thesocratespot: Thesocratespot: The Art of Story telling - Part 6....

thesocratespot: Thesocratespot: The Art of Story telling - Part 6....: Thesocratespot: The Art of Story telling - Part 6.0075 : Faceoff # 1  Phantom was sitting calm, intently directing his gaze onto Tarzan, ...

Thesocratespot: The Art of Story telling - Part 6.0075 : Faceoff # 1

Thesocratespot: The Art of Story telling - Part 6.0075 : Faceoff # 1 

Phantom was sitting calm, intently directing his gaze onto Tarzan, he knew that every minute now was important, he had done this before with several others and they virtually ended up in asylums or a few others had become fodders for his sacrificial rituals where the victims offered to give away some part of their body for a greater cause but with Tarzan, Phantom had a different plan.

Phantom thought he needed Tarzan for a while longer.

Because Phantom thought tarzan could elevate his passion far above the strata that he had managed to achieve so far, besides he was also on the look out for a deputy who could play proxy everytime Phantom wanted slip out of public eye and indulge on some bizarre rituals that he had invented that were so macabre anyone witnessing it would probably die of shock or end up butchered to death sooner or later.

Phantom continued his cold gaze on Tarzan, sitting cross legged like a Buddha and keeping his arms folded across his chest no words were spoken between the two, Tarzan could not stare back as much as he would have liked it he was totally and completely in zombie land he was just not sure where he was the blood under his body was so sticky and it smelt horrific he wanted to scream and rush out and dive deep into the village river to cleanse himself thoroughly but somehow he was just not able make any move except try balance his swinging neck try bringing back eye balls to focus on something get some strength to move his at least one hand of his, he was leaning his shaky torso on one hand while trying to get up and sit cross legged and stare back at Phantom, verytime he attempted to sit up his hand would slip and then a whole new effort to sit upright would start.

Despite his state of absolute nothingness, state of a body moving from zero gravity to a black hole into a dark mass of voracious matter guzzling space pit where he would be the garbage meant to contribute to the recycling process of some higher form of spatial hunger, despite his state of utter darkness he sensed that he still had his girls body lying next to him and somehow felt she was breathing, even if she was bleeding her eyes had already lost all movements her breathing wasn't showing and she nude and limp.       

She was lying with her breast up, her head rolled to the right looking at me, her eyes looking at the sky somewhere, her two hands sprawled like they were nailed, her mouth spewing thick blood thickening and clotting as it flowed out, her shapely legs spread out, her vagina exposed and so was a part of her shapely derriers since she was lying in a sideway position. 

My name's Annie.

I'm here on this stage enacting the role of a vengeful victim - a la Emily.

I hate this universe, hate men, hate the politicians even more, but the one lot that I would love to anhilate with my own hands are all these God men, fucking God men !

They are the one's who exploited me even after my death, they first sacrificed my limb and then made me beg on the streets of a strange town then as my organs grew they used them initially to play act like a Devi they soon realised I was a source of pleasure so they used me like and I was also a raw material for more sacrifice - so then they cut my leg then they cut my other hand then they blinded me later they burnt my face   

I was enacting a girl born among a devadasi family that later on converted to Islam & Christianity we converted from our devadasi religion thinking the change will eventually help us evolve beyond our casteist compulsions but we realised some stigmas remain, despite our proselitysation our life never really changed, we remained devadasi's our kith & kin continued to live as one, we celebrated our festivals, our gods, our culture etc., as usual - just that some changed their names from Bindu to Nalini to Nafisa and some changed from Ram to Tom and others changed from Rani to Annie.

The voice over , that followed the tableau of Phantom sitting and gazing, Tarzan leaning on his one hand, and me Annie lying almost nude with blood around etc., ended with a loud applause, in fact it was a standing ovation from an audinece that was a part of a packed auditorium.

We were enacting a play at the Cochin Biennalle.

As soon as the curtains dropped we all hugged each other and walked out of the macabre stage we had created, to take out our make up and get back to our normal human life.       

Thesocratespot: The art of Story telling - Part 6.0074 : The Rotten_ &_the _Rotting

Thesocratespot: The Art of Story telling - Part 6.0074 : The alchemy of Blood & The Lusty Shamans 

Tarzan the Ape man woke up, he was feeling pretty rotten and exhausted for no reason, the last he knew was he was having a drink with his rival 'Phantom the Ghost Who Walks' after a crazy game of chess and then all he remembered was that he had a dream of being on an errand to murder a girl and then soon ended up making love to the girl whom he was supposed to kill and then eventually eloping with her with a gun in hand. 

Fuck ! The whole thing appeared so weird ! Whacko !! What happened to him in between ? when did he finish his booze session with Phantom ? How did he reach back to his room ? Where did the Gun come from ? And who was that girl ? Was there a cyclonic storm ? 

He was also worried about ... Fuck ! did mom see me walking in ? Was I so completely sozzled that I just don't remember a thing about last night ? was it just last night ? Or did the crook Phantom drug me into doing something ? More than just a day before ? 

How many days ?? he remembered nothing . 

The more Tarzan thought about everything - the dream and the absence of any other sane memory for the last several days, beyond the dream, he had absolutely no idea, no memory of anything that had happened to him in the recent past, nothing ! Almost as if someone had conveniently entered into his brain chamber and selectively chose to erase some records ! - he felt lost, confused and crazy.   

Suddenly Tarzan felt a cold chill crossing his spine - just as he was contemplating things he saw his dick harden, real hard and aching the damn fellow was asking for urgent attention so much that it was diverting his deep contemplative state to a state of pure lust - pushing him to rush to the wash room and masturbate, masturbate he must ! 

Tarzan couldn't help, so instead of rushing to the wash room he just started jacking off while lying on his bed - 

that bed

that ancient bed 

who knows ?

who else had jacked off ?

on this bed ?

before ? 

those brown stains on the sheets and the pillow 

were they stains of masturbation ? of lust and sex ? of past sin ? 

Just as all such thoughts crossed my mind, my mind slowly moved back to my dream and soon that girl returned smiling, she looked exactly the way she looked last night, but I saw her half sleeved blouse was still a bit torn and she still had that gun tucked into her bra.

I gasped and asked , You ? 

She said , Yes ? You thought I was dead ? I'm still alive silly ! 

Now c'mon I'm lusty too, been waiting to get you excited and so saying she started giving me a blow job, slow and soft, confess she had a warm breath that sent hot air around my penis making it harden even further and soon I was gasping and groaning and making noises that only sex and lust can create and she too was not far behind.

In fact her sounds were worrying me , she was being a little too loud ! But, such worries became irrelevant one she threw all her clothes out and decided to ride on top of me so she spread her thighs wide and I could see her clean shaven vagina, her flat belly, her tummy navel and her soft, fluffy breast ( they weren't too large, they looked just right for her age ) and as she made her moves she was smiling that naughty smile of hers which i was beginning to recognise while also throwing a piercing look through my own gaze, waving her eye brows up and down and silently miming out ' are you liking it' without waiting for an answer.

We just pounded like two naked steam engines thrusting against each other - one thrusting up the other pressing down, both were sweating in the humidity that settles after a bout of heavy rain, wow! 

We seemed to go and on ! And in the frenzy and lusty energy unknown to us we both fell off the cot like two live and fleshy stones, she even hit her head on the floor ( i'm sure it would have hurt ) 

Thud! 

But She showed no signs of any pain and we simply continued rolling - i only hoped my Mom wouldn't hear our rompous sounds, also hoped the people on the streets wouldn't over hear our lusty shouts ( since my attic room was facing the street ) and so I tried everything possible to muffle out the sounds - I held her mouth everytime she was about to scream, stifling it to the extent possible, I also clamped my own lips inwardly to shut out my sounds, but once we both reached our climax we almost woke the whole village up ! 

Is what I thought but then Thankfully it just seemed that we both held out our hands - one holding the others mouth shut - and managed to pass that electric moment of orgasmic voltage without much decibel attention. 

And at that final moment, when everything turns dark and one just sees that silver light flashing Tarzan was breathing like he had just finished the Boston marathon, fighting for breath, eyes closed tight, he felt that someone was washing his whole body with some white liquid like a kerala massage oil flowing from your head to your toe he felt this strange liquid flowing through his skin warm and soft and like a lubricant made of soft fruits like palm fruit.                     

It was a while before he regained consciousness , he looked around and slowly checked the light around , felt like it was afterrnoon but since his room was so tightly closed to all sorts of light he could only see some element of sunlight from the cracks of his windows and tiles above.  

Somewhere he could hear a loud bike speeding and soon there were a number of other sounds like automobile horns and hawkers and cycle ricksaw bells and such other sounds that one can only hear in a crowded Indian bazaar - now wait a minute, where the fuck am i ?  

And just when he was about to shake himself out of his revelrie he felt someone was watching him, Tarzan froze for a moment - was the warm fluid that he had felt when he was experiencing his orgasm by any chance the blood flowing from a dead corpse ? 

From the body of the girl he had killed ? 

Did he indulge in necromania ? did he actually have sex with a girl who he had murdered ?  

DID I KILL THAT GIRL ?? 

Was he hearing sirens ??? 

Just as Tarzan raised his head to familiarise himself further about his situation, he saw Phantom watching him from the deep corner of the room, he was masked, had his hands folded and was sitting what looked like a meditative pose - except for the fact that his gaze was fixed on me.   

In that dark room, his masked gaze resembled a black cat watching a victim rat squirm after it was more or less shred apart physically and mentally.  

                                      

           

    

     

thesocratespot: Thesocratespot: The art of Story telling - Part 6....

thesocratespot: Thesocratespot: The art of Story telling - Part 6....: Thesocratespot: The art of Story telling - Part 6.0073 : The Reptile_ Elopes With The Frog As I pushed the trigger hard, the wetness of h...

Thesocratespot: The art of Story telling - Part 6.0073 : The Reptile_ Elopes With The Frog

Thesocratespot: The art of Story telling - Part 6.0073 : The Reptile_ Elopes With The Frog

As I pushed the trigger hard, the wetness of her lips and her passion shook me up and soon the weather simply decided to shake the earth out, it went cyclonic with wind speeds hitting scales nearing a hurricane, the bushes that was my hiding zone was now thrown apart and I stood exposed, so was she, as the plants and trees and the nature around swung like they were on a crazy, insane 'El Toro' roller coaster, while the frogs were swung far like dead meat

We were making frenzied love

I was like this small ape

All nude
with my shirt swung out
my south indian sarong stuck to the bushes   

And she was like that Girl from the film Godzilla
albeit not just watching Godzilla in awe
from the base of Godzilla's palms

She was lost in passion
making frenzied love
her blouse torn apart
with her firm breasts exposed
her half shawl ironically was stuck to the same bush as my sarong 

we were rolling on wet mud with nature unleashed

Thunder, lightning, cyclone et al

we were lost

Lust took over and just wouldn't let go

And then

We eloped

I knew She was already wedded

I knew she had a child waiting

She knew too

But it was She who pulled me by the hand

Grabbed the gun

Shoved it into her blouse

And just pulled me along

even as the winds raged, rains lashed

Skies thundered

Galaxies & Stars were blanked out

I could only hear just two words, Echoing

One from each side of my head

Sublimation !

Existential escape !

Which side are you on ?

I said sublimation

Mr. Twist said

Existential Rat

I reminded him

I was Tarzan of the apes

He swore

Phantom will strike - after all he was the Ghost who walked !



         

thesocratespot: thesocratespot: The art of Story telling - Part 6....

thesocratespot: thesocratespot: The art of Story telling - Part 6....: Thesocratespot: The Art of Story telling - Part 6.0072 : Beasts_Kafkaism & Realism It was twilight but it was already looking like i...

thesocratespot: The art of Story telling - Part 6.0072 : Beasts_Kafkaism & Realism

Thesocratespot: The Art of Story telling - Part 6.0072 : Beasts_Kafkaism & Realism


It was twilight but it was already looking like it was pretty late in the night, I was hiding behind this real thick set of bushes a little away from my village house, the earth was wet due to rain and the tropical frogs within the bushes were croaking in full throttle but despite the full house orchestra of the tropical frogs, I could hear my heart pounding dab dab dab, dab dab, dab dab, soaked in sweat, dizzy to the point of fainting out and yet alert and waiting - she would come this way, everyday.

I had all my weapons ready

A letter explaining our love story

A country made pistol

with two bullets

The sky above was a collage of dark navy blue filled by intimidating sparkles from distant galaxies and stars, they were so intimading, I took out one of my fathers dark shades that he used during his cataract to distract me from such intimidation- were they watching me ? they were and I did not like it.

I would have preferred the zero hour
No reality
No Earth
Nothing

I knew I was there somewhere around the pre historic palakkad gap, way below the tropic of Cancer and way above Capricorn, these bushes hiding me were hideuos trees once upon a time, they were dwarfed & subdued by the fury of nature, these croaking frogs were giant salamanders then, some of them were capable of simply sticking their tongoue out and pull a human of my size like I was just a fly or a mosquito, that thought wasn't very comforting, geographically my lat long was sub tropical, emotionally I was this Indian pawn with semi murderous intent, driven by someone I hated there was that part of my mind which said get out, this is not your game

this is not your game
you frog

No

I'm not a Frog

Then you are a Rat

No

Nor am i rat

Of Course

Then you are

Just a pawn... hahaha

a pawn , a pawn ... 

I have Captured more pawns than you could during the deluge
you are now my slave
my male concubine

you will do my bid

That was Twist , pushing me hard

Bloody Jerk was Bi Sexual too

a humungously loud sound of thunder backed by a hedonistically nuclear like lightining strike pulled me back my real state, here I was among the bushes, heart fucking pounding like it was a part of a DJ's party console - woofer and all - my head was screaming with amphibian messages one part said

Get out

Get out

While the other said

You are here to kill

Just do it

That's when I noticed

She was walking down

Umbrella in hand ( not opened )

Divine in her looks

She was bidding goodbye to her friends

Her smile pushed my heart rate further up

She was holding a mobile

Checking some messages

That glow

transformed her face to an ethereal world

Divine

And then She paused

And looked towards the bush

Almost as if she knew

She even smiled

pressed the push button of her umbrella and opened it

And then she walked towards the bush

With that divine smile

I could see

even while the images of a drowning woman and a beheaded female mannequin kept flashing

She still had her sandalwood mark on the forehead, a small red bindi, an equally small vibhuti above all, hanging ear rings, braided hair on both sides that swing as she shook off rain water from her head, a cotton blouse of light blue, a cream shawl worn across and a skirt right down to her ankle and a neat cream coloured high heeled leather flip flop that put her 5'2" frame to look even more classy

She was

Class

But alas

She has to die 
  
the frenzy of the emotion at that exact point of time was more like equatorial desert heat.

As she walked towards me, past the bushes smiling and calling out for me , I clicked the gun again waited for her to reach me close as she hugged me and was about to plant a kiss on my lips, I put the gun on her head and clicked the trigger hard       

          

thesocratespot: thesocratespot: The art of Story telling - Part 6....

thesocratespot: thesocratespot: The art of Story telling - Part 6....: Thesocratespot: The art of Story telling - Part 6.007 : The deluge & After  We knew we were stalking some girls around, somehow both ...

thesocratespot: The art of Story telling - Part 6.007 : The deluge & After

Thesocratespot: The art of Story telling - Part 6.007 : The deluge & After 

We knew we were stalking some girls around, we were both stalkers but each had a style and purpose of our own and somehow both of us knew what the other was doing, just somehow, it was a small rural village we were living in after all, so while he played his spiritual card to the hilt, I knew he was also a sexual predator, I knew he waited for his opportunity and when he found a willing victim, like a sleak reptile he made his moves - observing, observing, observing, waiting, waiting & waiting - but once he made his move there was no chance for rejection or spurn or any such other surprise - it was always 100% strike rate !

100 %  !!

I always envied that bastard Mr. Twist for maintaining that kind of a success ratio -

Target, Strike and Yes ! Succeeded !

That too with some of the best of the best of our girls in the village !!! I think the fucker ( of course !) entered the spiritual field more for the sexual pleasures available than the spiritual preaching he practiced - was his father too so twisted ?

Everytime I came to know about his exploits I would confront him, he would be calm and claim that I'm imagining things and show me images from his vast collection of his own paintings of beautiful ancient sculptures of man & women in coopulation, the one difference was all the images were captured as they were crumbling!

Not one single image was normal, every frame, every image were images of various temple sculptures of sexually immersed couples or sexually immersed orgies with one simple twist - they were all caught in a crumbling stage of their shelf life !

The scupltures were almost mud to an initial observer, only the very well obervant could see the original live image .

But one image stuck me odd - an image that looked like a very pristinely maintained mannequin in front of a very upwardly mobile Noire Fashion Store somewhere, the mannequin had slipped down from what looked like a standing position to an almost sleeping position, it's heels were strewn, its neck was naked and the head had rolled out... the symbolism left me running out scared !

For almost a week after the deluge and the visit to the art gallery, I was completely locked up in my room - I couldn't sleep despite all my efforts - I tried all sorts of drugs, Grass, Dopamine, Morphene, Ganja, Cherus, country liqour, arrack just to kill my conscious state - but no matter what strange images and stories kept disturbing my sleep, I was awake all the all the time and all the time Mr. Twist was somehow managing to show me things I never wanted to see.

Mr. Twist entered my mind at will and said look at this ! As i protested a grotesque image of a woman drowning was thrown at me ! And Mr. Twist was laughing ! Do you know her ?

DO YOU KNOW HER ?

I was in a drugged state, I hardly knew what was going on, I harldy knew this from that, I was so batty !

Told you we all are batty ?

Didn't I ?   

But now that's not our problem, the problem is I'm now under the spell of Mr. Twist and he's now forcing me tell you all stories from his book of stories - of course I said Fuck Off ! But I soon realised He had already obscessed me and so now my mind was no longer mine !

Just as I started protesting again, Mr. Twist opened a new image book and I soon saw an image of my own mother chained, thin and starved in a remote dungeon like room shrieking ( was she calling out my name ? )

HELP ME ! HELP ME !

Or was it me ? screaming ?

Have you ever screamed ?

Do you know all of us are great screamers ?

We keep screaming

We all scream

But none of us dare admit

we do

Because most of us scream

in our dreams

Mr. Twist read my mind

And bid me goodnight

I spat all my sputum at him

He just laughed while skillfully avoinding my spit, reminding he would soon be back to make me tell the world his story ...

I was left confused, frustrated but somehow completely trapped !

I felt so batty !