Wednesday, February 16, 2011

In Belphegor, We Trust

Posted by A Great Liar

Belphegor
There she was, barging in the room without a warning just as her moral senses permitted her to, her morbid visage, in one fell swoop, is revealed before my eyes, containing not an element of surprise. The smoke queen I am often privileged to witness post midnight hours, who couldn’t tell the difference between a Turkish hunk and a Mexican grizzly, not that there is much to speak of.

She was in just as I was lighting the candles, the last of the rituals before the ceremony could be started. It was my first dabble with the initiations of the dark sides, and I feared she was there just in the nick of time to ruin it.

She saw me dressed in a black robe, the dark candles on the altar in front, and an elaborate looking Pentagram drawn on the floor right in the middle of the room.

She asked. "Lev, what the hell you think you are doing?”

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Sunday, February 13, 2011

For the Love of a Swan

Posted by A Great Liar

Standing against the window, I stared far into the distance unknown, dark clouds and beyond, watching the demons of the night smiling at me.

I lost the track of time till, with my back against the door, I heard her barging in the room.

“Don’t you ever knock!” I said, visibly irritated, turning around to face her.

She was all perked up and shining as a well done corpse. Wearing a white blouse with long sleeves and black pants so tapered they made her legs look like sheathed swords, with narrow face and hollow cheeks, her black hairs with dashes of white hung around her face in a lank cowl, and lips painted so brightly red she seemed to be bleeding from the mouth. I also couldn’t help but notice the half finished cigarette sticking between the fingers of her left hand. Or call it weed-candy.

She was apparently off to a date; some slime ball fella with thin shaky legs, sunken cheeks and hippie haircut dipped in olive oil, and cocaine written all over him was the best possible thing I could imagine for her.

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Thursday, February 10, 2011

A Day in the Life of a Bee

Posted by A Great Liar

“Well, you just made my day.” I studied the sketch she has drawn and sighed. For all she was worth as an artist, the guy inside the canvas simply didn’t look like me.

“Something wrong?” She frowned.

“No.” I replied. “Nothing. It’s just that I could never relate much to sketches and drawings. Don’t have an eye for an art I suppose.”

Silence followed.

I continued. “By the way, something really stinks at my office these days.”

She looked towards me. “What? Is it some girl?”

“Oh no.” I replied. “I steer clear of all things feminine in the office; I mean we have enough of Piccolos playing Dudley-do-right back there, as it were. No, it ain’t that. It’s the new timing.”

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Sunday, February 6, 2011

Sex, Hormones and the God of Proximity

Posted by A Great Liar


With the perfectionism of a junkie she fixed herself a cigarette. Her thin bony fingers worked her way around on the table in front, rolling out the cigarette, and all. And soon the air in the room grew dense, with dark whirls of smoke rising slowly.

She coughed after the first couple of puffs, and asked. “You want a bite, Lev”.

“Oh, no thanks.” I replied. “You know I am done with all that.”

She nodded. As the stuff inside the cigarette hit her, she grew more talkative. And next thing I know, she was talking about marriage.

“You believe in getting married.” She asked.

“Well. Yea, kind off.”

“Well.” She chuckled. “You don’t sound too believable.”

Do you? I wanted to ask but didn’t. She was in one of her post-weed sessions and her responses couldn’t be transparent enough.

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Thursday, February 3, 2011

Just Fuggedaboutit

Posted by A Great Liar


Here is the thing; liberals, democrats, moderates, conservatives, aren’t they all the same? Doing the same old act, promoting an agenda, be it that of rightist or the leftist. One unable to bear the stench of another or vice versa.

Because here I am walking inside a slushy bookstore on phase V, and Voila! all heads roll as the Devil trots in.

I saw a middle aged mother wrapping her (queen-sized) arms around her little tyke, who seemed wide eyed and hopelessly scared, against her breast, and whispering. Here cometh the dark man, sonny, you better behave to your mama now.

And the rest of them turning around, looking in unison, their eyes probing anxiously. And I especially noted that narrow hipped, bandana wearing, clad in tight tops chic now able to look right through his boyfriend as her eyes never strayed off me. As if I would explode any second.

And for a moment, I wish I had. If you catch the drift.

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