Workshops.Ink: Session 3

The Burner of Beds: This is a rare and darling type of disaster person. Bed-burning is usually the result of a combination of three phenomena- alcohol-consumption, earnest cigarette-ashing and bed-presence. From careful observation of the one bed-burner I have had the privilege of being in the vicinity of, I deduce that this is usually the precise chain of events leading up to the disaster, i.e. the burnt-bed. There is of course, the initial and indispensable presence of a Drunk Person Who Also Smokes. Then there is the Bed Upon Which The Drunk Person Smokes. There is the Sober Sniffer of the Smoke, and the Exaggeratedly Undramatic Spotter of the Fire. What follows is elementary, dear Watson: the Drunk Smoker smokes on the Bed, ashes his cigarette on the Bed, and unwittingly sets fire to the said Bed. The Sober Sniffer is likely to declare- "You'll smoke too much my eyes are burning". At which point the Undramatic Fire Spotter will undramatically spot the presence of Fire and say- "O. Thats not us. Thats the bed burning." Which, of course, causes the bed-burner's guilt to drive him to action, whereupon he will first flap his hands at the Fire. Following which he will spit on the Fire. Following which he will put a pillow on the Fire. Which directly ties in to the pillow-on-fire phenomenon, which will eventually end with dunk-the-pillow-in-water type activity. The fire will eventually be put out, but that, dear Reader, is none of your concern. Your course of action is fairly obvious. You must whip out your little spiral notebook and make notes while your camcorder captures the entire Disaster on tape. That done, make copies of the tape and youtube it. Instant hit.In the event that you are entirely and shamelessly unprepared for the rare but plausible eventuality of bed-burning, slap yourself a few times and then make sure you sit in a corner not too close to the Fire and not too far from the Fire related action and WATCH EVERY MOVE. Then go home, wait for a moment of the perfect degree of boredness and industry, and Blog It.

And now back to the Psychological Novel.
Sorry F, that's all the time I can spare for vox today :|   
  

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Author: Kirtana K

I paint and make music and blog like a maniac. These days I try to run. But I have chicken legs and lungs the size of two-rupee balloons. I fail. I like pajamas and striped socks and books that read like song and songs that sound like poetry and strangers who read this page. And Maggi when I'm sick or cold or sad or celebrating. They'll find noodles in my veins if ever they cut me open. And potatoes. And maybe a tiny bit of whiskey. I'll be an Unidentified Living Object and they'll put my insides on display. It will be crazy. It will be awesome. It will.

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