In the evening, I was with the pioneers. Music makers. And there were children as yet uncaring for the world’s approval. I was with uninhibited animals and big eyes. And there was music - noise and otherwise.

Then I played a game. I created a sense of purpose and argued for it. I was amused and animated. I made them believe that I had a point of view. Points of view are dangerous things. I mostly stay away from them. Yesterday, I was with some non-violent people and I decided to have fun.

I argued for two hours till my eyes ran away from their sockets due to the pressure from my hyperactive brain. But I smiled every time someone countered me. Hahaha! I was an evil con artist. I was a parasitic psychic vampire. I contradicted myself freely and dilly-dallied in pointlessness. I was sophistic and painful. Their retina reddened with rage. (Lol!)

My argument was said to be “Vulgar, discordant, unmusical and unartistic” and I had an enormous feeling of warmth crawl down my insides.

It was sad that they did not know I can be post-modernist when I want to be. I can also be biased, irrational and hedonistic.

It seems I subscribe to a number of borrowed philosophies and there is nothing original in me and I only speak language in a convincingly logical fashion. Unfortunately, they did not know that I do not stand for anything and therefore I am not afraid of anything collapsing. Despite the children around we were stupid.

Theism can collapse. I will not. Love, music, laughter, pain and memory can collapse. I will not. Because I am not.

You are afraid of defeat only when you fight for something. When all you want to do is have fun with concepts, everything is irrelevant. When all your props are gone, the very act of fighting for something becomes funny. You take sides with something not because you want to protect your sanity and retain your conviction but because you can take sides. You can take sides with anything and not get attached. It is fun to irritate the more serious ones.

He asked “Why should you argue so much about something that is irrelevant?”

Because “Irrelevance is the only relevant thing.”

Seriously! What gives!

Undergoing MyBlogLog Verification

She could not talk. That was her problem. And she could talk. That was also her problem.

Where the mindless noisemakers thronged in big cities wagging their tongues, she was silent. She did not laugh to their predictable jokes. She laughed at times. But she was laughing at them and not at their quips. She laughed at their absurdity. Where the power mongers debated on falsities, she did not talk. Where there were controversies on religion, politics and science, she looked at her toe nails and imagined other things. She did not listen and she did not talk. She switched herself off where the manipulators sprinkled cautious gossip around. She would dream of purple horses and non-existent ideals. They called her many names. She was the “dumb”, “lazy”, “psycho” who did not talk. Who did not know what to talk about. Or they imagined she was too haughty.

In private chambers where mind met mind, she poured her heart out. She laid her thoughts bare, teddy bears, crazy theories, songs, philosophy and giggles - merging into one another but undoubtedly ringing of truth. They laughed at her now. “What a simpleton!”, they thought. Why will she not talk about quantum theory and integral calculus? Why does she forever talk about people, animals, flowers, stars, poems, songs and love?

And then a glass bottle fell down and broke. They all ran around bustling and screaming. Somebody stepped on the glass and bled all over the floor. Someone else mopped the blood. Someone slipped on the wet floor and scraped their knees. Someone else boiled some water to cleanse the wound. Someone scalded their fingers with boiling water. Someone else went to get some ointment. Thus they leaped around with their complicated lives, brewing one problem after another. In the middle of all this she just sat. Like a stone frog.

How they hated her nonchalance! Why was she not anxious and panicking? Why is she not crying? Why is she not breaking down? Why? Why? Why?

I

A childhood it was between the first and the second
Each day ended like a spent taper
A mirror you were to me my friend
A diamond unique, refracting my beams
A multifoliate rose, multiplying my dreams
There would never be another.

II

You were my feather, the first and the only
A daily oracle descending from heaven
My sensitive wells of poetry and theory
With you they ended, my absent muse
You left me with nothing else to lose
Still less to be given.

III

If my sadness were rolled into a moon
You are the light in its deep dark core
All you gave me retracted too soon
No reason remains but there is rhyme
The distant, disturbing rusted time
And “Never more”.

IV

Inside a cocoon hibernates my soul
My secrets concealed in preconceived smiles
I live in parts as a shadow of my whole
Tears are too uninspired to be born
Words have left me longing forlorn
Across many miles.

V

I am an echo in the no man’s land
I never existed between then and now
The only blessing was a kiss to his hand
The semblance of life in a hollow body
Walks the streets like a tattered effigy
Futile love.

A sloppy sappy kiss to everyone who visited this blog regularly and bothered to comment on all my rants and raves!

My blog stats says that the blog has crossed 50000 visitors so far! This after I moved from Blogger in 2006. Thanks a lot to all my readers!

*Hugs* :>

So you asked me

What am I to you?

To me

You are that recurrence of hope
And an anticipation of pain

What is one more breath of oxygen
To a dying man?
Everything and Nothing.

What are you to me?

You are a wall
On which I paint forgetfulness
Forgotten pasts
Forgotten betrayals

And you are a window
To a world next door
Near yet far

Somewhere I don’t want to go
For fear of coming back
Some road I don’t want to take
For fear of losing track

I believe in love
And I think people speak the truth
After fifteen lies they would.
They have to.

They would be tired of inventing lies.

Then their truths would break all floodgates
And rush at me in glorious ugliness
I would gasp in gratitude
I prefer ugly truth to beautiful lies.

You are a little golden pin
In memory’s casket
Hidden for another day
A day that will never come

You are not poetry or rain
You are not the raven’s black
Or those black veins throbbing with vicious urge

You are simple, stolid and plain
As a book
Square, sweet-smelling
And full of pain

I remember I imagined love once
And I imposed love once
I remember I wept for love once
And I laughed at love once
I held tightly to some
Who never were there
And let go of some
Who were constantly around

I remember I saw his brown pupils
And loved them with all my heart
I could have held his curly head
In my bosom forever
But he was too beautiful a book
To be trapped in my claustrophobic library.

And there were many men
Many children
Many rainy days
I loved them all
To the last drop

I loved. Always. Silently. Somehow.

You.
Will be my silent sable
A table upon which I lean
And write
About precious hours
Of precious colours

You are the one
I would never possess
Never smother
You are mine
You are mine

You never gave me poems
Or songs or dreams
You gave me time
You gave me space
You gave my love its beautiful place

I can think straight
My feet are not off the ground
I will not dye my thoughts
With insane crimson and twilight pangs
But
I see us together forever
And along with you,
my love
and me
We have arrived.

Cunning men play
A game of cards with hearts
And betray

Ambitious women delude
In blossoming grey cities
Dry and nude

Melanchoholics weave
Odes to Auld lang syne
Pen sieve.

The last few times.

Every time I wrote I borrowed some love.

I stole some apples from someone else’s basket

I stole some crystals from someone else’s goblet

I sneaked like a thief and sipped on someone else’s fire

Now I am crumbling like a humiliated question mark

Sorry. I steal because I starve

I walk with watchful eyes from one pyre to another

And steal the flesh that falls from burning hearts

My vicarious children

Their rainbows and fishtanks

Something to keep me alive.

Some poem or

Someone else’s privilege for sanity

Someone else’s dreams

Some comforts…sleep and otherwise.

Ah! At last I have found some time to post in my blog.

Though this break would have reduced my regular readers from 2000 to 2.

I am currently at Hyderabad. Yes friends! I got here last week. I am currently staying at a posh locality called Jubilee Hills. I get good food and go to work. My work is not very hectic either and I kinda love it. Therefore this trip is akin to a paid vacation.

I am yet to go looking around the places. The roads are amazingly good at Hyderabad and the traffic is manageable though not during the peak hours. They have an excellent airport and very amiable people who are ready to be of any help.

I went to Hyderabad Central last week for a huge bowl of icecream and also had some Veg Biriyani (Yeah! I know! Non-veggies can stop sniggering) at Hyderabad house. I visited my dad’s best friend’s place on Saturday and they were really sweet to me. That uncle and my dad are friends for 35 years. Whoa!!

My childhood friend Ganu is also here and works for the same company though our offices are in different areas. I met him for a few minutes when I was staying at the guest house close to his office. He has put down his papers though and will be leaving Hyderbad soon.

I will soon be checking out Charminar, Golconda fort, Chudi Bazaar etc. I love the rock formations all around Hyderabad and plan to go on a photo walk of some sort to capture some pictures.

My best friend has not called me in ages. I think he has forgotten me. I have left my bike with Jai while I am away from Chennai. Will update when I find the time to do so.

Bye guys!

Mainstream Hindi music is painfully boring. I give up!

BTW, the title of this post is my friend’s way of referring to silly songs.

How the heck does it matter anyway as long as I have rainy afternoons, pudgy cupcakes with mushy romances to read!

Why is Asterix so tiny?

I love Snowy. He always imitates Tintin’s facial expressions.

Fluffy needs to be taken out of his plastic cover prison as soon as I get back to Chennai.

Crayons don’t taste as good as color pencil tips. Nor do they color that well. I used to hate crayons because they assumed

they could leave some portions of my picture uncolored.

Yes. I think retarded thoughts. But I also think about shopping lists, cellphone recharges and powercuts.

I need a large strappy white belt. For no particular reason.

The red towel disappeared from my life without warning. I need it back.

Google tires me with its ancient typography and in-your-face white. !@%$!%*

The best joke of the year was when he told me I am not strong-willed. Yeah right!

I once had a small Ganesh statue that drank milk from a saucer. I swear it is true!!!!

What the hell is this font called Marlett in my MS - Word. It is always a bunch of squareS, arcs and things.

When I was younger, I used to have these red kerchiefs with big sanrio kitties on them. *sniff*

I always stain my white shirts when eating.

A friend named Sowmya wrote to me after 10 years and another friend named Sumitha called me after 6 years. Miracles!

I once lifted a little pup in my hands and realized that it had peed recently. Not a nice discovery let me tell you!

Likewise, I had my aunt’s huge German Shepherd sprawled on my lap for an hour. When he got off I was covered in fluff.

The natural texture of my hair is pathetically frizzy. I straightened it and it took me four ruddy hours!!

I used to have an elephant Doy soap a year back.

I hate drinking water. Why the hell is it not flavored?

I pick flowers and twigs off the street. Some of my friends hate me for that.

I have an underwear that has pink, green, blue and white stripes. It looks like candy. >

I swear I have some floppy disks at home.

…and the greeting cards that S.P gave me. (I am a sentimental fool!)

I used to say “All Indians are my brothers and sisters (except 1)” back in school during the National pledge. Forethought,

they call it! Hehehe!

I love swings.

I love sharpening pencils. I glue the shavings to my notebook and make flowers.

Note to self: Ok enough. Shut up.

Freedom comes with the unimaginably wide horizon of possibilities. It takes my breath away.

Am the happiest because I escaped a wrong choice. What a relief!

I bet nobody else gets so many opportunities as I do and so many escapes! I swear am lucky as hell.

I have a plan for my future and it is would involve me and a very few close friends that I trust. Everybody else can stay in the periphery. I have had enough of being nice to useless strangers. I know who my valuable friends are and they are the ones who accept me as I am and guide me when I am wrong. They don’t reject me or hate me when I make a mistake. They take time to support me and stand by me at all times. I am thankful for a few good friends I made despite my general inability to judge people well.

I am also going to pay attention to my family because they have done so much for me. I think I have had enough of being selfish. I have always loved my family though I never expressed it very well. Now I will take time to express it.

And they won’t hate me even if I make stupid mistakes. They won’t ask me to go away. My best friends Jai, Rajesh and Arunkumar have stood by me at all times. While Jai and Arun have got me whatever I needed even if it was beyond their reach, Rajesh has been my mentor and guide. I am indebted to these three people.

I also have a few friends who let me be myself and accept me. One of them is Vivek and the other one is Shashi. Eventhough I have had epic fights with Shashi, we always ignore it and continue to be friends. I really think of him a lot of times and even he does not know about it. He has encouraged me and advised me when required. Vivek has accepted me despite my meanness to him and he has been kind to me though in his own silent manner.

I think I am going to erase all the mean things that some immaterial people told me and concentrate on what my friends and family have to say. I have buried my past and it is of no use or relevance to me except that it serves as the ashes from which I rise again in better form and with greater vitality.

Good bye to all the unnamed losers!

I’m in a bus

Where is it?

On a bridge

Is it hot?

I see a window

Who lives there?

People perhaps

It’s dark inside

It’s 10 am

Dinghy and dank

Is it a room?

Low ceiling!

Claustrophobia

I see people

Oh ok!

Mother and child

Are they happy?

Can they breathe?

Look away.

How can they?

Welcome to Mumbai.

When entwined like the ends of a barbed wire,
Where does my space end and yours begin?

In an unspoken word that the cigarette swallows,
Where does silence begin and smothering end?

The traffic offends on tarmac roads
Where does trust begin and anxiety end?

Midnight sweats like an unanswered panic
Where does empathy begin and selfishness end?

Loneliness strangles in the arms of strangers
Where does freedom begin and dependence end?

In the depths of pain, a craving beckons need
Where does growing up begin and childhood end?

Merciless coldness is dubbed as maturity
Where does anger end and limpness begin?

In the heart of thought, an instinct tempts
Where do necessities end and rules begin?

The past haunts endlessly staining the now
Where does begging end and choosing begin?

All gestures are misread and opinions formed
Where do masks end and realities begin?

All life is change and everything dies
Where do laws end and where does love begin?

I came to Pune on the 4th and I will be leaving on the 17th. I really like this place way better than Chennai. The streets seem quieter because I live outside the city limits. I like the people because they are very helpful and friendly. The guest house I live in is a huge bungalow with a beautiful view of the hills beyond. As the evening approaches, the city lights begin to glitter like little stars on the hills.

Last week, I was submerged in work. I had planned to go to Mumbai on Friday and come back on Sunday. However, I had to work on Saturday. Therefore, I took a rick and went to a place called Wakad bridge on Saturday evening and booked a Volvo bus to Mumbai. I quickly got myself some food from a nearby restaurant and was all set for the journey. The bus took off at 6.45 pm and I sat next to a friendly North Indian lady. I cannot speak Hindi very well.. only in bits and pieces. Luckily for me, this lady could speak English. So we made some conversation. It was a super comfortable journey. I loved the way, the bus wound its way through the mountain roads and tunnels. The cities down below shimmered like a thousand jewels. My heart leaped with happiness because this was quite an adventure in my uneventful life. I fell asleep for about one hour. When I woke up I figured that the back of my seat had automatically lowered itself and I was being stared at by the man in the back seat. I was literally on his lap. Lol! I sat up and gazed around till the sleep left my eyes. We reached Mumbai by 9.45. I was supposed to get off at Chembur Amar Mahal where my uncle was waiting to pick me up.

Suddenly, somebody told me that Chembur had already passed by. I heaved my bag and everything and went to the door. I asked someone to enquire in Hindi if the bus had already crossed Chembur. This man said, “I cannot speak Hindi either”. I was like “Oh!” and he asked me “What do you speak?”. I said “Thamizh” and he asked me where I was from. I said “Chennai”. He was like, “Hahahah! I am from Chennai too. I am an orthopaedic surgeon. I came to Pune for a surgery and now am at Mumbai for a convention.” I was like “Wow!” and he started speaking in Tamil. The bus had stopped at a signal. I tried asking the driver if I can get off because I had missed my stop at Chembur. Suddenly, the driver started speaking in Thamizh. Hahah! He said “Idhuthanga Chembur. Erangunga.” (This is Chembur. Get off!) Rofl! I was like “Thank you!!!!!!” Then I got off at some random place. My phone had 0 balance. I had recharged it online in the morning but the amount had not got credited. I walked down a road and saw a Vodafone mini store (I know!!). I recharged my phone again and called my cousin. I told her that I had missed my stop. I planned to take a rick to the Chembur Amar Mahal and go home with my uncle. My cousin asked me to come home straight. My uncle had no phone.

I told my cousin that I would go looking for my uncle. I took a rick and went back to Chembur Amar Mahal. I looked around for my uncle and he was nowhere to be found. In the meantime, my cousin called me and told me that my uncle had waited for me for 1 hour and had got back home. I took another rick to a place called Pestom Sagar. That is where my uncle and cousin live. Finally, I got home. I went in and gave my cousin a bigggggg hug! Lol! I was seeing her after ages!

I went to the bedroom and checked my webmail to see if there were any issues at work. I had my dinner and watched some cricket with my uncle. A friend who I called, pissed me off. So I called my bestest friend ever. He made me feel better. Then I had dinner and went off to sleep.

The next morning I visited my 86 year old grandma (my grandmother’s sister) and a host of other relatives. I had a good time going around the place with my uncle. In 4 hours I visited 4 houses. By 5 pm I took a bus back to Pune. I made friends with a girl sitting next to me. There was a little baby girl in the front seat, who kept talking to me in Hindi! Hahah! I took some pictures of her and the lights on the road. Then I slept for a while. When I got back to my guest house it was 9 pm. I ordered some food from a hotel nearby, watched the first half of  ”Sweet Home Alabama” on Zee Studio and fell asleep. 

Yes sir! I don’t know shit about IPL or why Harbhajan slapped Sreesanth! I also don’t know that Balaji made the first IPL hat trick in yesterday’s match! I cannot sing Dard-e-disco and don’t know who the eff is Deepika Padukone!

Now go leap from the nearest building!

I think I’m the most out-of-touch person after Obama!

When all else is dark

Give me some light

From the glint of your eyes

O, inconspicuous black bird.

My little child
Let us do a little snake dance
Spread-eagled on the beach sand

Bring her
Bring him
Bring them
Let us smoke the clouds away

And gather stars into our eyelashes
And store them there
For a scantier moonless day

Let us make Meaningless some
And some awesome random

Baby let us sing out loud
Till the carousel horses neigh at us
And baby monkeys jump in fright
Till our parched throats cry out loud
For a hearty drink from the salty sea

Let us let us be
And scream and make a melee
Till the beachcombers ogle at us
The beggars get scandalized

Let us pat the flea-eared doggy
And write him some poetry
Till he whacks us with his tail
And glares at us quietly

Come baby let us fly
Wings flailing like Heidi
Throw our sanity away
And be incorrigibly happy

Wooo wooo wooo!

They moved in with their equipment and dismantled the piano with perfect dexterity. Each piece was wrapped in crisp brown paper and duct taped. They were exporting the music to another land. To another hand.

Eventually, the pieces of the piano landed in a museum of sorts and all the pieces were assembled with great care.  A small placard announced that it had belonged to the greatest composer of all times Friedrich Hampton. A spotlight shone upon its ornamental carvings announcing its material value. Elite folk wandered in and out of the room. Some of them took pictures of the flawless piano and its grandeur after obtaining permission from the museum curator.

A glass case was constructed around the piano. A persian rug was spread beneath its legs. The whole room was exterminated to prevent termites from creeping into the piano’s wood. Janitors were placed at the entrance to guard the piano all through the day. A close-circuit camera watched the piano at all hours to ensure its safety. The glass case was dusted three times a day. Once a week the glass case was carefully opened and the piano was wiped thoroughly to retain its sheen.

Nobody spoke loud when they entered this room out of solemn respect for the great piano. They gasped and gently murmured to each other about the composer who had died recently and left the piano to be preserved by the museum in his hometown.

The piano stood there for several decades. Students did school projects on the piano. Musicians and scholars walked around it to weigh the kind of music it could produce. Artists and writers were disturbed by the mere story that surrounded the piano’s past. The nouveau riche approached the museum to enquire about its price.

Early one morning, a slight seismic disturbance was observed in the area. Subsequently, an earthquake rocked the whole place and brought down all the buildings. The glass case shattered into a hundred pieces and large chunks of debris fell upon the piano.

Rescue workers toiled day and night to trace corpses and save people who were stuck under huge piles of rubble. Bulldozers were brought in order to help clear out the land. The museum area was inaccessible to people. The government tried to salvage bits and pieces of all that remained of the museum’s exhibits of the glorious past. The piano had been completely wrecked. It was a great loss. It had invited a great deal of tourism into the town.

The last moments of the piano:

The townsfolk had made a zombie out of its soul and a whore out of its body. Everybody thought that the piano stopped existing when it was physically shattered but they had killed it decades ago. It had generously allowed the earth to consume its frame and the rubble to devastate its components. Nobody could have had a happier burial.

This is how I was killed .

What would I not give for one of those childlike smiles

And that wicked wit?

What would I not give?

Some children of mine are mad at me

And throw thorns into me

But I smile

I am so oblivious to the rest of the world.

I love you

I obliterate the real world

You got me so right.

And that is so scarily fantasy and real at the same time.

You got me right.

Not many have.

Oh bloody helpless me… how I love you

And I have an idiot smile and the ignorant bliss

While I stand here smiling about you.

I can’t help it baby!

You get me bang on… every time! I am just clueless how to protect myself.

And even the poetry hides under the bed for fear of you.

You decode me every time. I am so hopeless baby… and so happy!

I scream!!

hahahahah!

Whenever I feel down in the dumps I write crazy stuff in my notebooks. My sister found this story from my old diary and I was pretty surprised to read it. I would never write this story if I wrote now. But I just want to publish this eventhough I find it embarassing. I don’t remember when I wrote it.

Warning: It is about a Strawberry that listens to Metallica.

Strawberry’s Day Out

It was early morning in Lemony town. Strawberry was walking down an towards Mr. Eggless’ music shop. Strawberry wanted a violin. It was too early in the morning and all the shops were shut but Strawberry had dreamed of the violin the whole night lying wide awake on her little bed. She had wanted to buy it first thing in the morning. As soon as she woke up she brushed her teeth with Twinklin Toes Tangy Toothpaste, put on her green glitter shoes and began walking to the music shop.

On the way Strawberry met Madame Blueberry, a buxom lady of fifteen days. “Hello” said Madame Blueberry. Strawberry had her i-pod over her ears and did not hear Madame Blueberry. Metallica was loud enough for her. Yet she noticed a rotund blue thing rolling towards her with an orange floral print apron. “Oops!” said Strawberry and removed one earphone off her ear and said “Hello!” to Madame Blueberry. She had forgotten Madame Blueberry’s name. Strawberry was very forgetful. She imagined this was Madame Bumblebee. Sadly, Madame Blueberry had walked past her before Strawberry could strike up a conversation.

Now, Strawberry forgot what she had come out for. She looked at her green glitter shoes in dismay and wondered where she was supposed to go. She squeezed her eyes shut and tried hard to remember. The first word that came to her mind was “Fish!”. “Ah ha!”, thought Strawberry. That was it.  She had come to buy a fish-in-a-bowl for her bedroom corner stand. She walked towards the big, central-lemony-aquarium-for-all-things-fishy-and-otherwise. She loved this place.

As soon as she entered the aquarium, she saw a pink, spongy starfish stuck to the glass wall of a fish tank. It slowly slid down and crawled at the bottom of the tank. Then she saw a green bull frog. It is not often that you see a green bull frog. It said “Croak!” and looked very smug. She found it to be extremely funny. She giggled and moved towards the Octopus tank. She saw a big blue Octopus with a hat and a small orange dog next to it. It was a wall poster with Oswald and Weenie.

In the last shelf on that side of the room was a silvery blue baby angel fish swimming in a bowl. Strawberry opened her eyes wide and gazed at this beautiful fish. This was exactly what she wanted for her tiny bedroom with its tiny corner stool. Her bedroom had blue wallpaper and the fish would strikingly match it. She went up to Mrs. Dolphin who was the care taker at the aquarium. She pointed to the angel fish and said, “Me wants fishie blue!”. Mrs. Dolphin asked her to drop three coins into a box next to her and take the bowl. Strawberry did just that.

As she was walking back home, most of the shops had opened. She flaunted her fish bowl to the passers-by and walked with a bounce. Still, she had this strong feeling that she had forgotten something. She looked at the fish and the swirly colors on its body. Blue, silvery, moon-like, shimmering, gliding…just like…just like.. Music! And the whole of last night she had dreamed of a blue, glittery violin with rippling music sleeping on its strings. She would wake all the music up by gently nudging the notes one by one from sleep until they pranced around her room in a frolicking dance.

She stopped in front of the music shop. After looking like a red, copper-like violin and a black, velvet-like violin, she found something that she immediately liked. A bluemoon-like violin…Alas! She did not have enough coins to buy this violin. It cost 19 coins. She had never seen 19 coins before. Just then, Mr. Eggless hobbled up to her and said, “Hello! That is a very interesting violin you are looking at. And a nice fishie you’ve got there too!” Strawberry blushed but she managed to smile. Mr. Eggless was an eccentric, old man who did not look like an egg at all. Actually, his name was Mr. Egg but because everybody thought that he did not look anything like an egg, they started calling him “Mr. Eggless”.

Strawberry said she really liked the violin but she had no money to pay for it. Mr. Eggless laughed out heartily till his frame shook like a bowl of marbles. He gently lifted the violin off the shelf and handed it to Strawberry. “Take it!” he said. Strawberry wondered if he had lost his marbles. Mr. Eggless said, ” The music in this violin has been sleeping in my shop for months. Set it free!” He looked at her pleadingly.

The good things in life are always free. Sunlight, moonshine, stargazing, love and the sea. “Run now!” said Mr. Eggless and Strawberry hopped all the way home with her blue fish swimming like free music racing on happy strings.

P.S: On the way back home, Strawberry saw Madame Blueberry….and remembered her name!

Dedicated to my substance-abusing friends:

Why are many of my friends substance abusers?

one is an alcoholic beyond help. He thinks he is having fun. Sometimes he thinks he is funny when he makes stupid jokes about dying early.

one smokes upto a packet of cigarettes a day in order to relieve himself of stress. Pah!

one has got into marijuana. Wants to fit in with people around him who are equally useless.

one wants to go smoke pot every 1 hour and asked me if I know what a chillum is. this one imagines he is inspired by weed.

It is obvious that all of them are grown up men who have brains enough to take care of themselves. All of these people are running away from themselves. Cowards!

If you can let your mind take control of your body then fun wont be fun any more. It is impossible to be prudish or puritanical in this time and age, yet people can slightly exercise their will into being wise with their health.

I wonder what is happening to my friends. I am really worried for them but nobody listens to me. I often compare myself with a character called Cassandra in Greek mythology. Cassandra was granted the gift of prophecy by Apollo. Eventually, when he realized that she did not return his love, he cursed her such that nobody would believe her when she warned people about future events. People thought she was mad and incarcerated her.  Eventhough she could foresee the destruction of Troy nobody paid attention to her warnings.

Likewise, I have pleaded and warned all of these people here but to no avail. I hope life is not too hard on them before teaching her lessons.

The misconception here is that these people believe death will come in a minute and that they will exit peacefully. And that nobody will grieve their deaths just because their own self-worth is less than an ounce.

Five minutes into the hospital for some interminable illness and they will realize how many people have to shoulder the cross for their private sins. I think it is our hard luck that we hang around with such people because eventually when they get into a mess we’ll all be trying to pull them out of it. One tight slap! That is what you all deserve you spineless worms!

Alright! I will also quit my pills! That would be very good for my body. After that don’t complain that I am killing myself! Why should I try so hard to live in this place where everyone takes their health for granted while I must swallow pill after pill just to stay alive? Bloody cut throats. Read this and see the sense in it… don’t hate me just because i love you!

OMG! I forgot this blog exists.

Please check out my other blog at http://brokenbits.tumblr.com

Last night I had a great revelation. I realized that everything in this universe is futile. Everything is mindless and petty… Everything in human life is unnecessary. I could negate and deconstruct everything… except … except Chocolate.

(Damn damn damn! I failed!)

“I don’t wanna send mixed signals to you. I do like you a lot, a whole lot, and you’re very precious. But, i don’t think i love you with the intensity that you do. I want you to know i’m not ready for anything in my life right now. Don’t want you misled. You’re free, as much as i’m. I’m sorry if i’ve hurt you. i’m sorry if i’ve hurt you, but my feelings for you are genuine, sincere. But i’m a weak person now, and from your perspective, a loser. But i need to collect myself, and i don’t know how long it takes, but until i do so, you’re not bound by anything. If you do find someone who deserves you more, i’ll call it my bad luck. I’m appreciative of how you’ve made me feel! And guilty of how i’ve made you feel. WE could be a thing of the future, but is it definite, and when it would happen, i don’t know.”

*ahem* (puts on gloves and mask) I have quite some shit to handle here.

Well, well, well! To begin with, what the fuck are you talking about?

A “hurt” me.

A me who loves you with an “intensity” that you cannot match.

A person who you are guilty of for the way I am feeling.

Ok! Get this into your head. Use some nails if you want some added strength in sticking this idea to your skull. It is not so easy to hurt me! You have no clue how I am feeling so stop making crappy shit out of nowhere. You don’t have the power to make me feel victimized, lost or hurt because you are a non-entity deep down inside me. Deep down, only I exist with my own dreams and plans. Such brutal honesty would hurt you… but face it! Nobody needs anybody else.

Now, about my intensity… yeah it has been a subject of intrigue and innumerable disturbances in all my relationships. I am INTENSE. Incredibly so. Most people cannot handle it. The weaker ones suffocate and die. The stronger ones learn to handle it and use it to their advantage. Some of my best friends are really, really strong people.

About misleading me, don’t even try! It is not possible. I might look like a sucker who follows you like a lost puppy. One fine morning, I will pack my bags and leave. I will take all your bloated self-esteem with me. And you will be bankrupt. Don’t drive me to that.

From my perspective you’re a loser and a weak person. Yes you are! And that thought is of little relevance to my life, except for some motivation to improve my own self and be different from what I perceive you or similar losers to be.

As for the rest of the blah blah about your indecisiveness, your inability to predict your own decisions and the time it will take to make those decisions, your incompetency in identifying your own strengths and what you’re ready for etc… is not my headache! You had an opportunity and you lost it. Blame yourself for it, if you want to. I am as free as I was on the first day I met you. Sorry, if I sounded dependent - I was not. Sorry if I sounded vulnerable - I am not.

My future is what I make of it. Unfortunately, your future would be what you did not make of it.

Good luck and good bye!

Now for the truth.

You have to work harder and improve your tactics in conning people. My bullshit detectors are on 99% of the time. There is very little I lost to you and because of you. Better luck next time.

I hide shocking pink under grays
Muting wails and strumming metal, I wear silence
Bustling shoals of fish under the still deep blue
Bursting hail sleeping in calm cold clouds
Eye of a storm
Unwritten story
Sky-bound I fail
Shackled by Promethean snakes
Undead I lie still
Quiet and unmoving
Under a bleached smile shroud
And coffins of unpronounced death.

Note: My sad poems have started again.

Alright! Here goes one more attempt at Karaoke! Lots of sync issues… This song is so tough because there is not much connection between the song and the track!!!

My Immortal by Evanescence.

Warning: Not for the mild-hearted. Please press round pink button if you have any epileptic fits. Any remote resemblence to the original song is pure coincidence.

Yeah! That’s right.. it is my TOEFL score.

I am making a list of things I find easy and a list of things I wish I could.

It is easy for me to:

• Speak my mind and face the consequences
• Delete people from my life
• Allow new people into my life
• Appreciate chocolates
• Make a ruthless study of myself and others
• Hurt the closest of my friends recklessly
• Say “sorry”
• Say “no”
• Giggle a lot
• Laugh at myself

It is difficult for me to:

• Manage money
• Smile and socialize with people I hate
• Put myself in the martyr’s or the fool’s shoes
• Accept rejection
• Accept disappointments
• Accept change of plans
• Accept things I cannot change
• Understand why the hell people just won’t shut up and do as I say

Bloody there is nothing that I cannot change! There I go again! Oh god… someone save me from myself!

Forgive the bulleted list. It is one of my favorite genres.

Liars make my blood boil.

And I unfortunately have a special power to sense lies. Every time.

Uncanny.

And I hate lies in art. In poems. In photography. In paintings.

I hate composition and organization of objects. Of words. I hate fake imagery. I hate rough drafts.

I am glad that I am able to hate now.

I am also going to name my posts weird because it is horrible to think of titles for poems and subject lines for letters. Subject lines are surely the invention of some twisted mind!

A crumbling cookie night
Baskets of red. Rotund passion fruits.
Sit on my table. Still life.
Ellipsis. Ellipsis. Ellipsis.

Some photography-elusive moments later
You drone into my surreal mind gallery
With vicious paintbrushes
And fingernails.

Fur
Smothering fur.
Cacophonic radio static.
Montage of screaming colors.

Slippery shameful purple fish
Invade my everywhere.
Icy eels of control
Slithering down my skin
A million waxy drips in a moment

Flicker. Sigh. Moan. Shriller and shriller.
Will this much of love kill me, love? Kill me, Love. Kill. Me.

I think of the word “rhododendrons”
And then of a thin song just to seduce you.

I dissolve into the spilling cocoa night
In some memories of KMnO4
Keep this secret
(or)
I might just have to slit your throat again.

WOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

YESSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! BWAHAHAHAHAAHAHHAHA!!!!!!!!!!

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAEEEEEEEEEEEEOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!!!