Slashed!

Take a Someone.

Take an Eric Clapton. 9 times of 10, You’ll cry like never before.
Take a Jimi Hendrix. 9 times of 10, You’ll feel high like never before.

Take a Jimmy Page. 9 times of 10, you’ll feel your head banging like never before.

Now take him.

10 times of 10 (yeah, even for those half dead morons who didn’t understand Page, Clapton or Jimi), one wouldn’t know what hit them in the first place! He’ll sear and slice through you, like knife through butter, like a bullet through a heart.

What was a whole of you before,  will only be a part of you after. Everything else will be slashed away. Nothing will matter apart from the thing, whatever that is.

You’ll keep wishing there actually were no words left to speak, because all that would suddenly seem to be so grossly unnecessary. He would go on wailing and wailing, on top of pianos, makeshift stages, and barren church fronts. With each piece, a part of you would feel more and more alive, and more and more desperate all the same. It will reach a crescendo, peaking at the highest of notes that can be beckoned, and it will not fall down that easy too.

The wails will fight. With each other, and then with their end. They will die, but they will not give up.

Ever!

That will be the day, you’ll wake up to that one emotion.

That will be the day, you’ll wake up to Slash!

-Palash

September’2013, Lumding.

Visions of a father

An odd irritation crawls up from somewhere behind, and decides to settle in the back of my neck. 

 

I am in a void. Not bored, not exited, not up to anything at all, but oscillating somewhere in space and in time. Blaring horns of the Locos nearby are somehow lacking in confidence. Unsure of themselves and their audience, they pass by without being heeded. 

No Lizard ticks, No owls hoot. No music in the phones or the mind. 

The clock inside though, ticks on unabated. Where it will end, is a question that question itself can’t offer any answers to. I have infinity in front of me, and a sheer wall on my back. 

Tired of thinking, I let loose. The silence gets additive. I dwell in such regions of my mind I never knew existed.

I see the Man. Chocolate Brown Leathers. Havana Cigars. Piercing eyes. Wild, mad temperament lurking behind a silent exterior, waiting to be provoked, and justice to be delivered. Reclining in an ease of moral evil. And an offer that can’t be refused.

I see the Godfather.

 I see Al Pacino.