I’m taking a brief sabbatical from my social sphere. Blogging, Tweeting, Facebook. 2-3 months.
I know, it’s counter-intuitive to what I do, professionally, but hey, I kinda do everything… professionally, so maybe I’ll take this break, professionally.
No, seriously, I need to focus on some stuff.
If it’s absolutely critical; king@rogueking.com
Otherwise, I’ll see you all in a few months.
Cheers.
Wednesday 10th February, 10:37AM
I am seated comfortably in the waiting room of a certain institution of learning. I loathe being idle, especially in waiting rooms. I normally do something daft with my phone, or read. Today, however, I wasn’t in the mood for phone-shenanigans and I hadn’t any reading materiel on me.
My insatiable curiosity got the better of me, and I pulled a book from one of the magazine stands. A thick dusty volume, the kind I am attracted to. Sadly, it is no collection of prose, poetry, nor ancient wisdom. It is commercial drivel, created specifically to lure idlers like myself, or adherents, the likes of which walk these corridors and rooms endlessly.
“Why You’ll Love Germany” or something like that.
I flip through the pages, it is very commercial, meaning it’s well designed. At the very least.
Something catches my eye and I pull out my pencil and a small sheet of paper.
1. This series is for the four readers of my blog. You keep me going, yearning, and growing despite my inconsistencies.
2. This series is fiction. Get over it.
Saturday, 6th December, 11:37 AM
The fog slowly clears from the misty plains of a thousand dreamless sleeps. I have enjoyed my stay there, through the long peaceful hours. Being, and… not quiet being. The bright sun streams through the trees, sparkling brightly in the morning streams of consciousness.
My eyes open, and there’s a smile on my face.
It has been ages since I’ve had a good night’s sleep. The insomniac and the workaholic in me are constantly fighting for bragging rights to body, mind and soul. The battle is epic, the fields bloody with carnage, but what they think they fight for, I do not know, for how can nothing be a prize?
I get up from my room and walk straight to the bathroom. Stark naked.
One of the main reasons I like staying alone.
The other reason? The silence. The beautiful, still silence, when you can hear the cockroaches peacefully sleeping next to you. Until, of course…
Friday, 22nd January 11:48PM.
She shuts the door behind me. Her perfume lingers in the air, and I close my eyes and breathe deep. I can still taste her lips, I can still feel the electric tingle of her lips on mine. It’s dizzying. I am a feather floating gently on a breeze, carried higher and higher on the wings of something I cannot touch, but so real. Unbelievably real.
I am bliss incarnate.
And I am sad. Lonely and far far away from home. Floating, further and further away from something I once knew, but cannot describe, towards something I do not know.
I am the embodiment of sadness.
I walk slowly into the night. It’s warm, and there’s a bright moon in the sky, washing everything in a soft glow. The road is deserted on either end. I contemplate taking the shorter, relatively safer route which will yield a boda-boda in two minutes, or taking the longer, riskier fifteen-minutes-of-darkness route.
Foolishness wins. I need to think anyway.
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