Junkie’s Smell

The lane was sordid enough to call forth the untidy peddlers. Bulganin was his combo name. It appeared to us as the Soviet impoverished canon of Heroine dealings. Prolong was our desire, to erupt thence around the Bhadroloki impetus building. Niceties were the Cadbury to make the Heroine bitterness obsolete. Being succumbs to itself, in the airy zone of rabbit chase. The substance will make us tensed to the infinity. Yet, it was relief. I scored high points. The substratum of genus’ plasmatic being. Nerve vein stands forth as being tuberculosis. We had taken the oath of not being one with our attire. Smearish individual. Street buffoonery proves our solipsism to be at one with our habit of getting deceased. The Junkie world was full with sailors. We imagined places yet, our being was ‘in- itself’ for an extension of the other rabbit hole hopeful being with “for-itself”. This ended the Romeo journey of cameo like extravagant studentship. Our network was cobweb, centred throughout the city.  We were exasperated to the edge of being disillusioned with our ways of not-knowing.  Heroine pulled the chain. Love fetters as lost hope. Yet, she was preparing on the other part of the horizon. Her solitary Galapogas Island. Junkie life pushed to the brink of non-existence to the core of being with for the helping hood of otherized nicknamed salon men and women. I had my road to go through. Learnt about the panicking area studies, with its stupid emblematic National and Local forms which existed outside the singular universal. One Many as mimetic originary of heretic wholesomeness. Many refers back to the periods going through the class, empty solipsism of the street. Every local are in semblance with the other hand locality of ringhood, Valpariso, La Paz to Tierra del Fuego.  People existed through it’s “for-itself” becoming. Love was awaiting at the end. Edgy decisions to get through the rabbit hole. I forlorned it. One thing stayed.  The indomitable vistas of by passers lanes. I have overgrown the injuries. Being with for the other resolved as an itching penetration of loving with for the self, extension proves. Sam used to call me inbetween. Now it’s her term. My Galapogas leaps.

Jeet Bhattacharya
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