The Sanctum

Welcome, traveller. This be the realm of Jay Niner, where everything be possible, and nothing ever happens. If, perchance, thou wisheth to tarry, then find thou a page from the Grimoire and read. For we are here in eternity, and we are in medias res.



It's when you're so seriously pissed off that you achieve an emotional high like nothing granted by the inebriation of quality liquor or cigars, or even any sort of psychotropic drug.
You feel the need, more than the freedom, to do something so crazy that you'll regret it for days following the incident. The thought of a crazy aftermath is what will deter you for a moment, but never for long. And then, you begin your planning.
So calm, so quiet. Lying down I remember my emotional high, drowning in the smoke of a dozen-odd cigarettes. All sorts of thoughts invade my mind as I sink into my self-imposed hell. And a repertoire of quality activities begin to make their appearance into the visible spectrum.
  1. Kidnap Barack Obama? Too expensive, plus I don't have a passport on moi right now.
  2. Kiss the president? Nah, her husband owns the college I did my +2 in.
  3. Bring along hell on earth? Too much effort.

Then what? I ask myself. Can't I come up with anything else, anything within the scope of my current state? Then finally a revelation comes in the form of a hammer that hits me like ten thousand flowerpots falling from a seventy-floor skyscraper at the speed of light.

Of course. So simple. The meaning of life. Elvis resurrected. Jesus on earth once more, the second coming is nothing to this.

Finally something within the scope of my power.

Why don't I just write a blog.



When chaos reigns and trauma rules
When trouble over your boots drools
It's time to bring change along
Wish for it with a smile and a song.
And why not. It's been some time since fallen angel had enough of the annoying little cynic he called his host. Now that he's quiet, it's time for that much-deserved change.
A beautiful day. Seems almost a shame to ruin it with my worldly worries.... yet such is my fate. Photoshop beckons me to a computer, almost as if by magic. Unwilling I go, and manage to scrounge up something resembling, in my extreme unluck, a five-point something. On my better days I'd have cheerfully whisked it into the trashcan, claiming at least eight for my trouble, yet today, a foully evil blackness that tends to deposit itself on that morass I call my brain. Don't take me wrong, I'm fond of my nicotene-inebriated, whisky-sodden morass. Even if it is a morass, it's all I have to bring my literary marvels to fruitition. Obviously you wouldn't be reading this otherwise.
To keep it short and sweet: this is the first of my changed blog. Let's see just how much I can mess with your mind, my devoted reader. If you stumbled over what I came up with, this is just the beginning... ha ha ha.


Lust for life

‘Love is for the losers.’

Oh, yes. I remember that dull afternoon, when I sat in one of those bloody coffee shops in which one is subjected to sit indefinitely and waste around two or three hundred bucks of his sister’s salary and, of course, a lot of sunlight.I could have done the same thing at much less cost at home, the clear difference being I wouldn’t be arguing what appeared to be a perfectly useless subject: Human behaviour in general and love in particular, with this girl who looked like a model and acted like a devil.

She snapped her fingers, her green eyes seething with anger, but her face flushed with what I hoped was challenge. Or, if I was particularly lucky, the wish to get going as far away from this annoying worm as possible. The feeling was mutual.‘Love is for the losers?’ she nearly spat. ‘Oh, right. Maybe it’s because you’re way too shy to go find some of your own.’ Laughing mirthlessly, I pointed at the pair of lovers who were a step away from entangling themselves in their partner’s arm. Perhaps two steps away from stripping down and making love right here. Except this was India, and Indians are rather conservative.I adjusted my perpetually falling spectacles as she subsided slightly, taking her point as proven.

‘Look at those two. They’re so much in each other’s arms. Love.’ I took out my switchblade, and very stylishly- or so I thought- let the blade swing out.‘Now, suppose I went and tied up the boy and let him watch as I cut up the girl, one stab at a time.’ She paled slightly. ‘What do you think would happen? Assuming I did that.’

‘He’d kill you.’

‘To accomplish what? She wouldn’t come back.’

‘We’re straying off the subject. What are you trying to prove here?’

‘Equilibrium, starring Christian Bale, has a rather interesting concept: the future of humans is to cast away their emotions. As a result, the main character, Cleric Preston, feels nothing when he sees his wife sentenced and executed. Instead, he forgets it, and moves on. The future is better because of that. There is no war, because there is no hate, no rage, and no reason for either. That proves the redundancy of love.’

‘So tell me, how would this world be then? A bleak, dark world. There is no trust, no feeling. There is nothing, except to live for the sake of living.’

‘Let me see,’ I said, rolling my eyes dramatically. ‘How do the wolves, tigers, bears, fishes conduct themselves? The males and females do their job for the propagation of the population, and then never see each other again. Or at least, never feel anything.’

‘Mankind evolved from those concepts.’

‘And now it’ll go back if the future is like that. A good solution.’

‘A stupid and totally unnecessary step. Emotions are what drive us. There would be no art-’

‘And no cause for any thefts inspired by the same,’ I interrupted.

‘No books, and thus no reason for fools like you, bibliophiles, to exist.’

‘If only that were so,’ I said, even more dramatically. ‘Then we’d have never met, and I’d never have to pay for your obscenely expensive coffee.’ She slammed the money on the table.

‘Alright, boy. Let me show you how deep anyone’s love for life is. Your life for your life. Your love for anyone’s life in this shop, and outside it.’

‘Why would I love anyone else-’ I began, but she stood up and gestured to the chaos of the traffic outside.‘I am going to jump in-’

‘Don’t forget the bill.’

‘And you will follow me. You will grab my hand and pull me back. And then, maybe, I’ll slap you. Or kiss you.’ That did tempt me. She was something, all in all, and when she left, the air around us rang with a sense of finality. I rose, without understanding why, and followed her trail. She was waiting at the pavement, and a few yards off, I saw her boyfriend standing. He smiled when he saw her, and walked toward us with that arrogant walk I had always hated. That got me. Jealousy? She smirked at me and closed her eyes. My breath tightened. God, she was serious.

‘Don’t do it,’ I told her, my fingers tingling of their own, and a feeling in the pit of my stomach arose, my heart pounding. Hormones raging. The boy saw what she was going to do, or at least he sensed it, when his walk lost its arrogance and gained speed. Everything froze around us...Then she took the first step. My hand reached out, and she opened her eyes. Only a pull from my direction would save her from the honking truck that sped at eighty so close to the pavement....

That pull never came.I only vaguely remember the shock in her vivid green eyes, to the accompaniment of her boyfriend’s leather boots which beat a staccato on the pavement. She tried to grab at me, to pull herself back, but I stepped back purposefully. That little step was enough to doom her, and in who knows how much of a second, she was propelled forward by the truck’s grille, into the afterlife.The mangled body was found a good thirty feet away, tossed around for nearly fifteen seconds before the traffic jam took effect. I looked at the second truck that stood before me, its predecessor now on its side a few metres away. The driver, a huge, bearded fellow, tapped the cigarette on the window frame and bent down to look at me.

‘Kya hua, boss?’ he asked in accented Hindi.I shrugged, recalling my rather expensive bill lying on the table.

‘Pata nahi. Shayad se ek billi tyre ke nechi...’ I left the sentence unsaid. The man winced, then looked at the truck on its side. He shrugged and got out.

‘Nashta milega?’ He pointed at the coffee shop.

‘Arre, bolo mat. Is se achha hai vo highway ka dhaba, aur sasta bhi.’ He grinned at that, and nodded. I nodded in farewell, and went inside to settle the account. Everyone inside was staring at the window, at the traffic jam. I went to the counter, settled my bill. Halfway out of the shop, I remembered the book I was reading, still on my table, dog-eared where I had marked it. I ran a hand over the page, straightening the bent corner. It was Irving Stone’s ‘Lust for life’.

It's been a month since I met Piya, or close to it. Her boyfriend is still probably around.