‘Its a Mad world’ Donnie Darko pictured it and I am confirming it, just that each character in my world is a ad in itself. The junkies have come out of the closet and here is a peek into their small but extravagantly large INTERESTING world. I start with the venomous fight which started at the dawn of the inception of the advertising fraternity. The famous Client servicing and creative tilts.
Sometimes(almost everytime) creatives can be arrogant and client servicing has to plead to grant you wishes. Here is what Creative People has to say in answer to that.
10 typical ways of being in constant denial of your work.
1. I am a creative. I can’t do multi-tasking
2. Either you let me work or you work.
3. I am thinking. It’s just that the idea is not coming to me.
4. I am going through a writers bloc. Will consider working when I am detoxified.
5. What do you think I’ve got no working to do.
6. Decide proactive or client work.
7. You client servicing can’t do anything … you have to sell. I have done my work and now it’s your problem how to get it approved.
8. Where is the single minded proposition?
9. Bring your brief tomorrow. You have to tell me in advance I can’t just be waiting for the brief to be served with coffee.
10. Where is the written brief?
Where the wants wanted to end and the need be needed
You stood in the halfway lurking behind the shadows of wreath
Witless eyes holding my sight,
Ire knuckles clenching too hard,
Your jaws taut and brows raised,
Your wait is making you wait too long.
You are stuck, stuck in the vagaries of self.
I am no hope but a chance to release you from this chasm.
And there I stood in the small square of life,
In front of me lay sin and wise.
One austere and fearful,
Another buoyant and refined.
Wise gives me admonitions, the sin serves me with bait.
One’s journey will be painful another’s destination will be nowhere.
Perhaps this the course of life, I must decide,
To be with my darling or fox him for another’s life.
It was the wise, who spoke first,
Pertinent and harsh…
“Must you match your might, my love
For the heaps of tears shall beckon in coming times.
Before you bask in its glory,
Pain will dire you to snivel and slacken.
You will recede your steps I shall tell you,
For pain is mightier than your might.
And it is then, your fate will be deciduous of your act!
I do not aid you and I will not aid.
I only provide, if only you have the courage then take it!”
Yes, Yes I am doing this to please you.
When I can talk vilely to you, I will not.
When I can kindle clues so as to share myself with you, I will not.
When I can enfranchise you to handle me, I will not.
When I can blabber ceaselessly to make you content, I will not.
When I can vulnerably ask for you in my whisper, I will not.
When I want to heed on to your daily feeds, I will not.
When I can abrogate everyone for you in my life, for some time, I will not.
When I can ask more of you because you want more of that, I will not.
When ‘I want you’ is a necessity, gives you pleasure, I will not.
When nuzzling your new names is an ecstasy, I will not.
When I want to be your child and cling on to your fingers, I will not.
When I can give you whatever and ever you want, I will not.
Yes, I will not. I will not. I will not.
For some time, but that is going to be the longest time of my life.
I know we will reach the crossroads of discontentment
I know we will be caught in the labyrinth of desperation.
I know valuable April will be gone because of this invaluable offspring.
And also not to forget …
I know you will peck my ears with it whole autumn.
I know you will make me feel sorry for it.
I know so much and I don’t want know.
Yes, Yes I am doing this to please you.
So it was there again between my fingers
That white lean figure.
The avidity of holding it –
Of visualizing myself ecstatically still momentarily,
Surrounded by mystifying smoke,
And thinking I am high already.
Standing beneath the guileless sky
Among the orphan trees on the road
Musing over the absence of the presence
And presence of the absence in life.
All I want is to stay put to my thoughts
All I want is time to linger on
And who wants to live forever
If you are not consumed …
Like the last drag,
I want to persist a while in the air
Whiffed and cherished
And then whoosh gone forever!!
They live in that room,
The one which is painted blue.
some on bed, some chair and table
Stacked one after the other.
I know they are mine
And know they are me.
You can lose yourself to others
But not to thee.
But then one day, water disgorged
Some were tattered
Others became brown and withered.
Year following that year …
Fire scathed the room.
Tearing them apart,
Some black and some departed forever.
The year the next …
Air gushed in slow intervals.
Blowing the feeble in its stride.
Some wearied and some dried.
And such are the vagaries of life.
That I keep finding and losing my hopes again and again.
The leaves had flown with the winds
And the trees stand naked.
Doodle my hair with your fingers
The season of red wines and cherries have soured.
You have skated my heart and skirted me
And still I have the desire to write to you only.
The blue mist surrounds me
And you’re into the blackness of the whole
Sketch the deep tides of your mind
For once and for once, as you sow
If not zenith then we can reach the moon…
O’ ye, o’ ye
I want to remind you I want to love you only.
Love is invaluable and struggle so sweet
Instability steals myself from me.
Stop watch of patience ticking ingloriously
And no one is cipher, and I will also not be
O’ ye o’ ye
But I will be happy how much I scorn with you only.
The wheel fortune showed me your name
Let’s dig our own wormhole, my instincts said.
I’ve grown past through all the optimism, inspiration and perspiration.
It’s been past your age to be a neutron.
And what thou shall benefit?
When time will turn dour
And thy can still forgive, if you come back to me only.
And there are all sitting,
On the clouds of evolution !
Musing, delighted and gallant.
“Oh we have come so far!”
And farther we have come to lost in woods
Ivories, flesh and bones.
Not less disheartening than the guilt of the glass we broke in childhood.
Not less disheartening was parsing the tick- tock of clock.
Selfish is the winner
The one who comes first will get the most
Survival of the fittest is the ruler!
The one who is weak will loose the most
Life is a decree
Not by chance but by choice
Death skates at the feeble
Wayward lives living in abominations
What’s next …
A dawning comprehension
And excitement was ecstasy, once …
But now it all comes cheap.