The Advent of Panadol

This morning I thought perhaps it's time I started posting about more serious, and relevant political issues that affect all of us. But then I realised I'm not that way inclined. It would be like taking medication unsupervised, which is fun, but it's still not all that it's supposed to be. Instead I'll just speak to Chief Raincloud. It's a great excuse to get to see his daughter Golden Dawn. Yes, it's Thursday, and when Injuns meet a certain prog guitarist they say "How Howe"

Wake up - It's not yet time for brunch!

Drag yourself along through the overpowering grey. Brown mud splatter on the hem of your garment. The dirt seems dirtier when wet. The girl has vermillion on her forhead. The damp hangs in the air like vultures around a corpse. There is a corpse up ahead, but there are no vultures around the dead dog. The fog on the glass windows of a luxury car – evidence of the heat of its inmates. The rust eaten bus groans, weary with the weight of passengers (more than the prescribed limit), it crawls on spewing black smoke. Sleep pervades; in the fields nearby so does excrement. Later, perhaps, you can ride on dirt roads in a motocross style escape bid. Scores of people and their things lie everywhere. So many will die today, so many more will be born. The others subsist not knowing they are happy to be alive this dismal day.

Rooftop Vigilante (or Great Expectorations)

I have a mothlike attraction towards heights. So last night I bounded across rooftops, scanning the cityscape through my owlish visors. Okay, so I don't have owlish visors. But the bounding across was fun. Okay, fine! So I didn't bound across either, 'twas a tad dangerous. But I did peer precariously over the edge of the terrace of a rather tall building.

The city looked beautiful from the aerial view. Above all the pollution and traffic and population. Just the treetops and the neon lights in the distance.

One thing I love doing from heights is spitting. It's so much fun to hock up a nice ball of phlegm and ptooie, "look out down below!" It's an unhealthy obsession that I picked up from college. We used to have fests, where hordes of students would seat themselves in an opening called the quadrangle which was surrounded by building on all sides. Oh the joy of shooting a wad of saliva into the unsuspecting crowd! They never knew what hit them.

So yesterday, perched atop a tall office building, I rained down upon passersby below. Gargoylike I was. Of course from very tall buildings, one has to calculate other factors like wind speed and the so on, and being out of practice I invariably missed most of those I was going for. However I did manage to hit one woman at a mall!

It's not just about spitting, it's about the aesthetics of it. It's about molding the spit, one can go for aerodynamic shots, but from heights one needs more volume. Alternatively if hitting people is not your aim then one can go for the avant garde approach. If you mix spit and phlegm to the perfect consistency you can get a heavier centred ball which will have a tinier extension orbiting it. A lot like a planet with a satellite that spirals down before it splatters on the ground!

Ah the spittle joys of life!