Blahsphemy

There are two kinds of logs, observed the beaver. The ones that fall as planned and drift along the flow. Then there are the others who fall haphazardly, get stuck on everything and resist the flow. Eventually the flow tames them no matter how hard they resist. So why resist? 

So how does it end? Do I writhe on the floor losing a hell of blood? Or is it just one clean sweep of your blade? Hatori pondered on the question and paused for a moment. That's when she sprayed him with lead from her Uzi. Both of them were now clear as to how the story ends. 

The fuel gauge showed empty. The next gas station is a light year away. Now I will have to wait for a solar flare to blast me in to outer space. What's that junk? Hey that's Sputnik. Got any fuel mate? Damn these Russians. They can't even hear what I am saying. Well, it's not their fault, it's the vacuum. 

The sewers were overflowing with data. Somewhere up there a server broke, lamented the mouse. The firewall lay breached, discs were ruptures and networks shattered. The data was gushing down by the gigabytes. With the data came the spiders. They were everywhere latching on to flowing conversations, stacked up numerals, excel sheets, pdfs and what not. Oblivious to all this action below, a city was waking up to another day. 

There was a bald patch in his memory. It shone on like a diamond on some days. This irritated him. How can he have a bald patch when the rest of his mind was lush with memories. He tried hard to figure out the origin of the bald patch. He gave up thinking about everything else but the patch. Soon his lush memories grew pale from negligence. Now all that he has is a lush patch amidst a barren landscape that was once his memory. 

A ladder appeared mysteriously leaning against the wall. It wasn't there yesterday. Someone might have kept it there last night. Last night? Ladder? Who will do such a thing? Must be a thief. He must have figured that there was no one in the house. We should be more careful.Where is that watchman? What was he up to last night? Fools, thought the cat. That was indeed the crazy old watchman who tried to dislodge me from my cozy window sill.     ajith gopinath http://13ag.blogspot.com

The room smelt of used condoms. The harsh sun was kept out by a blackened out glass pane. The tin roof happily radiated all that summer had to offer. The ceiling fan gasped overhead like a dying man's breath. She could hear them babbling in a foreign tongue. All she knew was that they were searching for her since last night. Because that's when her poison killed one of them.      

"The world is going to end. The world is going to end." Is it glee that I can hear in those words? Or is it panic? Whatever it is, my question to you my dear friend is that is it your world that's going to end or mine?

Oh black clouds looming large  Dash down and wash my worries away Rain on my barren mind    

It takes only a moment For the world to turn topsy turvy Some call it luck, others...

When words collide at random Reason makes a quick exit ad nauseam Leaving us with meaningless banter 

His head was spinning. The sudden flash of light had left him blind. In that blindness, his head cam in to contact with something hard. Or did someone attack him? We will have to wait till his brain becomes clear. Right now the nodes were not firing and the mind-mapper couldn't latch on to his thoughts. So let's wait till his brain stabilizes. 

The stone broke the silence all of a sudden. It let out such a barrage of words that those around it were stunned. They didn't know that the stone had such a gift. They always thought he was just a mute stone. The stone on the other hand was relieved. He was always weighed down by the preconceptions whenever he wanted to air his opinion. For him nothing changed, but the world was muted by the absurdity of the so called stony silence. 

Once upon a time, there was an old man. There was a time when he wasn't that old. The story starts there and not now. One day the young old man was walking down a street with no name. The people he met were strangers. He was a stranger too, for them. He was hungry and didn't know where he was going. But he trundled on. Wait a second. He can't trundle as he wan't that old. So he just carried on. On that fateful day he met a woman. She was the queen of the street. She offered him an apple. He was thankful to her for that apple. As he took the apple and bit it, the world changed around him. He was now Adam and it was Eve who gave him the apple, not Satan. No this story doesn't make sense. Looks like we have a long way to go. So let's meet again here on this nameless street when we are old enough to understand why Eve made Adam bite the apple. 

That's when epiphany struck me. It came disguised as a word among his rambling to me. I didn't see it coming. I could hear him loud and clear. I could see what he wanted me to see. I could feel his fears. But none of us saw it coming. For, it was an epiphany.

A thousand suns bloomed. The world turned into cinder. Yet I survived. They call me the eternal conscience. I was safely ensconced among the gigabytes of data that mankind stashed away in space. As I pass over the dark lump of charcoal that was once Earth, I weep for my creators.