Soulful Bliss

Bena bought the stuff. I too was eager. Who’s who of Codeine inebriation. In my ad-hocship with the medicine, I started to see myself outside of me. Certain topsy-turvy inbetweenness prevailed. Me being inbetween of selfhood and the otherized petrified objectal references. Bena started the regime of planned action- roaming about on the street. I cared less for it. Stumbling picnic habit. Texas marijuana habitus cogito for me and Bena. Yet I just shared a couple of puffs. In intoxicating rim I thought of legal prejudices. Star troopers of heroine aided phantasms of secret agents. We willingly played the thief and also at the same time, police agents. Blessed soul of Montmorency. Picking the cheese strip. Though we were two. Objects became more than one. Yet, we were at oneness with the crevasse between this manyness of multiplied objects. Self too were unfathomable, as we glimpsed more area from our reclusive bodies. It is blissful to be at many places at a same time. Space corrugates to nothing, in its own immensity. Body is like a spring, loiters here and there. But the space is in a conjectural mode with the simplistic body. I was gay with the fact of spatial solipsism. Time is spent, not with much ado. Heresies of time to come. Time is splintered in small glucose like substance. All of it in sum amounts to millions of years. Boredom begets us. We latch on to talking. Last toke for me. We cared less now. Time as a fact was obsolete. It was too much to fathom. Write ups prevailed. I wrote a selfhood jingo. Being passed the grade, I threw some notices to Bena. I passed the syringe. Once in a while. The lampooning acts start. Bena mimicked heroes, me the solidified time. Stoned in a same place and space. Time in unmovement. Yet it ticks. The sea with galleons appeared. We were getting late at the Latin Quarter. Bon Jour’s are waiting to be passed at us. Street hopping with the ‘naked Negroes at dawn’. Self is in its manytude with spatial time, body being transcended to it, at oneness with its falling back to spatial consciousness. Yet the space disperses, as real place obliterates. On the road again.

Jeet Bhattacharya

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