what God wants

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"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

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

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)

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

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

we ride tonite
on ghost horses.

Strange

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

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

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

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

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.