24 July, 2012


"I write, I write to be heard," he said.

"I need a witness to my life as it gently unfurls. Can you be a Lover to my feverish engorged words? A misplaced muse to my molten moods? Stroke your flesh of its revulsion; despair makes me rude. Embrace my trembling lines - a mother to my wounds; a windbreaker to my angst, if I speak out too soon. My laughter will fire a cratered Moon in your skies. The stealth of my secrets shall lie forbidden in your eyes. Go on girl, romance my mundane, lick, oh lick at the profane. Will your ears err to hear me here? A magician needs his audience, a murderer his perfect mistake. Dance to my wretched tunes, darling, I'm a music-maker on a break."

"My life demands its witness - all I ask is to be heard."

[The inspiration for this was, of all things, an SMS. So it goes.]


  1. Unfortunately, these days I am beginning to think that writing (esp travel blogging) is being done to be part of a herd, rather than to be heard..

  2. Everyone and his Mama is aching to 'belong'. People get uncomfortable in their own skin, in their own company. And so there are herds, and people wanting to be part of them. The mainstream herds. The rebels forming their own rebel-herd. The anti-rebels forming anti-rebel-herds. You get the drift...

  3. Anonymous1:04 am

    Its nice to know that a SMS can inspire you.

  4. Replies
    1. I quote from the message: "I'll write to you because I write to be heard. I need a witness to my life as it unfurls, or closes upon itself."

  5. It's like a dream, unspooling slowly, then rewinding to where it began, rushing to its conclusion, then leaving you a little breathless.



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