Job Interview

The phone call came from a private number. The voice was low and had a heavy accent. She asked short and sharp questions, paused for too long after my answers. Every pause made me uncomfortable. After a few seconds of waiting, I would utter something to fill in the silence.

I had needed a job for months. I had applied to every advertisement I came across. No reservations. No preferences. I had been desperate. 

"Are you in town for an interview?" Yes.

"Do you own a bike?" No. But if it is needed for this job, I will get one.

"Have you read 'The Red-Headed League'?" Umm.. is this the Sherlock Holmes story? What.. why?

"Ms. Light , I am asking the questions." Umm... Yes I have. But I don't remember much. It was so long ago. ... Something about an encyclopaedia... And banks. Umm, can I please have your name? Or number maybe? What is this job about?

"Ms. Light, I have to remind you again. I ask, you answer." Right.

So, I was going to have to work for a crazy lady. Whatever. Who cares. The red-headed man had a house from where thieves wanted to build a tunnel. I was living at friends' houses and cheap hotels. No catch there for me!

 "Do you own a backpack?" Yes, ma'am.

Crazy for sure.
 

"Okay Ms. Light. Please come to the gerble..gerble..gerble for your first interview." ...Click... 

Didn't catch that? Neither did I.
Did I mention that the call was from a private number?

The Landscape Shaper

It started on a humid July afternoon. It was partly the weather that caused her drowsiness. But it could have even been the heavy lunch. She didn't want to get another coffee, it had stopped providing a means to wake her up. Maybe she didn't want to wake up at all, the soothing feeling of an afternoon nap coming on was intoxicating.

She got up and walked to the large window on her high-rise building's passage-way. The flat land around stretched out for miles. Out of sheer boredom, she decided to play a little game. She picked out buildings and imagined them dropping out of view. Not exactly blowing up, just getting powdered to bits to be swept away. It was not a destructive thought. It didn't involve killing people or destroying valuables. It was just her way of rearranging what looked like a miniature city model into something more beautiful, so that a garden or a canal was visible to her where she stood. She decided what she imagined was so much better.

Maybe it was the weather, or the lack of coffee. But it was quite possible that in a weird way her mind was trying to wake her up. Her imagination took a wild turn. She started imagining what she could do to make the flat land an eyesore. At first she was amused, then she became uncomfortable. By the time she was entirely awakened, her mind's eye gave her an idea of how many things could be wrong with that inanimate-looking expanse in front of her. She was offended by the ugliness, it was revolting and she shook herself to bring back the image of what was.

She woke up sweating. She ran out into the passageway looking out the window. A huge soupy mist hung above the land. She breathlessly waited for it to clear up and saw her worst imagination appear in front of her. The eyesore that she had imagined had realized itself.

In the past she had had the power to shape the future in her mind. Now that future was the present and the past that had been the present was out of her hands.

News and comment sections

I think, comments on websites have been most important in deciding and  influencing public opinion. I know this mostly from personal experience. I tend to read some youtube comment on a comedy sketch video and agree with whatever the comment says is the funniest part of the video. When I read some negative comment on some character that I hadn't really had an opinion of before, I end up disliking that character a bit. 

On issues that I have strong feelings myself, I do not feel being swayed much by people's comments. But I hate to read comments on news sites. It is not so much that some commenter disagrees with my viewpoint, but it is that I know that it ends up influencing people negatively. By this I simply mean that the reader is unconsciously led to taking some viewpoint that he/she has not considered and thought much about before adopting it as his/her own (and not that any view other than mine is negative, duh!). Also, the point of comments on a news site is a concept that is very unacceptable to me. I understand comment sections on opinions. In fact comments on opinion pieces are important and help keep a balance. Opinions must be open to debate and disagreement. But why on news reports?

The singer - songwriter

I know you are there
At the other end of the line
Waiting to hear what I say next
Hanging on my every word
I know that you want to hear
Every sound that leaves my lips.

Every time I write
I know you are there
I know you try hard
To understand every emotion
I decide to express
I try to pour my heart out.

But I must let you know
It is not me here
Behind this web of lies
I do not exist one bit
I am a channel and that is all
For this thing that flows through me

Not a note I hum is mine
I borrowed it from everywhere
Not a word that I sing
belongs to me
I borrowed them all
From you. For you.

Cyclosmiley

I don't believe it either. But it is true. I have made a Mike Wazowski / cyclops smiley. Here it is :

c-) or c-( or c-o for Mike's expression in that picture up there.

Compulsive

Have you felt
that feeling
when all things
seem too slow.
Nervous acts
like shaking
your foot seem
to relieve,
partially.
Those are times
when you end
up with posts
like this one
Each line has
exactly
three, just three,
syllables.
Now I have
transferred it
to you by
making you
to check by
counting it
Obsessive
is it not?
Include the
title too!

Analysis of humankind. On the 20th floor

The twentieth floor. It wasn't all that high really. But it stood above the whole city. I could see the whole city, the next one and the one beyond that. The cloud's shadow moved from over a set of buildings and went over what looked like a clump of trees. I am sure this 'clump' was really close to a forest. The sun weaved in and out from between clouds and I knew this is why it was described as golden. It truly was golden. Not just bright yellow. It was the glowing, soft and exquisite colour of gold.

As the cloud moved over the forest of trees, I was reminded of this childish game that I played not very long ago (a very short while ago and I am quite embarrassed to admit it) In the game I was the emperor of a country and I had a castle and a huge set of workers, farmers and what not to serve me. I would click on some piece of empty land and command those workers to build a granary and a school for warriors and a blacksmith's workshop and so on. Meanwhile I knew that there was a dark forest where a dangerous vampire-like creature lived and ruled. I had to encroach on his land, provoke him and bring him out to battle when my empire was strong enough. He had his own minions - silly looking creatures which were vile and caused me to lose a lot of my people and resources. But they were easy to get rid of. When they were all finished, I had all the land to myself and I was free to do whatever I wanted without any more trouble. The game was a huge flop. I am sure you have never heard of it. I probably was the only "fan" of the game.

I suspect my game was only a limited version and that was the reason why I could do what I did. I built more buildings and did the job of a peace-time emperor. I am sure it wouldn't be a good move for game designers to allow a game to run forever without a so-called objective. In other words without a bad guy that you are supposed to get rid of or a mushroom to be eaten or a maiden to be rescued, the game wouldn't sell. What fun could you possibly have if there was nothing to claim it from.

So this cloud moved further and the sun came out. It shone brighter. My coffee was getting a bit colder so I downed it in a large gulp.

The job of a peace time emperor. An assurance that there were no evil creatures and no silly flunkies. What a pleasant life. An assurance that everything would only go up from here and that the land and its unlimited resources would sustain the whole empire to eternity. I am sure this is the dream of every human on this planet. Yet, even in computer games where we could have the chance to have it, we don't want it.

B o r e d

She was bored. Again. She was bored of being bored.

She remembered the days before GreaseBook had taken over the world. It was not very different from now really. But she could look forward to some pseudo-human-contact in the form of cheesy forwarded mails.
She didn't really miss them either. She was left with one less chore in the day anyway.

What a snob. What a prude. What was so special about her that she couldn't just be unique and special just like everyone else.

She was sick of people expecting her to jump in with the milling crowd, in to the bandwagon and be one with the herd. If she felt sick of the whole idea of putting her life online, trying all the time to be witty and special and intelligent and unique when she really was not, there was nothing wrong with it. There were enough people trying to be all that and the world really didn't need her to spend all her energy in that.


Okay. Then why complain? She had chosen this for herself. She had made herself the outcast. And stuck to her deep and passionate boycott.

A shudder ran down her spine as she realized that she stayed away out of fear of being connected irretrievably and densely with hundreds, maybe thousands of witty, special, intelligent, unique people and yet be what she was already. Bored.

Slow fast-realization

I sat in yoga pose
Content with the world
I had woken early
I was an early bird

I looked out the window
My phone began to ring
I looked at the wall clock
I began to think

It was 8.20 AM
The previous evening
I had set an alarm call
To ring at eight fifteen

Well frankly I thought, the alarm had
called me from the past
.
.
.
Then I realized,
My wall clock was fast.

--Amber Light

A Mini-Ode to the PC and the backspace key

I hit this wretched backspace key
More than I ever write
My blinking cursor goes left
More often than it goes right.

If it were not for the computer
I could never ever rhyme
If it were not for this machine here
I'd perhaps be a mime.

-- Amber Light