Sketches For My Sweetheart The Goth Journal entry no: 2 Reader count: 3
Most people associate spiritual awakenings with wild swerves; mine has been a gentle realignment. This body is too old to do swerves.
Enough about me. Let’s talk about Miles Davis.
Whatever happened to good old-fashioned discipline?
When she found Sketches For My Sweetheart The Goth at Crawford Market, she was intrigued enough to shell out a bunch of rupees she probably should have saved. Turns out it was a good investment, this obscure e-vel, a relic of the ‘digital age’. She’s really enjoyed this lunatic’s ramblings. It’s help her put things in perspective — this lunatic, if alive, is probably as old as her mother is today. And is what the-opposite-of-her-mother would sound like. It puts things into perspective. For a yuppie afraid of turning into her mother, the fear of turning unhinged is a good counterweight.
Within a week of buying Sketches, she had read its hundred thousand words from start to finish. Twice. Even now, more than a year later, she returns to it every now and again. It’s the second best thing to being back in Old Mumbai. A window into another world. A rawer world.
The second best thing
Driving through the desert on a full moon night being the first. This is so much better than a floating world. There’s nowhere I would rather be than here: alone, in the Aztec, in the desert.
I don’t ever want to stop
Hope there are no marauders here, she says to herself, looking out of the window.
Screeches her Aztec to a halt.
Stumbles out of the car. Looks left, looks right, fixes her flannel top. Rounds the back of the car, keeping an eye out. Laughs. What good is that going to do? Kill them with a stare?
It’s a full moon night. A great night for marauding.