Cultural hyperlinking.

Q. Okay, I do follow you. But, tell me this, in a land so full of psychological and cultural strife, where the odds surpass the means, and where time kills creativity and chokes morality, where do you see the world headed? Is there a Grand Plan for the world? Or will this temporality be forever erased by the Big Crunch?

A. As long as there are no methodical patterns to educational growth, the human race will survive. The moment water stops reaching the branches, and the high-heads are all for how important it is for the roots to remain turgid, we will reach an existential plateau. Where even the loftiest ministrations of our contemporary philosophers will cease to work. As for a Grand Plan or a Great Purpose, I do not think there is one intended, because when we manage to conclude with the Plan, then what? Tread on, thinking that we are alright and perfection has been achieved. That is, undoubtedly, the most wayward of thoughts.

Never classify egos.

As I make my bed in that conversational pause pregnant with implied meaning, I realise that sometimes even the most pleasant of conversations are gagged by a certain no-gooder – Failure to Communicate.

Something of a discolouration.

This from a fellow blogger - Katie West. She's very talented. Really talented, so to say.

Where I decide to throw you overboard,.

I am the woman who deserves so much more than you. I would’ve been the greatest woman you should now admit to never giving a chance. The woman who would have done your laundry, and baked for you. The woman who would have sucked your cock in the back seat of your car and fucked you better than anyone ever has every time you came to town. You could have stared at my perfect body, my disarming eyes, my soft skin while I read in coffee shops and discussed with you the theory of getting what you want. I would’ve kept you safe and made you feel loved. I am more than everything you ever thought you needed. You would’ve thought I was too good for you.

And you would’ve been right.

The virility of Death as we know it.

I am sitting at my desk in the assembly. My Windsor knot's making me gag, so I loosen it and squint at the corner of the podium. Oh,it's him. Hair tied back neatly into a ponytail, and with tie fastened perfectly around his collar, he would have been just as attuned to a Pearl Jam concert than he was to this meet. I had met him three years earlier. He was so blase then. now he looks at his friends passively, his face neatly arranged into a mask, so that all people, high or low, cannot measure his attitude from his countenance.

When the meeting is over, I walk to his side and ask him whether he would like a drink. His face lights up. I didn't notice you, he says. Where were you?

Oh, I was hiding near the coffee maker. Spilled a little of it on my conscience.

We laugh and he proceeds to tell me of his life so far. He is not a very successful person. His grades are average and his projects are never turned in on time. He tells me of working with students of NSD, and I listen to him, amused. He seems happy. Unlike the last time, when his claws were out and he was baying for my blood. Because he thought I had wooed his girlfriend. Messy affair.

We exchange notes on the proceedings and then stop at a bar. I leave my shirt open at the collar, and ask for a mug of Heineken. He does the same. He looks at me and says,'So,how's it going with Michellia? Slept with her yet?'

If it had been anyone else, I would have shoved his head into the ice-box, but I shake my head. No. The whole friend-angle. He concurs, smiling to himself.

You were good today, Ayan. I really liked your views on some of the topics.

Thank you, thank you. (It's awkward. How do you talk to somebody whose girlfriend you have slept with? A childhood sweetheart at that? Maybe, I really am a bum woman-trafficker).

It's okay, you know. She left me for this guy who landed a place in Cornell. I knew she wasn't going to be mine anyway. Love hurts, man.

How are you holding up?

Fine. I mean, it was bad at first. I didn't take it very well. Refused any contact with humans. (laughs). But you gotta pull through. You gotta. She was everything. Light of my life, and all that shit. But, you know what, these things are better left alone. We men needn't bother with pointless human emotions. Otherwise, it chews up a hole in you the size of a Big Kahuna.

True, that. (uncomfortable silence)

He breaks down into aching sobs.

The lovely wives of Tutankhamun.

I think it was a compliment when my acting coach confided in me that I had the emotional diversification of sand. I really love acting. I guess it's not too high-handed to throw words like 'love' around while I'm at it, but 'love' isn't really a word I have used in any of my recent relationships. I think when the proper pill-goddess comes along, I WILL say it.

Anyway, I did a decent job with the play. Acting is a fuckin' harrowing job. And Jean Anouilih drives me crazy with his dictated emotion. Makes me want to dig holes in the director's shirt with a scalpel. And my ongoing romance with his daughter isn't helping. Every time I reach across to pat her back or to share a pretzel with her, I imagine his ratty eyes goring my back like cheddar in a cheese factory. Yesterday, as I was having a quick lunch with daddy dearest, and he reached over to grab the salt-shaker, he told me something I will never forget - The pen is mightier than the sword,because it evolves and can be refilled. Not like the sword which always remains a blade and nothing more. As I opened my mouth to protest,he silenced me by saying,'Be a doll, and don't speak of the katana-toting samurai'. Trust my old man to pull words out of my mouth.

I guess it's hard being a douchebag when you have two pieces of salmon in your mouth. I leave you with a disturbing, all-seeing apron.

Days reflective.

My girlfriend calls me a square peg in a round hole. She rebukes me for being so uptight about my feelings and opinions even when she shares everything with me without recourse and without inhibition. I look at her and say nothing. Let the moment pass. We stare at the traffic in silence.