A YOUNG 60…

Pakistan is 60 years old today.

Old, incontinent, it shuffles around wracking it’s alzheimers riddled brain trying to remember where it left the pants it was wearing the night before. The old-people smell of drool and medicine trails behind it as it makes its way to the bathroom. 

It reaches into the cabinet over the sink, liver spotted hands shaking as it pulls down a tube of pills. Nicotene-yellowed fingers twist off the bottle cap and two capsules tumble into the palm that bears all the damages of a life hard spent.

Pakistan pauses to stare at itself in the mirror. Even when younger it was far from good looking, but now the pruned face sags on a skull that feels like it’s made of crushed glass.

“Fuck it,” thinks Pakistan and dry swallows the pills.Leans over, narrow shoulders hunched, as it tries not to throw them back up. Then, with an effort that is too painful to belive straightens up again and smiles at the reflection. Brittle teeth the colour of piss bare themselves through flaking lips. 

The pills kick in. A surge of strength. A burst of youth. A manful erection.

Pakistan crosses the tiny room and reaches the door. ”Here I come. Look out world,” it says and walks out into the sunlight.

Pakistan never did find its pants.  

DEPARTURES AND ARRIVALS…

So I’m sittin at a computer terminal in the departure lounge of Lahore airport. The AirfuckBlue flight to Karachi I was supposed to be on was supposed to leave at 9:30 pm. Which means it was supposed to reach Karachi by 11:30 pm. I was supposed to be at home by 00:00 am.

It is currently 11:45 pm.

The flight is, according to the frightened lady behind the counter, not going to leave for another 2 to 3 hours.

And I don’t have a book on me. And my iPod died an hour ago. And the crowd of tired business men who are on my flight are all rapidly forming a mob with all the possibility of looting and pillaging that may entail.

Time to blog.

How are you my poppets? I’ve been quite remiss in my blogging duties for a long long time now. I think because it’s hard to chronicle the life of a stand-up comic when there is no comedy being performed.

My day-job swallowed my life whole a few months back and is just now, slowly, starting to regurgitate it bit by bit. I haven’t had the time to write much comedy, and performing has been a non-possibility as a result.

It’s not something I’ve been thrilled about mind you. As comedy feels like it’s getting further and further away from me, I feel lonelier and lonelier. It’s only during the last two weeks that I’ve started to force that graying lump of brain that enduces The Funny back into activity. It’s still not fully active mind you, instead simply wheezing like an asthmatic on a treadmill. I’ve written down a dozen possible topics that could develop into new standup. If fully realized they would result in a whole new hour of material. Instead I just write a topic and then feel the urge to write rapidly fade away.

I did a show in Lahore this week. The first in a long long time. Performed with Saad and Danish for a wonderful crowd of enthusiastic Lahori’s. And I looked a rank amatuer. Saad and Danish have been performing regularly. They have polished their material and gotten their craft down pat. I stumbled and tripped my way through a half-hearted performance that lacked the thrills and joys that I used to feel on stage.

Maybe…and I only just now realized this…it’s because I stopped blogging. Taking time out for this used to be a great warm-up act for writing comedy. It’s like Clive Barker once said: It’s easy to write. You just do it one word at a time.

So here we go again. Another try at blogging. Another go at being a comedian. Time to reinvent myself. Here to go, as they say.

Now if you’ll excuse me, the rowdy mob is kicking over the Airfuck Blue counter and setting the model airplane on fire. I think it’s time to join the fun.