Requiem to a dream

A shameless narcisscism.I am tired again.Yeah I have decided to let go of music.Music has been a special friend to me all this time.It's difficult to let go of friends,but sometimes when you can't seem to enjoy the 'soul' of something as mystical as music,yoou should let it go.It's unlike life,where even when sometimes there are moments of despair,there is always a hope of joy.The limitless deserts of life have oasis of thirst quenching waters.But music? it dies in one's soul.It used to burn in me,crying withing me,exploding out of my vocal tracts and guitars.But now,i feel a icy stillness.The ashes burn with smouldering light and a pristine light sometimes ignites the few streaks still unburnt.Still..I was asked to perform once again.I accepted and then again,the night before I found myself writing this:

Heavy thoughts due to tiredness still strained enough to be disjointed. A lazy kind of erraticism. These eyelids weigh heavily upon my soul, and with their every silent flutter I feel it move in agitated resignation. When the windows to this soul shut I pale from consciousness, succumbing to the darkness which I no longer adventurously plumb. The stasis now draws me in like the sea, entombing me in quiescent solitude. I am beyond questioning, and instead choose to sit in silence. No will, no care. No energy left…

And that was the writing on the wall.I ,with a heavy heart left my friend ..the music into the infinite consciousness from which it decended on me.I still might play,the flame might still ignite.But as for now..R.I P my beautiful friend.

"This is the end Beautiful friend
This is the end My only friend, the end
Of our elaborate plans, the end
Of everything that stands, the end
No safety or surprise, the end
I'll never look into your eyes...again "-----Jim Morrison

My Poem(another one)

~~In the name of Love~~

Hold on ,the rustling river flows
whispers of sacred lullabies
float and die and float again.
The great pity of a soulful lament
agnoy of a beautiful smile
merge into the limitless skies.
Are we born--untamed and unkempt
the chants of the ancients..a warning
we stand ,we dither and we are frail
we dissolve in the murkiness of oblivion
are you with me?are you gonna laugh too?
The candle sighs it's last breath
and the untamed beast in me lurks
for a soft petal to touch and to smile
a dangerous,foolish,delicate beast.
The drops of love are few and far
in this lonesome desert of pleasure
and the cactus and the carcass of the dead
reminds us--of festivities..forgotten
Are you with me,my wonderful friends
the ashes of my past fly astray
and my future laughs a dismissive laugh
a many hued butterfly of thousand wings
flutters among you,and touch my lips
and the poison of it's sweetness
makes me shake away the deadness in me
I stand proud,erect and ready to crumble
And you won't let me..in the name of love.

this is the poem i wrote in the backseat of the car,last wintery evening.I think fog is so beautifully creativity-inducing.I have a very vivid imagination and i could actually SEE this huge butterfly. and the wonderful friends are all of you in IT,who bear with me despite my obvious madness and quirks.

I wish i could hug ya'll.But I wont----Lyane Staley (Alice in Chains)

Fury

Thinking ,and I mean clear and logical thinking does not come naturally to me.I have several cobwebs in the brain which are utterly monstrous and filled with pathos,sometimes meandering into the abyss of the flowing darkness sometimes taking me into the heights of oblivion.The mercurial temprament notwithstanding,I do have occasions of blind fury.A sudden stab of a clod slithering anger pushes me into the place where everything is molten.a white fuming metal,flowing slowly,aimlessly..destroying everything in its path.A complete annihilation of everything.Anger is such a purifying agent.Yeah I think it's more of a cleansing agent.Destruction is such a vital force,a steping stone to creation.From the ashes of the destroyed world will arise the phonenix of beauty.

One of my bad days

nothing shall disturb me from this disquietude.
this melting oceans of dismal grey
said the mirror to me,on a sunless day

peace! said I,with a little anxiety
soothe your trembling fissures
and shine your sparkle your gaiety,hey!

ugliness haunt me and death beckons
dreary is my surface and rotten my soul
the cracks penetrate,let me go my way

a candle I lit,to dispell the gloom
and spoke softly,my voice quivering
my beautiful friend,this isn't the end,nay!

Tear I saw,the mirror did cry
and then he spoke a theme a sigh
"This too shall pass,just one of my bad days"

She laughs

This is a poem I wrote for the painting I recently did.I wish i could post my painting.I shall howevere try to give a visual image to you with the words.It shows a human figure,straight lines and tall and erect,holding a hammer and it's shadow sitting in a relaxed posture,holding a rose.While the whole painting is in grey..a pencil sketch:I painted the rose crimson.Underneath the sketch,I wrote these lines:

"Need I say something to touch the golden rays
of your heart
Need I laugh like a child,mirth on my lips
to hide the pain
And what comes in the dense dismal moment;
a heavy rainbow alas
The stillness in our poignant waters
and our dreamy eyes scorned
With you I shudder in the snow tempest
With you I light the fire
entwined in the chislled dream
I sculpt constantly
And shrug at you my shadow
You who laugh,Oh the vicious laugh"

Ash Stains

I shall write in a happy mood today.I feel light and relaxed.It must be the sleep or it can be the new painting I just finished.I rarely like my work, but yeah there are times when I feel proud of myself.I have this tendency to drift into nebulous worlds of infinite spaces.I have no idea where these visions come from.They are quite unlike anything which I have seen in this world and I have travelled and seen a lot.I sometimes think that the closest I was to 'my space' was when I was in Germany.There is a neglected graveyard in the outskirts of Berlin close to an even more neglected church.I sat there under an old crumbling leafless tree gazing at the serene beauty of the graves.At the risk of sounding atrociously morbid,I must say that in that death-place I found a peace which was always eluding me in the more livelier places like the pubs and the parties.Anyone passing through the road would have been amazed at the sight of a young boy sitting alone with the stones..but they would never have imgained that the young boy was gazing beyond.Into the limitless abyss of the unknown,into the warmth of the hidden and the lap of the untravelled.
I have come to realise that my writeups sometime make people ,who really care about me, shudder in horror at the thought that I might be this manically depressed young 'un who's gonna do some harm to himself.Dear readers,my eyes mositen whenever I feel that you people have heart big enough to accomodate an unknown maverick equation like myself.I might never me in the mood of gratitude again so I just want to thank all of you in IT who care for me (in whatever way),and I want you to know that the little trust that I still have in humanity is cuz of people like you.I sound like going overboard?..I reckon.But thats the way I am.A pendulum.Swinging from one extreme to other.

Moist Clouds of Grey

My creative urges are sapping.The dim lights that used to keep my ebbing spirits from sinking into suicide and which I used to turn into writings,painting and poetry have been replaced by a sudden bright light of laziness.laziness which leaves me happy.And happiness which robs me of my creativity.I find it shocking sometimes that I can only be creative when i am melancholy.There always was a certain purity is sadness,which I find missing in happiness.Happiness is always muddled with a forboding of an unknown terror lurking behind.But i still choose to be happy rather than being in gloom everytime.I have still a long way to go before I can accept people as they are.But I am trying to mingle.And though I am drained just after a 20 min being with them(i wish I had the iggy option in real life).The cloud hangs low,laden with moisture and i can't see the sun.But yeah the light that criss crosses the grey clouds is my anchor ..is my buoy.The tumultuous waves of self destructive nihilism shake me from my light sleeps.Dreams, if they are a mirror of the subconscious ....oh! cruel trapestry of art,art thou not scurrying into oblivion.

Who the hell am I?

Are we all restless and escaping the small voice which tells us that 'this is not my place,these are not my kind of people' ..or it's only I who feels such.I have noticed that my sensitivity is somewhat more acute than most people I have come across.It makes them more adjusted and it leaves me always with a confused and exhausted state.Most people would shudder in horror seeing mass murder of thousand of people as perpetrated by thugs like Hitler and his kind,but would have no registration of any feeling seeing a flower die or earthworms trampled on the pavement after a rainy day.I sometimes am too numb to notice that our next door kid committed suicide over a girl and other times I am brought to tears at the sight of a stray dog running around to find shelter as the cold rain drops in a cold month falls on it's old and weak body.People call me 'iceberg' and some call me 'sensitive'.I sometimes wonder who the real me is?The small child shrinking in his shell,afraid to see the cruel giants around him or a mindless brute,finding himself in an alien land deried by angels who walk upon the planet.Whatever it is..oh well.

rainy reflections

Shall we not rejoice that another day has passed.The glimmer in the distant star that's fading in front of my drowsy eyes make the approaching daylight more poignant,more mysterious.Speechless,I often wonder,are the hours before the daybreak--heralding a day filled with activity and choatic murkiness.Not every silence is so beautiful.I wonder why.Maybe the stars that are dying as the arrogant sun raises his powerful head in the horizon,are singing a sweet melodious tune.The fading moon orchestrates a requiem.There is a subdude vibrancy in this hour.Death of another day,and the birth of a new one.The cycle is neverending.The small raindrops are the tears which the clouds shed.Too heavy their hearts with the infinite melancholy of the turgid earthlings.Amidst the little droplets that flock to the glass of my window,obscuring my complete view..I witness my own face.The little droplets seem to be my own tears as I stare blankly at the glass.it's a face unadorned with emotions,a tired face is what I see.And I tremble with fear in my innermost depths.The tip of the ciggarate looks so alive in the glass reflection.A small fire reminicent of the fire that glows in me.A small fire which is slowly consuming the thin package in which it burns.The ash falls.The glass window is too crowded with the tiny droplets now.I can't see my own reflection anymore.There is a silent drop which just fell on my hand.I am startled.It came from my eye.

A love letter(visit me in dreams)

Their icy glares mean nothing. Meet me in dreams as sleep runs through our veins, and we will traverse worlds that lie beyond the shadows of these tear-stained skies and scar-scattered skies. Where with hearts as full as moons we will soar to songs made of eternally sparkling spires, carefully etched with the truths of our universe and with the unspoken sonnets of lasting love. We will find infinity in small spaces and we will understand previously concealed meanings with the kind of lucidity once believed impossible. We will dance bathed in light as the dark and dilated pupil of night watches on, in cold and distant silence.
And we shall dance,rejoice in each other.Two solitary dancers,or one?And then we would lose ourselves and be the dance.And the infinite gazes of the million stars would watch us in wonder.Draping our naked flesh in their soft milky light and we shall feel safe.Safe in each other and the light will kindle in our hearts,warming and melting the ice that would eventually drown us in oceans of love..those frozen pieces.And then will you come with me flying to a new territory.And we shall break our chains even from the stars.And find our home in pitch darkness.Where I would shine in your light and you will shine in mine

I shall visit you in the morpheous of dreams

Withering Flowers

There is a sense of irony in what I am going to write.The happiness which is so sacred to all of us,always brings with it a sense of clinging.And I wonder what great longing is there amongst us mortals over this slippery delusion called happiness.It's so touching and so beautiful--our longing.I always find people loving flowers.Bright cheerful flowers which are adorned with dewdrops in the morning bring involuntary smiles in the hearts of people.I was passing by this garden this beautiful evening.The flowers stood in their grandeour,proudly looking at the sun--sun which was obscured by the clouds.They looked pretty and arrogant.And I seemed to love them.And then I saw on the edge some old flowers..yellow in their age and brittle in their wisdom.Bowing heads.Those beautiful withering flowers.I loved them even more.Their bowed heads were not bowed in shame.It was an understanding that pride just hurts one's neck.No one loves withering flowers.Someone has to like them.

Someone has to find happiness and more.

I choose myself to be that ONE.

Contrasts

I am tired.And yet in my tired state of consciousness I am typing at the keys of the computer.The cold weather always has this aura of making me tired.I think I am just finding scapegoats.Oh well,weather seems to be a nice pick.It won't be pointing it's fingers at me and shout "It's your fault."...did i hear a thunder outside?.The strange lethargy that has engulfed me also gives me a hidden sense of comfort I reckon.As I look around my room,the dim lights and the strange soft and almost whispering music of Pink Floyd and the marron colours of the carpet makes the light coming out of the computer screen stand in stark contrast.I like to look away from the screen from time to time,soaking in the hues of the enviornment and the music.How desolate life would be without a contrast.It's only the sharp glow which comes from the screen makes the surrounding appear more soothing than they really are.The absolute tiredness makes the dream of a fresh morning all the more lucid.The seemless allpervasive apathy makes the few stolen moments of happines linger all the more forever.I love the contrasts.

The clouds are thundering again ..almost cutting down the voice of Roger Waters singing ~~ who are you and who am I, to know the reason why.Some men born and some men die,beneath one infinite sky.There be war and there be peace.And everything one day will cease.All the iron turn to rust,all the good men turn to dust.All things one day will mend,so this song will end~~

And so this piece ends.

Catty Smiles

Sometimes it just takes a very small gesture to feel loved.And come to think of it life is full of these small moments which go unnoticed in the blur of activites our tiny brains are thinking up.And suddenly a jolt comes,which shake us of our mechanical zombieness,makes us realise the interconnectedness of our beings.I was watching my little cat playing cheerfully with a small ball in my living room.I was sitting placidly on the sofa,smoking my last piece of cigarette,and thinking of things.I was being envious of the abandon of the little creature,eyeing her with growing discomfort.I threw the ashtray at her,the glass ashtray breaking with a violent noise and jostling her for a moment.She looked at me,as if surprised at my anger,and I could see the fear in her eyes.At that instant I felt a limitless remorse..my heart going heavy and dark and angry at myself for interrupting her joyful playing.She didn't move and kept looking at me.I wanted to pick her up and sit her on my lap,saying sorry to her.But I was dead tired and exhausted with my manic-depressive attacks.I kept sitting on the sofa.She moved slowly towards me and before I could move my hand to call her..she was on my lap,licking my face as if telling me "I know you are one angry,violent and stupid man.i love you still".My eyes almost welled up with tears.Such moments are so rare.I had a good sleep last night.

man is the dream of butterflies

Behold
Behold the wonder of a sweet smile
the sunshine of the Gods
and the twilight of a fading life
no more are the tears--of pain.

Awake
Awake to a dream of fancy
where the lullabys are soft
and the realities of the deep wounds
shimmer and mingle into our deepest pasts.

Dread
Don't you feel a dread too?
The scents of a barren land
seeth into the webs of beauty
and I breathe,still smiling--sweetly.

Dance
Dance to a tune of a distant festival
and the glory of our spirits
drift into the flowing rivers
awash with the freshness of a start.

And then when it comes to it all
it's all a great circle
the endless rivers,the ceaseless murmer
the golden memories,and falling butterflies
wings torn,and yet they look into the sky
to fly,to not die---to smile
.
Aren't we all falling butterflies.?

Poem in E minor

Along the swirling trees of lonesome pain
A leaf glittered and sighed
Without a raindrop of salty tears
The weeping willow cried
Come hither now, you sacred one
The oceans roar and shout
The seagulls look in lazy ease
Behold! my soul it flies.
And free I roam--above the stars
happy as a dream
fructured lives and bleeding pasts
in cocoons of the mist.
For all the angels and all who're not
I clap my hands with glee
they sing a song of cheerful mirth
their tears float in the winds.
I will not drown in apathy
I will not burn in flames
I will rise from the newborn ashes
I will be happy again

Echoes(farewell my sweetheart)

Everyone is searching for happiness.My search is more of a selfish nature.I am always wanting for some happiness which would last to eternity.It's a weird concept for many who think that pain is a reality when we have accepted life.I refuse to internalize that concept.I stand for nothing but purest happiness and if I cannot have that,I'd embrace sadness in it's completeness.

I have recently found that while entwining myself in the soft,misty fog of pain I lost my initial search of happiness.Two people in IT recently were responsible for shaking me from my perpetual slumber and showing me light.Sebia and Dewdrops.Though Dewdy and I haven't talked much with each other,her blog has given a final push to the morphosis started by Sebia.Sebia ofcourse is the primary cause.There were people (and I am only naming ppl in IT chat,there are others in real life..i'd thank 'em personally) who have been working on me,not consciously but just by being themselves,and by showing traces of happiness in them which I felt were genuine.They are Keshi,Pink_gurl,Noelle,roz..,misty_lilac,dovey and yeah footloose_slinger.My salutes to you all.And without the mention of mili it would be so incomplete.She healed my self-wounded heart with her purity.I love her.I love you all.

It's looking like a farewell note.It is.I hope to bury my faithful partner--pain today.Good riddance i hope.

Mellon Collie and the Infinte happiness

I am asked the question many times that why my posts are depressing.I really ,when I am writing them,never feel that they are in anyway sad,but yeah the sensibilities differ and even I admit,when looking at my posts when I am not in one of my 'mellon-collie' moods,that the posts ARE depressing.I must learn the art of coating the sadness with sarcasm.It makes a good writing sense too.But the reason I am writing this post is to self-examine the reason why I get into such states.

One of the obvious reason is medical--manic-depression.I still feel that even though it runs in my family,my hightened sensitivity makes me all the more prone to mood swings.I remember one particular incident from my childhood which never can escape from my memory(my short term memory is fucked up,but memories that happened before my drug abuse days are intact).I was 5 when my parents took me to a fun park.We were back there in Aus those days.And contrary to wht my present state my suggest,i had a loving family and my parents are one of the most loving people I can ever hope to find.Anyways..in the park they bought me a pink helium ballon.It was THE happiness for me.I tied it on my little hand and would not let go of it.During one of the rides though,the thread somehow got free..I screamed murder as my balloon rose into the air.I saw it going up,rising towards the sun as I was crying with tears..pleading it to come back.The thing which had given me so much happiness was leaving me now.And something more dawned on me as I saw the balloon rising up in the air,getting smaller in my vision,racing to disappear behind the sun,or someplace else.I could feel,some part of myself had gone with the balloon.It was probably a part of my skin,my sweat,a part of my hair,something,anything..which had gone,vanished.The period of hysterical cries was followed by a stunned silence.I felt,as i still feel now-reliving the moment and writing about it..a sudden darkness dropping in me,burying me in it's weight.I always had an active imagination.My dad brought me another balloon,but somehow something was gone.It never came back.Not even now.

I experience happiness too,much better than you people.And that makes the long runs between moments of happiness more damnable for me.I admit that i get too down at times,sometimes at the point of thinking in terms of suicide(I was watching a documentry on brain surgery and found that brain has no feelings of pain.'shooting my brains out' seem to be the least painful of the methods to die..hehe,am kidding..or maybe not),but these moments are rare.Most of the time I am in a normal state,my 'normal' ofcourse much down when compared to you all--readers of this blog,but know what..i assure ya my highs are much higher too.

~~my vallies are deep and my mountains high
into the arms of ether,my spirit rise and fly
i slip back,my wings tattered and in rags
i'll rise soon,a phoenix from the ashes of my death~~

Frozen Salts(letter to myself)

Belief can be so difficult to summon from inside of oneself... Or perhaps that is faith. Hmm, it must be faith, because belief is easily created and subsequently misappropriated by fallible minds in order to suit less than holy purposes. Yes, faith is not belief. Faith is purer, and devoid of the stringent and often convolutedly irrational complexities made necessary by belief. Yet I tend to marry the two, my intellect weaving a haphazard system of belief around my faith, a periodically amending it by any number of required loopholes. Loopholes that I can more easily dismiss, or casually overlook, when I am frantically involved with earth-oriented matters. I find it easiest to submit to faith when I am reveling in the cold and desolate dejection of earthly disappointment. And so in a paradoxical way, the pain pertaining to this world, that I am so loathe to suffer whilst suffering, is literally craved for when matters of the 'now' have settled somewhat, and my existential fears for human life in relation to eternity return. In this sense my mind knows only suffering, was borne both into and from suffering, and can't seem to do without it.

What if you were to go? I'm trapped in a selfish place right now, and the part of me that has made of you a god can't bear to contemplate godlessness. I'm frightened for you, for myself and for us all, but faith will return to quell my fears once again, won't it? May I feel it in its straight, raw power, without the need to make a story line? In other circumstances, I might say that feeling without thought is a pastime as dangerous as thinking without feeling, but not in reference to faith. Thinking without feeling is always dangerous, but one is permitted to feel without thought when it comes to faith, because for the most part, coupling thought with faith merely dirties the latter, spawning a confused, destructive (no matter how well-meaning) creation named Belief.

We're in the midst of an encroaching curtain of rain, but we are not we, and are instead snowflakes falling to earth, which is our target destination. Earth is the "Nirvana" we are hoping to reach, and the raindrops are representative of the 'others'. Externally, we appear to be colder and tougher than the rest, but it is ironically them, in their unsuspectingly innocent guise of sameness, who are capable of willfully destroying us. We are fragile, falling softly and tentatively, as the horde unthinkingly proceed to mindless destruction. They would readily engulf us, and you too acknowledged that they would consume us either way; we could melt into and merge with them, thus sacrificing ourselves to their cause, or refuse to join them and be sacrificed. But we are all falling to our deaths.

Doors of perception:chat rooms

I will write about my perception of chat.It won't be asthetically beautiful, nor it would be skilfully gloved in sarcasm.It would be raw and brutual.It would be as raw as rotten carcass.I hope you'll not read it.If you do..well, you are free to hate/love me.

I was told to explore chat by my shrink.She is a lovely women who thinks that since I am living in the real(??) world, I should learn to wear masks as people do.It's a social measure and something which differentiates us from animals,those were her views.She often told me that I should better learn to cope with the world as it is,rather than try banging my head against my idealistic idea if how it SHOULD be.I really like my shrink.She is just sooo learned.But well..I am so me.She told me that people have to smile when they don't want,say 'i love you' when they want to say 'go fuck yerself' cuz it's important to maintian social structures and their own images.She gave me the idea that probably in chat when we are sitting behind a terminal..'they' can be real.I thought of giving it a try.I was disappointed at first.Now it's amusing.I guess it happens when you've grown numb, or cynical.

I have met some wonderful people in here,I have to admit.Keshi and pink_gurl were my first buddies in chat.I can easily sift thru the witless- sexstarved- sadists that abound in chat and see the 'real' ppl.They are such a rarity.In real life as well.They were the first people who I found were real.Then I like Mallika(whom I call fondly call Mili),She's one treasure too.So young and so talented.And yeah so sweet.I like Tina as well.Sometimes though she makes me think that she's my friend,just cuz she doesn't wanna hurt my feelings.It disturbs me and disgusts me.She might not be at all like that,but well...I always liked misty_lilac.She would address me when i'd enter the room "ash_b1" and i'd always reply 'hey misty_lilac(waves)'.Sometimes that was the only thing we conversed with each other(if ya discount "how are ya?" "fine" formalities).She still is someone I like.axls_babe is another fav. of mine.She talks music with me.She makes me feel that I 'belong'.I like roz..,she would always ask me 'how am i?'..and it always was a genuine inquiry.Dove is another one my favs.She would say so little.But she gives friendly vibes.She's such a sweetheart.There's one more who calls herself-- noone.She's one really funny one.She makes me smile everytime I meet her.And then i like Sebia.She is arrogant and talented.Moody and sweet.She reminds me of myself in some ways( the 'moody' and 'arrogant' part).She's one of my favs. too.

Among the men I like dilbert and footloose_slinger.I disliked both of them initially.Dilbert was less of a pain in the ass,but the first image i had in mind for footloose was pretty ugly.I thought of him as a loser, a bum who took pleasure in tormenting ppl with his profanities cuz he didn't have any soul.I changed my views on him.He is a wonderful humanbeing who just sometimes acts like an asshole.I like him.Dilbert is my fav. male most days.He is witty and dignified.I like 4u2nv too.He's a fellow aussie and a friend of Keshi.I like him for his innocence.He's a good person.There are people who don't give a fuck about me and I still like 'em.adorable is one such person.I respect that man.

I would now pour my venom on those I hate.I would not mince words.I'll start with females...The first would be _29fmiami.She's the female version of footy(his INITIAL image i.e)She really seems to me to be a girl who is attracted to asswipes who'd suck upto her.She has no decency and no sense of burying the hatchet.She can rot in hell,for all i care.I have an acute distaste for all the 'muaah' kinda chicks.goondidoc is at the top of the charts of those types.She prolly just lacks intelligence.She can be forgiven.I never shout at her.I just iggy her.She prolly gets on chat when she's had an overdose of valium.And then there are innumberable who fall into either of these kinds.There is filth all around.

I'll come to men now.I have no sense of being a 'blessed' one as Sebia has.I think .virus(or vix or susu if they're the same person) is just too disgusting and horrible.People like him make me hate humanity even more.Atleast for my insane chaos I have a reason .I know I am not 'sane'..manic-depression is eating my soul,but guys like him who are 'sane' and probably not under any meds or shirnk..are a threat to society(not that i give a flying fuck about society..you deserve each other),but for other sensitive ppl who sometime fumble into chat for some peace,i worry for them.

There are so many more.The homies of him and many more..i just can't remember the nicks.I just wanna spit at ya'll.*spits*

I guess i have vented enough.I must close the article now.i LOVE you--the people who i like.and to the people I dislike---Duh!

My fav. Poem

I am not doing something original toady.I am so tired and stripped of all originality.I saw one write up from Sebia and somehow her article on chat-escape-frm-reality..made me think of this poem by Charles Baudelaire.It always makes me cry.It's called 'A strange man's dream'

Have you felt – I have – a pain that you enjoyed?
Do they say about you, too: ‘How strange he is!’
I was dying, and a special agony
filled my eager soul: dread and desire,
anguish and expectation – no sense of revolt.
The closer I came to what would be the end,
the sharper was my torment and the more welcome;
my heart was wrenching free from the usual world.
I was like a child in front of a stage,
hating the curtain as if it were in the way…
Finally the cold truth was revealed:
I had simply died, and the terrible dawn
enveloped me. Could this be all there is?
The curtain was up, and I was waiting still.

It's so sad. So beautiful.So filled with hope.I hope you guys appreciate it.I'll post some of my own poems soon.

Children of the sea

~~~Synthetic lives of the angels and devils
the monsters that rose from oceans
riding on the biggest waves
I-- stand apart, laugh as blood dripped tears fall from my eyes~~~~

I am astounded by the thoughts that randomly strike my chaotic mind.I am a manic depressive so at least I shouldn't be surprized by the vivid textures my imagination shows me.I sometimes like to follow a trail of thought and to see where it ends.I am in such a mood this evening.I will write about thoughts.

These nebulous angels which arise from the nebula of the unknown ocean,they are so perplexing.Even otherwise 'normal' people that i have seen ,seem not to be in control of them.These sparks of electricity that flow thru' the cobwebs and the wires(haywire) of the mesh--what they call as 'brain',where do they originate?The so called 'original' thoughts where are they born?The recycle shit is born in our dark chambers of mind,but is there some universal consciousness which pregnates the ether with the original soul-anteenas ready to grasp them,give them shape of words and mould them.I always wonder if the process of moulding somehow distracts one from the real beauty of thoughts.I guess it's like a sculpture.We forget the clay and remember the final product.

I am intrigued by modern art.It gives my headspace so many imageries.It might be a byproduct of my acid days but i still see images in nature which aren't visible to 'sane' eyes.Now how would i describe them to you, dear reader.I cannot.They are in my mind, they are ..i suppose, original images(my shrink tells me they are residues of subconscious and lsd trails..damn Sigmund Freud).These images are born in the dark waves of my mind.And i give them shape and color by my words.My brush paints vivid colors.Striking colors of gloom intercepted with mute colors of esctasy.The morpheous of dreams trouble me with it's own visions.I saw blood tears today.I am so scared.I typed sacred instead of scared intially.haha!..i guess I am all over the place.I should end the piece now.

I would like the reader to think upon the origin of thoughts.I am mindfried.Anyone who would read my piece , I hope has a drug-free mind.I cringe for a clean, pure mind.I will never have it this life.I wish you--who are reading it,are not the judgemental type who would consider my jottings as some outpouring of a lunatic.It's not a plea.Just a wish.I am not begging.I am just asking.

I am smiling.

Me Myself and I

It's funny that I am doing this.I used to think that creating blogs and the like were for people who had life to waste and time to kill or silly perverts who would spill their libido on webpages just to satisfy a mornonic,sadist urge in themselves.I have such a low opinion on people.But no frets, I have a low opinion on myself as well.

People who know me think of me as a former junkie whose mind is fried with all the pharma I did,beyound repair.I chanced upon a quote from some eminent spiritual Godman who said --"The ultimate nirvana is the trancending of your mind.When you lose your mind,you find your being".In that case, I think I have found myself.And what did I find.A lot of emptiness and a lot of restlessness.The emptiness is understandable,but restlessness?.I wish I can ever find something to quench this restlessness.But if that Godman is true,it's my being.I cannot escape from my being can I?.What a trap*sighs*

I like music.And I like cats.I am somewhat intrigued by astrology as well.And blackholes facinate me too.I am all over the place.I am so me!.

I have done some bloodpaintings which I would post sometime later in here.They are grotesque and shocking,not for me but for people who look at them.I don't want to shock people and yet they are mostly shocked or baffled by my prescence.And yet there are people who like me.I guess it's a sense of for the love of the mystic-insane that makes them like me.They may like me for other reasons as well, but as I said I have a low opinion on myself.Oh and I forgot to mention..people who dislike me far exceed those who like me.I am not surprised.

I think i have embarrassed the reader long enough(if anyone reads this piece of trite anyways.umm..on second thoughts I WILL promote it).Dear reader,I often embarrass myself too..so you're not the only one I am disturbing.I should end your suffering for now.I am in a kind mood today.I had a good breakfast.