November 14, 2006
It was boundless and infinitely simple. I found the answers to my ____ in a rotting hole on 11th street.
Locale: 4th ave. New York fucking city.
Wait. Step back. The situation was totally mucked. You wake up and put your shoes on. You squirm into some fad-driven clothing arrangement. You think. What's next? Perhaps some coffee. Then the swirling lapse of existence sinks in. Your momentary reason of simply being is captured in that singular pinnacle of the fleeting now. Breathe. It's only a passing thing. Your heart flutters without intent. It just does it. Ample time to get to a hospital. Or not. You stumble towards the seemingly distant staircase, pounding on your chest, hoping to revel in the effectiveness of your shitty organs. Breathe deep. Count to 5. No ten. Ok 5.
1.
2.
3.
4.
5.
Better.
Vision is all blurry and scattering for some answers. Wall-to-wall carpeting with piss stains. Broken table with a fake flowerpot next to it. Shitty painting of some depressed scene on a boat. Who had the balls to hang that? Or worse yet, paint it? Fucking amateurs. It starts again. Your breathing patterns are erratic and stumble with your drunken-like gait. Your head spins with an unquenchable positivity. This is undeniable. Unfalsifiable. The daylight is gone to another time when shit still worked. It's never coming back. The strangers with no faces quibble and squeem as you skip by them, beating heart and all.
Fast forward. November 14th, 2006. New York fucking city.
I took the long way home. Sprained ankle. Myriads of problems. Unfullfilled life of an unfulfilled child. This isn't about me though. It's about 11th street and 4th ave. I came upon a rotting hole on this corner of fucked souls. Mesmorized and captivated, I stood there for an eternity and more. Jobs. Girlfriends. Wives. Kids. Down-payments. Up-payments. Kick-backs. Holy wars. Swindling thoughts of a broken whore. I look to contain this image like a Jimmy Dean photo. The homeless man in the rotting hole, offers his sympathy to me.
"Spare change?"
"Not today. Sorry."
What a useless prick I am. Fuck it.
Back-up. You stumble into the ER. The doctors look at you and laugh. You come to find that you knew it all along. You ARE dying. Any minute now. Death. Wait for it. Wait for it. Wait for it. Wait for it. Am I still here? Does anyone perceive me?
So, next time, take the long trip. Skip over the cracks. Go out of your comfort zone. Let them say it, "Is that guy waltzing?" You are. So am I. We all do the solo jig down that long road towards the inevitable darkness. Seeking only the unfindable answers that admonishes our desire to cling. To need. To horde. It's not too late to let it go.
It's not too late to say:
Fuck you.
Piss off.
I love you.
GREAT SIGHT
far one of our objects has been to underline the fact that right from the days of the Indus Valley Civilization down to the end of the Ghaznavid cissp training rule at the fall of the 12th century A.D. over a period of more than four thousand years, Pakistan has been invariably a single, compact, separate entity either independent or part of powers located to her west; its dependence on or forming part of India was merely an exception and that too for an extremely short period. It mcp certification was only when the Muslims established themselves at Delhi early in the 13 century A.D. that Pakistan was made a part of India, but not in the pre-Muslim period. And once Muslims’ successors in the sub-continent, the British, relinquished power in the middle of the 20th century, Pakistan reverted to its normal position of an independent country. Indian propaganda that the division of this sub-continent was unnatural and unrealistic is fake and fraudulent. Muslims had joined this region of Pakistan with India mcse exam papers in the early 13th century A.D. when the Delhi Sultanate was formed; again Muslims have disconnected it from India giving it the normal and natural form which its geographical, ethnical, cultural and religiou