deepundergroundpoetry.com

My  story 6.0

 
 
 
 
 
 
Good morning.  
 
Play the Gorillaz track you heard the other day. Thump. Thump. Thack. Thack.  
 
Boil some potatoes. And the ghostly voice sweeps the whole floor from the Bose speakers. Skin some turkey. Don’t tell anyone that you confused it with the west Asian nation. That would be a social harakiri.  
 
Ignore the huge slabs of dark chocolate in the transparent gleaming plastic box. That's death. Turd. That's a coffin. Shut the world. And the chocolate too.  
 
Put on your Yves Saint Laurent. Don't tell anybody that's a counterfeit produced in some third world nation. Did you know that yourself? You must be wondering which nation. Well, let's end the suspense. It's the one notorious for flesh trade. Now you are wondering again. Even touching the fabric. Honestly you can't tell. No one can. Until they want to.  
 
By the way who is that fellow again? Yves.  
 
In an age when you type your own name on Google and check the links to feel good that question is meaningless. Plain jane meaningless.  
 
Change the track. Chemical Brothers. B sides. That's from the IPod. Legally downloaded music.  
 
Do the front stretch. Ten times. Stare at yourself in the mirror. No flaws. Just flab. Of course you had an appointment with the plastic surgeon. In the liposuction clinic. Advance payment of twenty thousand. 20k. Non-refundable.  
 
And someone in the neighbourhood died of a stroke. During one of those sessions. Beautification it's called. And that someone never felt better. Since then you are on Tofu. Chinese. No chocolates. No Indian. No spices. Just bland diarrhea.  
 
Gulp. Gulp. Pop. Gulp. Don't squirm. Ahaan.  
 
Is not optimism plain denial. You choose to not see. Life is pretty. No scars, no scabs, no snot. No migraine, no death, no pus in tooth cavities. I mean, really.  
 
No human right violation. Really.  
 
Life is beautiful.  
 
Try telling that to one of those sixteen year olds who undergoes hymenoplasty every four weeks and then get sold so that some gray overweight lunatic from a rich developed nation can feel a surge of godliness.  
 
Sounds hard?  
 
Try telling that to the parents of some Japanese girl named Junko Furuta. Or may be to some woman who was beaten time and again on her broken ribs by uniformed men. Tell her this as the surgeon takes out shards of her own bone from her soft flesh. Tell on her face. Life is beautiful.  
 
And even if she spits and smiles a sick smile which scares the optimist out of you for the rest of your not-so-happy life, don't just break down like a teenager who lost her IPod. Don't sob. Wipe the blood mixed spit from your face and collect yourself. Don't even crash down cause your head might hit the freshly wiped floor. And your blood might just increase the work pressure in an overpopulated hospital. Especially if that is one where the shortage in manpower is not helping. Which means the janitor will thump across cursing you under his saline breath and mop the floor. Your blood. And optimism. Wiped clean.  
 
Ah, the music is no good. Cos' the train of thought is rumbling thru those murky tunnels. Aphex Twin. Soft magnetic whispers and slowly you let yourself hypnotized. Rather hijacked.  
 
Pull forward twice. Stand erect. Forward leg bend. Stop. Repeat.  
 
Check the heart rate on the monitor. Optimum. Two more minutes.  
Then a hot shower. Carrot juice. Egg whites. Soya bar. Ginseng.  
Spirulina. Peach and Avocado. One glass of lukewarm water.  
 
To detox the body. And for the mind. Well, over the counter Zoloft. Depacon. Concerta capsules. Or a blowjob by the secretary. Your lower half in the minreal rich water of your private swimming pool. Followed by two long snorts of crushed Ritaline. And then it's all good. Like always.  
 
Life as a control freak. As someone who is in charge. As a go-getter. A winner. Someone had once told me there are words in which you replace one alphabet and the whole meaning changes.  
Like winner. Well, you get the idea.  
 
Have a nice day.    
 

 
 
_________________________________________________________________

 
Three other write ups in this series:
 
 
 
 
http://deepundergroundpoetry.com/poems/54245-my-story-1-0/  
 
http://deepundergroundpoetry.com/poems/51070-my-story-2-0/
 
http://deepundergroundpoetry.com/poems/54384-my-story-4-0/
Written by Whitewand6
Published | Edited 18th Jun 2012
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
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