(Sometimes I get the blues - which is when I start penning poems. And here's one of my more sordid creations)
In the space betwixt the heavens,
And the blazing fires of hell,
Stand we - creatures in black,
In silent wait for the tolling bell.
Options are all we have,
Gambles are all we take ,
One wrong step and we tumble,
Straight into the heart of the fiery lake.
'Believe in God'they say,
'Believe in God and thou shall be free'
I sigh and try to put my trust,
In Someone I cannot see.
But I can't change how I am,
I can't change how I feel,
Guess I should just step out of my room,
To fool around and have some tea.
Copyright ©2005 Jimmy Jacob
Tuesday, February 22, 2005
Tuesday, February 15, 2005
When I went `bump in the night'
It was a hard day's night and I was as sleepy as a log (not to mention as hungry as a hog) and I really wanted to get back home to my cozy little bed... and well, the leftovers kept in the refrigerator.
Dame luck had been positively grinning at me throughout my office hours and I had made a reasonable cute little page for the newspaper I work for ... the News Editor had complimented me (for once) and all was well with the world.
I had no idea what a bitch the stupid dame could be sometimes. Coz that's what lady luck is. Smiling like Pocahontas one moment and smirking demonically the other.
So I jumped on my trusty ol' horse (that's my cute li'l motorcycle) and took off through the streets.
It was 2:00 am in the morning (that's when my office lets me out), there was a cool night wind blowing across town (well, mine's actually a city .. but town reads better. heh) and I was in lovely spirits. And as usual, there was a good ol' tune reverberating in my head (think it was Lucille, Cant remember) and I was positively feeling like Superman.
I pumped up on the gas and my bike purred satisfactorily in return. Wow. And like the wind I flew, beyond all cares, sorrows and whatever else plagues 'em poor mortals.
There were no policemen around, no jaywalkers to make me ease my pace ... and no Shain behind me to yell: HEY HEY ... YOU GONNA GET US KILLED, YOU MANIAC!
I closed my eyes, feeling the wind beat against my face ... the ground rip by under me ...
Something had to bring me back to earth. It sure did, and how!
It was a barricade; something that the idiot traffic cops in my city keep on the middle of the road to slow regular speeding dolts and kill the more drunk ones.
I did not notice it until it was too late. And too late was just about three seconds before I took a shot at Davey Jones' locker. The barricade was a long iron piece of wrought iron, about five feet in length and four in height. It was a dirty yellow in colour and there were large letters in blood red painted on it: PLEASE GO SLOW. SPEED KILLS.
Nice advice. Right. But I got it quite late in the hour, you must admit.
I hit the barricade with a dull thud and for a moment, everything went blank ... and then I could feel myself flying.
Flying, yeah. But not the way I wanted to. I was superman for about five seconds, until I found myself hitting the ground with a muffled splat.
Amd there was my dear ol' horsie .... scraping away from me at fifty miles an hour, lighting its trail with sparks.
The world was spinning around me. The stars were not shining that bright anymore, the cold air seemed more annoying than romantic.... and the barrier was slowly tilting - losing its balance... and about to fall on me.
With the last of my energy I jumped out of the way and the dumb piece of scrap metal came crashing down ... right where I had landed.
Reality took some time to dawn. Ask my friends, I m slow (and they kinda remind me about it all the time) but on that very occasion I was acting like I had finally lost my noodle. I crawled my way to the side of the road and squatted like a dummy, looking desolately at my poor ol' vehicle - tough boy that it was, brought to the ground by a discoloured piece of metal and an idiot who mistook himself for Kal-El.
A couple of cars whizzed by, scarcely interested in whatever circussy stuff I seemed to be putting up.
Finally, I found my bearings and pulled my bike back to its feet. A large dent featured on its left side and paint had peeled off from quite a few places. Me? Even my bruises had bruises.
Tamely, I sat on it. The engine purred back to life and the headlights came on.
It was alive. Wounded, maybe ... but alive, nevertheless.
I mouthed a silent prayer to God and started off into the night again.
A lot slower this time, though.
Dame luck had been positively grinning at me throughout my office hours and I had made a reasonable cute little page for the newspaper I work for ... the News Editor had complimented me (for once) and all was well with the world.
I had no idea what a bitch the stupid dame could be sometimes. Coz that's what lady luck is. Smiling like Pocahontas one moment and smirking demonically the other.
So I jumped on my trusty ol' horse (that's my cute li'l motorcycle) and took off through the streets.
It was 2:00 am in the morning (that's when my office lets me out), there was a cool night wind blowing across town (well, mine's actually a city .. but town reads better. heh) and I was in lovely spirits. And as usual, there was a good ol' tune reverberating in my head (think it was Lucille, Cant remember) and I was positively feeling like Superman.
I pumped up on the gas and my bike purred satisfactorily in return. Wow. And like the wind I flew, beyond all cares, sorrows and whatever else plagues 'em poor mortals.
There were no policemen around, no jaywalkers to make me ease my pace ... and no Shain behind me to yell: HEY HEY ... YOU GONNA GET US KILLED, YOU MANIAC!
I closed my eyes, feeling the wind beat against my face ... the ground rip by under me ...
Something had to bring me back to earth. It sure did, and how!
It was a barricade; something that the idiot traffic cops in my city keep on the middle of the road to slow regular speeding dolts and kill the more drunk ones.
I did not notice it until it was too late. And too late was just about three seconds before I took a shot at Davey Jones' locker. The barricade was a long iron piece of wrought iron, about five feet in length and four in height. It was a dirty yellow in colour and there were large letters in blood red painted on it: PLEASE GO SLOW. SPEED KILLS.
Nice advice. Right. But I got it quite late in the hour, you must admit.
I hit the barricade with a dull thud and for a moment, everything went blank ... and then I could feel myself flying.
Flying, yeah. But not the way I wanted to. I was superman for about five seconds, until I found myself hitting the ground with a muffled splat.
Amd there was my dear ol' horsie .... scraping away from me at fifty miles an hour, lighting its trail with sparks.
The world was spinning around me. The stars were not shining that bright anymore, the cold air seemed more annoying than romantic.... and the barrier was slowly tilting - losing its balance... and about to fall on me.
With the last of my energy I jumped out of the way and the dumb piece of scrap metal came crashing down ... right where I had landed.
Reality took some time to dawn. Ask my friends, I m slow (and they kinda remind me about it all the time) but on that very occasion I was acting like I had finally lost my noodle. I crawled my way to the side of the road and squatted like a dummy, looking desolately at my poor ol' vehicle - tough boy that it was, brought to the ground by a discoloured piece of metal and an idiot who mistook himself for Kal-El.
A couple of cars whizzed by, scarcely interested in whatever circussy stuff I seemed to be putting up.
Finally, I found my bearings and pulled my bike back to its feet. A large dent featured on its left side and paint had peeled off from quite a few places. Me? Even my bruises had bruises.
Tamely, I sat on it. The engine purred back to life and the headlights came on.
It was alive. Wounded, maybe ... but alive, nevertheless.
I mouthed a silent prayer to God and started off into the night again.
A lot slower this time, though.
Monday, January 17, 2005
A bird, a plane.... or is it just me?
``Jimmy! How are you ever going to get into a second childhood when you don't get out of your first one?!''
This happened last week. My dad was the one doing the yelling and his victim was little ol' me - doing something as harmless as reading an Incredible Hulk comic.
Can't blame him ... I mean .. how would you feel if you had a kid who worked someplace as serious as a newspaper but came down every vacation just to laze away his hours with Spiderman and Wonder Woman?
Can't blame me, either. Coz I just happen to love them guys in tight nylon and colourful underwear - whether they are saving damsels in distress or reducing whole cities to rubble with huge swipes of gigantic green hands and HULK SMASH!! war cries.
And many a time have I sat and wondered which superguy I would like to be ... and for some reason, Spidey has always been my hot favourite.
Mebbe its because I am a journalist, just like ol' Peter Parker. Or mebbe its coz I have an editor who bears an uncanny resemblance to J Jonas Jameson (especially when he roars at me with his mouth wide open). Or mebbe coz I have also lost a Gwen Stacy from my life (though I guess this one did not go tumbling from the Washington bridge).
Or mebbe ... just mebbe it's coz my wildest fantasy is to swing from skyscraper to skyscraper leaving loads and loads of gooey webbing in my wake.
Superman? Naah! His might be a pretty boring job... fighting green aliens, grovelling under rays of ozonised kryptonite every other day and last and worst of all, telling idiot schoolkids to avoid littering the place with chewin gum wrappers.
But really, the big blue is a bit too nice, a bit too perfect and a bit too invulnerable. Nothing nutty about him - so unlike me, so unlike anybody I would ever like to be. And there are times when I actually wish that Brainiac wins a bout, for a change.
But what really beats me is why Spiderman curses life as much as he does. C'mon, he's got a job, he's got webbing, he's got Mary Jane and he's got funny guys like the Green Goblin and Venom keeping his life from getting too boring.
Someone help me on this one.
This happened last week. My dad was the one doing the yelling and his victim was little ol' me - doing something as harmless as reading an Incredible Hulk comic.
Can't blame him ... I mean .. how would you feel if you had a kid who worked someplace as serious as a newspaper but came down every vacation just to laze away his hours with Spiderman and Wonder Woman?
Can't blame me, either. Coz I just happen to love them guys in tight nylon and colourful underwear - whether they are saving damsels in distress or reducing whole cities to rubble with huge swipes of gigantic green hands and HULK SMASH!! war cries.
And many a time have I sat and wondered which superguy I would like to be ... and for some reason, Spidey has always been my hot favourite.
Mebbe its because I am a journalist, just like ol' Peter Parker. Or mebbe its coz I have an editor who bears an uncanny resemblance to J Jonas Jameson (especially when he roars at me with his mouth wide open). Or mebbe coz I have also lost a Gwen Stacy from my life (though I guess this one did not go tumbling from the Washington bridge).
Or mebbe ... just mebbe it's coz my wildest fantasy is to swing from skyscraper to skyscraper leaving loads and loads of gooey webbing in my wake.
Superman? Naah! His might be a pretty boring job... fighting green aliens, grovelling under rays of ozonised kryptonite every other day and last and worst of all, telling idiot schoolkids to avoid littering the place with chewin gum wrappers.
But really, the big blue is a bit too nice, a bit too perfect and a bit too invulnerable. Nothing nutty about him - so unlike me, so unlike anybody I would ever like to be. And there are times when I actually wish that Brainiac wins a bout, for a change.
But what really beats me is why Spiderman curses life as much as he does. C'mon, he's got a job, he's got webbing, he's got Mary Jane and he's got funny guys like the Green Goblin and Venom keeping his life from getting too boring.
Someone help me on this one.
Thursday, January 13, 2005
Genie in a Basket
About three months ago, I became an uncle. And guess who was responsible! Well, thought I should put the li'l chimp in my blog - lend it some colour and stuff.
Tuesday, January 11, 2005
HOME AGAIN ....
Last year’s December was my worst ever.
The days were going slow … the flowers seemed to be having a good time frowning at me and … more importantly, I had come down with a hell-of-a-monstrous writer’s block, which had made me distance myself from blogworld for quite a while. Later, a good friend of mine - S – had left for some greener pasture, abandoning me to a very lonely feeling.
Thought Santa Claus and his merry season would change all that.
Wrong again. December 26th brought with it a gift that nobody would have expected: a gigantic tsunami that came, conquered and snuffed out thousands of lives. The survivors, including me, were left with a feeling that was not very Christmassy…
I just needed a break. A 200-mile journey back to my native place. To meet my folks. To play around with my cat. To watch HBO 24-7. To indulge in the joy of stuffing myself with food without having to pay for it … heh.
I am writing this from home. Mom’s watching something on TV and dad is out there, feeding the goats (Oh, didn’t I tell you – they are the new additions to my dad’s assortment of farm animals). And there’s a big crow sitting on my windowsill and the stupid bird does not seem to know the meaning of SCAT!
My house’s located in a quaint little country-side, with greenery all around and a cute little stream that has little fish jumping in and out of it at regular intervals. Little wishing wells dot the scenery and if you look closely, you would be able to see little brown pixies jeering at you from beneath the leaves.
Well, kidding … really. I have never seen any pixies – at least not when I wasn't drunk. But pssst, let me tell you this, GOBLINS exist! If you don’t believe me, come over to my office and take a look at my boss sometime.
And right now I am living the good life … I wake up at seven every morning – coz my dad insists that I accompany him on his morning walks. My mom has me eating my fill and though it’s been only four days since I reached here, I am already stouter. So, really! Life's going just perfect for me - which is why I don’t know what else to put in this one …
There are no tough policemen here and there ain’t nobody in particular to mistake me for a plumber. My hair’s grown back (well, most of it, anyway) and people don’t refer to me as a bogeyman here – in fact, they all know me.
And I still have a few more days to enjoy myself – before a train takes me back to the big bad city, where I would find lots of stuff to curse (and later, blog) about ... AHAAA!
The days were going slow … the flowers seemed to be having a good time frowning at me and … more importantly, I had come down with a hell-of-a-monstrous writer’s block, which had made me distance myself from blogworld for quite a while. Later, a good friend of mine - S – had left for some greener pasture, abandoning me to a very lonely feeling.
Thought Santa Claus and his merry season would change all that.
Wrong again. December 26th brought with it a gift that nobody would have expected: a gigantic tsunami that came, conquered and snuffed out thousands of lives. The survivors, including me, were left with a feeling that was not very Christmassy…
I just needed a break. A 200-mile journey back to my native place. To meet my folks. To play around with my cat. To watch HBO 24-7. To indulge in the joy of stuffing myself with food without having to pay for it … heh.
I am writing this from home. Mom’s watching something on TV and dad is out there, feeding the goats (Oh, didn’t I tell you – they are the new additions to my dad’s assortment of farm animals). And there’s a big crow sitting on my windowsill and the stupid bird does not seem to know the meaning of SCAT!
My house’s located in a quaint little country-side, with greenery all around and a cute little stream that has little fish jumping in and out of it at regular intervals. Little wishing wells dot the scenery and if you look closely, you would be able to see little brown pixies jeering at you from beneath the leaves.
Well, kidding … really. I have never seen any pixies – at least not when I wasn't drunk. But pssst, let me tell you this, GOBLINS exist! If you don’t believe me, come over to my office and take a look at my boss sometime.
And right now I am living the good life … I wake up at seven every morning – coz my dad insists that I accompany him on his morning walks. My mom has me eating my fill and though it’s been only four days since I reached here, I am already stouter. So, really! Life's going just perfect for me - which is why I don’t know what else to put in this one …
There are no tough policemen here and there ain’t nobody in particular to mistake me for a plumber. My hair’s grown back (well, most of it, anyway) and people don’t refer to me as a bogeyman here – in fact, they all know me.
And I still have a few more days to enjoy myself – before a train takes me back to the big bad city, where I would find lots of stuff to curse (and later, blog) about ... AHAAA!
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