Fuck Life, fuck society and fuck every goddamn thing in the world.
After a gap of about four years, I am listening to a tout le monde. Sitting inside this cramped office surrounded by a stack of dilapidated files, staring into a glaring monitor displaying a word document with a bunch of legal hooey splattered all over it. The bounty for living a hapless life shaped by loads and loads of compromises.
“If my heart was still alive, I knew it’d surely break...”
I was never good at singing. But the freakin’ excitement that the jamming sessions and hanging out with the band gave is something worth giving up anything in life. But I gave it up instead of the all those ‘anythings’.
"Tout le monde" was something that I never messed up much. The Jamming sessions in the college auditorium. Rohit, expressionless on the keys. Dubious Praful, whom no one will see again on the lead. Atul on the base and little dumby with his wide eyes on the drums. Morons with nothing but music in their blasted blood. That was bliss. Something which nothing on this deuced earth can ever replace.
“Moving on is a simple thing, what it leaves behind is hard...”
The rush of blood when going for “so as you read this...” at a different pitch the second time. The devilling snare and the orgasmic metallic crash of the cymbals. All burned down to a bunch of memories. Leaving them still having the greatest time of their lives and me in the midst of this pile of shitty documents. I’ll rather play these bloody ear phones so loud that it burns a hole through my ears.
People, mark my words. Just cling on to whatever you love doing or you’ll end up miserably chewing cud like me. Ask the creepy society and the world to just fuck off.
Remain behind that keyboard, bass and drums, buddies. You have no idea how it feels being far off from them. It’s just a lot of mutated miserable dorks racing to establish their lame lifeless identities before each other out there.
“So as you read this, know my friends, I'd love to stay with you all,
please smile, smile when you think of me. My fucking soul’s gone that's all.”
And it ends. Silence after the storm. I quietly return to the legal document I was editing.
Again I start self-pitying for my dashed miserable existence till I see this photo by Mary Ellen Mark and went through the stuff in her page.
I am thankful for this decent job and this not so cramped office, Lord.