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.


Jerking off to Life

What is homesickness? It's the feeling you get when you think you're satisfied swigging from a Jack Daniels on top of a local bus from Bombay to Pune, night-time, the whiskey burning a whole through your throat while the cold tries its best to freeze you up.
It's the feeling that life can't be better than that. It really can't, either. Three months of Chennai heat have just worn me down and out; even in bloody winter I couldn't feel any cold, and I kept thinking about what an idiot I was to give Chennai another chance.
On the plus side it does have its better side; the beaches, Pondi, and since it's such a big city, there's enough action going around. Speaking of which, that's the focus of this blog right now. Why wouldn't I write up on that? In Thyagaraja Nagar I ran into Vivek, a UP guy who could provide; Villivakkam's railway had several points, and best of all the Police didn't care two shits about anything. Hell, there were hookers right outside ACJ; fun times. It's one of the few places where I didn't need to go undercover for too long; just enough to get out and onto the roads.
But then again, this is still confidential information. There's stuff going on everywhere; all you need to do is look. And if you look, you'll find the best of times, and the worst of times; Chennai had both of those. And now, Pune beckons again. I already took my repast at dear old Bombay, now I have nights to go before I sleep. 

As I kiss the last of my whiskey goodbye-
And stub away my last cigar;
Thoughts errant come and go
Into that subdued, surreal sovereign state
Of semi-bliss that is narcotic,
And to that mind of chaotic patterns
Cast a soothing ripple of anarchy;
For order imposed is order forsaken-
And in order, I hearken to learn
That life's pleasures are still to earn.

And now, I think, I've earned my last swig. Cheers!



So, another month ends, another year comes to a close.
And as I see the blogroll this night, I see so many possibilities; of what may have been. The number of blogs I've just left saved on the web, unpublished, is much more than the number I've actually seen through. Some of them are utter garbage; others, still worse.
And all that leaves me questioning one single thing; is all of this worth it?
Life is a funny thing. 
At some point you realize that you are not living for yourself. Never do you, not one moment in all your life; you are living for someone or something else. If you're on the streets, you're living to survive another day. The upper middle class- you're living because there's pressure on you to get a job, and look after your parents.
I spoke to a pair of hookers in the backmarket of my premises. What do you expect them to be?
I didn't expect much. At best you get a haunted, gaudy face, aged eyes and as you touch her, just the slightest tremor of resignation in her frame before she pastes her smile back on.
Two hundred rupees, anna, she told me. She lives somewhere in Indira Nagar, and invites a stranger to her home. No questions asked. Wasn't I free to just take what I needed and leave her to her sorry existence?
I was. 
I was also under a curfew. It meant that the line of questioning ended with asking for the rate, exchanging minor pleasantries, odd flirting and a promise to return.
And so, even walking away then, I threw my back on a future. Mine, hers, her roommate's, her landlord's, it didn't matter. Every one of our choices has adverse effects that we never think back on.
And the dumb thing about it is that all of it only comes when you're either stoned or don't actually think about anything else, 24/7.
Either way is pretty fucked, anyhow. Which is why I said life's a funny thing.
Even now, a smile comes to my face when I think back and realize just how much a person can destroy or create; people say that God is the highest power.
People also don't realize just how much power we keep inside ourselves- like how Jim Butcher explains it in Ghost Story, the twelfth- or thirteenth- book in The Dresden Files. 
Odd things stick to your imagination during the act of stoning. 
Like little blue cats with piranha teeth, walking across my table, staring at me with those obsidian eyes; silent menace.