Being on its own, begets forgetting account. The transversal of being erupts as soul seeking search at the end of the parchment. Heroine transverses its own self. Who’s who of the area, 23rd lane and Young Mr. R. We were held atop. Life’s reckoning past the obsolete grain against the flow, though we were not so obsolete. Together we used to swing through the floor of sandy whiskers. We were not with them, played hide and seek with other connish behaviour think tank’s of the neighbourhood. Crevasse appeared as solemn pray, which indicated that the road may end for good. I followed my pattern, Jean Baptiste Clemence and ignorance as a great vice, yet, overwhelmingly shrewd enough of not-knowing. Texas man was Rakesh. He mimicked film heroes or the handicapped super soul, Lalloo Seth. Admonishers stood fast at our republicanism. Sultry heroine days, not in Congo, yet the old buildings appear like Trafalgar Square. World Spirit evolved through the grain of body-matter, the fourth limit dimension. Together, I with Young Mr. R, waiting for the deceased future. Whose general instincts could beget us apart? The area was old, and a spice factory was closed to the power infinity. Our crevasse was with the presenthood and its relation with the spatiality of instinctual bypassers lane. The wholesomeness of presenthoof! Think of womanhood? I didn’t put forth my gestural omnipotence. She evolved through many. I evolved through couple of men around, Mr. R, Rakesh and Naresh, Bhola and Ho Chi, Pablo. Not a short list though. Being was with the extensive extension of otherhood. So, being never occurred. Life stood fast. Street dogs were the canonical watchers of lonesome troubadour, yet, maverick disguise of sailor, walking past the building bridges. Cheap Ruth stricken red light district ladies. We could not help, but to buy heroine, and also bought a keg full of summer draining. Some political routine rally, to show the eventality. The numbers were in recurring. This proves the permanence of boredom. Life’s likely hood of going through. I passed the objectives. Why the lane appears so very much? Because of its tranquil, boredom ridden virtue and begetting the know how’s of street life. The space appears as denotational slumber, being, which is ad-hoc to self, yet time to time, occurrence of nodal ecrits within notional mode.

Jeet Bhattacharya
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