From faded pages

Something I wrote sometime back.

Disquietude…
As you fly through my mind,
unbinding its tortuous tangents;
effusing it with love.

Discomfiture…
As you inflict my core
with senseless emotion,
and promptly dishevel life’s banalities.

Desolation…
As you swim the expanse
of my inchoate heart,
and you part its nebulous waters;
riving it in two.

Smoked out

He was afraid of my diffused anger,I reckon.

Sometimes when anger is like a sharp ray,focussing on a particular object;it is fearsome.But an anger which is akin to passing through a translucent screen..just a halo of it,which can be felt,but not understood,it is that anger which is terrible.Not fearsome but a degree more.It's always such a contarst.Sharp needles,tearing the skin at a minute point.The whole consciousness goes to that point.The whole consciousness BECOMES that point.And then,it transcendes.The pain is no longer there.Until the needle goes deeper and the consciousness has to shift it's weight again.But what of the pain like a heavy head.It's diffused.Irritating,because there is no fixed point it's transfixed to.And what of anger?.Diffused and careless anger.Anger without reason.It's not a mild anger,mind you.It's just an anger which confounds and dazes.The person in whom the anger resides as well as everybody and nobody it's direct against.I somehow think that when you implode rather than explode,the aftereffects are more amusing.

He surely must have been confused.Maybe that amused me.

And then what of the empty anger.It resounds the emptiness.And so gets amplified in turn.What a vicious cycle.Like everything is--cyclic.Every act then becomes an act of anger.The hands on the table,still as they are,might look like death traps just waiting for a moment to strangulate the life out of..umm..anyone.The relaxed posture then might assume an impudence.A slight nod of the head might look like an introduction to some revolutionary rebellion.

Maybe that's the reason the head of the advertising firm who wanted to shoot me for ciggerate ad,told me that I am a dangerous person by my looks.I can no longer act that i understand people.I have decided to even refrain from trying.I just got and left.I guess he shouted out for me to stay.It didn't matter really.He will find another 'dangerous' looking model,or maybe the makeup will make him.I will find another way to earn.

Oh and btw i never liked ciggys much.Weed is better anyday.

End of the Night

it's tough.

It's damn tough to sleep at night.Strange recollections of whatever pasts and possible futures.Or maybe premonitions of altogther another universe.It's 3 am and i can't stop my head from reeling.I stood close the window overlooking the city for some minutes.The lights glimmered and the buildings looked distant and miniature models.On the glass window i was keeping my fingers on the small spots of lights of the distant windows and wiping 'em out of my eyes.It gave me a wicked pleasure.Those buildings were so vulnerable against me--the giant, right now.I was blotting out the lights..figuratively snuffing out the life.from the people who were behind those wondows.I spread my fingers and the whole palm on the mirror kinda cast a web around the innocent sleepy city.I soo wished to crush everything under my all powerful palm.But then i thought..i am might,for a change let me be kind.So i moved away from the window and shutted off my own lights.

And here i am sitting in front of the puter writing with boredom about the thing that made me happy for a moment and listening to a Metallica song which says ~~ and i lied last week to the mirror that i've broken to match my face~~

as i said..it's tough to sleep at night.

Dreams and the Ocean

Tumultuous waves of the coral sea
merge and break against the mute rocks
An uproar.Oh! a magnified uproar
reaches the depths of the depthless skies
dependent,vacant and tearless.they cry
Why the gales float?suspended animation
and quivering at every turn.They seek to
find an oblivion of the patient shore.
Petrified
Amused
Desolate
Dead.
And the winds scream the hollow terror
unheard,unseen the ghost of the distant pasts
unfurled beyound the horizon
and the carcass of our golden dreams lie
Unclaimed
Rotting
Forgotten
Decaying.

Black and White

What hurts me the most is when people who are nothing but goodness have to feel the everyday sadness that life brings to them.It surprises me.I lack the instinct to reach out to anyone who suffers.I am not anti-social,just a-social if that mean anything.I tend to see life in terms of black and white.It might not be anyway close to the 'truth' but artistically speaking,it feels aesthetic.Thats why i find most things bland.They fall in the 'grey' label.Not that I want to start a "manic-depressives-are-beautiful" cult.

There is a lady in Aus.She was treating me back there when i was in Aus.I resisted her genuine attempts to reach my mind and cure me.Arrogant and scared as I was.Even though i acted the kid-who-can't-be-corrected but i always respected her sense of faith.She was devout Christian.Still is.I wouldn't care for a faith in religion,but the faith in life is what i admired in her.She once told me how attached she was to her dad and how after his death she went into depression.She came out of it thru determination and trying to heal the sorrows of others.She loved animals as much as I did and she was the one who named one of my dogs Ernie.I would never see her distraut and there was an air of calmness about her.Even in my most manic of the moods when i was destroying things left and right she would calmly tell me to stop behaving like a spoilt kid.She had kids,the youngest one my age who looked upto me as I was doing music in bands and he always wanted to be a rock star.Somehow the treatment wasnt getting anywhere so dad asked her to leave.We kept in touch.My folks and she i mean.I learnt yesterday that she suffered a breakdown.Her family life was being torn to pieces,and she was holding onto everything with everything she got.But then she could take only so much.Her mom died somedays ago.That might have been the final straw.I taled with her over the phone.She was sounding okay.I didn't know what to say.I am not good at such things.She kinda intuted that.She said that her faith in the goodness of life is unshaken.She told me that one day i would realise that life isn't all that bad though sometimes she appears like a bitch.I didn't speak for sometime and she was silent too.I knew she was crying.I intuted.She asked me to keep the phone down.I did.

She's in the 'white' label.It hurts me that she had to cry.But somehow it makes me feel good.It proves that i am still not completely 'black'.But jeez! that means i am 'grey' too.I donno what to think.Maybe the pendulum has started its swing to the other side of black.
Oh well..tomorrow is just another day.The black of days,the dark of nights..we share this paralyse.

Flowing Rivers

A taciturn mouth,twisted in the contours
lovely and callous.The brutal honesty of
my decayed snapshot.
Visions of laughter;probable,indistinct,almost there
in the glintless eyes.
you can see the curiosity
if you try.

I became still like a stone.
why i know not
perhaps the nightsky with sparkling stones
raise it's symphonic melody and whisper
ere daylight spreads it's sameness.
And birds chirp and disturb
the vacant loss of darkness.

And until we drift into light
and until I become one with void
oblivious to the laughing daffodils,white lilies
I disappoint the star spangled skies
and the people.And they in turn reflect.
Flowing water,stangnant pebbles.
clear,smooth and dead.
Destined to be alive.

death

Death does intrigue me.In some ways it more often than not facinates me.It seems that I always ruffle some feathers and some souls by the often repeated theme on death.I am not obsessed with it.I am curious.The visions,and sometimes the voices which beckons to the other side are always beautiful and alluring.At times like these i wish that my life should flash before my eyes.It does not.And i'm glad.The soft cushion of darkness which can take me from the eye-blinding light of the living world and the sleep might not be without dreams.The two forms of destruction are similar in a way.Self destruction is easier rather than killing the whole world.I don't even find a purpose in hating everyone now.It's reduced to a dull indifference.Amusement is gone now too.So in a way,I laugh a fake laugh at myself now.Now I really didn't want to write on this topic..not because Sabycreep and people like him would judge me as 'morbid',but I really wanted to drape the reality in some kinda sarcasm.I tried and failed.So i give it as it is.I could have let it go,but then it would defeat the purpose.Do comment so that i can stir up a bit.Take my bait and be fooled.I'd amuse myself at your expence.

Nameless,faceless

Insignificant,mute, transient phase
another one amidst the wide landscape
howling winds do blow,fickle,amorous
the dead leaves gather dust--oh a ghastly silence
And the tranquilty never evaporates,frigid
the ever moist eyes.Contempt.Evasion.Fear

The deadly blindness of the lonley alley
requiem to a cold womb.Dark,damp and lovely
No flutter of heavy eyelids,no heaving wings
no one flies in this barren sky;moths and ravens.
Stoned forever and jostled by nothing
the eyes stare into the void.Impregnable.

Live n let live

I am getting well.I need more meds.But I am sick of taking meds.The whole medical profession is kinda getting on my nerves.They can't cure me of manic-depression,nor can they get the damn fever outta my system.I just love to put the blame on every possible scapegoat I can find.It makes me feel superior to them.I used to enjoy the perplexed and confused-concerned looks on people who cared for me when I was having one of swings on the manic depressive pendulum.I craved attention I guess.Not anymore.I didn't even inform anyone about illness.No one would have bothered anyways.haha maybe thats why I didn't tell anyone.The good thing about blogging is..i can write stuff and people might be concerned for REAL,or they might just fake it,but at least it gives the choice to me..to interpret howsoever I like it.I generally think they REALLY care.And I know some really do.It makes my heart glad.In reality it's different.I think the face of a person is an open book about a person's soul.I have been told at times that the strangest thing they find in me is --i seldom talk and my damnable eyes are always looking at 'em.direct.They feel insulted and scared.I feel nothing.umm..nah I guess i used to feel confused at the disharmony b/w what their words and actions were saying and what their faces.their eyes were.I like this drama now.A stale boring drama that I see everytime.The masks change,the soul remains the same.haha how wonderfully and universally connected we are.See i love slinging offence at you guys.Keeps me away from seeing myself in the mirror and chasing my own demons.I remain unchanged.I used to think of changing the world.That desire has gone too.I really am practising 'Live and Let Live'.We all are created equal.Oh yeah that reminds me of a quote by George Orwell in his novel 'Animal Farm' and nah I haven't read that book..i am against reading.,I just heard that quote in a Pink Floyd interview ..it said "All men are created equal.Some are created more equal than the others".hehe what wit.i don't know why i included this quote.It doesn't fit in.Or does it?well who cares.

Me a saint!

This illness is getting to me in a big way.The whole day went past as a dream.I wasn't sleeping,techincally speaking.I probably was wafting in and out of a dream like state.A surface sleep,if you will.I chose to play some western classical music today.Not play as in ME playing it,but play it in the music system.Beethoven or any of the other old foggies for fucks sake were playing wonderfully structured music as my dreams were interwoven of the real things that happened in past and the fantastic-futuristic things which my drug fried mind was throwing up.I was conscious of my body lying at an awkward angle on the bed,the pillows tangential to my head.I always had a bad posture.A sort of loose limbed way while I am standing,sitting or lying.I also was conscious of a loss of desire.Not even that--a loss of even the desire to desire.High fever,in that sense takes one closer to what the sages might term as 'Nirvana'.A total shedding of the desires.I was a saint.Just then the phone rang.I looked sideways.It was raining.The lights were too dim and the whole atmosphere had a surreal gloomy look.I watched it adoringly,soaking in the stillness and the dampness.The phone was rining incessantly.I was enoying ,with a great pleasure,the uneasiness and the irritation of whosoever was calling me up,as I imagined for me not picking up the phone.I let it ring again.And then I picked up the receiver,and barked “yeah”..the voice on the other side said something about some credit cards they wanted to sell.I didn’t speak at all.The voice seemed a bit concerned “you there sir?” .”yeah,I am there.was kinda bored of whatever you were yapping about.can you repeat what all you just ranted?”…there was silence..and then they disconnected the line.I kept the receiver pressed to my ear.The sound of the disconnected beep was feeling beautiful.The phone is now off the hook.No one can disturb me.Wegner I guess is playing some symphony to the ‘victory of the kind human soul’.I just love Germans,for their sense of timing.

Eat This

I decided somedays back that one of these days,I won't let me be 'bored'.I mean not let me 'show' even to myself that I am bored.I had an oppurtunity today.I am ill.I haven't eaten at all.Not that I eat much anyways.I have kept to my bed since morning.No music,no reading,no painting.Just lying down.Not even closing my eyes to sleep.I don't know what all thoughts passed my mind all this time.Maybe none.Maybe too many to remember,and too fleeting.In the afternoon,I felt a bit hungry and my eyes were kinda drooping.I remember I was enjoying it.One part of me was wanting to go and grab something from the nearest takeaway but still another part was wanting to just lie and see myself crave for some food.And then i said ''oh well,lets write some shit on my blog''.Was halfway writing another mercurial poem when i decided to delete the stuff and write about my day.It's gonna be more boring to read and I would enjoy boring ya'll.

Am i too honest for my own good.?oh well i'll think upon it,but i need to eat something now.