Wishful Thinking.

What in the world do you say when your dad tells you that he knows you and that you really need to get a girlfriend. How pathetic do you have to be for your dad to tell you that you need to get laid. Its not out of the blue that he made this remark. Getting busted with a pudi of weed aint my idea of any father- son bonding or a cosy chat for that matter. The monsoon always puts me in this mood of melancholic nostalgia. Something about the rain and that particular shade of blue-grey sky that makes me wish i could take back the the past two years. Press rewind on some futuristic remote just to see people scurring backwards in suspended animation. Or not just. Is it so hard to admit to myself that i miss Suvi. I dont really have to try at all to recall that faint aroma of cinnamon that always lingered around her. Women like her, the gorgeous goddess kind would rarely give me the time of the day, let alone the time of my life. In addition to to loosing the most incredible lover ive had, i lost my bestest friend. How can time be so callous, that by the passage of which some things change forever and others not at all.

Whiff.

Staring out of the window into the inky blackness, hearing the heavens empty themselves and i am struck by the scent of the earth. Strangely musky and laced with the heat rising from the ground. I find it fairly fascinating how every event has an echo of a memory croutching somewhere in the shadows. Its an integral part of who we are. Its what makes us unique and still the same. Memories that bind us but also keep us apart. Standing before this window in time, watching the tendrils of smoke chase each other into oblivion, a vision comes rising from the labyrinth's of my mind. Of a night not dissimilar from this one, the rain pounding the roof above but a very different pounding in my ears. Fire light and the rhythm that man has danced to since time began. Dark brown eyes with specks of gold when impassioned. The vision evaporates leaving me staring into the rain and pondering how a whiff of earth could lead to that. A similar link I imagine that has the warmth of a muggy afternoon wash over me and the essence of a particular intoxication take over every time I hear the strains of anything from Ten. I seem to be rather enjoying these intangible threads connecting seemingly random thoughts.

Travelogue.

Solitary Reflections.

Blueberry Cheese Cake.

With thoughts of Nigella Lawson and her particular brand of Gastroporn running through my head, i wonder how exactly she can make cooking and devouring an entree such a sexual act. She goes beyond being cookery TV's only sex symbol. Seemingly above the latest brand of weight watching faffers. Infinitely refreshing....but also a reminder that they seem to have stopped making her model anymore. Mass produced, overwraught, underweight and brain dead seems to be the latest fad. Since when did did a carefully prepared multi course meal with a liberal helping of chocolate sauce and woman for dessert pale in comparison to a microwave dinner and an even more disposable relationship. I some times get the feeling that i was born in the wrong century. Sensibilities more appreciated in a long forgotten era. Grotto's lit with medival magic and colourful imagery.

Sex in the city.