I eat the lotus

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

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 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

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

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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

Something I wrote sometime back.

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

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

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

Smoked out

He was afraid of my diffused anger,I reckon.

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

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

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

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

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

End of the Night

it's tough.

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

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

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

Dreams and the Ocean

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

Black and White

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

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

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

Flowing Rivers

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

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

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

death

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

Nameless,faceless

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

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

Live n let live

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

Me a saint!

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

Eat This

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

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

unoriginal(first and last)

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

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

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.

It's another whisper,
a downright mute accusation
of the flowing flowers and the rainbows
in the slow moving,grinding wheel of hope
he sits;shivering,naked and blind.
Free of fear and the aspirations of the moon
he sits on the grass,frozen in wonder
or is it just boredom.
you can't ever know
a lifeless gleam sparkles his eyes
Was that the raven that cried,or the emptiness
that echoes and dies a trembling death
within the womb of the night.
And then he lies down,tired and deflated
while the sweat drops merge with the dew
and a smoke of indifference rise,from afar
mystical,shrouded in pain.A prayer leaves
the shaking lips.And then the same vacant eyes
which rise to the horizon,are frozen to the ground

Will you be there to meet him?
Must he rise alone.

I won't

Static.
It grows on you
a mind numbing sensation of uniform complexities
and gaping mundanities.

Slow.
Death creeps on you
freezing cold death of a razor blade
sharp,intricate and useless.

Dull.
A hazy twilight of hope
redemption and happines,interwined and decayed
atrophy of the aesthetic senses.

Why?
A familiar itch
Jesus was crucified into oblivious magnificence
but we won't die a glorified death.

I won't.

The Comparisons

Saby has a link in this blog..'Slyvia Plath reincarnated' which directs to my blog.I am amazed at the parallel.How can one ,even someone as sick as saby is,compare me with S.Plath.I had no idea of anyone existed by that name until sometime ago.And even then i didn't bother to check what/who she was.I however thought that she might be some drug infested rock n roll chick who had a melancholy streak in her.Even in the past I was compared with people like Kurt Cobian and Jim Morrison,both of whom I loved as musicians but hated as individuals.An extension of self hate maybe.I would have liked people to compare me musically with them(though on second thoughts highly unlikely to compare me musically with Kurt,I was never a grunge guy..acid music is what we did),but all they saw was the same self destructive streak.I have kind of developed a paranoia about me living past 27.Both died at around that age.I have 4 years to reach 'em.oh well..Sylvia Plath though is a different kinda person.De.vile if i gather first remarked bout her in one of our talks.I however read about her only when i saw the name again in Saby's link.She seemed to be a real talent with words.A troubled soul nevertheless.And yeah,she too killed herself.I am not gonna kill myself.It's too damn easy.In that sense I am a sadist
.Not that there aren't good moments living in here.I do enjoy the company of certain ppl.But mostly things and people disappoint me.Or as Kurt sang ~Things have never been so swellI have never failed to fail~

And yeah Sebia..i'll write something funny sometime soon.I had the mood to write something nicer today,but that link kinda swayed my moods.

The Wait

The wait is sometimes so delicious.A seething sense of antagonism rises in me.It will quell soon.No worries.I have experienced such endless waits before,and I am quite impervious to their power over me now.And yet,even now,like a faded memory it comes back..the sense of the deliciousness of the wait and the annoyance it brings.It gives me a sensual pleasure to sense that I am sitting so still.My hands are moving over the keyboard,and the whole body is still.Completely still as far as I can notice.There are no thoughts intruding my headspace right now.A single though occupies the empty recess of my brain.--I MUST WAIT.I am not even listening to any music.Which is doubley strange.I only music which I like when I am in such a laid-back-with-no-desire-to-twitch-a-muscle mode is either Radiohead or early Floyd.It's depressing as some might say,but sometimes when the inner depression is being echoed out..it's soothing.I even think that i degrade myself when i call it 'depression'.It's needs a cause.I have none.Maybe it's emptiness.A hollow emptiness.Just like in monuments with high ceilings which aren't corroded by tourists.Where softest whispers are amplified,as if by the silence which hangs in the space b/w the canpoy and the floor.In my case however it's like the noise reaching to such high vibrations that no sound is heard anymore.A quiteness which isn't due to non existant noise,but a noise too unbearable to be recorded by the ears.Dizzying isn't it?Or plain stupid ramblings..don't blame me,I was waiting ,and had nothing better to do.

We are the world.

I wrote this after reading a news article about the death of Terry Shciavo.She didn't mean anything to me,and I am usually unruffled to the point of callousness when it comes to deaths.I have seen some ghastly ones in my lifetime of 23 yrs and they kinda have left me numb.But somehow this death ignited some long lost spark in me.It had died now,ofcourse..and once again I am back to my usual 'i -don't-give-a-damn-about-people' thingy..but i wrote this poem.almost in tears last night.I donno what the fuck touched me there..the new item began with"Terri Schiavo, who had been in a persistent vegetative state for 15 years, has died at age 41. Schiavo's feeding tube was removed 13 days ago, after her parents lost a protracted battle with husband Michael Schiavo for guardianship"..fuck that.


This time it will go away.
It won't hurt that much.
It's just a moment afterall
A night's sleep and a new beginning.

Oh how we fool ourselves
the iron vaults of the numbed heart
sometimes open,oh dreadful pain!
a heart of flesh still quivers.

A silent death,how paradoxical
she probably didn't feel anything
maybe infinite sadness
we would never know..we ever care?

The angels of God might laugh
a great farce follows her departure
please let her die in peace
she never got a chance when she was alive.

Was she ever alive? we would never know..we ever care?

Smiling me

Suddenly I am happy.No reason as such,just happy.I was flicking the TV channels when a home-videos-of-kids-doing-silly-kiddish-things caught my eye.I dislike kids.They are too noisy and too clumsy.But that video brought up memories of my own childhood and an incident when I was 'recorded' and it might have made into that damn TV channel.

I was a toddler and in our montessori school we had to enact a nursery rhyme for the Anzac day celeberations in our school.I was a 'lost soul' even when I was kid but since dad had donated generous amounts to the school and the church so I was taken as one of the actors.We were acting 'Humpty- Dumpty' and they decided that the only way they could be sure of me not messing things on stage would be to cast me in a cardboard egg shaped dress and make me Mr.Humpty-Dumpty.Dad and Mom were excited and so was I about the prospect of me-getting-on-stage-and-being-a-central-character.I was okay in rehearsals until the A-day arrived.Everything was running smoothly.Dad and mom was fliming me...I was sitting on a 3 ft makeshift wall on stage,ready to fall when the 'had a great fall' lines come.And somehow when the lines came..i didn't fall.I was sitting there,my egg-shaped dress over me.The instructor(I saw the video and hence i know) repeated the lines 7 times,and still no fall.Needless to say the show was a huge flop.The people there had the sense of humor to find the thing 'hilarious',but to me..it was just a sleep due to boredom.

The traits of boredom were in me since a very small age.It's just that sleep has left me now a bit.

I am still smiling thinking of that homevideo. TV viewing is sometimes good too.

He laughs

A way ward day,rumbling,breathing slow and heavy.A bloodless sun that shouted violent anger.Mindlessness,tension,sticky atmosphere.I've seen it all and yet,nothing at all.A new day?Complex webs interlocked and we..pawns with strings attached,or mere fodder to be devoured by the hungry God.Born on the notion of an omnipotent and a loving God,we forget the villany and the infinite thirst for blood.A great aim of our being born is to be,one day,an offering to God's hunger.A great mockery, a grand illusion painted by the great Gardener up above.He plants the seedlings,and we oh poor seedlings think of us a volitional beings.We fight,survival of the fittest,and then we all turn to dust nah..food,the fittest as well as the weakest.And He gets stronger,to plant more seeds and to laugh when the plants fight amongst themselves,in the battle to be the last to quench His unsatiated thirst.

She

Feverish monsters of unfurled future
complex,intricate and lonesome
They sit in wait ;and slowly I move.
Suspended animation of a wide eyed soul
hung on amphetamine and paranoia
A sudden chill grasps ;muted, I ponder.
Discolored photoframes,decayed leaves
of our possible pasts lay scattered.
Crushed by the tiny feet of childhood
fragile petals.The smell still lingers on.
The night sky blossoms a starlit robe
Wearing the blackness she sits pretty
Her halo all the more dreamy
,in gloom,she cries;The Moon.
Breathing heavy ,the night sighs it's last
the pearly tears fade into a soft dawn
cruel,isn't it?The way she cries
And beautiful the way she dies and exhumes

Bullet the blue skies

It had a strange taste of sweet delight
Uncertain,squeaky,parabloic height
unwelcome guest this cold sudden fright
A tight leash,can't breath,losing sight.
Cornered you sit alone,drop of sweat hangs
anticipation,frustration,and hunger pangs
tears won't roll out,you choke oh dang!
a soft lullaby of a metal bullet that bangs.
Sleep now you weary one,deathbed awaits
soft,inviting,accomodating, open gates
a hollow laugh,welcomes the dawn,too late
stick the pen in ink,let the paper mutilate.

Death of the night.

Unknown,unhurried and unsung
my heart sings a tune
meandering into the speechless abyss
haunting the timelessness
A tune of lazy happiness.

Awake,the murmur says
the day has grown,a beautiful crimson day.
chirping are the birds,blooming are the flowers
lilies of golden hue,dipped in dew
A pregnent promise.

Dreams,oh lovely dreams of dark
evanescent into the piercing sun rays
the chords morph to chaos.
why oh why the sun must rise?
why oh why night must die?

The Core

There is a growing awareness in me of my own uncleanliness.An unclean spirit.Impurity of the original kind.I have tried to be blind to it.It has caught up with me,in a big way.Restlessness has abated and morphed into something more placid.A sense of belonging with the yuck that I feel.Something in me astonishes me.I demand too much of an integration.I wanted to be bad to the core,and that seemed an easier task than being completely good.And somehow the work isn't finished.The core isn't corroded yet.It won't.I have tried my best.It won't take over the rust of disgust.It stands clean and shining,a dot amidst an ocean of filth.And the beauty of that tiny dot is what hurts.I have come to realise that wiping myself of the face of existance isn't the way to destroy that speck.It won't budge.Death somehow is not THE END.It's another circle.A vicious one.I can't live unclean and for me to be completely numb,I need to be completely unclean.I would rather write a poem on this tearing apart,but am too devoid of any inspiration.People like me are dangerous,but to whom? I always wondered.I am a bad influence maybe.I need a break..a certain dissociation from 'life'.I would want to return.When and in what form I know not.It won't be a rebirth,as I am not particularly amused by the idea of suicide.It's time consuming and involves a lot of variables and somehow there are people who would really miss me,and somehow I am not THAT selfish to hurt them.I need the solitude of oblivion.I am so oblivious to it in the end.The constant self talk must be replaced by a frozen silence.The perfect idea to live forever would be to live in a frozen state.Life is so beautiful.And so is ice.

~~~in my imgination unbirdled wild
oh how like a way- ward child
that smilingly smashes all his toys
world after world i create and destroy~~~

Night Out

It was a rustic evening.I was listening to the beautiful music made by Mark Knofler and suddenly it struck me that Ihaven't laughed in a while.Laughter is divine and just as experiences of divine are rare,so is it.I decided it was time for me to have such an experience.So i went out.It was close to 10 pm and the streets were kinda lonley.I wanted to be happy.The air was cool and the wind had an excitement.I knew i would find some reason to laugh...to be happy.I walked for an hour.Walking at night is wonderful thing when you have nothing else to do.I guess i was smoking too.I saw some drunk dude coming out with his girl from some pub.They looked as if they were anticipating something exciting.But the look on the boys face was more of the vulgar kind and the girl seemed nervous.Oh well..thats certainly not a reason to smile.In the parking of a crowded shop was this big car and standing near to it was this HUGE woman,with some packets in her hand and a man,I am assuming him to be her chauffer,but can be her husband for that matter.She looked bossy and he looked meek.I wanted to laugh,but all what came out was a duh!.I moved on.

I decided to head back.And i finally reached home.Mark Knofler was still playing."why worry" was the song.It made me smile..nah..laugh.

Mr.Selfdestruct

Meaningless and faceless
A little listless
typing away the ticking of
the merciless clock
I sit,waiting.

I sit waiting for a resonance
an inspiration
scars of beautiful laughter
to adorn an expressionless skin
a skin pale in color.

A skin pale in color,and blood
An everflowing blood.
Shall we wait to eternity
for a grand happiness to decend
An everlasting happiness.

An everlasting happiness,illusion
Of a monstrous kind
Blank sheets of numbness cover
the silken sensations of love
Into a galaxy of memories.

A galaxy of memories,of concrete
scattered like stars
Piercing the soft feet of the angels
ripping apart the flesh of present
And the story continues.

Lonliness:An Ode

The world of illuminate lights
soft cushion winds,endless nights
The time is right to fly
into the distant blue skies.

Roll away the whispers,dear time
of unformed words and soft chimes
flutter my eyelids,clear liquid eyes
porcelain skins bleeding crimson sighs

A dream--hush! a dream cries.
painted canvas fades and dries
shadows of smiling eyes lift and rise
merge into the laughing sun and dies.

Unmoved I sit,another dream to paint
empty canvas empty eyes so faint
these lines will sketch a new song
these trembling hands will ring the gong

And yet she will not stir
She will not stir

No one

Eroded sand dunes of escapists dream
are washed.
On infinite waves of destructive time
we float.
The depth in the eyes of a newborn baby
it drowns.
And no one sheds a tear.

Softly they speak the golden words
I sleep.
Shadows on walls feast in contempt
their lonliness.
Murky depths of disfigured emotions
it smiles.
And no one says a prayer.

Shed the skin of solitary sadness
she withers.
Carpets of stars light the still waters
they tremble.
Filter the soul a million times
zero.
And no one understands my poem
still ....no one.

Birds of Prey

Everything about life is so fragile, and the slightest variations concoct such vastly different conclusions. This disturbs me terribly, and has me focusing all too frequently on the details – and the details within the details. It’s difficult for me to take a step back and look at the bigger picture, as ironically preoccupied as I appear to be with it.

I change strains quickly. Now I feel a dreamy haze descend upon me as I’m emerged in a sleepy sense of obliviousness. There is so much going on around me of which I am completely unaware; so much too that I have, somewhere along the line, made a conscious decision to block from my consciousness, yet which my subconscious remains privy to and is still deeply affected by. I simply no longer know what it is that affects me so. Vague, indiscernible hurts that most probably stem from compassion. Compassion I am not using at all productively. Compassion unused is compassion wasted, and turns toxic in one’s system when it is not channeled into a creative outlet. It becomes tainted and turns inward viciously, causing psyche-soul blockages as it bogs one down in a quagmire of personally self-serving despair. Hence the ‘poor me’ complex. I wish it were easier to focus on the just, intrinsically good things that life has to offer.

The Coocoo bird (not sure if that’s the spelling, but it’s the sound) migrates from New Guinea to certain Australian coastlines [ours being one of them] in springtime. Many of them find good potential homes in the nature reserve that our house backs onto, so we are offered a front-row seat to the strange behaviour of these huge birds. They’re BIG, very big – like large, clumsy-looking dogs. Coocoos’ scour the tree tops for suitable Magpie and Currawong nests that they can utilise for their purposes, obviously being too lazy to make their own. When the Magpie/Currawong mother and father leave the nest to search for more sticks or soft things to cushion their homes with, their eggs are left exposed to the alert eyes of the Coocoo, who then descends upon the developing babies and tosses them out of the tree. The Coocoo then lays its own eggs in their place, and the Magpie returns to see a group of eggs it believes to be its own resting peacefully. She sits on them for the next few weeks and waits for her babies to hatch. When the eggs hatch the babies are giants, soon larger than their Magpie parents, but still as hungry and helpless as most infants. They make a wailing sound almost identical to that of a human baby crying, and they chase their parents everywhere demanding food and attention. The twist to this story? It often goes that the Magpie-mummy is so thoroughly exhausted at having perpetually met the demands of this hungry baby, that by the time the Coocoo is old enough to fend for itself, the Magpie dies. Bizarrely cruel but evolutionarily genius, eh? The Coocoo is essentially killing two birds (or several) with one stone [mind the pun]: It eradicates the baby Magpies, and shifts parental responsibility onto the Magpie parents who it ultimately kills by default, its own chain of production kept in perfect tact. The baby-turned-young-adult Coocoo then flies back to New Guinea only to return to Australian shores a year later, in order to repeat the process yet again
.
Is life not utterly insane?

Fissures

Fissures.That's just the right word.Fragmentation might have been close and Schziophrenia might have been techincal,but fissure is apt and poetic.I am talking about the gulf between what we are inside and what we tend to reflect outside.It's survial instinct.But isn't 'instinct' what we associate animals with?.Not men.Ofcourse man being a social 'animal' nothwithstanding,aren't we humans supposed to be one step closer to Godhead.Maybe it's just a vanity.Vanity of the crowned species who can walk and build railroads,and yeah I forgot..who think they think.The surroundings as I see it ,I can't entertain a thought of celeberation.I see people being happy,or atleast trying their best to drown their sorrows in the grey,murky,formless confusion around them which they,in all their innocence,or stupidity if you please,take to be 'everybody -else-is-happy-so-why-can't-i'.I have seen the eyes of those who are 'happy'.They are either intoxicated with the wine of dreams or the alcohol of past glories.And sometimes it's just good old fashined whisky.Rarely I have encountered happy eyes fixated on the 'here-now'.I don't want to be a part of that drug called hope.I am cleansed of it.Apathy is what I live in.It's by choice,so save your 'oh dear me!' and 'urgh cry baby' to yourself ,whosoever read this.

On second thoughts..keep 'em rolling.

Silence of the Gods

It was raining outside last evening.From the glass window of my room in the hotel,the serenic beauty of the glittering asphalt looked enchanting.The reflection of street lights made the concrete assume a lusture which was more endearing than most things natural.I felt warm and happy.A lopsided smile.A neon sign,was flashing intermittently on the huge billboard.The lights in my room were rather dull.Intentional ofcourse.I always found rain to be a little dampening.Never mind the pun.

Sometimes,silence reaches the great heights where the philosophers and meditation masters always talk about.It was such a brief moment,but I sensed an absolute stillness in myself.It was brief because as soon as my consciousness touched it,the silence was gone.I had two options..to either scream like a manic at the loss of that beautiful silence..or to reflect upon what grace it brought,even if in passing.I decided to paint silence.A black backdrop and a solitary candle with a fragile flame.Nah that would be too in-the-face.A pair of eyes,expressionless and a mouth that is filled with a hint of a smile,but just holding it.Well that was too complex.I was drawing some lines on the paper when the phone rang.A shriek.Montonous and echoing.I picked up the phone."Please be okay son.You worry us...Why are you silent?..You can talk with me,please...i am your mom.." click. My mother is so gentle.She is a wonderful soul.She wanted to comfort me.I wanted to tell her that I am okay and that I love her.Words just didn't come.Silence had smitten me.

Death becomes Her

She was breathing.I am sure she was breathing when I raised my head,and looked at her from my semi closed eyes.I was lying on the floor,and she was resting peacefully on the rug.I had a psychological breakdown due to not taking my medicines and indulging in one of insane excesses of self destruction by means of alochol binge.It was ring on the door or maybe it was the phone,which stirred me.It was evening.I must have been lying on the naked floor since morning.No food,no water.And she? She must have had her food atleast.She learnt that living with me isn't easy.One has to be self reliant when I am such a lazy and moody punk.A thought probably floated through my mind-- she didn't raise her head at the sound of the ring as she always does.She must be tired too,or must have learnt the indifference from me.I thought that and put my head down again.

Some hours...

It was night when i came back to consciousness.She was still sleeping peacefully.Almost TOO peacefully.The calmness of death has already draped her in it's rich trapestry.The shock of this realization was sudden.Sudden and pointed like ice crystals tearing thru the skin.I lighted a ciggerrate.My hands prolly were shaking as I dialled the doctor.I could only utter an incomprehensible 'come fast' i guess.And then i waited.I was still looking at her peaceful sleep when the doctor came.She pronounced the obvious.She might have thought of some extreme reaction from me.My coldness,nah my stoicness shocked her.I asked her to leave.

Tzara now lies deep inside the ground.A small flower tucked below her neck and her body lying in a spacious shoebox as a coffin,my Tzara sleeps eternally.

~~Breathe,keep breathing.I can't do it alone.~~

Slumber

In the deepest slumber,in swoon,in death,even in the grave all is NOT lost.Else there is no immortality for men.Arousing from the most profound of slumbers,we break the gossamer web of some dream.Yet in a second afterword(so frail may that web have been) we remember not that we have dreamed.In the return to life from sleep,there are two stages:first,that of the sense of mental or spiritual;secondly,that of the sense of physical existance.It seems probable that if,upon reaching the second stage,we could recall the impressions of the first,we should find these eloquent in the meories of the gulf beyond.And that gulf is--what?.How at least shall we distinguish its shadows from those of the tomb?But if the impressions of what I have termed the first stage,are not,at will recalled,yet after long interval,do they not come unbidden,while we markvel whence they come?He who has never swooned,is not he who finds strange palaces and wildly familira faces in coals that glow;is not he who beholds floating in mid-air the sad visions that many may not view;is not he ponders over the perfume of some novel flower;is not he whose brain goes bewlidered with the meaning of some musical cadance which has never arrested his attention.

Driftwood

It's easier to cling onto self-generated notions of depravity of the universe than see the real thing.It's monstrously different,and yet it's just another mirror image of the disgust that one always had in one's mind..delusional or hysterical.I can't but ponder over what might be the state of mental balance of the lunatics who are 'cured' and are asked to leave the asylum for a 'wonderful world out there'.Wouldn't they feel heartbroken?Or would they never feel anything.Just a spacious asylum,maybe.

I feel happy thinking of their confused state.It gives me a sensual pleasure to imagine their shattered dreams.

Am i cruel?I have been said I am many times.I just smile.A bitter smile,a smile of sarcasm.of self mockery.

You cannever unravel the complexity that I am.I have tried and failed.Now I try no more.

Friends and Lovers

Once again Boredom rears it's ugly head.And yet again i meekly surrender.I heard a Zen proverb somewhere----~~to win completely,surrender completely.~~ How paradoxial.Boredom has now seeped thru my skin,tearing thru my flesh,has reached the spacious emptiness of my soul,where it echoes the mocking laughter with it's cousin--indifference.Indifference had already created her dwellings in my heart shaped cave.The two rejoice in their festivites.Poor ones,they don't know that all festivities are meaningless.They would one day be tired of 'em as well.I smile at their carefree play.Kindness fills my heartcave.They smell it's sweet aroma and rejoice.I shall befriend them one day.One day when Tiredness ..their soulmate joins them..we all will meet Death and have an orgy.And then we would melt into each other.And then we would dive into oblivion.

10 Commandments

It's a tough task.For me to write something which is humourous,is as difficult as asking Pamela Anderson to get viewership with her boob job de-siliconed.I shall try however.I have been asked to write on the nuances of the dating game that I have been a part of.I have been lucky(??) to have dated handful of girls atleast.The recollection of the disasters and the obvious adventures which had gone past was amusing.I hereby present a brief summary of what I percieve girls want .I shall warn the readers of this piece that the points I assemble here aren't a gurantee of sucess with 100% of girls,there are 1% who can see through the mask.My own opinion on these points are a subject of another writeup,If i ever feel upto it that is; but what I can assure is I have seen countless girls melt by these superficial acts of wooing.With utter disgust and amusment of myself...I bring to you-

THE TEN COMMANDMENTS OF THE DATE GAME

1. Thou shalt be rich/famous or both.
A merc. and an armani suit would take ya places.But the not-born-with-a-silver-spoon-in-their-mouths kids needn't frown.The rent a car and borrowing Versace jacket from your wealthy childhood pal would be a good idea too.If she tells you that she cares a damn about money and just loves the person that is you, tell her that when you guys go out you'd be taking her out to your favourite eating joint that serves food to all the truck drivers and the-like and it gives the best value for money(your 100 rs note),you'd know the difference b/w said and unsaid words.

2. Thou shalt be goodlooking.
Yeah we know looks are relative and all that crap.So relatively speaking you have to be better looking than the girl's best friend's lover.If not..tough luck dude.

3. Thou shall seek to understand first.
Yeah thats the complete commandment.Don't even think that there is a latter part 'and then seek to be understood'.And so what if everyone says that a female is the hardest thing to understand after Theory of Relativity(some think Relativity is a the close second).

4.Thou shalt not forget.
Birthdays,anniversaries,your first meeting,the first time she said hello to you,name of her favourite flower,animal,uncle,cousin,color and the list goes on and on...

5.Thou shalt compliment profusely.
Borrow from the latest movies,songs and some ol time poets of the romantic era.The more times you say that you love her and need her more than the desert needs the rain(and don't start thinking about if deserts get the rain they wouldn't be deserts anymore and ultimately loose their identity..just say the words)

6.Thou shalt not compare.
Don't tell her how different she is from your ex or how your ex used to react/act in the same situation as hers.She would smile on the front but in her head she'd be saying 'the clown is still not over that snotty b*@#h..they deserve each other'

7.Thou shalt not bring work home.
Don't tell her how your number crunching/analytical thinking saved your company from a financial diaster.She knows that the show does go on.And she knows that you've done a good job...big deal?She herself is swimming with the sharks in the office.

8.Thou shalt not be judgemental.
So you think the dress she's wearing is too skimpy and outrageous? Get a life man,thats what the fashion channels are showing and whats more that trend is just catching on.And if on the other hand you think the dress is too old fashined..well..the old values are what one should live by.Transient fads are for shallowers.

9.Thou shalt not be jealous.
All the male friends she talks about are her 'good friends'.How narrowminded of you if you think otherwise.And if you however tell her about your female 'good friends',there must be something wrong with the world..two-timing was a thing to be ashamed of in the good ol' days.

10.Thou shalt follow the 9 commandments religiously
~Amen~

Distorted Visions

The flutter of eyelids; drooping tired eyelids has an almost sensual movement.I feel spacey in my head light in my spirit.It has to be the Vodka in my lemonade.My eyes are beautiful.They have been called voids of infinite sadness by someone who knew me intimately.The duality of voidand infinity is beautifully demonstrative of the superficial facts of existance.I float in my own world so soft cotton clouds and feel hurt by the spikes of the rugged mountains of grim reality.I like the silence of the treetops as i linger over ya'll.If i were a giant i would have stomped ya'll from life.Death in huge numbers,would cultivate the fodder for the flowers of beauty to bloom.I would love the flowers...i just hate you all.Why don't you die? Why ..

But death is too beautiful.And beauty is not for ya'll.Rot,and rot until the carcass of your moth eaten dead body withers in the blazing sun.I shall feast and rejoice,and bath in the holy aqua of tears.

Core

This day is spiked with heat but no warmth can thaw my icy centre. The all-pervading emptiness reinstates its authority, focusing its intensity on what now feels like my coreless core.

I feel lost, wounded and meaningless. I can’t envision my own story. Hope seems hopeless, but a strand still says it can’t be. All dualities merge in this singular track of tears forged down my cheeks.And this salty stream may represent hope, for salt is always representative of hope, so goes the saying: “The cure for everything is saltwater – sweat, tears, or the sea.” I forget whom it’s by.

Though it reminds me of one of my own, alluding to a balsamic moon that bleeds as I thread my love through pinhole stars and weave light over darkness. Stark dualities and this strange preoccupation… A search for oneness, wholeness, Truth. Pelted with night’s dark, morbid kisses that fall like starlight but sear black holes into my soul. It’s as if Heaven had been approaching from a distance for so long – at first too long, but casting a luminous flame of hope on the horizon. As its presence neared its beauty became clearer to these eyes, but the closer it got the harder the sheer extent of the beauty was to take in. When you’re not ready for beauty so extreme, it blinds you. And so when Heaven was literally upon me, I had little choice but to stub its dreams out on my core, leaving the deepest part of myself with welting sores. Holes of gaping darkness – voids – where I had been touched by Heaven… Spaces where ecstasy and wonderment should reside.

This strain of melancholy is intrinsically pertinacious, and while I hope to be rid of it in a matter of moments I realistically consider the likely alternative; that is, a succession of days at least. My pestilential mental vacillations are certainly becoming more extreme, abrupt and lasting now that I’m older. Fuck all of that though.

Crushed Glasses

Cocooned by infinite space, these planets, these stars… these fragile fires, are but embryos formed within the womb of God. Our dark maternal universe, perpetually birthing multitudinous manifestations. Eternally renewing its hermaphroditic divinity.

I was always so preoccupied with describing the state beyond depression – the state beneath it. The most intensified emotional experience and paradoxically the least: that of emptiness, nothingness, and absence. The seemingly least significant and yet ultimately the most productive and ennobling experience of them all. To plumb the depths of that dark, downward route to Hell is to travel more deeply than one’s capacity for emotion. Hell isn’t society’s notion of pain; it’s a void, and nothingness the sharpest pain of all.

I am not scouring the ever-upward thrusting air of a never-ending pit at present. I am enduring a docile state of sorts, whereby I await oncoming storms and the tornadoes of existential vacuums with my ears sharply pricked. This fish-womb senses it in the peace of her waters before the torrent hits. I feel no reverberations at present.

Though I do feel slightly subdued. My many moods and I… Many friends, or enemies. Who knows? It’s hard to know who to trust - moods excluded. In fact I never trust my moods, they’re less reliable than most people are. It is only their flippancy that I can rely upon.

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.