indi.ca

This is how I’m hot

This is why I’m not

It’s hot in my bedroom. I work at my desk till late and stumble up once the oven cools. It’s so fucking hot man. Global warming is going to suck. I read somewhere that 90% of people (Chinese) sleep within one meter of their phone. I haven’t slept without a phone since I left home. So I wake up, upstairs, being damn hot and not wanting consciousness, cause of a text message. It’s a damn news alert and I go back to sleep. I glimpse something, sleepily, bomb, whatever. Then I get a call from a friend asking who Janaka Perera is and I, like a dream, remember. He’s the UNPs sole military fig leaf in this time of war. And he blew up along with twenty some people and is wife. And that is, in my mental at least, a strange thing for people to do.

The LTTE has been sucking at their bombings lately and it’s strange that they finally pulled one off. It’s extra strange because the government put more in the budget for the elections commission, presumably because they plan to have elections. And Janaka Perera and Ranjan Ramanayake are pretty much the only balls the UNP has left. And now they have one. So the winner here is the government, which is, means, whatever.

But beyond that level, and who, and what, I just sat up in bed. It’s strange that people on this island can be here one minute and just blown up the next. Like gone. Shrapnel. It’s kinda chilling, cause these people just exist in my mindspace, and they keep disappearing, inexplicably, leaving strange holes in my experience and a dull pain in my chest. I feel like I can’t sleep again but it’s too hot to move. Have a brutish doze, wake up, brush up, go to work.