Rape of the dock

They burned my favourite city. They shot people and threw hand grenades. They barged into some of my favourite haunts and tried to ruin it. In fact, they imposed such a large dent that it will take a while to heal - literally and otherwise.
People all over the city took to the streets - Bollywood, indutries etc. They protested, they raised their hands and said things about our neighbours. They held candle light vigils and prayed. Did they pray for peace or did they pray for the demolition of our enemies?
At the same time, our neighbours were put under tremendous pressure. The country wanted answers, the super power wanted answers. Everyone wanted the guilty to be admonished - and more.
Did we stop to think that the same country suffers too - at the hands of unseen forces? Of perhaps a government gone terribly wrong? Of attacks that they too cannot control? People die there as well - Do we ask?
The recession hit the market. People are losing jobs, prices are falling but not many have the money to spend. Perhaps they don't want to. And can we blame them?
The television channels have had their best moments ever. From the day it started till now, they've explored every possible angle terror can even raise. They've talked to the victims, friends of victims, politicians, diplomats, film actors, social activities, general public. They've run out of questions. Now they're broadcasting the confessions of the terrorist caught alive.
They'll run of those ideas soon as well.
Newspapers haven't done much less either. They've had attractive layouts - coloured with big bold headlines; some actually worth writing about.
Soon, they'll run of ideas as well.
Life will go on. People will continue to die. We will continue to threat and bomb, massacre and slaughter. And we will promise vengeance.
And life will go on. People will still be dying.

right. of course.

damn. double damn. triple tippled damn. and in this estranged moment i am an inch closer to ending it all. and i dont care if my sentences dont begin with capital letters. i dont care if there is any sense in what i write or say. to him. ever.
but i love him. so thats that. and he is right there. right there. damn. double damn.
a few stolen moments and thats all i can ask for. i dont really care much about what the fuck to do with those moments. i dont want to be far. and i am. and he is looking. in the most strange way. and i love him. he grooves. he straggles. he drinks the way i'd like. my favourite alcoholic of a very brief moment. terse. everything is terse.
and transient.
fucking hell.
fucking hell.
fucking hell.
and thats the end of it all. bon nuit ma cherie. je suis ici. where else?