EverythingIsRelative

Maharajah’s it says. In big golden, spidery letters with a mystical silhouette of the Taj Mahal above. The rest of the sign is hot-pink. I think it looks lovely. Everyday I pass it on the way home. I always wonder what the place would be like on the inside. In my mind’s eye it’s a kind of dim den with alcoves and big purple cushions and meals eaten sat on the floor. Lit candles pepper the warm room and throw an orange glow onto the hazy huddles of old turban-wearing men smoking hookahs. Admittedly, this vision is all just me getting a bit carried away, and it’s quite unlikely that it could ever be found in an Adelaide res

I’m not often carefree happy, Mostly I just worry crappy, Whatever happens or will could, Whatever happens or won’t should, I get so full of loathing dread. But today I’m inward happy, Life is always horrid crappy, Yet today I whistle singing, Cause I’m not relentless clinging, For once there is no death-mask haunt. Naught will stop me being happy, ‘cept to face oh something crappy, But I’ve still got time hanging spare, Til I must face the ‘lectric chair, Too soon I’ll have to fight to float. But til then I ignore the crappy, Try to stay eternal happy, I put off sinking down to crappy