The Food Obsession

My family, it revolves around food. I don't understand!

My mom wakes up with the sole purpose of making breakfast, then bugs everyone to eat it - 'it's already 11'! The world will end now.

Don't waste the breakfast, who will eat it later!
Then comes lunch, evening snacks (nothing less than lunch) and then dinner.

Every meal preceded by what to cook, how much and how. A Sunday morning wouldn't pass without a two hour argument on what to eat and why.

Then the question of how much remained of the dinner, is there anyone who can act as the dustbin and eat it please? You ate so little, are you ok? We have to wash the dishes, quick! Finish it off!

The next day, the same, eat the breakfast, it is hot!

The whole world revolves around food, dammit. I don't understand! A party? What food. You don't drink? I love eating. What is your passion? I am a foodie. Why are you so fit? I exercise. Oh, you are not eating well, that's why! The fuck, man.

The Monsoon

The first drops, like diamonds in muddy lands
Announcing the arrival of mighty thunders, wet storms
The birds scared away, running into their familiar darkness
The river bursts in joyous tears
The trees twist and turn, can't run

The pain of the summer heat, paid off
On time this time, an old friend visits
Pushes away the sun with a mighty swing of its wings

I bear witness to the unbearable force of nature
My dear nature,
Of which I am so scared, yet long

Memories

Stacks of CDs piled together one after another
Cycle tubes thrown together, in this particular sequence
Slices of cake, before they are cut

They happened for real
Or so you fear
How far from truth can be a memory
How wrong can be the grey matter stickers
Impersonating time in their mirrors

The regrets and remorse, they don't quit
The love and hypocrisy
Which makes memories sweet
Or turns you into blasphemy

But if only you could have been better
If only you did it this way, not that
No, they would not be better
Time does not know better

It is there, time
It was and will be, it is as well
It is like a reservoir, holding
It holds it beautifully
In the dimension of reality
The only true version, the cruelty

The memories they fade
Because memories are photographs, torn by time
They help you die, but drink some wine
Red and white, they give you flavor
Grey and white they turn with time

But time fades not
It is there
It holds the memory, in its care
Time is an encapsule, it holds you tightly
The only reality of many memories

And it does not let gray
The color of reality
It exists without flavor
It lacks what decays
It lacks personal taste and passion
But everything else, it has

It has, so can you, if you ask nicely
In some way, on some sunny day, someone will surely pray

Writing on the go

Yeah, that's the deal now.

I decided, all of a sudden, that I will write on the go. No more doing it in the organized way - i.e. writing a draft, editing, coloring, deleting, writing all over again and doing everything in my lappy.. Because, well, the organized way turned out to be inefficient in this case. Too little turn around you see, not good for business.

And come to think about it, writing should be fun
Whenever you want to, it should be done
So why not fuck the norms and let it flow.. hun?

That didn't flow well, did it? So, I'll write on my device and see how fucked up it can get. And believe me, it can get quite so, especially when I am not in the most sober of conditions.

The very good news is that my intention of keeping it well edited is still intact. Slightly modified to fit in the new working style though.

So much awesomeness in one snap, yeah?

So many awesome books, really special books. And GODLESS, an awesome band no less.