The Lab

Piano Meth Speaks


The light-headed girl laughed giddily as she said her umpteenth joke. Mostly about Bob the yoga-travelling cat. She spoke about how Bob had attained nirvana for the hundredth time over. How he was travelling right now, and saying “purr” as he flew.  She talked about how everyday was a “new” dot…dot…dot. Then she took the box of chocolate crumbs and proceeded to devour them, as she asked her friends over and over again, if it was 9.15.


“All is full of love”.



Mrs. White had an evil yesterday. She falsely tempted a hapless fellow, a weak minded man. She used private knowledge to bait, hook, and snag a humiliation, at the cost of self-respect and personal growth. She waged a man’s manhood with her guiles and wiles charms and trickery. As she summoned the devil within her, her false victories overpowered her senses and she caved. With great hesitation and reluctance, she relented and endeavoured to undo her actions.



In a dirty bed, two pretty girls sat. Artists in their own right. One with the silkiest, smoothest, shiniest tresses. The other with the wildest, craziest, curliest locks. In perfect harmony, they spent the evening. Pen and book in hand, they etched, sketched and wrote. As the ink flowed freely from their pens, new stories were told that day. But those stories were lost forever. Never to be looked at again. Never to be remembered. Never to be revised. Because those girls were lost that day.



The artist stared at the slate in front of him. He was mesmerised by the picture unfolding before him. The audience remained stunned, hardly able to believe what they had just witnessed. Some of them began to cry. Some of them clutched their chests, feeling an overwhelming panic arising from within them. Some of them had erased that part of the memory from their brain. Some of them had already left, fled to their safe haven, under their beds, where they could forget.


The artist alone braved the sight. He alone played along, even though he knew today would be the death of him. He had finally done it. Created the monster. He was happy though. He had just created history. Today the world would end, as ART CAME TO LIFE.




One must be patient during the journey, and not expect the real deal to happen immediately. You might expect a sudden burst of physics, gravity-defying physics to alter your body, almost physically. And the travel can be very obliviating. Don’t be fooled. Don’t over-think it. Don’t fall for the tricks of the world. Go deep within yourself and search for the answer. The real, only meaningful reason. For the one that matters. It will come to you. And you will realise the worth, the value of that journey. It may be starlit, still, very suffocating, congested. But the journey will show you the real WAY. The brilliantly lighted way. And the destination is just just. There you won’t have to worry about being….. politically  correct. You won’t have to worry about using the right words, pleasing the right people, kissing the right asses. The brainless state won’t be there to question you, challenge your tenets, kill your curiosity, slash your wisdom. You’ll only think about the Floydian tunes, that will guide you on the way, because they have been aptly created by the appropriately “enlightened” ones, for they know where  you’re going, and what the journey is about. There won’t be a drummer, or a vocalist. But there will be an extreme sound. Otherworldly. All the negative forces, all the positive forces, meet in the middle world, ready to FUCK YOU in your head. But you won’t mind it one bit. Because you’ve already been FUCKED!


Let’s sing, she said to me

A melody to set us free

A tune in perfect harmony

But it’s a duet that never happened.


So I wrote my own song

With nobody to sing along

And of course, it felt so wrong

For I wanted a duet, and it never happened.All that jazz


He was skating on a curved rail. And he suddenly tripped. The physical lurch was almost too much to handle He lost THE BALANCE, and slipped into another territory. He got off his horse, and suddenly he realised, he was PETRIFIED. He had never fallen before. These sensations were alien, foreign, and it scared him. He needed time to adjust. But more importantly, he needed someone to tell him WHERE he was. This place was hollow, dark and wet.

He found his feet. He looked around him. There was nothing he recognized. But the BAD feeling was gone. The BAD feeling was replaced by a EUPHORIC feeling. He could SEE. Just as he had been told, by the highly sensitive person. Now he wished that HIGHLY SENSITIVE PERSON was with him. This experience would have been more fulfilling. But a lone trip is quite a crazy experience as well. He could see the dance, just as it was supposed to be danced. And for the first time, he started to enjoy the music.

The next trip would be a “Joint” venture.


27th JANUARY 2013 (morning)

So I am. But I don’t want to. Be. That. Be like that. Be that way. Yesterday, I realised something. All these things we have, do, want, do not matter. It never mattered. And yesterday I learned this. And I’m grateful that I did. Because it really is a happy realisation. It made me feel good. But also, helpless. Because it is not so easy. So that must mean, I do not truly care about the realisation. Or that I’m a hypocrite! That’s not a happy thought. So I cannot end on this “not-a-happy-thought”.


So what can I do about it? Whatever I say to defend myself will only be an excuse. Nothing will be good enough to justify my maybe-apathy, or my maybe-hypocrisy. There are too many thoughts in my head, and not enough time to write everything down. But yesterday was a very different scene, totally unexpected. Yesterday my brain started understanding things, over-working. In a very happy dimension. And everything was good. And pleasant. Mostly euphoric. And I spoke to the father. It was the most pleasant conversation ever. And I felt happy about it. So I think I can end on THIS “happy thought”. The Meth Lab needs to start cooking! 😉




I saw a long bunch of yellow lights. They kept following each other. Like a trail of glittering ants. But more so, like a snake. That was eating itself up. It was a vicious circle.



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