Mellon Collie and the Infinite sadness

what God wants

2008-10-12T06:40:00.001-07:00

mind is the problem.To live effectively in the world there are certain skills which are important.And such skills are sadly not taught in schools and colleges.They make people put knowledge in their brains,just facts.Its not even like the old days( which i have only known by reading in books) where they taught skills..like plumbing or repairing cars or drilling wells for oil. Its so much better if the education system burns away the books and one learns by DOING and learning from a master who teaches by showing how to do things.All knowledge just gives a false sense of ego-learned from the books i.e.

Reading about life skills is better in a way.But maybe equally dangerous. I don't know. I just want to be not scared in facing the world.I act strong and no one comes to know that I am not really comfortable.Wanting 3rd world war to begin, and everyone being drafted into it. Looking for a major upheaval so that I start all over again.Such flights of fancy.Bad habits,from doing too much music i guess.

and the title has nothing to do with the content. Just a song i was hearing. Roger Waters.And I put the song just to die down the happy noises i hear,as some stupid blokes play badminton(what a stupid game anyways)

Fight

2008-10-02T04:45:00.000-07:00

I head into a boxing ring, unprepared, weak and without a protective helmet. I pick any random fighter with a will to defeat that son of a gun in less than a round.I move within his range, keeping my hands down and allow him to beat me mercilessly.The ref wants to stop the fight, but i think it was just a bad strategy on my part and I will do better next round.Besides, I dont wanna appear like a pussy.So while I am on the stool I think of being a lil more alert.And then I see this distraction, those announcer girls and i dont plan. Next round, and I am all ready to break his damn jaw. I walk right into his jabs and once again i keep my hands down.real men dont flinch you see. And then he delivers an uppercut.I fall down. KO.

Why the hell do i loose?

The Aimlessness of being sad

2008-09-30T02:19:00.000-07:00

How hard it is to not be sad.Sadness is such a waste. I never realised it could be worse than anger. Anger at least makes you DO something.Sadness just makes you reflect. And everything is diffused.And everyone who smiles is like mocking at you.Every loud word you hear is like someone yelling at you.I hate being yelled at. I hate loud words.I hate talks.I dont know why I am writing this.I have known writing to be a form of therapy.I am fishing for some kinda rest.I am fishing for some good things, some goodness. I would like to think that its just the fact that I am failing is making me sad.But the fact of others winning is making me sadder.I guess I am a bad person and all this mask of pretensions i wear is just falling apart.I am writing and deleting.It shouldnt be that way.I am wishing to talk with people who would just listen and maybe understand, but I know they cant. I wouldnt if I were them and they were going through this. Maybe I wouldnt have cared.Maybe they dont care either.what the hell.I might destroy somethings. I take things too personally.

God Bless the Awake

2008-09-21T05:25:00.000-07:00

How small is fear, a small dot
Almost a small dot, in
The white consciousness of his life
Heartbeats stretching into an endless
Echoes of train in an empty tunnel
Of course he would like to erase
Some strange mistakes
Freedom from the trail, a quest
To greatness by the time he dies
Death of fear must follow first.
A tiny dot, nevertheless.

Writers Block

2008-09-13T10:10:00.000-07:00

What should I write? Writing is such a beautiful way to express oneself, ones thoughts and ones’ innermost core. Sometimes we don’t even know what our innermost core is. Sometimes we probably don’t want to know. Some fear, some guilt. Sometimes we write to express what we have read, the writing styles of people and sometimes we even take over feeling the same thing the author, which we read, experienced, without us really taking the pains to experience it. I find myself wondering what to write. I write stuff which is melancholy and sometimes profound. Am I writing stuff which I haven’t experienced? Am I as honest as I can be, and as original. Isn’t there a hint of Jim Morrison, a Kurt Cobain or some other person in my writing? I try my best to be original, but isn’t avoiding writing something which someone might have written about a kind of running away. A fear of comparison, perhaps. Or maybe a disgust at comparison.

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Now playing: HENRYK SZERYNG - Chaconne
via FoxyTunes

Stupidity,superheroes and one struggling soul

2008-08-30T21:07:00.000-07:00

How entrenched are we in this circle of life. The thought came to me suddenly on a Sunday morning. It wasn’t a precursor of some more thoughts of neither the same nature, nor a foundation for something grand and complexly philosophical. In fact the question just hung on its own. Alone and solitary and compelling an answer. But the question was rhetorical wasn’t it? And they have no answers; they just emerge from our cynicism and stand there, mocking us. I think one of the reasons this question came to me was the deep seated belief I have of life as it is versus life as it should be. I can’t just believe in life as it is, even though it’s a more pragmatic stance. I can be called an idealist and I think that all the creative work has been done by idealists, while the pragmatics just collected the fruits of the tree which the idealists planted. We are entrenched in this circle of life because we find that there are many forces which oppose our vision of life as it should be. There are various voices which makes us question our vision of ideal life. Such confusion! I have no respect for stupidity, ugliness and weakness. An ideal life will dispense of those life forms which show signs of the above trinity and it should. But it doesn’t. In fact the trinity is what is the norm and whatever is bright, beautiful and strong we call an exception. Life should be a celebration of living but it has made to be a load which we must carry with our eyes raised towards the other side- heaven or hell. We call the people who show life as super heroes and call mistakes and errors and weakness as ‘but its human’. What a sad way to see things, and how sad it is to live in a world which thinks of such things as virtues. How entrenched are we in this circle of life.

for the good ol' times

2008-04-30T21:58:00.001-07:00

Saby..i'm back and I shall write again.now why did ya not miss me earlier so as to hasten my comeback.But i have returned and shall look forward to your comments.

Into the far reaching afterworlds

2007-12-24T00:26:00.001-08:00

The ripples are everywhere.In churches and in the stars.Million galaxies I have seen,in the eyes of a solitary soldier.Frangrances of which we can only dream of.And music which is so soft and so moving that you would want to embrace the trees and jump down the valleys.And yet the eyes are vacant.Looking into the limitless void for some vision which can redeem.The dreams to catch and lives to live.All in sepia.Discolored due to ancientness.Such words and the light feathered angles which dance round my head.Its such a gala time.The soft strands of her hair,and the cold afternoon glow on her cheekbones,the slight turn of the lips as I move my hands over hers.And then she flies,circling around the clocks with a twinkle in her eyes.The flower angel oh the flower angel.Sad? No.Just looking vacantly to the forests and the seas.My ship is calling.The angels and the demons await the captain to board.The soldiers are ready.The flags are flowing and the canons set.
Loot
Plunder.
Blood..
Gore

They wont catch me and you.

Talking Blues

2007-11-19T00:27:00.000-08:00

I can't find any respite from my demons.Its tough to be crazy and act like normal.Sometimes the shields just give in and I'm exposed. Busted!

"we knew you were a little shaky..like always on the edge you know,like you'd harm yourself or everyone around here"

~~but ...~~

"why are you silent? why dont you say something"

~~i want to.i dont know if I should~~

"you have so much talent.dont waste it like you are wasting.why dont you LIKE people.take interest in them..please"

~~..i want to.I try.i fail.~~

"you know what..screw you"

"fuck you too..leave me alone"

There There

2007-11-07T09:34:00.000-08:00

"why do you think so much"

perched on the vantage view of aloofness,I can dismiss all extraneous trivialities with anger.Its not bitterness; its angst.But the results still are as random,flying off the trajectories into unknown spheres.who cares,I pluck one more standard thought-piece and put it neatly into the jigsaw.Satisfied now.

I feel the sense of rejection more acutely than my fellow earthlings.But it probably points to some longing for something more ethreal,at least more intelligent.It's tough to see slowness creating a rot inside each soul.Numbness is a faithful partner though who comes back everytime.Thank God,

"its better to burn,than to fade away

Death Smiles

2007-10-31T21:53:00.000-07:00

Death is the road to awe
Exchanging glances with thunderbolts
For a brief moment
Of lunacy she had
Fields of roses gently waving
In a sea of green algae like tentacles
Much of her dreams
They make her sad
Brief static and poignant
Are the threads of life
Infinitely complex, like a wicked child’s mind
And her smile tortures her
It shouldn’t be that bad.

Love---Oblivion

2007-10-23T10:04:00.000-07:00

Candle you burn bright, gasping for breath
Fight you hard, how valiant is your struggle
And how absurd.
The infinite darkness wishes for an embrace
A love making of ethereal proportions
He woos- a violent courtship.
Much love is lost and most forgotten
Into the complex warp of time
Into nothingness you melt, struggling
Resisting eternal love-the melting of ego
Don’t you cry O beautiful light
into the arms of your lover you mingle
into the arms of silence, of oneness,
into oblivion.

Dreams(Reprise)

2007-09-19T03:04:00.000-07:00

Where is the torch I lit
Where went the light
The flames that die in my eyes
And the ashes that settle
On the poppy flowers
Singing requiem to another dream
Broken into million shards
Like the million stars in the sky
Are they broken pieces of
A grand dream of another psychotic
Or another sad God in his own world.

The Importance of closing eyes

2007-08-16T01:03:00.000-07:00

Pain was sometime such a sudden rush. Now it spreads slowly like nerve gas, and builds up..inflating like a helium balloon, never rising but sinking down, and down until nothing but a dark vacuum encloses one in a tight hug and then there is no darkness. You become one with it. And the dissolution is absolute and final. And then the one winged goddess comes down. A beautiful angel who is the keeper of all things broken and tattered and yet beautiful. Maybe beautiful because of all broken lines. Like flowers on graves. Like a moonless night. Like withered petals. Like love lost. Absolute. Absolution.

Ride

2007-08-09T22:17:00.000-07:00

we ride tonite
on ghost horses.

Strange

2007-08-02T09:20:00.000-07:00

Exhausted—that’s how I feel. The trivialities of life sometimes seem so enormous, hiding the beauty that the world has inherently. And I do have this tendency to be blind to whatever is white and an affinity for whatever is bleak. So the greys don’t exist for me. It’s easier isn’t it, to see life as simple black and white. But then that’s the way I am. I don’t feel eccentric at all when I feel no need for long lasting human contact. And whatever they think, I am not cold. I just have sensitivities which are tangents to what normal sensitivities are. I still feel an enormous excitement when I read complex mathematics and I am good with numbers since I was little. They present a stability and they don’t talk back. They are as silent as I can be and that makes me comfortable in their company.
It’s a strange world in which we live. I’m just adding to the strangeness.

Shut up

2007-07-26T12:40:00.000-07:00

I feel lonely. And I don’t like it. I don’t understand it somehow. I can’t seem to relate with people. I can’t seem to be close to them for long. My unorthodox personality attracts people towards me, out of curiosity presumably. It wears off soon and then they just leave. I feel the hurt of rejection more than others I guess. I would like to think that people are a distraction. They might be. But when they just walk away it leaves me perplexed. If only I could do that first. Be bored and leave. But I would tell them that. I would at least have the courtesy to be rude.

Don't even think

2007-07-26T05:53:00.000-07:00

Sheets of black unfurled into the big void
The lust of all things shine through my eyes
Black! how scarred is life
And still I run on treadmills infinite
Intoxicated, blind, muted and blackened
For centuries have passed
And many births and many many deaths later
I am homesick of my alien nation
My purple hued nation of peace and love
And I the disposed emperor long for the return
Black! How scarred life is
And I used to care, but now its easy
To swallow the bile and shine the lust
And to run nowhere to go
And no strength to stop.

3:42 in the morning

2007-07-23T15:13:00.000-07:00

3:18 am and I can’t sleep. Now it doesn’t really matter you see, because I am an insomniac and a black coffee doesn’t help at all. And when you are lying awake in bed and thoughts of angels with purple grey moth-eaten wings who ride on crimson clouds come to your mind you rather stop trying to sleep. And so here I am.
The strangest thing about my imagination is that it is so manic depressive. I am not. My imagination is. It fucks me up at times and sometimes it makes me happy. And I still can hear the laughter in my brain. And sounds of doors closing/opening. I see colors too in my brain when I close my eyes. Sometimes they are shining and vibrant and most times they are plain stupid. I can’t trust my perceptions anymore. I try so hard to be normal and I fail utterly. But I reckon I’m a hard nut. An incorrigible optimist. Yes..it’s me I am talking about. You can smirk but that’s what I really feel. How else can I explain the desire which comes again and again to try and improve my life? To be like..normal. Now you might say that’s not a big ask. But for me it is. Maybe I am a genius of some sort. Not understood in this century and maybe read about in some years later with a book titled “The Life of a Misfit: Lessons from tragedy”. Fuck that! That’s a bad title, but know what I don’t care. I wanna write a poem now.

Obscure are the pages
Of time in which I sleep
And you float,
In the water of the ocean blue
That hangs upside down
Moist filled blue eyes
Dark as dark as babies cry
Sleep the mighty bird
Flies in the vastness
And pages of time flutter
No sound is heard
I did not see me die.
The stage of the world
Is a disappointment
The curtain is too heavy
And I am too frail.
So look up in the sky
The optimist in I
The bird is caged
The eyes have dried
Still no sound is heard
I did not see you die.

Jesus Christ Pose

2007-06-21T07:50:00.000-07:00

Such a beautiful thing a smile is.And happiness makes all of us Jesus-the forgiver.And I want to forgive everyone,including myself in this moment of happiness or at least the absense of sadness.The lightness gives me a high.I find that when I am happy,I don't turn into a social bird;infact outworldy i'm still as aloof as in the moments when I am not happy.But something intrinsic changes.A sense of peace comes upon,an inner quietness decends,which for sometime atleast takes the incessant chatter of the mind.How paradoxical life is,isn't it? I can appreciate these moments of rare silence more than most people who are usually more happy than me.I sit typing away at the keyboard and thinking of how great it is to be happy and at the same time how easy.The hope, which I usually have the habit of denouncing,suddenly seems to be my best friend.How confident one can be in the absoluteness of misery and at the evanescence of happiness.And how wrong.And no doubt Einstein was right about relativity of time.Misery is as fair-weather a friend as happiness,it's just that it seems to bear with us a lot more.Right now,as much as I'm enjoying my solitude,I wouldn't mind if some of you fellow bloggers were here.Including Saby.Infact this article I dedicate to him.He so wanted me to write something happy.So here I am.Jesus-the God.

2007-05-15T20:50:00.000-07:00

I still feel profound dislocation in society. I feel disconnected from most people, and it's painful. I think I am quite tormented by the halls of hell I've constructed in my own mind. I realise it's all perception, and mine is fundamentally flawed. I fall within the dark and dangerous structures of my mind too easily, too often. Shaky ground. Rotting structures. I see most things these days in terms of decay. It's not right, not healthy. When I see the beauty of life it moves me to tears. I cry for those things lost, although when they were in the present I was unable to enjoy them due to the fact I was mourning the past past. Catch 22s and spiked paradox wherever you roam. What the hell is the key to peace and contentment? How does one so profoundly change one's perception? Inner peace must be the greatest gift...

You know, I don't believe suicide is an outlet, as tempting as it seems at times. Because I really think that if and when you take your life in such a way, you awaken shortly afterward again to your own mind, your own perception. No escape. Something you must work through, grow.

But I don't know how I'm changing or if I'm growing. I've always been these way, the morbid melancholic. Tormented as a child, and now still as a child in this ageing body. In many ways I just long to escape the body. Shirk this shell.

Shirk this hell.

Sorry for being dramatic, I'm just being too much of myself today. Life is hard. As always

The Unnamed feeling

2007-04-16T00:41:00.000-07:00

It shall recover.And who in the turbid world of unknown looks past the shimmer of new and beautiful?.Must be archeologist of the relics or some pirate looking for the booty in the turbulent infinite oceans of gray.The splash of colors is too in-the-face againt the backdrop of black velvety curtain of blandness,and emptiness.The courage to look behind the curtain is rare because madness is hidden,a wild untamed beast,ready to pounce and shread the soul to pieces.And the lonliness of specialness is a burden more heavy than the weight of the world on the shoulders of Atlas.In the darkness of skies unlimited,thousand stars blink-soft,static and utterly desolte.The universe is so big.I am in awe.I fear.

Same old me

2007-04-08T12:09:00.000-07:00

I am back.

I thought I wouldn't,but I am.And guess what,I haven't changed much.I thought I will,but I haven't.I still am the same schizoid,fucked up,misfit I always was.So fuck with positive thinking and fuck it all.My creative abilities have left me and I am shameless enough to admit that and still write.Such desperation!

I reckon something HAS changed in a way.I am sorry I jumped the gun when I thought that I was still the same loser I was.I can't handle my loneliness anymore.I used to earlier,now it makes me mad.Madder.

I wish for some kind of connection.You guys who used to read me,were my connection.I hope you guys don't leave me.Haha in a way you can't.cuz you aren't real.I love you unreal people.The real assholes are just too fucked up.

Welcome me back.

Turn the page

2006-12-25T21:25:00.000-08:00

How sudden some feelings emerge.how sudden!.And take one in their velvet soft grip and transports one to a facinating ancient land where happiness resided.I use the past tense as happiness seems to be felt more acutely in the hindsight.This is like going into a tunnel of diminishing lights,the last part always seemingly brighter than the present.Alas one can't turn back.
And softly they whisper something
chimes and scents of the past
these angels and demons still exist
amidst the changes they last
So here I close another page
and here I reach so fast
I wish I could have lingered more
but the path is laid,the die is cast.

Thank you 2006.You didn't kill me.Let me see if 2007 measures up.Let me see.

A day in the life

2006-11-24T04:59:00.000-08:00

"It's cold",he thought aloud.The neon-lights of the stores dotting the streets flickered and presented quite a contrast to the monochrome images in his brain.He was wearing a tshirt and faded blue denim jeans.It had been his habit to wander aimlessly in the streets;it lifted the fog out of his brains,a bit,he thought.Normally he wouldn't smoke,but today he didn't mind,or didn't realise when he lit up a ciggarate.

There is nothing more lonely than walking on a rain-drenched pavement,wanting to see someone,anyone.The streets were deserted,as it was pretty late in the night.People were either inside their beds or in someone elses bed,unmindful of the light drizzle that was making the asphalt streets shimmer like a mirror.He was hearing a music in his brain,some Radiohead tune he loved.He had always liked music.

But tonite he wanted to talk.He knew that not many people understood what he meant.And he had made up his mind early that he would not talk much with people.He had kept his promise.But sometimes he found people who did understand.He took his phone out,dialled a number.He heard a Dire Straits tune.No one picked the phone.

He thought to himself "it's cold and it's late too" and walked on.Neon lights were flashing,the streets still getting washed.The tune in the head was Dire Straits now."Romeo and Juliet".

A Painter paints tonight.

2006-11-13T20:33:00.000-08:00

A white paper stares at me

accusing glances,sometimes mixed with tenderness

I sit--cold, blank and at sea

the pencil in my hand shakes.

No words come to my mind tonite

just pictures,of purple faded petals and dried leaves

sounds of churchbells, ancient fight

the obituries of dreams are hard to paint.

The demons,born in my brain

wild children they are,my own.

rituals they follow,my energies they drain

and drink to health.these insolent leeches

Drops of crimson stain the whiteness

and a beauty emerges on the barren paper

colors are the solvent of greatness

my skin is cut.

Spheres inside spheres

2006-11-07T20:34:00.000-08:00

Slow moving orbits bring casual remorse
and desert sings refrains
I am in the midst of a epoch
wishing something can change
New moon brings a sudden delight
black dwan brings back pain
A new day someday will break
and I'll be free again
Slow moving orbits bring causal remorse
and desert sings refrains.

How difficult is it to be 'good'.The many layers of fake existance have utterly scarred the beautiful face of truth and reality.It's almost forgotten,but like a trace in the brain of certain memory,a certain very dear memory,it sometimes haunts.The overidentification with masks has now become a survival instinct.How depraved is this form of living and how easily people live and accept it.And how tormentous is it not to accept it,to always feel suffocated inside a mask,to lie and lie until lies are perfected.A perfect unreality.Who would want to trade unreality with reality?It looks monstrous and unreal,but it's as real as a dream to a sleeping man.Maybe oneday we all can shrug off this sleep and open our eyes.Wipe the fog off our eyes and can witness the grandeour of truth.And 'know' that there are absolutes.Like the surface of a 4 dimensional giant sphere,whose axis of rotation is the plane we live on,and which encloses our universe,ever expanding it's boundries,inflating on all 4 dimensions--this giant,absolute spehere.Moving slowly in orbits,sifting the sands of deserts,reflecting gold.

The beginning

2006-10-31T00:19:00.001-08:00

The fog is slowly lifting it's veil.And the bright light that shines through seems to be the torch of knowledge,mathematics to be precise.I have always been facinated by the"absolutes",and all the societal absolutes like death and God and virtues and morals seemed always to me to be standing on a very shallow ground.I found that all my beliefs when tested came out as croppers.And I,like a manic,wanted to test each of 'em.It disappointed me and broke my heart--all the shattering of core beliefs,but I wanted to know the truth of absolutes.From whence this craving came,I do not know.It certainly wasn't genetics.And it drove me to extremes,and a whole range of medicines followed(only cuz my dad had the means).But I feel that the fog has been lifting now.I haven't found the absolutes yet,but the cravings have mellowed.maybe the fire inside which was an inferno is turning a placid blueish bonfire.It usually marks the end,isn't it?The end of all destruction when everything is broken down and decimated.But also the arrival of something fresh in it's place.I hope,and though hope has been the most evanescent of 'em all,but I still hope that the destruction is over and there won't be any attempt#15.

The Intolerable hissings of an unquiet mind

2006-10-24T05:18:00.000-07:00

To no one else from the underearth
this is what I write
and delete and contemplate and delete again
for the lack of structure is beautiful
in music and movies
of a greyish hue,some diffused foucs
of the aperture,I guess
Some slow jazz song flows softly,peacefully
"Mr.Happy thats what I want to be",he sings
I,sitting cross legged,under many colored stars
blink-blink,they smile lovingly at me
poise and grace are the virtues
of greek statues,dead and cold
The tangents of the fishing chord
in one giant sweep will fill
the galaxies with harmonies,in odd symmetries
and new languages will emerge
from the fragrance of plastic flowers
the fields of which will house the cross
of pain,blood and purple orchids
Until some mathematical conjectures
will dismiss the hysteria
or unleash a new religion of perfect numbers
and the Golden ratios will emerge again
in tattoos on the arm of Spainards
and the snail shells of Corsica
Until then my dear mind
fly,as there is no tomorrow and
Beethoven's Ninth Symphony is overrated.

Attempt#14

2006-10-16T05:34:00.000-07:00

A million space-ages ago

the sacred fire glowed

ruffled the dry autumn leaves

ancient memories stored

Delicate structures come and go

infinitines seem too slow

maybe the day has come my love

when the daffodils grow

And while the ocean sighs and breathes

and summerbirds sing in tow

I just think of happier days

the blade in hand I throw

Television viewing and it's sideeffects

2006-10-04T10:55:00.001-07:00

I had a sudden insight which struck me as I was watching a video of Jimi hendrix perfom.It was a typical Hendrix song( i can't fuckin remember the name of it),by which I mean an open air Woodstock kinda outdoor enviornment,a lot of barely clothed men and women sitting on the grass and enjoying his music.There was no need for singing along or headbanging,oh fuck it they weren't even standing.It was beautiful to listen and watch and then it struck to me that I am a hippie trapped in some wrong time-zone.I really don't give a rat's ass about what people think and I am quite laid back at heart.But the fuckin trials and tribulations of the times which I live in make me edgy.It's not that I hate it completely,cuz if it was that-- i would've ended my life.There are snippets of good things which make me cling on,hoping for something MORE and BETTER.That makes me pretty average,eh?I always am disgusted with mediocrity,and I..in all my intrinsic sense,am not at all average.I am different.Not special.And thats disturbing.I wish I were different and 'special',but fuck it to hell ,I am plain and different.And it's such a shitty place to be.I hate ranting,but here I am doing just that and I don't fuckin care whosoever reads it would want to pity me.I don't want you pity..i want your love.All of ya'll.

Free flow

2006-09-25T12:09:00.001-07:00

stop the catalystic baits for the avalance of disturbing mental projections which invade the mind-boat with pirate like precision.The ticking of the clock implodes inside--all sounds are dead,but the devilish ticking.fanless,prespiring and naked,a frightened animal wails.Who can take the barbs off the soft-skin butterfly wings of hope.In tatters and ugly.Thats a homecoming,we can do without.Stand united,and face the blades of warped space-time.Mute..we are mute.Oh beautiful irony!

In prayer(deformed)

2006-09-20T06:49:00.000-07:00

How long must I let it all slip away

and not start building

my beautiful sand castle

The ocean waves would love

to kiss,and wrap

their watery legs around it

and dissolve it in an orgasm

How inconsequential it must feel

to be dissolved ;even in love

and to be one with the grandness

of the infinite sand,and waves

and the million stars gaze on it

in awe,this beautiful castle

stands(although deformed)

And someday you would destroy me too

and make me one in love

would you like to kiss me

and wrap your legs around me

merging yourself in my naked skin

and tranforming myself.

The force of violence of love

will destruct and construct

and someday the million stars

will gaze lovingly

and i'd die-- in worship

in reverance, in love(although deformed)

soft foucs lens

2006-09-09T02:26:00.000-07:00

Distant oh so distant are the memories

and vacant is the cold bed

no fire glows in the fire-caves

ashes--the mute spectator,smiles

The crumpled sheets

the endless spaces of a confined room

are lost in the streaks

of violent streaks of immobile rebellion

Nakedness of skin-beautiful goddess

stirs a dream

of the first derobement of a virgin soul

No Jesus to repent for thy sins

Welcome sweetheart--they call thou insanity

i found these flowers beautifully moving.Somehow I have tried my best to be spiritual.maybe somethings are not made for me.there still are too many gaping holes in my headspace and they scare me.I'll be okay someday though,i'm sure.

Flights of Lucifer

2006-08-27T00:17:00.000-07:00

And the words fail again

for the wonder of the beauty

silences the innermost turmoils

and what are words,but mere echos

of the faintest whispers of feelings

the bastard child of expression

and confusion.

Naked is the night and shadows

clamour for the rituals

oh! such religion we follow

of glorification of pleasures and flesh

such degradation,such fall into vaacum

look into the dawn of birth,o tired soul

for hope is the wing of Lucifer

and death the destination.

Debut(bark at the moon)-The Confessions

2006-07-30T04:15:00.000-07:00

Stop in the jammed silences
flow and then stuck
where teardrops shatters and raindrops mingle
in the aquamarine ocean
of no remorse.
I float,a drifter.

Songs drift in with the heavy air
echoes of angst
hollow paintings unfinished and some
made uglier in their completion
and the sea sleeps
I still float,with a smile.

roundness of eyes,the moonglobes
shine on me
sarcasm is the wrecked boat
love the oars,carved and old
spinning wild are the whirlpools
the confessions-I drown.

welcome us.

Interview

2006-07-08T23:45:00.000-07:00

It's sometimes too difficult to try,you see.Too difficult to try to come out of the skin and be really good.And all the more stupid when you know that it's not working.No matter what I said,it was not enough.And I didn't say much for that matter.I wonder how much people can speak.About so many things under the sun.I simply tend to try and show that I am listening.And sometimes when they are talking about something I know,then I realise how little they know and how grand they make it appear.I nodded my head silently when the girl sitting next to me said "and what do you think about global poverty".I think she's pretty with all that make up and I think she just wants to involve me in the discussion.I try to smile and wanted to say "fuck it".Checked myself in time and just nodded my head saying "I don't think much of it".Silence...They all look at me trying to figure if I was just being insolent or a smart ass or I'm just too thickheaded to think.Whatever they thought but I heard someone say "you must participate,thats how we know each other".I don't know what to say and I just remain silent.It would've been more polite I reckon if i didn't look 'em in the eye.Someone fills in the awakward silence by saying something funny.They all laugh and the tension is eased.I wait for the break.

They all talk amongst each other over the coffee break while look out of the window at the cloud formation and at the tiny traffic line from the distance of the buildings height.They might be talking about global poverties or pollutions or bussiness takeovers or latest movies.Or maybe about the strange- young- bloke- out- there- who- seems- too- lost- in- his- own- world-whats-this-punk- doing- here-anyways?.I shrug and try to smile.A friendly smile.No one smiles back.

~end of story~

Round and round

2006-06-29T23:08:00.000-07:00

It's so odd.I feel something is wrong,in an intrinsic way.This seems to be an odd way in which the world goes round.The self-righteousness of all the fakes and the glamour behind power,and that too not the real power but a pretense to it,makes me sick to the stomach.

What drives you,O little miserable cripple
flashing the stained whites
of remorseless acts and raped intentions
alas you exist and won't die
And round you move,in skewed orbits
senseless,drunk in misery
for how long will the forces hold you
for how long oh for how long.

Love letter.

2006-06-08T03:31:00.000-07:00

The terrible aftermath of happiness.Why should it always leave a bad hangover.Nothing like the intoxication of some good wine;more like the aftertaste of some cheap cocaine.or a badly made food for that matter.How I want happiness to last and how easily it slips.And in its wake makes the already ugly reality seems all the more deserted.A soft flowing memory comes to me.But it isn't even a memory--a dream rather.Of me,my love and world.Our world.And then maybe there wont be too much of a need to hide.The sense of desolation out of being different would be lost and so would the novelty.That would be a good tradeoff i'd say.And once all the anger and fear is lost,we..me and you and all of our kinds can be ourselves.I like to smile,you see.Not the fake plastic smiles,but smiles of something to celeberate.a victory possibly.but victory thats not a culmination of some ongoing pain.A victory of happiness.Happiness as a state of being.We will reach there,my love.we will.

one

2006-05-18T20:47:00.000-07:00

The most exciting prognosis for the malady called boredom has to be been-there-done-that. The ever-enchanting taste of newness is just a bitter aftertaste of something ancient. Sparks that excite the dark recesses of minds are the burnt remains of flaming foliage of memory. Alice in Chains are playing in the background singing

“I like to fly, but my wings have been so denied”

I have been wondering on the theme of reincarnation of late .It amuses me to think if the angst and aimlessness I seem to carry around are traces of something more potent in my previous life .It doesn’t make the burden any less, but it gives a fresh perspective. A “fresh” did I say? Ironical damnit, but what the hell anyways .I have a tingling feeling, maybe out of a sense to belong, that most people do carry their madness in them. Their walls seem to be less porous than mine, so that the lunacy hardly sips out. What would happen to such souls when they go through a rebirth cycle? Do they carry their ethereal madness with them into next birth, if at all the highly crazy idea of reincarnation holds any water. If all of my hypothesis is correct than I am going to one hellova sane person next birth,having vented out almost all of my madness this lifetime. and if all this is utter bullshit and God does indeed play dice, then again I’ll probably turn out to be more madder than Johnny Rotten, Kurt Cobain and Jim Morrison combined. And yeah I’ll probably have a more troubled childhood for a perfect excuse.

reprise of fairy tears

2006-05-04T01:38:00.000-07:00

what has been will always be.
unlike whatever we experience--of all things exiting;there are certain things which are forever.a foreververness which lingers even when the thing seems to have been gone,and the lingeringness eventually bringing the form back.exhuming the dead is not what i meant.wiping the dust from the mirrors is what was in my mind.the oceanic waves of melancholy are temporal,trying obsessively to suck the fundamentals of beyond from our eyes,but they can't.the million stars of our world leave a trail,picking which we will always return to our beginnings,our love.love that made us beautiful,innocent and fragile.the mighty tear that drops is the holy water--the salt of the vast,heaving and silent ocean,and it cleanses.bathed in the aftermath of that solitary drop,we are reborn.
we are one.
reaffirmed.

vaccums

2006-04-25T02:09:00.000-07:00

silence creates vaccums.
i'm all dressed up and nowhere to go.black asphalt,bricks and mortar beckon me,but i won't move.the taste of inertia is like lsd on the tip of your tongue--when time evaporates into hazy fogs,buds open into carnivourous flowers which can gulp infinities,and stars are little naked children running on black-sand beaches.statues are cute in a way,aren't they?.creating an illusion of stability amongst chaos;boulders amidst flowing waves.i have a weakness for metaphysical and obtuse.where complexities converge into gaping holes,finally coming back full circle into nothingness from which everything started.that might be the fate of this universe,or the beyond after-death.fleeting glimpses of happiness are perception loopholes.just that perception loopholes.
vaccums create silences.

A Blindfold Prayer

2006-04-24T03:31:00.000-07:00

The grand dullness of being stuck. There are no alarm bells ringing, and the certainty of awakening from a nightmare to another mechanical day isn't there. one can just dream. like I do.or just wait, wafting along the waves; dipping,rising and dipping again. The strangulation more chocking at the rising than on dipping.well,I can still drag on.shave,take bath and be squeaky clean and wonderfully smelling. and get ready for another dip. or another rising?*shrugs*.

All in all we’re just another brick in the wall

you still are distant and now i no more want any closeness. the doors have been shut on my face by you. I just bolted myself in. now the marvel of something utterly destroyed and handsome is for all to see. from the windows. to sympathize upfront and mock inside. I, drenched in my broken ego, collection the shards of my crystal-heart, covering the windows with blinds, terminating all voices and all lights. the bloodied hands, the bloodied hands.purpleness engulfs me.O god, let me sleep.

A little less conversation

2006-04-22T00:17:00.000-07:00

Below is an unedited(kinda) part of an actual coversation that took place.The names have been changed to protect the identity of a certain mr.footloose and yours truley.not that i'd give a fuck about protecting identities,but it gives a good soundbyte kinda thingy.

mr.myself: yeah. i know it's just a matter of perception
mr.myself: i do want to change mine to something grander
mr.myself: but i always tend to notice the things which are slimy,dirty,depraved and ugly.
mr.myself: i just can't not see 'em.
mr.myself: kinda partial blindness, if you will
mr.myself: i know there is beauty in the world,but the goddamned ugliness strikes out so odd that it hides whatever good is in here
mr.myself: i maybe contaminating your thought process too,i'm sorry if i am.it's contagious..so i'll advice you not to speak to me often
mr.myself: i am sick of everything you know
mr.myself: even contemplating death
mr.myself: i am sick of it
mr.myself: there are no absolutes
mr.myself: and it disturbs me a lot
mr.myself: kinda fuckin scares me,though i wouldn't admit it
mr.myself: except here..over chat,when you can't see me
mr.myself: in real life i'd be all smiling mockingly at everything.kinda playing along
x: death is the ultimate
x: but living with death is a horror
mr.myself: *smiles*
mr.myself: you find me crazy?
x: no
x: nothing is crazy
x: its just the frame of references@mind
x: whatever u r thinking is absolutely right from ur frame of mind
x: and I always respect induvidual thoughts
mr.myself: maybe these thoughts aren't all that individual.maybe i've picked 'em along..from the darkest alleys where they'd smoke weed and inhale all sorta things
mr.myself: where sex is as casual as sneeze
mr.myself: and self-respect is as much a living thing as a vrigin whore

well do you find me crazy,dear readers?

Walls

2006-04-19T07:28:00.000-07:00

It's too silent,my vacant room
stoney walls
too thick,too indifferent.showing

a single broken crack;
a small parabola.

endless stories it must have seen
and countless coats of
varnished paints.

A sudden stain of purple
the silent neighbour,looks beautiful
bastard
contouring and contorting

violent desperation.
fissures of agony
and other acts of sadness.

how faceless a wall looks
how mirthless the space it contains
ringing bells
ringing bells

someone suck this emptiness away.

A new level

2006-03-30T07:37:00.000-08:00

No more the stars shine bright
in the icy waters of hope
and strangely dark are the whispers
that rustled the ancient leaves
mockery of exotic memories
flagging in a mere static of a vast,uncluttered
universal mind of a sleeping baby.
One wonders what lies beyond and more
the alternate truths.
and the immaculate,absolute lies
of glistening lips and seducing
ebony eyelashes;enchanting aren't they?
myrid foxholes and closed alleys
just a flicker of my eyes
and i sense a murder,a betryal of soul.
no two pages fold exactly alike
no signs of life.no sighs.

Megalomania

2006-03-16T05:45:00.000-08:00

The stellar heights are intimidating and so are the sacred depths.A wishbone would be helpful.The dark secrets of the ancients always facinated me.Secret societies and their facinating rituals have an allure of their own.Either this or the simple cleanliness of machines.I love huge factories as much as i love ancient castle-relics.A walkdown in the factory of my dad when i was 7 is still vivid in my mind.The place looked so beautiful in the night,with sky high roofs and lines and lines of machines.The place that looked so dead in the night would be throbbing with sounds and click-clacks in the day,throwing out stories and predictions and encapsulations and all.The smell of the ink was beautiful and i wanted to hug everyone who invented any damn machine.A world inhabited with machines seemed a perfect utopia to me back then.I have grown more selfish now.it has to be just me,me and me and the whole damn space.

Envy

2006-03-09T06:39:00.001-08:00

I am envious of anyone who is better than me.Anyone who looks more handsome and there isn't any resemblance with me,anyone who can write better,anyone who can make music better,anyone who can invent,do math,make beautiful paintings,or have more balanced(or even more eccentric)behaviors,is like an enemy to me sometimes.Those are the moments of lunacy when i want to be ALL.they don't last long,but they do come and go.it's strange and confusing.

Look ma! No sun

2006-03-02T06:24:00.000-08:00

Anything which is sad has no right to exist.Anything which is ugly must die,without rotting.I am in a state of mind of peace and my thoughts are destructive.The world,if I were a giant,would have been my playground and I would have loved to kick and annihilate buildings and people alike.I am tired of poetry as it seems such a waste.

The winds blow with a dead ease
a wicked calm seeps
and forever the echoes scream
a long deep well.no ends
Where are the heavens and hells
and where is Christ
hanging loosely in Gucci underwear
a passion thats wasted.
Techicolor leaves which we crumble
everyday without remorse
a large buffet is laid
without heads without thoughts
Beware my masters I am tired
and I will explode the myth
on a dreamy sunday,i'll kill you all
and never wake up from my unborn dream

I like writing bad poetry sometimes and I still can't botch it ALL.I am not displeased with it,it's just in my blood not to mutilate something completely.A sudden thought just came into my mind.What if there was no sun.There must have been life,somehow from where? I don't know but lets say there IS life and NO sun.I would be so happy.Beautiful sunless afternoons.Let people die of cold.The bodies don't smell foul when they die like that.

Balloons

2006-02-17T06:30:00.000-08:00

When the designs of a greater God imply we must flow,who are we to resist.A thousand helium balloons suspened midair without chords.The utter uselessness of such existence!.And such tranquility.Neither the great journey upwards now the limp decent downwards is liked.To break a perfect synchronity is ugly.But the ecstacy of being free is beautiful.The trajectory maybe wayward and the end near as the helium esacpes,but the abandon is worth it.Eventually the lone balloon will fall down and will be scorned by the assortment who never fell,never feel and never flew.They however will never know the pleasure of heights.It's not the point.The point is,breaking free is ugly.The gaps make the bunch look ridiculous.And unity is strength.No wind shakes the united.They stand proud,protected and secure.

Farewell my love.

2006-02-06T06:40:00.000-08:00

For all the golden silences
don't you sit alone and stare,too
visit the rumble again
and again in the mindfields.
Poppies flutter and dust flows
vast arid landscapes
where many a green memories
and discolored photograps sleep.
Razor sharp stains,deep and red
I think I heard a laugh
a lovely crecent,reminicent of love
When love turns to stone
and stones to dust,a shadow flies
halts and decends and cries
A weeping child a brooding man
an eclactic mix.
Vibrancy is the state of my mind
and madness is abandoned
For all her shouts,the disowned
bastard child must die a lonely death
A death she planned for me.
Goodbye old lover.Good riddance.

Lust and Love

2006-02-02T06:28:00.000-08:00

Feels a little safer now,soft cushion safety.How many lies lurk beneath the ultimate truth.And every smattering of a libidinous desire confronts a dead end of unquenched thirst.Is that someone i'd bed tomorrow too or i'd be too bored?.Is this a sign of life or a sign of deadness,to not want?.Love still sits in her shrine,a dark glow around her.She is innocent in her virginty,the pure of her blood staining her from the insides.And she is dull,restless and beautiful.Almost fragile,except the fire in her which makes her a little quirky.Ofcourse they would misunderstand her.The Gods would be clubbed with devils.Thats what they always wanted it.The line between God and the Devil to be decimated.Slowly she raises her eyes and I see a look of laughter.She mocks at them and confides in me.I kill myself everytime I go for such casual adventures and with an expertness of experience,I make it appear happy.Such lies i am capable of.

In motion I looked under the stars
Sheets of dark stain,moist
are they the acts of love of war
or venting pain the vacant eyes hoist.

I suck at rhyming.But they make sense.to me.And thats the only thing that matters.

The great wave

2006-01-29T00:54:00.000-08:00

Sand-castles are perfect,arent they.Beautiful,transient phases finally crumbling back to where they originated..sameness,dead sand-sea.The moment that hurts is the last near-perfect image of completion.Something grandiose in it.And wistfulness at the imagery of what might have been,could have been.Until a great wave comes along.And then you look back at the remains and can still see the castles you were building,which to any other passerby would appear as sticky deformed mud.A tear drop in the eye,prisms the sunlight into multi-colors and the movie rolls back..flash-back,or just life flashing before your eyes.Is it time to go?.But you do want to hold on.The incompleteness hurts you.And you know when completion happens,you would want to go.The castle would form again,but then the picture of destruction is what you can't escape from.And yeah,you can build something thats destroyed but what of the image that still haunts you--of destruction,even when rebuilding is over.

Guess whos back

2006-01-22T04:20:00.000-08:00

i am back.It has been a most demanding month for me.To finally feel that you've come to the end of the road and nothing but a deep pit awaits you,to suck you in.. and then to return.It's a great feeling.Something like being reborn.Am I talking like some new age Christian?. I don't know.maybe.It's not religion though,which I am talking of.And Jesus certainly didn't appear before me to tell me "Son you are gonna be saved".It's just that..fuck it.
I am sick of my anger.And its so confusing.I am the calmest of the people at times and sometimes the blinding rage grips me.Those moments are short but they are disaster.there are answers I seek.Infact I feel i know the answers,it's the lack of character in me to implement those answers which infuriates me.There is so much thats wrong in me and I am still not perfectly wrong.This is what I always wanted.Perfection.

I am having an escapist dream these days.To run to some place..some Buddhist place maybe.Tibet ..where there aren't many human beings and be a monk there.Or maybe a samurai.I don't want any attention.I am thru' with my cravings for it.I always despised attention in a way.Because they don't understand.Not those who watched the shows and shout like mad for an encore,saying"ooh Kurt Cobin/Jim Morrison's angst..",nor those who would read a poetry and exclaim "beautiful! sadly beautiful." and most certainly not those who said"ah! another young rot shouting for attention".I kinda sought the truth..maybe there are many truths.

And yeah I missed you all.

After forever

2005-12-05T03:24:00.000-08:00

Age is killing life's magic. I don't want to look at life this way. Things fail to excite me now. It all comes down to such trivial, mundane denominators. The human-animalistic senses and subsequent urges: hunger - more food; thirst - more drink; tired - more sleep; cold - more shelter; libido - more sex. And these trivial senses become distorted and exacerbated thus leading to greed in the extreme and compelling people to do things like drugs, murder, rape, corporate whoring, prostitution in every imaginable sense of the word and cosmetic surgery. And the worst part is, I can understand it, but my empathy isn't empathy per se as it lacks the essential ingredient of compassion. And empathy, as far as my definition of it goes, is understanding with compassion. I understand the implications and the urges so well, but I simply feel sickened that others are reduced to these states. It's like, I want more from them all... From everyone. More than I could be. More, so much more than I am.

Seaside echoes

2005-11-20T05:20:00.000-08:00

I watched this sad movie sometime back(the name I can hardly recall); a true story about a Spanish man named Ramon Sampedro; a quadriplegic who had wanted to die for years and was finally euthanised with the help of some friends. He used to write, and I transcribed a poem of his which had been translated into english. I found it beautiful.

Out to sea
Out to sea and in the weightlessness of the deep
Where dreams come true
Two souls unite to fulfill a single wish
Your gaze and mine over and over
Like an echo repeating itself silently
Deeper and deeper
Beyond everything that is flesh and blood
But I always awaken
And I always wish for death
My lips forever entangling in your hair

Fade on forever

2005-11-11T22:00:00.001-08:00

I woke up late,being tired
and rolled out the faded leaves of winter
obscene are the green tinges
which still hang on;a foetus love
an aborted childbirth.such mutation!
Love,love,love my bitter pill
antidoting the morphine sweetness
winds of gust and hate
the leaf trembles,quivers and slants.

To stand rapt at the nostalgia
of the fluttering flags of defeat,a paradox eh?
but so is the happy laughter of childhood
Thanksgiving meals included.
Inject in me the liquid of calmness
a coalblack syrup to make viscous
the emptiness
fleeting like a ghost-child.
crumbling dead leaf.
Smouldering edges of my name.
Ashes to ashes,dust to dust.

O Heart! O pera!

2005-11-05T22:13:00.000-08:00

It sleeps and wakes and sleeps again
the tune in my head
sounds whirls,in reclusive twirls
fast-paced;ticking of a Swiss watch.

Heavy armoured headiness
and the words come bolting out
You are so beautiful.My fragile angel.
lunar globes;charming and waif like.

The flicker of eyelids,pale and spacey
saucers in white nightsky
The veins of the sky,crimson and thin
only if you look; deep and closely.

And a thin smile surfaces,a hint
incompletes are profound operas,and sad.
There are no characters save one
and no audience;not even the one.

Skies

2005-10-29T22:46:00.000-07:00

The gentle sting of the outside rain; a silent hymn,
lush lullaby, imparted by this our sky: Infinite and
encircling, shared heaven.

Porcelina of the ocean blue

2005-10-27T04:39:00.000-07:00

The locus of all things tangile are shimmering.And in the earthly nights,I touch stones with my naked fingers.The chill of the fog-wetness on the smoothness of the stones permeates my bones.And she rips open my ribcage,moving into my heart.A porcelain statue,wearing an emrald necklace,she is the angel of all things darkly beautiful.White in her purity,the darkness around her eyes seem unreal.A gothic eyemakeup?.But it's real.As real as the crystal mirrors on the heartcaves.The ocean-flower blossoms and sleeps again.A fragilty which can't bear reality too much,even underwater reality.A transient reality,like the smell of incense.Nah,not the smell but the hint of a smell in the smoke.It moist my eyes and the lovely smile almost breaks my heart.A small crack,which makes the heart look all the more vulnerable but all the more beautiful.It's time to dive naked into happiness.Drenched in the dewdrops of happiness,a mind is born.A parallel mind.Two rail tracks,parallel and moving to some unending destination.I shall rest when the journey is over.I'll sleep like a baby.In a canpoy of sweet lullabys,I'll sleep until the world ends.And then I'll love the taste of this earth.

Echoes of carelessness

2005-10-18T07:09:00.000-07:00

This is something which i wrote when I didn't take my meds for a day.It makes no real sense and my writing was all scribbly.I am at horrors at the dependence we have on medicines.Sometimes it seems easy to throw the towel.But oh well,just another med and I'm okay.

and why should I even care?

The whole ridiculous motion of universe has its own trajectory.Motionless are the drops in the crystal glass of lifetime.Why do I let these teardrops collect?Maybe blooddrops.And the scars of a sharp pain remain.It's a disgust to contemplate the banal motion of universe,but it's less boring than feeling the weight of one's eyelids and wondering why a skin tissue might someday feel so heavy.A cotton-soggy heaviness.A wet heaviness.

but why should I care?

Period.

2005-10-13T05:35:00.000-07:00

I will

The Sound of Eyes

2005-10-08T07:32:00.000-07:00

Our eyes will spill the secrets of our strength,
reflected and viewed only in the eyes of our 'other'.

Each other.

Our love only ever momentarily wilting in the shade,
until the sun of those open eyes shines again.

Crime

2005-10-04T08:51:00.000-07:00

There must be a point there besides the open window where freedom lies.It glides and sithers into turmoil. A slippery road.I've fallen many times I know. From the vantage point I deliberate and let the sun drip it's dark shadow.Drop by drop. And I drink it.Open mouthed. Like a newborn sucking the milk of numbness. There are so many windows and so many roads,beyond. And I'd gladly walk If the shade of love canopies over me. Alas! I ask too much. Love conspires with the sun many a times.And leave sunspots. Ugly and unmaskable. And still in the moonlight of lonliness. I look at them lovingly.My children. They,of untamed joy and serene happiness.A constant reminder of my crime. I killed 'em. They were newborn.

No more

2005-09-21T23:25:00.000-07:00

To move into a slow phase
I rather stand at the gates

And no one can see thru
locked are the soul-mirrors

Rough boney fingers,streching
and a little more,for a grasp.

When you take everything out of nothing
nothingness still survives.

For such is the effect of love
and such is the effect of wine

Casually I send spiralling puffs
tracks of long lost years they leave.

Steady the ocean which heaves
in the eyes of the beholder

No more I care for release
I surrender to my abode

I hold my head high
where the silences shriek and hopes die.

Shine

2005-09-18T04:53:00.000-07:00

Seaside eyes and the stirring contents of oceans they create at will.My kiss imparted to the air we share; it blows on breezes to a distant land to capture and caress your fragile hand.A fragmentary earth, a sphere once whole. Until it broke in pieces like our soul.These tears don't dry for years, and I hear of a golden arrow that is love. It flies and falls and lands most randomly. Or, seemingly.
Like the memories of blood, and veins that pump lineage old and worn and strangely mysterious. A familiarity and timelessness inherent even amid intangibility. No cheek to touch or song to absorb,nor even a flickering eyelid to behold and understand.Just understanding, wherever told, untold. Or misunderstood, but known.
It will always be, beyond this day, as it was beyond the unwound full and unfilled moons of so many thousand yesterdays. These stains and strains mark the blueprints of two fragmentary souls, which join again today, tomorrow... So many tomorrows into forevermore.

For the love of dead

2005-09-09T05:35:00.000-07:00

With what sleepless nights
the Gods above created flowers
A dreamy sketch,soft globes
faint,featherlike whispers
too fragile to the touch,these petals
evanescent in their freshness
they fill me with tears.

They fill me with tears
these lovely flowers.yellow,red and white
and some faded.They are dead.
Sharing space with their brothers
too timid in their faded beauty,sinking in their ugliness
For them,the most,my eyes go moist.
won't they feel so lonely?

won't they feel so lonely?
these odourless.lifeless,beauties
limp in their shame,they hang their heads low
Their skin still so soft,so tender
bereft of the Spirit-Goddess they wonder
what human hand would throw them in the bin
so they turn to dust,to become fragile again
fresh again,and loved again.

The dead brothers-in-fate,I weep for you.
I love you.

Madness

2005-09-03T21:57:00.000-07:00

Madness O madness
why don't you leave Ashes alone.
why? Goddamn you.

cracks

2005-08-31T23:59:00.000-07:00

He laughed
Sudden,unforseen,unfanthomed
a happy uneventful laugh

and noone saw it,expect the crack in the wall
a slight,unassuming,ugly little crack
Almost dignified in it's incompleteness

almost wistful.
And then no one saw the tears
mild,salty and fresh.something caved in?

the nakedness of the skin
and the coldness of the polished floor
Lying there he smiled and cried

smiling at the ugly crack
almost dignified
almost wistful.

and crying at the word 'almost'.
A cruel word.A cruel world

Where?

2005-08-29T04:11:00.000-07:00

A boy called Ash grew up to be a man named nothing in particular, everything in general. People called him
by all names under the sun, some profane, some profound.

Where is Ash now?

What is Ash, now?

light my fire

2005-08-27T01:51:00.000-07:00

The strange darkness beckons me.And I am once again losing the slippery grip I have on my mind.It treads me softly into spaces which promise beauty and silence and what stares at me is the stillness of graveyards and beauty of decay.The smooth,curvaceous movement of my fingers across the nothingness of universe,just underscores the delusion of my own worlds.Worlds which I create to hide myself.But the very reassuring darkness which is my saviour from the blinding light,turns a monster.A monster out to devour me,but is toothless.So it claws and scars.Impotent attempts at mutilation,transforming into rich tapestry of complex beauty and a billboard of personal tribulations.I feel like a demi-God.Distant and sad,looking at the perversion of something which was exquisite at the inception.
The skin on my cheekbones,as i touch it,seem taut.It's very papery.Very thin I mean.Maybe the cheekbones are prominent and it's quite like the hard boney reality I seem to always stumble upon,beneath the soft exterior.There are no grand delusions though.The cold aloofness of stars in the sky and the warmth of the people around,seem twin-like.It's a beautiful word this.Twin-like.Mirror-images.Just inverted and complexed.And the sudden streaks of crimson dreams are nothing but the vanity of a lost child.Lost not in the crowd from here he cannot find his way back,but lost in the aloneness from where there is no way out.A chruch bell might ring someday and the thousand candles might light someday.Till then it's going to be very difficult.

diary entry

2005-08-24T05:55:00.000-07:00

I wrote something in my diary last night.It was read by the doctor,which was a breach of the privacy contract.But it was actually my fault,I left the diary in the open.I certainly didn't like her reading my diary and my demonstrations of rage are kinda acute.I was taken to the punishments today.My head feels tight and electric.I want to lick that feeling.Want to taste it.Electric taste on the tongue.Many colors in the brain.Am i getting any saner.I hope to God I am.Now i'll shut up and let my diary speak.

I always find myself giving too much of myself away,too much of the negative in my character... And also of that which I may perceive to be more "charming" in my illusion but really isn't all that... And when this"charm" is hence disproven I'm left feeling like a moron, but even worse, I feel revealed. As if my best,most natural efforts at entertaining have failed.
People know too much about me, and of my quirks...Sometimes I feel as if there's nothing left to reveal,no further substance. As if I am what I am and it's my all, but it's so shallow, empty. I feel as if I'm a baby's wading pool, small and ridiculous beside your ocean.

blow

2005-08-23T01:41:00.000-07:00

Wizzing past the lonely highway
of the murderous intent of my porcelain skin
where the scars of angst
sit pretty,laughing a deadly laugh.
Scattered they croon,an acient tune
underneath the tightness of skin
and reminds me of the ocean in Tasmania
where the green eyed sea monsters
devour the catholic greed and warriors
of the tribal mutiny lay scattered
warriors of courage;a lovely reminder
of the days gone past
And now the spaciousness of my hollowness
reverbrate and shout
purple eyed and bruised,I listen to the music
of your dream and your doubts
and wish for closeness,a proximity of moist
and the eye,mist on a windowsill,darkness and the skies
A flick of the switch and the lights turn on
the empty room looks all the more monstrous
the sound of 'checks' shrill and high
the waves of nothingness engulf
the blackness of fate bleeds tar
and dizzy brain and senseless I write this poem.

In the end.

2005-08-20T05:22:00.000-07:00

So free,and so unwound
an intoxicated butterfly,waiting
in measured heaves
the passing of breaths.flash,flash,flash

My world seems a series of unthought reactions. How often do we think upon what we do as we're doing it?For me, I scarcely think beforehand either. Only after. Don't get me wrong, I frequently ponder on the future and feel concern, apprehension, wonder and even on some rare occasions, awe and excitement at those things which it might entail... However I don't often think out my actions before embarking upon them. The rest belongs to my dream world of idealism and the wayI'd LIKE for things to be in what I personally consider the IDEAL = finalised state. But I barely if ever take the time to consider the practical implications and hard work necessary, and those times during which I do, (fleetingly), I often feel altogether overwhelmed by the concept and incapable of the responsibilities living idealistically demands.And then there are the neverending loopholed traps one can so easily fall into: self-righteousness,egocentricity borne of pseudo selflessness, a holier than thou complex of condescending implications...

It's all too easy to give up and say fuck it, isn't it? When everyday runs into a long night before awakening to new vibrance and inspiration. Inspirationis only ever short-lived, and we must remain for the most part in the dark. It is in the darkness that we learn most. And by enduring the dark we gain the capacity for endurance... The longevity needed to accomplish dreams.

Don't we?

Breathing, a measured science
the butterfly flaps it's wings,heralding dawn
a neverending mystery of colors
vibrancy dies an unnoticed death.clap,clap, clap.

Blood petals

2005-08-16T00:18:00.000-07:00

It was a bruise
a long scar flashing across the wrist
crimson with blood
dirty with dirt and laughing with mock
The sadness on my face

wasn't due to the wound,visible
A lopsided sadness,fixed and immutable
like ridges in stone
or a lash across the wrist.
The flower petals of love wilting

under the scorch of the sun
dried and ancient,they look beautiful
slightly nostalgic,profoundly amnesic
a paint dried canvas
Almost bored with blood

I wipe the hand clean
A smude leaves a trail,reminiscent
of footprints on the shore,waiting
to be swept away
with the salty waters of the ocean

or tears,
whichever drowns me first.

I eat the lotus

2005-08-11T09:00:00.000-07:00

Sometimes I am wondering where is the youthful energy that my age should have?It has vanished or it never was?I think it never was,not atleast the energy which would make me 'enjoy' the shit I was doing just to feel the happiness for a moment.Or maybe I was born with a different vibrational setup.A certain frequency which vibes only with the absoluteness of things and of the grandeour of the beyond.The eartly things have become too banal for me.Maybe impure is the word.I seek purity.And while I am burdened with the fact that I carry a pure core and I have tried my best to scar my periphery,thats my only hope as well.The Alchemy concept is beautifully poetic resemblance.The fire of the collective self-destruction over the years have all melted the baser metals in me.The shining gold is what I hide in my core.Maybe it's a shinning star I hide in my starless heart skies.In the tumultuous waves of my emotion upheavals,it's the star thats should guide.The lonesome star fumbles and takes me to the depths of rage,emotions over reason and jealousy at the people who can think rationaly and can dissect the subtleties of life with ease.I am hurt by ambition and drive.Because I lack it.I never had it.And now the barreness of me angers me.The chains of past bound me and the futility of breaking myself free drains me.No words,no medicines,no therapies seem to help me.I want to help myself.I can't.I will once again wear the mask of 'I am okay,don't waste yer time tellin me otherwise' or maybe the mask of indifference which always works,when I am with people.There are times when I have tried to lower the mask and show my real self.Most don't seem to notice it.Maybe they intentionally don't want to see it.It makes me feel ugly and the 'indifference' mask always brings the response that I am cool.Underneath I seethe.They say I am cool.What irony,what paradox.Maybe I chose the wrong people.But why most times I feel that I am wrong.Intrinsically.Except the core.And the tension is the core.The muck is all around,it's the small lotus which makes the prescence of muck disgusting.Rationally it seems easier to wipe away the lotus.But I love it,I want it to stay.I shall suffer.I am getting back into my 'I am cool' stance.I am wearing the mask again.So all those who want to preach 'duh!!'.

My Diary Entries

2005-08-10T07:34:00.000-07:00

Aug 1 2005

We dissipate in rainbow dreams, our colours merge and
multiply. Like diamond stains and crystal tears we fly
and flourish, live and die.

Aug 9 2005

There are sentiments echoed relentlessly by me; by my
container. What contains these little universes? And
the pourous black holes that eat me or transport me to
new endarkened perspectives.

No

2005-08-07T03:13:00.000-07:00

No you can't get to me
Freudian blackholes which i gaze
everynight,sitting under the skies
of mortar and shadowy lights

No you can't get to me.
Even if you might,amidst
the rubble of the ashen remains
waits the resounding hollowness

of love spinning velveteen dreams
silken,luxuriant like a soft lullaby
and the warm lips of a seductress hinting
a touch of wine a shade of blood,

and the iron grip which Mother Mary
had on baby Jesus.
But you still can't get me
No you won't.

An insufferable sigh passes the wickedness
of the night into nothingness
and lying awake in the aftermath
are the eyes of someone who
still clings to the notion that
they can't get him.

They won't.Won't they?

Mock

2005-08-02T06:07:00.000-07:00

Harmless,is that what you think?
A fireflying ; quivering and breathing low
almost dead on the porcelain
criss cross of the hand.
Harmless.Maybe trivial.
There are no requiems
no hymns and no mourners
And so I mourn for the little light angel

Sweeping in a violent emotion
the crystal bowl shines a mocking smile.
Hark! it says
"Death consumes the fire of everyone.
And lifeless,lightless and faceless she died.
What tortures might have snuffed
her glistening body into weightless,
formless and senseless contour
which rises to meet the heaven."

The cruel bowl shall die into million pieces
the insolence of his truth humilates
and enrages me
A beautiful monster that mocks the deaths
is so fragile against a sudden
jerk of my hand.
Laughter
Crash!
death!
Silence.

Now I have three dead
Firefly,crystal bowl and his impertinence

Helium Dreams

2005-07-26T02:10:00.000-07:00

Aimless,threadless and floating
the ballons of hope intermingle
and untangle a mystery that hold.
suspended on the ceilings cruel,

badly plastered an alcoholic sloppy hand.
The slight wave.
I think they fluttered,

a demon: pink,violet and fiery red.
Straining to fly away. Poor desperate souls.
caged into a stasis of dreams.

The helium seems to abandon them
a vapour ghost leaves.
thats the color of the soul too.

vaporous and ghost like.
I kill you,you stupid bastards
a needle is all you needed.

now stay and mourn the death
of your rubber based corpse
and your helium dreams.

Before I go-go.

2005-06-11T18:33:00.000-07:00

Well it had to be like this.They finally decided that trying to keep me with 'sane' people and wishing i'd be okay by myself is hoping for too much.Once again I am being sent to some kinda 'institution'.The underside of being born into an affluent,social snob family is that they have 'exclusive' for everything.Even asylums.So the place I will be taken to would be ultra modern and beautiful; 'for-the-super richs'.Not quite the thing they showed in 'One flew over cuckoos nest'. Not even 'Girl,Interrupted' kind.My doctor tells me it would be very much like a home.Hehe she had a Freudian-slip at that( a term I learnt from her).An asylum-a Home.I won't be missing mom and dad there,I'm sure.
My doctor still thinks that I might harm myself if I am left alone to myself.She has to be right,after all the certificates she gathered from universities in France and elsewhere are sufficient proof that if she declares someone 'depressive and given to violent self-destructing impulses' she must be listened.And my dad always trusts univ. diplomas.
So now I would be kept in a place under close-circuits i'm sure,hawks keeping an eye on my every itch and even a pointed pen would be considered an object which could be used to harm.I might be given a computer with just enough access so that i can visit only 'safe sites'.My poems would be scrutinized for every hook and line or comma or period which might be a 'pointer for deep seated angst and rebellion'.I am ready for it all.I'm not sure if they are ready for me.
So long..if they think even blogging might be 'dangerous activity'.Otherwise I would keep blogging.And yeah my doctor tells me i'd be out in 3-4 months.Another Freudian slip i'm sure.She used the word 'out'.A jail is it? A luxurious jail? A golden cage? I asked her that.She's a cool one,i must say.She told me that it's ME who tells that the whole world is a cage,so whats the difference if the cage is golden.good retort.But oh well,i never liked golden color.I hope the walls there are white,if not purple.

Meltdown Messiah.

2005-06-11T07:07:00.000-07:00

Stand up and radiate
Enlightenment is fast approaching.
Wealth can no longer be quantified.
Jesus expires from sheer redundancy,
Dragged down to the Underworld
by the weight of his beard
to rejoin the cursed and despised.
An iridescent Lucifer takes his place
in the morning sky.
Celebrity is cowardice;
Twilight is pleasure.
Peel back the scabs-
Let the tears burn smooth your skin.
Those halos are made of Kryptonite,
and the stars are no good unless you eat them.
Heaven fancies itself shadowless,
But you, in your tainted imperfection,
Are an electric eel
Swimming the Milky Way;
A Chinese lantern
atop Mount Olympus;
An atom bomb blast,
scorching the earth
where your feet touch down.

Fishpond.

2005-06-09T07:12:00.000-07:00

Compelled by austere tragedies
the meat of burnt dreams lay frozen
in a family barbecue of summer evening
a feast for the worms,
sucking the thick red blood that ooze;
almost oozes from the aneroxic stillness.
Cascaded with ghosts of dead rocks
and fishpond surfaces,they loiter aimless
the spirits of sullen dreams.
Nothing but the tick toc of a rusty clock
measured and slow.
Contemptuous of the carnival
understands the vacant eyes of the boy in shadows
prodigious silence,listening to
the grinding of the stars.crumbling to dust
a star-dust which sprinkles the misty lake
relics of some ancient God's dream
that died a fitting death.

Saved.

2005-06-08T08:04:00.000-07:00

I sometimes look for reasons why I am still living.Sometimes the reasons are hard to come by.Sometimes they are as in-the-face as the sarcasm of your mom/dad.I was lying on the floor again last evening(thats one of the ways i relax when my mind is zooming and taking me to all kinda of crazy places) and suddenly I was overwhelmed by the enormity of this thought--"why am i still existing?".I needed an answer urgently and i sensed that.In my overzealous teenage fits,when i didn't get the answers instantly i would start smashing things around and cutting myself..just to attract attention,mind you.I never wanted to die,but to get close.Like not wanting to enter thru' the doors and reach the 'other side' but maybe peep thru the keyholes.And believe me,peeped i did.many times.But these days,teenage angst has paid off well..now i'm bored and old(to borrow a line from Kurt Cobain who incidently said his goodbyes at age 27..i am 23),so i just laid down and waited for the answer to come.I sensed that music was playing in my stereo system.A pink floyd cd i had put and forgotten about it.And then i realised that music ,and music made like THAT is one of the reasons I am here.They really astound me.How can a group of people have soo great a talent.It's unfair.I envy.The artistic freedom they had,and the uninhibited use they made of it,is nothing short of miraculous.It's divine and maks me feel closer to God.The shrikes of monstrous bird,a chopper nosily hovering,reaching into mind shattering crecendo of tumultuous noise merging softly into soothing guitar and keyboard sounds.That time i don't want to stir.Just be one with the music.And be drowned in it.Lost in the cesspool of the ripples it creates,oblivious to every oblivion that stares me in the face.Floyd will rescue me anyday.
Oh and btw, i can create every Floyd tune on my Fender.

Square one.

2005-06-06T22:51:00.000-07:00

The wild dance of shadows in my head
flickering,blinking,screaming.
No one cries a sad symphony
bitter truth hurts the blazing sun
morphing it into a surreal blackhole
nothing escapes.not even the darkness...of makeshift laughter.

A flick of the switch,all awashed.
artificiality smooches away the hollow
of the masked indifference.
Vapid,smooth,cunning and tempting
the taste of the salty tears.
And the taste of the sweeping emptiness..tasteless.

The expensive tombstone hides
the breathing corpse from hurt,and sunshine.
Needlessly riding the oceanic waves
the heart hails the coral sea shells
infinite beauties lie sealed,pearls unborn
or rotten,looted,killed in the pregnancy..oh a merciless death!

Dots in the sky.

2005-06-03T09:16:00.000-07:00

The unbridged distances between us
linger on and finally merge into oblivion
in my sleep
A sleep of dreams,fluttering butterfly wings
of eyelids.Soft and colorful
like our future.
Fragile are my dreams,my angel
and tattered are your wings
Relentlessly,the concrete of the roads
try to ashen our hopes.
Entomb me in the ocean of your love
and drape our hope
in the safe womb of your faith.
Scarlet virgin blood of our angst
will dissolve the grey of sadness.
You and I will smile
We will--you'll see,my deartest.

From faded pages

2005-05-30T05:56:00.000-07:00

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

2005-05-29T06:22:00.000-07:00

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

2005-05-26T05:34:00.000-07:00

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

2005-05-23T04:00:00.000-07:00

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

2005-05-21T08:47:00.000-07:00

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

2005-05-19T04:55:00.000-07:00

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

2005-05-17T02:59:00.000-07:00

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

2005-05-09T03:20:00.000-07:00

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

2005-05-07T07:20:00.000-07:00

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!

2005-05-04T09:18:00.000-07:00

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

2005-05-02T05:38:00.000-07:00

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.

unoriginal(first and last)

2005-04-29T09:02:00.000-07:00

I felt like mocking the fuck out of people who try to judge me.And fortunately I was listening some music by Eminem.The words felt so right that I thought of using 'em(with some alterations)..so all of ya'll..have fun.

See I'm a poet to some, a regular modern day Shakespeare
Jesus Christ the King of these Latter Day Saints here
To shatter the picture in which of that as they paint
me as a monger of hate and Satan a scatter-brained atheist
But that ain't the case, see it's a matter of taste
We as a people decide if Ash's as bad as they say he is
Or is he the latter - a gateway to escape?
Society scapegoat, who they can be mad at today
See it's easy as cake, simple as whistlin Dixie
while I'm wavin the pistol at sixty Christians against me
Go to war with the Mormons, take a bath with the Catholics
in holy water - no wonder they try to hold me under longer
I'm a motherfuckin spiteful, DELIGHTFUL eyeful
The new Ice Cube - motherfuckers HATE to like you
What did I do? (huh?) I'm just a kid from downunder
makin this butter off these bloodsuckers, cause I'm a muh'fuckin
RENEGADE! Never been afraid to saywhat's on my mind at,
any given time of day
Cause I'm a RENEGADE!
Never been afraid to talkabout anything

You

2005-04-26T05:34:00.000-07:00

Shades of divinity
shrouded in sands
of an endless river
of an infinite time
in which I dive,float and drown
and find golden treasures
lifting the veil of illusion
in which I am concealed and wrapped in.

Rising to the surface again,
I see my own reflection
of gentle purity and easy smiles
but the vacant eyes
still betray--and the vaccum
still waits for the fight.

You're my last remaning light.

Job

2005-04-25T23:59:00.000-07:00

I tend to make people feel out of place.That was an observation some manager made when I went for a job interview yesterday.I was lost in some thought of my own.They had given me a form to fill.I filled it to the best of my knowledge.The post was for some front office where the one has to direct the ppl to the department they want to buy stuff from.They thought that since i was presentable as far as my photograph goes,i'd be good in making people feel good too.I wanted to be liked by people for a change,so i wnted this job.I had promised myself not to show my 'I don't really care if you hire me or not' to them.The first round i cleared.They asked name and etc and told me to go for the personal interview.The HR was a lady in her 30s.Looking prim and was trying to be very friendly.My initial cold 'good morning' maybe damped her spirits.Someone had advised me to put on a fake plastic smile and try to appear as i would gladly kiss their ass.She asked me why i wanted the job? I wanted to say "to amuse myself" but I said that i wanted the job cuz I thought the company was wonderful and that my abilities to make people comfortable around me(I could just stop myself from laughing when i was saying that) would be perfect for such a job.She was clever.She asked me why am i so confident that I make people comfortable around myself.I said that i just know it.It's something everyone tells me.She smiled .I should have smiled back.I just kept looking.She finally asked me my hobbies.But somehow I started getting bored.I said that my hobbies are music and poetry.She told me that Shelly and some other dude were her fav. poets.I told her that according to me they suck.She didn't look all that pleased.She tried venturing into music.Told me that Ricky Martin is so cool and what do i think of the band called 'Blue'.I told her that R.Martin is the darling of silicon babes and bimbos and boybands have no right to exist.She ventured to tell me that my opinions are kinda violent.I told her that i am doing my best not to smash the flower vase thats kept on the table.She told me that i should leave and better try my hand at something which does not involve human beings.

As i was about to leave she said"One more thing .You make people feel out of place.One day you'll make them all run away."

I wanted to say "I care?" but i decided to be kind.I flashed my plastic smile and just left.