Stand Back

Back in 2009, there began a journey to a probable destination. I was sure of how it will end. Perhaps the most sure I have ever been. That time was a moment of clarity. Things were either good or bad. Then, as the journey progressed, the destinations changed, I changed. And today, after almost a year or so, I am writing about something I had promised that I won't.

In these four years so many things were left behind and that journey itself has become a limbo. It's become the only thing I am unsure of...unsure of its meaning, its tangents, and its form. While its been a beautiful journey, it has turned into something perhaps I will never be able to resolve. Maybe the point is to keep it tangled  up in itself.

I guess they just see through you. And you're so busy being harsh on yourself that you give them the benefit of doubt. Maybe the point is to slow down and stop yourself from withering. Because its only fear which stands between you and them.


***

Further | Longview

Every Life is a Lie.

Falling in love is so overrated. The concept of companionship is more of a necessity. We waste our life searching for "the one". Sometimes, we assume that this xyz person is the one. The one who will make my day better by a mere smile or a passionate kiss. I am amazed at how we are always ready to give second chances, ready to rebuild dreams. We are so keen on lying to ourselves just to define a sense of security. In all totality, we are scared beings. Too scared to live a life on our own terms. Afraid to define life by the moments when we were truly free...when we were absolutely happy.

I came across this article here. Such a simple question. How do you live your life? Keep the answer to yourself or send it to the author. But just do yourself a favor. Answer the question.

I feel life is like a playlist. You listen to one track. Go on to the next one. And repeat. You shouldn't keep songs you dislike in your playlist. You shouldn't have to skip even one song. I think that is how life should be. You shouldn't have to skip anything. It should be the way you operate a playlist. If you doze off when there still are eight tracks to listen, you carry on with it the next day.

Love is overrated. Not that I don't believe in it. I do. But I don't understand the Romantic and glorified version of it. Nobody comes in your life for you. They come in your life for themselves. So do you.
It is like that old statement. You help each other to take off clothes before sex, you hardly ever help each other put them back on after you're done.

So lets try one thing. Lets stop pretending.

***

NP: Promise | Ben Howard

Who am I, darling for you?
Who am I?
Going to be a burden in time...
I come alone here. 

***

Do read that article. And listen to Ben Howard. That's my remedy for a bad day.
-x-

The Would-Have-Beens

What would have happened if you had taken that one extra step when you stood at my door? Would things be better or would they have been the same? What would I be like? What would you feel about your then future, now present? Had you taken that one extra step, things would have fallen into shards, if not into shackles, as they have now! Excitement would not have kicked in as it does now, every time that we slip into each other's clothes. Every thing was just so perfect back then. It would have remained that way, had you taken that one extra step. And that would have ruined every thing that we have now. Yes, we have a lot of unsaid words and gaps between us. We do have a lot of thought-block when we interact. Our conversations run either into awkward silences or into steamy bed sharing moments. But who would have thought that two people like us will end up sharing something so imperfect and chaotic that even spelling out the word "order" would become impossible and out of reach. We cannot have stability. Neither do we aim for it.

Who came back the same from a war anyway?!



***

Now Playing: Black Flies | Ben Howard

This man and this night. Beautifully chaotic. And dark. Last year, this day I was in Goa, feeling rejuvenated. This year, hopefully the hills would do that. Soon. Very soon. Until next time, listen to music- it will never leave you alone. 

-x- 

Footsteps

First it poured down the bed sheets. Then it followed the boundaries made by those mosaic tiles. After that it crept into the lobby, down the stairs, along side the love songs. Finally, walked itself out of the house, to the streets, to where its heart was!

It did not feel like he had lost something or he had abandoned someone. It felt as if he was waiting for the words to etch into his memory so he could do away with their physical presence... as if he spent each day looking into its eyes, answering million questions, in a language completely alien to it; in words which isolated it from him! His laugh disgusted it. The way he undressed, the way he cooked, the way he cleaned his car... all of this made it hate him. He was not a stranger anymore. And this killed it.

He waited and watched; not moving a limb, not even twitching a muscle, he sat on the edge of the same bed sheets. Crumbled, wrinkled, dry dreams. It left him. He left him. The radio played Sinatra. Strangers in the night, exchanging glances.

It was She.

***

-x-

Blame It on the Fallen Sky!

Just for the record, I never stopped loving you Thom Yorke. 

Radiohead, You shall remain my best friend for all out-of-season rainy days wherever I may be...and for other days, of course.

***

-x-

Funny Things

Internals over. Entrances for 2012 over. Stress reduced by one inch. And I realized that Winter 2012 is proving to be an interesting amalgamation of strange and superb events/emotions/situations.

Dug into the long-lost PC backup. Found some old music. Felt fresh. Now I have been experiencing some really weird dreams lately. I do not even know if they can be categorized as nightmares. They're just too random and sometimes weirdly scary! One time I saw a truck falling from the sky on this whole line of houses in front of mine. Not an aircraft or anything which flies...but a white truck! Yes. Then another time I saw myself running like that player does in the game of Temple Run. Only difference was that there were no coins to be collected, or no zombies following me. I was just running endlessly. It wasn't even graphics. It all felt so real. And today!!! I saw myself going back to a place which has been a recurrent place in my dreamland. As a kid, that is where I lost my imaginary friend and could never figure out why. The same place now had me and a yellow sky, with more buildings, this time higher than they usually were...a man whom I have never met, a man whom I loved very dearly, the man I love now and a woman whom I never quite liked much! Now the stranger was a creep and apparently some hot-shot Jazz singer. The man I loved in the past was happy with me. I was happy too. I smiled throughout. Then the woman came and I left. Then the man I now love kept waiting. I haven't had such a confused, hazy dream in some time.

I do not believe in the implied meanings of dreams. I am a firm follower of Freud and I too believe that dreams are manifestations of our subconscious thoughts. Now I want to ask my subconscious the whereabouts of the stranger and the man I loved then! I understand the woman part since I have constant interaction with her. Presence of my current love is too obvious.
Things are too confusing. It kinda makes no sense.
Its disturbing!

I have a series of serious nightmares which have been recurring since I was a kid. That's understandable. They're part of my unconscious and subconscious fears/wishes/unfulfilled wishes etc.
And then He says I think too much. I do. Mr. Freud, help! Reading up too much on you has only screwed with the already over burdened thought provoking grey matter.
He also says that I should laugh more often. I just smile. I need to laugh more. I like how people you meet at different stages of your life perceive you and your situations. I like how we like to think that "their" opinion does not matter, but it obviously does. And then He says that he does not count me in the usual girls He has had. How I wish I could tell him that He is quite a Man! How I wish I could escape the strange incomprehensible dreamland and be more unaffected by the structures my memory builds.

***

NP: You And I | Jason Mraz

Track #8 (Just Floyd)

Thursday. The 19th of July.

Say no more. Just listen.


***

And I am not afraid of dying, any time will do.

***

We say goodbye. Let's rest the case here. Night.

***

No more love. Ciao.  

Found and Lost.

Find your way to the closet
Look for that one day,
The time when you put the dream
And the night behind the front door.
Take the day out;
Wrap it in a paper bag,
Fill in some breaths.
Forget the cellophane,
Just throw it away in the creek
Just like the night when the joker
Left the stage with a cry!
Hand over the day to someone far
Far away from the house.
Then come back here,
Find your way to the closet,
And look for what you forgot...
The dream and the night
Still wait behind the front door. 

***

Now Playing: True Love Wait | Radiohead
You know there is something about Radiohead music. My favorite line from this song:: I'm not living, I'm just killing time!! 
I have come back with a lot of inspiration. Sea does that to me I figured. Wait up for something more, and new :)

Lots of Love. Because I can't do without it!!

Riddance.

The love for that golden pen is far more problematic than the hate for the darkness inside myself.

Let's rest this case here. Let's not write anymore. Let's keep it simple and uncomplicated. Because there is a lot more to take care of right now.

Later.

Now Playing: Set The Controls For The Heart Of The Sun | Floyd

The Last Thing I Did Was Give The Street A Kiss

I was sunk in the snow. It was knee deep. Cold. Just like it was when the first time I made love with the man I have now forgotten completely. It was stagnant. Just like the first time I bled. Absolutely quiet. Just like the first time I was high on weed. Blurred. When the dew drops used to traverse all along the glass window, making maps which always seemed like iron bars to me. It was like that long lost illusion that the world will end. And I loved the streets. They cracked at the first snowfall. No one really filled them back.

They were mere things. Full stop. Like the little gravels on the street which ripe at the first sunray of morning. I lived in a wooden house. Yes. I set it on fire. Not because I forgot the man I made love with, in it. But for the simple reason that I could not bear the noise the wood made every time I got smashed into it. It had a small balcony- my room. When we were young, we sat there, sipped on wine. I could only see the street from there- my first love. I remember the man saying, “You cannot walk there. It’s too broken and cracked. There is not one place to put your feet on. I will get you a wagon.” I smashed the wine bottle on his head then. He smashed me into the wooden walls, again. Remember the first time I bled? It was stagnant. It froze. Dried. And chipped off. The man gave me a pink corset. He liked the cougar look. I poured acid on it. He smashed me again. He then tried giving me a diamond in a chain. It fell in the fire place just before the first night. Remember the first time I made love? It was cold. Very cold. Though I always liked when fire talked to me, that night the transition was silent; it was put off. Never giving up, he then gifted me glass bangles. No, I didn’t break them. I kept them safely until he died. He was happy for that. I was not always evil, after all. Sometimes, I loved him too. Alas! I cannot recollect his face now. He once gave me a bag full of pastel colour sheets and asked me to fill them with words. I made little rolls of them. Remember the first time I was high on weed? It was absolutely quiet. He entrapped my skin ruthlessly. I burnt his neck with the butt of the ignited weed roll. The man was never a quitter. He tried again. This time he gave me a pair of glasses. We were growing old. He asked me to wear them while he took me out. I melted them with the same fire. He punished me by making me stand beside the glass window early morning. Remember the dew drops? It was like I was behind iron bars running wild over the screen in front of me. It was blurred.

Then one fine evening, I stood right beside the street. He came and pulled me towards him. He whispered, “I love you so much. Can’t you see it in my eyes? You hurt me every time. I want to be with you even then. You never speak. You are mute. Cold. Quiet. Stagnant. A blurred image. Why don’t you love me?” I still kept looking at the street. Its cracks fascinated me. The gravels seemed to be calling me; they seemed to say that they wanted me to walk with them and bear the sunlight with them. The man kept repeating the same questions. I looked at him. I looked at the street.

The fire was enormous. It was all over the woods. I could hear the voice. I could smell the ash. The glass bangles were with me, broken. Remember I had kept them till he died? Till he died! I did not want to hear the noise the wooden walls made when I was smashed into them. I did not want to clean the blood stains. I loved the fire. It talked to me. It knew the colour of my eyes. It knew the freckles on my skin. Then there was the street. I travelled, in the direction of the gravels. Found myself amidst the cracks. Then emerged little illusions from the cracks; that the world was going to end. Why? Because I was sunk knee deep in snow. And the last thing I did was give the street a kiss. 

 

Got Your Guns, Love?

Its when you took out your guns
And split the legs wide open!
How did it feel to taste pleasure?
Its when you smelled the gore
And realized I was a nymph
Whom you got by luck.
Your stars were good.
So were mine.
It was like we were Trojans
Bound by the common thread
Of misery and war and ruthlessness.
Its when you bore the grief
Of being stripped of every single piece
Of humility and honesty that you ever possessed...
And gave me a pretty mirror to look at
When haze was the paradise
And illusion was your food!


***

Light Years Away | MoZella

Tell Me What You Want To Hear!

Recite me what you learned
When we were young and virgins.
Whisper it in my ears,
The ecstasy we knew of swinging in the air.
Reveal all the secrets we had
Before we began to touch the winds.
Remind me of the story of our palms
And how we made homes.
Read the letters to me;
Those I wrote in moonlight.
Blabber about all the days
When we laughed in the rain.
Show me the paintings I did
Of that drop right beside fire.
Straighten all the memories of...
Of a 1000 days we met everyday!
Build me a boat...
A yacht...
A house on the hills...
And then...
Tell me what you want to hear!

***

Now Playing: Secrets | OneRepublic

picture courtesy: deviantArt

Independence.

Our lives, they are a glimpse into what they called the jeopardy of a lifetime. We lost it all... when I laughed and you slept.

Our house, it is a well. They call it the potion of darkness. We lost it all... when I spoke and you stood still.

Our walls, they are the scrapped pieces of our love. They call it the light that led everyone to the wars. We lost it all... when I stripped and you stared.

Our hearts, they are the holes everyone wants to fall into. They call it the brutality of those two sperms that won the race of millions. We lost it all... when I died and so did you!

***

Now Playing: You've Changed | Bettie Serveert

She.

She wrote poetry.
Complex words, twisted meanings
With strange voices, limbs.
She would sit for hours
On the busy street, amidst million lights
Wait for me, drop a tear or two
And then wrote poetry
About strange little butterflies,
Papers, baskets, and estranged seeds.
She would stare me for hours
In our bed, with glare in her eyes
Amidst the chaos of her mind
And softly say, "Don't leave me."
No reply from me upset her.
Waited for it for days,
Sometimes even months.
She wrote poetry.
It made her strange.
She forgot everything;
The creek, the clothes,
The little reminders of reality...
The chits on the wall,
My silence and her pity.
She wrote poetry.
It made her speak one day,
"I know you want to go."
It made her lose the tempo.
She forgot bidding me a goodbye.
She wrote poetry.
She wrote her journey,
Back and forth with me.
She wrote poetry,
Of losing the only one she had.
She wrote poetry,
Of all the things it made her lose.
Of all the things she lost.
Of the day she got lost.
She wrote poetry...
For me.

Now Playing: A Journey Of The Heart | Karunesh

P.S: It is one of my favourite songs.!

I Once Painted A Rainbow.

When it was night, it bled crimson.
When the moon settled down, it bled scarlet.
When the clouds stormed red, it bled white.
I then erased the sky and began all over again.
It suddenly turned black.
Then it bled thick strands of copper clots.
When it looked at me with green eyes, it bled violet.
I turned my back, it spilled dark blue water on it.
When it met with the blank brown eyes,
It scared and dropped it yellow soul, abandoned it.
I saw defeat in its lips.

When it was dawn, it bled amber from the slits.         (pic courtesy: deviantArt)