Mr. Publisher

The weekend was a departure from the days that I usually lead. The usual smothering calm that envelops during the course of the week; the pall of the workload, the coaching classes, babysitting and all those mundane menial tasks I never believed I would have to work at in this lifetime were removed.

As if enough atonement had been done and the obstacle course ordeal completed, the Universal power decides that I must move on. Be someone.

Normally I do not brag. There is little to. Ocassional bricbats of Megalomaniac! Delusional! have all been recieved with a humble bow and the touchy demanour for which I'm well known in the Birthday Party circuits is deliberately maintained.

I digress. The itch beneath my skin is to reveal a supressed secret wriggling to escape.

Of late I've been attending a lot of fab lounge parties, where the hosts would much rather prefer the airy lounge to the square-boxed-faux-roman-pillared-stuffy-office-party-halls. Smart people. Lovely parties. Where ruddy PR executives talk in loud unrestrained chatter around a beer fountain and single corporate bitches stalk single ruddy PR executives.

I bumped into a collosal grey-beard at a party at the Hyatt. It was like walking into a foam-laughing-buddha. Laughing. Yes. Buddha. no.

Mr. Althausi is an enormous 60 year old with a wispy grey-beard. It was almost as if his chin were on a smothered fire. We break into a chat. It's the weather ofcourse and our conversation leads us out onto the open terrace. The city is spread out below, it's glittering lights and glowering high halogens under an inky sky lend it a vulnerable touch. As if; a vincent pastel, prone to theft, vandalism, alteration.

Mr.Althausi stroked his well endowed round chin of his and told me in a very offhand manner that he was a publisher with the _ publishing house an my ideas were "intriguing". "We are bringing out an anthology of poems and stories, perhaps you're interested"?

It felt the kiss of vodka and lime. Like the feeling of high got very high.

There you go; I let go of my secret. I'm flushed. For now that is.