Kamikaze

You see the world imploding into pieces. The mushroom clouds are not the only thing that have the capability of destroying the world. The fungus on this rock rotating in the space with its underground network of parastic suckers has caused an implosion no mushroom cloud can watch. Fatman goes for the little boy, that's the rule for the world. Little boys don't cause much damage, but fat men do. Hiroshima and Nagasaki now make way for Chiba City. The ramen turned cold as a black cat walks out of the funk band concert. Do you like eggs in your ramen? I prefer a soft boiled egg with runny yolk so that when I poke it the yoke runs out and mixes in the ramen. Hard memories are hard memories and soft ones are soft. The triangular patch of land defined by poplar trees couldn't hold a secret, and it was for the best. Fat men and little boys, go to the triangular patch of land, while some other little boys get a cheap mini bioscope to see someone who has left their family way behind spread themsleves eagle. It's about sofas you know, it takes time and effort and probably a bunch of murders or probably more than a bunch of murders for sofas to become couches. What about nicotine patches? Sherlock Holmes uses cocaine when living in the 19th century and switched to nicotine patches in the 21st. It's not about utility. It never was. Otherwise beanbags would have been for resting your ass and for nothing else. This is baffling, that is baffling, when actually nothing is baffling. It's a blackhole, or may be some other colour but hole it is. And it's land, triangular patch or not. You see leaves of Eucalyptus falling like poetry in motion and you still remember the mustard fields, the defilement of soul attached to the kachchi ghani as you remember the dropsy that swelled up the bodies of people leading them to God. It's opposite of big bang, it's not expansion. This shit is imploding within itself. Hopefully it is an alien race, like City 17, that feigns operating from Chiba City. Hopefully it's not tribal chiefs, who turned into wendigo. The kami still roam in the graveyard of souls in Hiroshima and Nagasaki, but that doesn't negate the fact that it's all about fat men and little boys. 

Crushers

A world of guys on cafe racers riding on highways. A world of motocross riders going off road following the trail. A world of a bunch of guys playing Tribes 2 and Quake 3 arena on LAN. Did that world even exist? It could have, along with the love in villages. Love in the villages could've been saved. It needed careful work. Doesn't matter though, it's all gone now. It's all fucked. A guy measuring the body of his girl with his fingers in a hot Lucknow afternoon in his room with the desert cooler whirring and splashing khas scented water droplets on them while a guy in a small village in Rajasthan edits his Hindi literary magazine sitting in the courtyard of the village temple, his bike parked outside the temple. Everything, every beautiful thing has been deleted from existence. What remains is entry fees, to privilege clubs. The hands which held pens have been broken and crushed, just like the British crushed the hands of the weavers to prevent them from weaving. The guy measuring the body of his girlfriend with his fingers has been beaten black and blue and an FIR has been registered against him and all the love he had has evaporated. What remains now? Just some guys riding superbikes and choppers on highways who extract their petrol by squeezing the necks of the helpless. Quake 3 Arena and Tribes 2 are dead. LAN doesn't matter. It's the time of RPGs where the blood spilled is real. The fragrance of itr still lingers in the nostrils of the guy from Lucknow, he misses her. Cafe racer guys have thrown away their helmets and hanged their gloves. Cafe racers don't run on blood. Motocross guys are doing tricks hoping one of the tricks would lift them from this planet forever. 

Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep

Humanity's rotten corpse does bloom wildflowers sometimes. How simple could be things. They are very simple, but because they are mathematical. It's mathematics that governs love, though the best thing about love is that it can't really be governed, oppressed, yes, but governed no. And this is the reason it induces hatred in those who are filled with hate and those who want to turn the world into their image. Heaven and hell exist on earth, and since they do, the possibility of heaven or hell in the afterlife becomes feeble. What do I imagine heaven to be in afterlife? My heaven is the void of womb of divine mother, alone, forever, for all eternity. The oppressors have become weak, and it works like a thermometer, when the cruelty and ridicule starts to increase in the world, you must realise that the oppressors are becoming weak. Though the basic element behind oppression is weakness. Strong do not oppress, they judge, correctly, and they forgive those who need to be forgiven and the punish the crimes according to their gravity. We don't live in such a world anymore and it from the looks of it, it seems that we haven't done that ever, but then you look at people and you realise that they exist, the correct judges, the keepers of peace. Peace is not an option anymore, so not is love. People are androids, and the oppressors are raping even them, in fact this has been going on since quite a while. What saves, is delusion, that God exists, it's not a delusion though, he exists, inside you, and you'd have to find him. Once you find him, you'll find peace and you'd realise that it's not him who made the world. What made the world is not the God we want to believe in, this entity doesn't give a fuck about how much pain you go through. It's like you creating a videogame just to torture in-game characters. You know the God people want to believe in, the one that resides within you, he created music. So that you know he exists. The bacteria that feed on your wounds, know only one thing, survival, and so do you white blood cells so do those who rule over people, who preach that they have been ordained by God. If they were, they would have found God within themselves, and they wouldn't have stopped people from introspecting and finding God within them. The places where God used to reside have been defiled. It's never be going to be like The Jetsons, even if we get flying cars and that's okay, you do not need flying cars for peace, for peace you just need to find yourself. It's difficult, being the sentient organic android you are walking around satiating the inferiority of demons who deceive others in the name of God. Remember, at the end of the day, it's just a game, and love will hurt like hell, but it's worth it for people you love, for others, remember that we live in a setting where hell is other people. 

Open House

Hearts break, because they are supposed to break. You love someone and they break your heart. That's the setting. The era of love has ended. Love can exist without freedom, but it can't bloom. You wanted her soul to engulf yours. That requires transcendence and not every one can afford to transcend. You see the slavery, but that doesn't stop you from creating worlds. You create worlds, that's what you do. In slavery, in oppression, in torture, you create worlds. Life has been unbelievable and it's been hell. You realise that it's only the innocents who go to hell. God has been dead for quite sometime now. You have attended his funeral. You are determined to create worlds in your free time, worlds that would give weary, tortured people shelter, worlds that would soothe them, worlds that would heal them. You have worlds in your mind, different worlds and you'd connect them with portals, so that people can travel between worlds. You pull out your heart and bury it, it has been broken so many times that it's of no use. And you put your soul into making worlds, for the wounded, for the deprived, for the forsaken. You have walked hell, and it was a cakewalk. A real fucking hell was a cake walk, they don't make hells like they used to. There would be no entry fee in these worlds you create and people can shrink them and distribute it to the ones who need escape from their hells. The broken hearted and the broken will have planets to explore, new worlds and they can go planet hopping. Your cigarettes increase your blood pressure and weaken your heart, but you have time, enough time to demolish the fake hells and to piss on them and to get the good ones, the ticket to a ride between the worlds created by you.