bluesputnik


The Torrid Trial Room
August 29, 2009, 7:32 pm
Filed under: random sighs | Tags: , , ,

I have a problem with trial rooms. I don’t like them. I really don’t. I don’t like the thought of trying on clothes that might have slim (or even fat) chances of fitting me; I despise trying on clothes that the salesgirls thrust into my arms because they think I’ll look “fabulous” in them when I know that I am going to look tacky (but I obediently try them on and pose for them anyway just to assure them that they’re doing their job well); and I especially detest wriggling in and out of my second upper-skin to try on second upper-skins! In short, I hate trying on clothes that may just belong to my overflowing wardrobe in trial rooms. In fact, if those of my kin did not accompany me on every rare shopping trip that I partake in, I would not even chance upon a session in any trial room, however gorgeously bedecked it may be.

Nevertheless, there does, after all, happen to be one thing that I do like about certain trial rooms. The four-walled mirrors that make every part of my body visible to my naked eyes (no pun intended)! And it is there, in the mirrored cubicles of trial rooms, where I take the opportunity to do what I am seventeenth-best in doing (as quoted from “My List of Things I am Borderline Best At”): posing and clicking photographs of yours truly!

And after being stuck within the newly-painted walls of my house for over a week now because of a pile of school work that spells imminent doom if it remains unfinished, I finally ventured forth into the polluted yet somewhat inviting atmosphere (in a totally non-jeopardizing way) of the city. I went shopping for… lingerie!

Alright, alright. Who am I kidding? It’s not lingerie, it’s just four months worth of fresh undergarments for boarding school. But really cute ones, mind you!

To conclude, I am one oddly happy girl who has no stereotypically happy reason to be happy whatsoever.

follow the black rabbit

follow the black rabbit

...and the meteoroid behind

...and the meteoroid behind

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Sunday morning
August 28, 2009, 10:25 am
Filed under: motion in poetry | Tags: , , , , , ,

Clock screams
Red eyes gleam
Migraine sears
Rent fears.

Trash tabloids
Cereal meteoroids
Happiness steroids
Smiling androids.

Jogger’s park
Sun bask
Last night’s fuck
Slam dunk.

Idle minds
Daylight crimes
Brethren dies
God cries.

Digital scribbles
Family squabbles
Poodle sniffles
Sky drizzles.

Sunday morning.

surrealism

surrealism



The Beauty of Assymetry
August 28, 2009, 10:18 am
Filed under: motion in poetry | Tags: , , , , ,

Ferris wheels
In the sky,
Caravans
In the sea.

Masquerades,
In basements,
Sodomy,
In terraces.

Friends,
In graves,
Foes,
In spas.

Lovers,
In dungeons,
Haters,
In islets.

Gods,
In urns,
Devils,
In bedrooms.

You,
In my head.
Me,
In your skin.

puppet models: assymetry

puppet models: assymetry



Under the Apple Tree
August 28, 2009, 10:12 am
Filed under: motion in poetry | Tags: ,

Whiling away time,
Away from the biting chill,
Away from the vulgarity of falseness,
Away from the world,
For just a few minutes,
Right under the apple tree.

Sitting there in the shade,
Away from the mindless chatter,
Away from the bling and the bang,
Away from the world,
For just a few minutes,
Right under the apple tree.

Throwing pebbles into the pond,
Away from the stench of power,
Away from the sebaceous glands of money,
Away from the world,
For just a few minutes,
Right under the apple tree.

Singing happy songs to myself,
Away from the pressures of adolescence,
Away from the expectations from adulthood,
Away from the world,
For just a few minutes,
Right under the apple tree.

Falling off to sweet sleep,
Away from the sexual politics,
Away from the eve-teasing,
Away from the world,
For just a few minutes,
Right under the apple tree.

Dreaming of sunshine and rainbows,
Away from the realization of rejection,
Away from the stab in the back,
Away from the world,
For just a few minutes,
Right under the apple tree.

Waking up to your face in my mind,
Away from knowing you won’t love me,
Away from still hoping you will,
Away from the world,
For just a few minutes,
Right under the apple tree.

Walking back to blend in the crowd,
Back to being one of them,
Back to being a part of the world,
Away from the apple tree,
For today, tomorrow, forever.

poisoned

poisoned



heart beats & atom bombs
August 28, 2009, 10:06 am
Filed under: motion in poetry | Tags: , , ,

When terrorism dies,
And the nightsky cries,
When friends fight,
And there is no light,
When darkness kills,
And she takes sleeping pills,
When needles sting,
And in pain, you cringe,
When frustration builds,
And your fortune tilts,
When happiness fades,
And depression overtakes,
When time is limited,
And your heart is beatless,
When fairytales are fake,
And movies are a craze,
When agony consumes,
And betrayal resumes,
When rejections are many,
And the pulse is racy,
When mirrors shatter,
And children are in tatters,
When a country is defeated,
And stray dogs are cremated,
When love weakens my heartbeat,
Then atom bombs are nothing.

n613584096_971258_4735



The Colours of India
August 28, 2009, 9:43 am
Filed under: poignant strokes | Tags: , , , ,

God is an artist. When he created the human race, he had two primary colours on his palette, black and white, and two secondary colours, brown and yellow. He then, with his long-stemmed paintbrush, made each and every one of us, using various shades from his magical palette, some with richer tone while some, baser. With a few strokes here and there, he occasionally paused to admire his masterpiece. He pictured you with edgy bronze cheekbones and He thought she deserved a tall frame with wintry white skin. As He hummed to Himself while creating curves in your body, He never did once realize that he had also coined a new word: colour discrimination.

Menaka is a lissome lass, all of nineteen years of age, trying to seek her own independence. Her biggest dream is to walk the starlit ramp and to grace the covers of glossy fashion magazines. Her dream came to a sudden full-stop before she could even open the expensive Saint-Gobain glass doors of the Mumbai modeling agency because outside the doors of the agency stood a sign which read: Tall, beautiful and fair-complexioned models required. Menaka took the first train ticket out of Mumbai because she did not meet the last requirement to become a model: she was not fair-complexioned, she was dark.

An excerpt from a matrimonial website:

Attractive, young and successful Hindu businessman seeks a beautiful, fair and educated life partner.

The word ‘fair’ has been put in the advertisement so subtly that no one notices that it is actually screaming out “colour discrimination.”

When a pregnant woman is struggling to give birth, relatives gather around the screaming woman, not to see if the baby is a son or a daughter, but to see the complexion of the baby. If the baby is dark-skinned, it is worthy of abandonment. If the baby is light-skinned, the Fates are on their side. When the obstetrician holds up the infant for the mother to see, a beautiful smile forms on her lips, but only if the infant is light in complexion. If the infant is dark in complexion, the mother grimaces and does not even want to touch the “sinned” child which lives on her blood.

It also angers me to know that every time I am with you, my love, you are silently wishing you had a girlfriend who was of lighter skin tone. Does it hurt that much to look at my dusky face? Do your eyes ache to see me like this, my darling?

I am proud of my colour.
Shame on you, if you are not.

dusky voguettes with gemma ward

dusky voguettes with gemma ward



StripSixteen
August 28, 2009, 9:36 am
Filed under: motion in poetry | Tags: ,

DAY

Pale skin,
Messy hair,
Bad acne,
Weird odour.

Blue hat,
White overalls,
Patchwork trousers,
Broken glasses.

Sweeps floors,
Bears ridicule,
Feels sharp jabs,
Cries inside.

NIGHT

Black leather,
Chrome leggings,
Electricblue spikes,
Diva-esque mascara.

False lashes,
Plastic face,
Fake smile,
Anorexic bod.

Party-hopping,
Crowd-surfing,
Joy-driving,
Cart-wheeling.


MORNING

Wake up,
Throbbing temple,
Foul breath,
Stranger beside.

Counts cash,
Mumbles “thanks”,
Wears overalls
Sets off for school.

Sunshine,
New day,
Same routine,
A stripper’s life.

stripperella

stripperella