Saturday, March 12, 2011

What’s In A Name...

Posted by A Great Liar

When you stand in front of a mirror and begun instead to see the faces you once left behind, you realize that the worst has started to happen.

People you once left behind now resurging from that deep dark hole of discarded memory bag, to remind you of the mistakes you made.

And memories, unlike even the most unpleasant things in life, have no balancing act, there is a certain purity of form about them that is rather nonchalant, lacks in compassion, and knows no forgiveness.

In short, a memory is past’s way of returning the compliment.

Because we all go through an age when we value not a person in person but instead value things that are transitory and evaporate with age; like beauty, always enjoyed in present and treated with aversion in retrospect. Perhaps it is there to remind us of Nature’s dry humouredness towards its earthlings.

Thursday, March 10, 2011

My Kingdom for a Catch!

Posted by A Great Liar

I watched her rolling the cigarette on the table in front, sneezing and puffy eyed, hoping that she would have it her way and go in the slumber she so badly needed, and leave me with the disappointments of the evening all by myself. 

Her face like a once lovely bouquet now gone dry by the prolonged intimations with the stuffed cigarette. But after having witnessed what she just did, how could I blame her for resorting to such toxic measures.

Because tonight the tranquility of any cricket lover lay in that magic cigarette. Somebody needed to put the proverbial humpty dumpty back together again, and it possibly couldn’t be one of those eleven green men in the field, each of whom now looked older beyond their years.

But I decided to interrupt her anyway. “Ammo. That stuff will do no good.”

She looked up as if from a dream. “No?”

“No.” I replied. “Definitely not. And besides it is just a cricket match.”

“Perhaps so.” She said. Paused. “But I am having it anyway.”

Sunday, March 6, 2011

The Best of All Possible Worlds

Posted by A Great Liar

 “All that mendacity!” I exclaimed. “I am so sick and tired of it. Just about everywhere you go in this god forsaken town, two things you will always encounter; people and women.”

“People and women!” She asked. “What’s the difference?”

“Well, as people they represent a form of nuisance minus the sex appeal, so they can always be avoided without any significant degree of self application. But as women, hmmmm, you might forgive most of them for their human frivolities simply because they are beautiful.” Paused. “Well, to come to think of it, you might forgive just about anyone willing to share a night or two with you.”

“A night or two you say! Since when were you a one night stander, Lev?” She looked at me, amused. “I always took you for a dreamy type, a little shy boy with a streak for poetry and heartbreaks. If I count down the number of women you almost netted, and I do mean almost, you made quiet a career out of heartbreaks.”

“That’s so nice of you to say.” I winced. “Sometimes I just wish I could shoot myself.”

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?”

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.