When I sometimes ask myself, whether my mutism is a choice or am I a captive of it, I often get, “both” as the answer. Choice, because no matter what I can always blabber something. It may or may not get us anywhere; no learning, entertainment or emotional exchange, but I can fake interest with … Continue reading Farts of Speech (Selective Mutism) #2
Selective Mutism Selective Mutism: A self-imposed choice of shutting the fuck up. In certain groups, you would find me strangely quieter than my usual self, as if I dislike everyone, which if I may say, a lot of times, isn’t far from the truth. But that’s not what I am necessarily getting at here. I … Continue reading Farts of Speech (Selective Mutism) – #1
I am always tempted to have one more beer. If I have one, I want two. If I had two, I want a third one. If I had seven, I want the eighth one. If I am sober, I want to be tipsy. If I am tipsy, I want to be drunk. If I am … Continue reading I Want One More Beer!
I could foresee my mission getting sabotaged by my will. My confidence was low, my heart beat was high, and I was naked; physically and spiritually.
He came inside huffing like a dog and sat on the chair without saying hello to me. His fat fingers held a wad of documents, and he had an expression on his face that told me he had either witnessed a crime or had climbed all fourteen floors of this building. “How can I help?” … Continue reading Mr. Shorty, The Firero
He is standing there next to a mirror that his breath can’t fog. His misty self is quite uncertain how he got here. But now that he is here, he keeps his coffee brown beret, or the essence of it, on the console table. The table is a black and quirky oriental solid wood – … Continue reading The Sense of Belonging
You have sharp ringing in your ears from that wrong dive you made this morning in your pool. It sounds like your ears are gargling the bullshit you keep hearing on social media or otherwise. So, you are talking a bit louder than you should, yelling almost, at the cook, the maid, the guard, almost … Continue reading The Ringing Continues
With his tiny little feet, he stepped on tiny pebbles across the shores, that little boy Timothy, and he kept stomping on them and kicking them away one after the other. It was fun. Monkeying around on the sand and throwing pebbles into the blue and calm ocean. Wooop they went. He rejoiced every time … Continue reading The Green On The Mountain
While laying the books on the desk with a disturbing thud she has looked at me. Her starched skirt ballooning, as she sits down two seats behind me to the right – that newcomer in the class, with panda eyes, dressed in a crumpled white plaid shirt, grey skirt, and a big distracting bandage on her left … Continue reading Van Gogh in Skirt
There is a dimly lit elbow room at the very corner of this house. Much like the ones that you see in horror movies with low budget that tend to fail at the box office. And the ones, that have characters with no arcs that are forgotten soon after their release. And in that room, … Continue reading The Roach Is On The Couch