Chap I : Bogota Coffee

I smell of coffee and you smell of perfumes. But we don't make love. Because we never existed

There are so many things to write at the same time.There is the Camus style introspective tale.There is the New yorker story begging to continue.There are haunted poems waiting to be written.There are jumbled up subconscious outpourings waiting to fill the pages.At these times, I feel kind of tense. There are stuff which slips away from your hands.Almost inevitably.They slip away like sand.But the beach sand is invaded by other pirate poets who are constantly stealing thoughts and ideas and claiming its their own creative outburst. Oh how I hate those sucker plagiarists.S**t, what the crap. I am a plagiarist too.I have stolen, too.

But presently I am on my way to ponderous thoughts.Like watching the rain fall from the grill or the railings with your head turned upside down.But there isn't any rain now.Instead I will take the taxi and head towards the den of Science.Watch the shady city with its hazy trams, ancient buses and dust bellowing like a angry mule.My lovers are not in town.They have left me a million years before.Before even a man was born.

Recall Amazon forest or the Congo bushes.Recall tadpoles and long lipped frogs.Recall wildness of rains falling pitter patter on the dense bushy leaves and the water accumulating in small, muddy pools before it trickled down through the wild savannah grass.I am watching that pool form. Inside my head. My head is messed up right now.You guys know why.It's too much for a sensitive guy to endure.The empty spaces are hauntingly true.

I like Michelle Pfeiffer and her black rimmed night glasses because her leg got stuck in a pin and she found the key to the door that led to the lake with disappearing faces and bathtubs with filled water, sometimes overflowing.But other than her age and her blond hair and her smart face, lets forget her. Let's recall what smart faces mean.Enter the girl who danced when she was seven and her mom took her to the hairdresser after she played ball in the park. She was growing. She was growing to be seen once and for all by me, a hideous creep in Facebook. Do you want to know her name? I will tell you her name is Serena.She is German and Irish otherwise how can she have those eyes.Enough of her.

Back to marriages and misnomers.They have all come to town but only one is getting married.The suitcases smell of foreign perfumes and antic showpieces stolen from the Victorian Era.Invade England they say and you will find in the nooks and corners, all kinds of antiques.I love Aberdeen and Scotland though. An esteemed friend once said, she wants to move to England..Well I do to..If University of Oxford or Cambridge makes me their Dean of Studies , gives me a shiny mahogany desk and a morphed lampshade and some pieces of scrap paper to sign everyday with a felted pain or rather an expensive pen..preferably fountain.

I want to take a bath in a fountain and hide beneath that cave that conceals the fountain or is it the other way round.So I was talking of longing and desires.I got reminded of an ancient town somewhere in Columbia proper ( It's in South America and It's a country for those of you not so smart with their geography) and the countless faces of women and hard working men and Latin language. The sea shores are inviting and enticing.The north wind is intoxicating and lovemaking is a hobby by the cafe and I have heard of coffee's coming from unknown hills and cloves making women smell crazy. I cannot marry but I can own a house, a cat and a maid servant. I can write by the newspaper and think how what we read in books is what we experience in life.

After all, homecoming is the best holiday you can ever get.So wake up for now, take that shower and see those moments which are being fed by bookworms in the old locked up wooden shelf by the south room in that house which has so many rooms that its 100 year old owner doesn't know and he eats the same thing everyday and he sleeps with a book he never reads and he owns a car which he never rides and a wife he never (you know what). Thanks mad hatter. I'll see you when you become Edward Scissor hands.

Author's Note

Well the note's universal. Just beware and no curses please..We want a daughter in the family without waiting for 200 years. For now, it's on Tap # 2 [cause I haven't written much prose before]

Reviews

[Holly O'Brien]

Wow...to me, this is rich in humor. I must admit, I felt lost at first reading this until I stopped trying to understand and just read it. I like this style...it seems new to me and if it isn't, I do not remember ever reading anything with so much current flowing in opposite directions. Yet, I enjoyed it for it's uniqueness :)

[Jooolie]

Good stuff :)

[Art Sun]

nice work...you've created our very own vacations within the poetics of thoughts and prose...even the coffee was great...while that vivid creation of southern americas and the reader or writer...something like that...

anyways enough babbling...nice work

[kylie]

Wow... this was so interesting to read. It hooked me right away, you really are a wonderful writer. I love how this really makes you think. I feel like it opens up the creative side of the reader's mind just from reading it... Lovely.

[roarke]

Great piece, the flow never stopped and the images and thoughts just kept expanding. Impressive write.

[Samantha (:]

I like where you're going with this. (:
Haha, funny thing is 'Inside My Head' is the title of my blog!
Great minds think alike. ;)

[E.H. Monroe]

We don’t have the ability to turn it off anymore do we? The visuals of a writer who makes a f*****g sentence out of everything they see. The drive to the store becomes a chapter laid out and waiting to be written.

The fast paced thoughts here exist on my head. A terrifying ping pong match of random thoughts. Its gonna make us crazy I tell you. I too like Michelle Phiffer but in a weird way reminds me of my mom, so I don’t wack it to her anymore.

Even after reading it, as obvious by the above paragraph, manic writing is catchy and terrible and full of fear.
This was done in a way that only someone with NO filter can do it and done masterfully

[Lilly Negoi]

mmmm what a potpourri of feelings and images!! this left such a pleasant taste in my mind :D

[Poetic Beauty]

This is done very well. Random thoughts, dream, and desires put all in one place. It reads like a journal entry which is great in books. You get an idea of what is going on in the narrators head and get a very good feel for their personality. This is creative and unique. I would love to hear of this persons travels and wonder if what they might do next. Good points made about experiencing life and sitting in a house writing about what you want to do.

[Coyote Poetry]

I like the chapter. I did a lot of travel in Central and South America. You brought back some good memories with this chapter. The good rum, the tequila and erotic woman made the coastline a paradise. The coffee was very strong and tasty also. A excellent opening chapter. A very interesting story of life and pleasure.
Coyote