styx.
One low wattage bulb hangs
Over the open grave
Into which I Puke
And another one in the vicinity
Of the Tung stones
Ablaze & bulkily aligned toegether
Like the three personed Pluto of the underworld
Upsetting as the inevitability of dying repeatedly
Which torments me in bed every night.

Extinction

2008-06-30T04:37:00.000-07:00

I am immobile with my wings folded
I do not wished to be touched
Outside the world of wisdom, reason and feelings
Can you place your hand on the axial moment
When suddenly all hell broke loose
What do your eyes tell me?
There is no communication between the eyes
Only dusky waiting, without end.
Waiting inevitably for extinction, unemancipiated
You too will be obliterated
Before you can use the alibis of flagrancy
And what shall you say then?
What shall you think?
Are you going forward or back,
Or stuck in an unending Moebius strip
The dusky lidless eyes remain unresponsive.

JUDE ADMISSION CHRONICLES

2008-06-22T11:26:00.000-07:00

This account is fictional except for the parts that aren’t.
We had barely begun our vigil when the monstrous creature laid its eyes on us; with its slavering jaws and great blazing eyes, it moved like an animatronic raptor with its claw raised, poised for attack
It’s a wondrous tale that is about to unfold of heroism, in the face of danger, and of the gallantry of a handful of young people against a awe-inspiring foe. And like all its kindred , it begins in the most unassuming of places -the parking lot. Let us proceed to a brief history of the parking lot. it’s a dilapidated structure and several times planned to be blown up because its roof flying would have been a sight to see. And once you’ve got a couple of thousand people crammed inside there baying for each others blood, you could quite convincingly write an insiders account of what its being like inside a proverbial sardine in a can.
We on whom the holy responsibility of maintaining the sanctity of the conclave lay were prepared for extreme circumstances but then again things never turn out the way you think will be. Yes people it was the most fearsome of beasts a disgruntled and overprotective parent code name P.A.P.A. One young maiden Reeti by name was the first to realise that we were in mortal peril. In no uncertain voice she informed us of the peril, by shrieking in a most unmelodious manner . Awakening to the danger, all other representatives of the fairer sex in the parking lot including squadron leader Rimii BC began to vocally express their displeasure.
Perceiving that it’s prey has been posing a “threat” to its “young” ones gased its jaws and dived headlong towards the next possible victim saying “Tumi amar cheleke flat kore debe!”. Aided by the chivalrous comrades I managed to avert disaster . No laughing matter I must hasten to add when the attack meant for me was diverted towards another innocent victim. Goaded to near madness by the loss of its prey, the beast poised itself for another attack when our gallant field marshall Tintinda stood up on his precarious seat and uttered a ferocious battle cry. That somehow managed to curb its advance, the monster decided to return to greener pastures, and inflicted its loathsome presence on us again. A chimaera code name “really anxious momma” adding a couple of manticores code name “other murderous relatives” and a couple of dragons code name “nei kaaj to di bawaal people” thrown in as a bonus wreaked unbelievable havoc. They ferociously pursued us from one end of the parking lot to another, as a result of which pure unadulterated chaos and confusion ensued. Finally a gallant knight named Lav code name “The sun is my friend” stepped forward wielding his trusty blue bottle and started battling with the creature. Perceiving that it had met a worthy foe, the creature hesitated no longer, but gave out a blood lusty roar and plunged into battle. After a long and drawn out match, in an unworthy move the beast managed to bamboozle the knight by making some sounds like an out of order violin. We all were galled to see this young knight emit several screams, abandon his weapon and run for safety. Spurred to action by this effort of bravery more of us readied ourselves for a final assault. Soon friend and foe all were screaming and tumbling in a frightful tangle. But this surge was not to last too long the steadfast knights forced these creatures to show a clean pair of heels. As a result of which along with the worthy questers a huge number of unworthy souls forced their way inside the holy shrine of JUDE. So for the next two hours we used our energies for damage control. We had to sift the worthy from the unworthy which was not too hard compared to the earlier struggles. Infact it provided us with a lot of mirth and amusement. However the final verdict was to be laid out the great guardians of the holy shrine of JUDE. So finally our labours bore fruit, parthenocarpic mind you. Peace was restored and everyone was coaxed back to normalcy and it was ascertained that those seemingly dead were actually not but in a swoon.
Wait a minute this ending seems too bollywoodish actually we got fed up of this “peaceful” atmosphere in exactly 3and½ nanosecconds and we were back doing what we do best let chaos reign supreme, living life our way the JUDE way. Rock on.

THE BALLAD OF THE LITTLE BOY LOST- LINES WRITTEN UNDER MIGRAINE

2008-05-19T23:14:00.001-07:00

It rained and it rained and it rained
After years of my long relationship with it anyhow
My soul had been so parched that its surface curled black
Like a dried tongue and exposed red bony gums of erosion
But now when the world had came to document its supposedly dry misery
It had apparently grown bored of being a desert
And decided to turn itself into a long shallow lick of lake
Land that once danced dry heaving with heat waves
Now sung with the deadly whine of mosquitoes
It grew small tidal waves and an infestation of frogs
Anything not big or strong enough to hold its head above the dirty water
Took in a lungful of liquid and died, ballooned and stinking
In the ditches and ravines where the corpse of the little boy lost floats
Many chickens and a odd small goat, surprised by so much unaccustomed filth
Ran away in apathy and disgust
Downstream from the brothels
The biblically dead earth of a heart that could not love anyone
Sprung green with a plague of luscious weeds
All day, day after day the gray clouds of unreason gathered force
With such gravity that they threatened to oppress the sun
Insects tumbled out of the sky, with wings crackling and prickly legs
The beetles shrilled, Dracula fanged and yellow green
The wind picked up and tossed the leaves of the mango tree to shreds
And there blew also her hair as she lay on the wind swept beach
Thinking of god only knows what
The dogs hid their ears under their paws and looked anxious
The crows amassed in their ramshackle nest
And shat piles of reeking white
And the wild birds fell silent
She laughed out loud , this “sweet child in time”
At this outrageous rhapsody
The clouds menaced and massed
Underneath lain in tomb of concrete solid earth
Sinking back into the silence of the mud
Was the little boy lost.

FAITH

2008-05-15T02:11:00.000-07:00

FAITH
His head rests on my bosom
Eyes closed; My chin reclines on his scalp
Salt n’ pepper beard crowds his face
His hand stopped abruptly.
My breathe came in deep dense bursts
Sex was yet to creep in
But the eyes were bedewed with tears
He flared out “You had given yourself away to someone else”
I had nothing to say.
Bedroom or office; alleys or highways; or rundown teashops
Suspicions lurk in the city
In every breath- suspicion
My life has been spent too
Amongst Pyrrhonian poets
The seed of my anatomy was yet refused by all
All instincts of survival go into aestivation
Neither body wakes, nor poesy
And I couldn’t really articulate
The unspoken words
Take; preserve; not my anatomy
But a poet’s faith.

2008-05-06T07:40:00.000-07:00

This is my first attempt to write something that's not in verse so prior apologies to everyone. I actually kinda envy the other bloggers who can write about randomly mundane things with so much panache . A thing that i am desperately trying but I have A premonition I will miserably fail in that. So I thoght I should pen down what I write about sort of a manifesto I guess I'm not sounding too political.So what do I write about 1.the conflicts of desire & possibility 2. and how does it sustain an illusionof timelessness 3. about unsatisfied impulses & heartbreaking losses 4. how passion seeks its living fulfillment 5. and how we trace & mourn defeat 6. and how as a result of it a path is broken into the psyche 6. and finally the fact that reality can never enter a text without mediation.

Wide Awake Now

2008-05-02T05:27:00.000-07:00

My sleep is run over by locomotives
And my mornings seem to be bulldozed
The dreams all sell well
In the fairytale market of failures
All sights are branded by flyovers
And all sounds sound like infallible deliverance
Consumption is the enamel of hatred
Clothing to drape oneself with endless inhibitions
To live is to hibernate thinking of summer days
Fooling oneself under the firmament starry
It's all right i'm wide awake now.

2008-02-16T23:26:00.005-08:00

And tears descending from her eye
She softly bade me "adieu"!
O; with an aching heart & brain
I look my way through fields & glen
Besprinkled with dew.

Cinderella's Palace

2008-01-16T02:20:00.000-08:00

"Ah make we most of what we yet may spend
Before we too in the dust descend" -Omar Khayyam

The castle rises above the super lush meadows
To stand silhouetted against the forever summer sky
A realer than real Warwick or Windsor
Its turreted roofscape
Fortified with galleries of battlement
That have never seen loosed arrows or boiling oil
Memories hark back to days
When this gothic fantasy grew up
Still survives unchanged
By the nerest thread of chance
In the delicate stairs & corridors
With its pallid watercolours
And its wrinkled old runner & early electric lights
In their opal glass shades
Makes a little corner of Cheltenham
In a very foreign field
The Maharajah is never expected back
So the palace servants squat in the shade
Of formal creeper clad doorways
The staircase to the ballroom
Will never see again the sweep of ballgowns
And the strange tripods that stand
With one foot extended to balance
On the steep steps that will never again
Be draped with potted ferns
The ballroom itself is sounded asleep
Like a palace in a fairytale
Or does the crystal sofa
Wait in gloom for Cinderella's prince?

SIGNED-ALAN "GADZOOK" PANGBORN
Cinderella's palace is a real structure;seat of the Maharajah of Mysore; modern day Bangalore. Decaying Splendour.

BACKWATERS

2008-01-06T07:08:00.000-08:00

The rain scourged the timbers of the skiff incessantly
And its soft patter induced melancholy thoughts
And the wind whistled as it flew down
Into the boat’s battered bottom through a rift
Where some loose splinters of wood were rattling together
A disquieting & depressing sound
The waves of the river were splashing on the shore
And sounded so monotonous & hopeless
Just as if they were something unbearably dull & heavy
Which was boring them into utter disgust
Something from which they wanted to run away
And yet were obliged to talk about all the same;
The sound of the rain blended with their splashing
And the long-drawn sigh seemed to be floating above,
The overturned skiff;- the endless laboring sigh of the earth
Injured & exhausted by the external changes
From the bright & warm summer to the cold; misty; damp autumn
The wind blew continually over the desolate shore & foaming river
Blew & sang it’s melancholy songs .
SIGNED - ALAN “GADZOOK” PANGBORN

THE HEAD HUNTERS

2007-12-28T00:27:00.000-08:00

WITH A RUSH THAT MADE MY HOT TEMPLES THROB
THERE CAME VIVIDLY TO MY MIND
RECOLLECTIONS OF THE HEAD-HUNTERS-
THOSE GRIM,FLINTY,RELENTLESS LITTLE MEN EVER SEEN,
BUT CHILLING THE WARMEST NOONDAY
BY THE SUBTLE TERROR OF THEIR CONCEALED PRESENCE….
FROM TIME TO TIME,AS VANITY OR LOVE
OR JEALOUSY OR AMBITION MAY MOVE HIM,
ONE CREEPS FORTH WITH HIS TOMAHAWK
AND TAKES UP THE SILENT TRAIL….
BACK HE COMES, TRIUMPHANT,
BEARING THE SEVERED GORY HEAD OF HIS VICTIM….
HIS PARTICULAR WHITE OR BROWN MAID LINGERS,
WITH FLUTTERING BOSOM,
CASTING SOFT TIGER’S EYES AT THE EVIDENCE OF HIS LOVE FOR HER.

SIGNED- ALAN “GADZOOK” PANGBORN

ROADS

2007-12-28T00:22:00.000-08:00

ROADS OF DESTINY
I GO TO SEEK MANY ROADS
WHAT IS TO BE TRUE. TRUE HEART & STRONG,
WITH LOVE TO LIGHT-
WILL THEY NOT BEAR ME IN THE FIGHT
TO ORDER, SHUN OR WIELD OR MOULD
MY DESTINY?
THREE LEAGUES THEN, THE ROAD RAN,
AND TURNED INTO A PUZZLE.
IT JOINED WITH ANOTHER & A LARGER ROAD
AT RIGHT ANGLES.
I STOOD, UNCERTAIN FOR WHILE ,
WHETHER TO TAKE THE ROAD TO LEFT
OR WHETHER TO TAKE THE ROAD TO RIGHT
AND THEN SAT MYSELF TO REST UPON MY SIDE.

SIGNED - ALAN “GADZOOK” PANGBORN

CITYSCAPES

2007-12-27T23:47:00.000-08:00

THE CITY HIDES IT’S SECRETS

BUT ONE WHOSE VOCATIONS ARE IN SURPLUS

HAS SO MANY MORE THAT

IS MORE SECRET THAN ANY OTHER

ELSEWHERE BY THE DYNAMICS OF PARADOX

THE SECRET LIVE IN THE TELLING

THEY MURMUR LIFE INTO MONOTONY

STREETCORNERS AND BLEAK ALLEYWAYS

INTO THE GARBAGE PEPPERED REARS

OF WINDOWLESS LODGINGS

AND THE NEAR-BLACKENED FLOORS

OF GREASE-BATHED WORKSHOPS

BUT HITHER, WHERE ALL LAW

NATURAL & MORTAL , IS HELD

IN WHIMSICAL SUSPENSION THAT WHICH

IS SHROUDED, HAS NO NEED OF WORDS

TO PROVIDE IT LIFE; LIKE ANY CREATURE

THAT LIVES IN A NEFARIOUS ASPECT

IT MUTATES TO UNEARTH SUBSISTENCE

PRECISELY WHERE IT SEEMS TO BE MOST

GROSSLY RESTRAINED, IN THIS OCCASION

IN SILENCE.

SIGNED-ALAN “GADZOOK” PANGBORN

MY BOOKCASE

2007-11-29T06:25:00.000-08:00

A few old nailed together planks of wood
Which had somehow clung toegether,
through all the years of neglect .
These shelves which housed
all my most beloved books.
The very bookcase which haunts
A corner of my living room
Like some patient ; dusty ghost waiting
waiting for who knew what
Disaster I guess ;
or an enshrined counter-life
or may be just a more responsible owner.
SIGNED-ALAN 'GADZOOK' PANGBORN

Mojave Desert

2007-11-20T05:37:00.000-08:00

Welcome to the country of lost borders
The border country we all reside
A battleground of intense conflicts
Of desire and possibility
As we try to sustain an illusion of timelessness
Between unsatified impulses and heartbreaking losses
As they creep up from the horizon of consciousness
I find passion seeking its living fulfilment
And trace and mourn its defeat
Until a path is broken in the psyche
Registering the everlasting truth
signed-ALAN"gadzook"PANGBORN

GOING TO SCHOOL

2007-11-15T03:19:00.000-08:00

I COULD SEE MYSELF BEING WATCHED
STIFF AND STARCHED IN MY SCHOOL UNIFORM
AND HALF-WET UNKEMPT HAIR
HURRYING OUT OF THE HOUSE
'MAA AMI ASCHI';OUT IN THE STREETS
OF A TRAFFIC CONGESTED KOLKATA
RUNNING BREATHLESSLY THROUGH WINDING LANES
BRUSHING PAST TURBULENT HUMAN EMOTIONS
REASON,PASSION AND DEATH
LISTENING TO MY GREY UN-IRONED TERYLENE TROUSERS
SWISHING BRISKLY ALTHOUGH WET WITH SWEAT
I TRY TO KEEP UP WITH THE FRENETIC PACE AROUND ME
WONDERING WHY WE THOUGHT OF FINISHING
AND NEVER TALKING IN SANCHEAN PHRASE OF BEGINNING
JUST AS EVERYONE I NEVER FINISHED MYSELF.

SIGNED -ALAN 'GADZOOK' PANGBORN

"THIS NAMELESS WAY OF NAMING THE UNNAMEABLE IS RATHER GOOD"

2007-11-06T21:31:00.000-08:00

Grey sour days
Make me aware
that the queue of hope
stretches long past infinity.
That I have been racy
and sometimes careless
and somehow feel more
the prickings of my
painfully ravaged virginal flesh.
And then I realise that
every consummated death
is a new beginning.

THE WAIT

2007-10-18T04:18:00.000-07:00

The larva slowly turns to pupa
It will metamorphose.Awaiting its final transformation
Ugly ;lifeless, it spins its dreams
Awaiting the miracle
He too lingers in the valley of lepers
Praying for the one who will wash him clean
Give him a new life
A difficult birth ; he knows
Of infinite pain
He is prepared for a lifelong gestation
To finally sail to the island of lost dreams
At the moment when the pupa
B-R-E-A-K-S
Into all its colours.

2007-10-15T00:45:00.000-07:00

Come...

You remain blue like a blindfly
The River has returned to its
Untraced womb
A face, pale, beholding angst to its
forehead, he's sky
As is not water or shadow of an
anonymous tomb
Suspicion as the reverse side of
one same coin
A coin as a proposed pact, But fact
that is true as sand
The light far from riverside and an
empty hand
Poetry is its name
I call it by its name, I do
Call it again, waving my hand
Come light up loads of work;
Unfinished
Blind fly, and its return back home
Unleash your blues to achieve
An exile, a forest, conceived in pain
Come, light up this earth, unrest
Come, light up this womb, again.