There is something silly about the life of hundred kilometres north point from the city. It is in transit. That doesn’t imply the non-existence of detoxified stasis. While now, my family plays the trumpet, she lies for them and her ritualistic observance. Wholly shit. I dwindle between Sam and her. Mother interrupts. Bena brings in north point, dressed from Indore. We added a few pills. Disjointedness occurs like self’s ego trip. Body lapses the whole, like particle. Night long Silicon dreams. Bad lot, earning like shit. The regional erupts, admonishing my breakages. Crevasse in the dome. Empireish black hole. We wanted to run amok. Being in a suitable condition, he missed the appointment. My who’s who admonishes the decay. Ranajit talks about the quotient of two thousand years. Yet, the decay persists. Mouthful of whole worldish gimmicks. Modimania stricken, me and the second republicans loved the RSS triumph. Certain apt woman punctures the mediocre ridden partsome retailship. She is with the Messianic. Her triumphal journey is inspiring. I puked for a moment, Bena did shit. She interrupted with her messaging returning. I was happy with both the scenario. The capital jockeys down for us. Ariatic retailship goes aghast. My brutal piggy box has only a few pennies. Crevasse and paisa. Loved the mockery of serious ariatic disciplinarians jingoism of difference, adult Camus faced from our side. We cannot justify both, yet we can. Areas are never whole, yet they posit the difference through northern whole. Flawed Kali. RImbaud here, Bomkesh there. Differential axiom is the key. When will she call? Her stupendous ritual. Sam wants me in pop-corn fest, down the gallows of Tennessee. I love the Yankee shows. What a culture stricken rebellion, against the high handed old. I mocked a police surveyor, by getting passed through him with pills from the store. Body relapses into stoned particle. How many millions of light years away the stars are at this point? Body’s whole is nothing. Yet, it is. The distance of planetarium is in a transitory condition; my figural dischargement recognizes the hardy. Stoned apocalypse creates body’s crevasse with the containing space, which simultaneously evolves and shrinks, space to the par, a positive infinity. A challenge to the galaxial distance. Love the human whole.

Jeet Bhattacharya
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