i was never crazy on my own ...

i was never crazy on my own ...

you're the kaleidescope maker
you're the juggler
you're the sweetest thing
you're the best i've ever seen

it's a thrill
it's a wonderfull feeling
it's not because of you
it's because of how you make me feel

it's sweet ...
but i'm diabetic

i still dont like a tease
and i still am to lazy to pretend

you make me short of breath,
and i have still miles to run ...

summer's setting
it's autumn's dusk

evening's sober
get out the little black masks

take away evil thrills, though they might enchant
i have greater worlds to win. tonight's my time to dance


sometimes, the more you feel, the less you can say
maybe feelings are like silt just below your throat?

for all my acclaimed integrity and scorn of the impure and lesser,
i am damn thrilled with the tokens :D Thank you!

I will pretend to myself they are real be enjoy the warmth of the thrill for a while
As long as there are no misconceptions, I dont mind pretences, as long as we both know we're just playing

mera naam joker

there were so many things i had hated about the movie, but there is so much i have forgotten now. i really want to see it again. and hunchback of notre dame. can you really potray, for a uninvolved bystander, in words, or verse or pictures, the agony of the fool, the pain behind the frozen smile of the joker. or the howling anguish of the steppenwolf. well, atleast that one i can re-read, because I always have that with me.

there is something i have been wondering about. dreams. stories (in any form). empathy. what is the relation between them and the real experience. specially dreams. or virtual reality. how would that tie in with the arguments of consciousness and reductivity.

but then, as i almost failed my theories of mind paper, i guess i better keep shut about philosphy. but i wonder.

there are so many things that we wonder about, have theories about, think about. there's no way of knowing is there, who really is right?

An article on empathy

words games

As the time rushes by
like wind in my face,
and sand through my hands,
childlike again,
i try to pluck out from it
a few words, to stay mine

but how do you catch something so fey?

Looking through this emptiness,
holding my throbbing pain pressed still in my hand to calm,
desperate for distraction,
holding on the the last pieces of the corpse I still carry,
or struggle to ... because it has grown intwined with my sanity

i wonder if time has come to let go the ghost

The wet winds and silver skies
Underlined thunder, and the promise of soft rain
Makes me miss something,
or someone,
Or maybe just makes me miss missing someone

But who? Could it be you? Wish I knew.

I wouldnt dare miss you ...
Not with my kind of longing
(having still not learned half measures)
Wanting you, would come at such a price
And everyone knows I am broke
(having nothing left to give, or break, anymore)

Well, anyway

So I hold the "missing" in the palm of my hand,
gently, like a snowflake
And wait for it to melt.
It will pass, wont it?
The scary intensity of this moment?
You will go away, wont you?
I will be free again, wont I?

Because you disarm me and make me feel uncomfortable powerless

Anyway, so I crack a joke and turn away
Such a coward? No I'm just a realist
Save face. Dont rock anything. walk away.
Close the door very gently, so the lock doesnt click
Oh, yes. I leave room for my indecision
Always play safe (atleast, for yourself)

Fleetingly, looking through the emptiness (desperately seeking distraction) becomes looking for you.

Startled, my heart contracts
with a frission of fear.
Who are you?
Who is that I thought I saw for a moment inside you?,
Who is that you hide?
He looks like me!
Or like someone I know so well, from so long ago,
That I'd get him mixed up with me.

Can you let him out to play? Can I take him away? Just for a while?