you keep dying
you die a million deaths
in every story
and every new person that dies
you die again
and now its almost time for you to die
like you die anyway, every year
and i wait
in tense anticipation
28 days to go
and then we'll die once more
this will be our last year
in this place you died with me
down the streets
by the church
in the highways
down highways and graves
where i waited
liar liar
promise breaker
wont you come back to me?
ghost of my haunting, dearly beloved
best friend, root, and gradener
how dare the years try to smudge
the lines of blood let
when the the burning sharpness of the pain
is the only real things i have left
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aRE0mgSU6Dc
7/08/2010
Showing posts with label Dolly Series. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Dolly Series. Show all posts
Dolly - Part 8
people had been filtering out of the bar one by one. now he was left alone, in that corner table near the toilets, still not quite done. the thing was, his mind was a riot of thoughts, like the streets at 9AM on a busy city sidewalk. All the thoughts rushed and buzzed and zipped across his mind, looking terribly busy, but each was really without much of a goal or destination.
underneath all of them were ofcourse thoughts of dolly. he had woken up this morning in a sweat of panic. he felt like he was forgetting her. letting go of his grieving. but he didnt feel like he was ready for that yet. because he still didnt have anything in his life to replace her with, other than his mourning for her.
he closed his eyes and tried to recall the memories, like desperately revising an old memorised lesson. the weight of her in his arms as he picked her up screaming. the way she nestled into him. the way she suddenly screamed "DADDY!" and then burst into hysterical giggling. the way she tried to hide getting upset when he was too busy or too caught up to pay her attention. the way she lay pale and cold when he last saw her. wasted. half her laughing self.
he didnt want to forget. he didnt want to let go of his mourning, but he felt like it was slipping away from him, hard as he tried to hold on it. it was being pushed out of his mind by tiny ursuping stupid little attentions and affections. he didnt want that to happen.
in a moment of secret desperation, he called his wife. maybe talking to her would help. she sounded surprised and then strange. like she didnt know what to say anymore. there were long awkward pauses while they each tried to come up with something gay and funny to talk about.
it was funny he thought. how he wrestled with this growing sense of depression, this desperation on his own. he felt - at times - like he was sinking in a bog of quick sand inside his mind - falling into himself, so to speak. he felt like screaming, but his voice wouldnt come out. he desperately wanted to reach out to someone, beg some passerby to stop and help, but ironically, when he talked to anyone, he would just laugh and make jokes or talk about inconsequential things that didnt matter. while the beast of quiet desperation sulked and skulked and seethed inside. and then they, innocently naiive, walked away again, with a smile and a laugh, thinking (probably) what a fun cheerful person he was, and the beast looked out after them, through the bars of the cage of politeness and social expectat normalcy, and grind his teeth in anger and hatred, at them and at their bliss and his helplessness, and the frustration of the whole thing.
but then he knew it would pass. perhaps that was the curse of it. he was yet a practical man. he went to work, made his money, and did all the other practical things. he knew many people he could talk to about these wild things in his head, but they were too different, too much on the other side of the fence. they were wastrels, and junkies and, sometimes he thought, wasted perverts. maybe he was too much of a mix up of too many things. maybe he just wanted to much.
a waiter was looking at him strangely. he felt like they wanted him to go, though it wasnt yet closing time. but his mind was still a murky mass of unresolved thoughts. he wanted to be done thinking before he went home. he wanted to drink till he was tired and mind numbed and sleepy. in his dreams, dolly always came alive, again.
underneath all of them were ofcourse thoughts of dolly. he had woken up this morning in a sweat of panic. he felt like he was forgetting her. letting go of his grieving. but he didnt feel like he was ready for that yet. because he still didnt have anything in his life to replace her with, other than his mourning for her.
he closed his eyes and tried to recall the memories, like desperately revising an old memorised lesson. the weight of her in his arms as he picked her up screaming. the way she nestled into him. the way she suddenly screamed "DADDY!" and then burst into hysterical giggling. the way she tried to hide getting upset when he was too busy or too caught up to pay her attention. the way she lay pale and cold when he last saw her. wasted. half her laughing self.
he didnt want to forget. he didnt want to let go of his mourning, but he felt like it was slipping away from him, hard as he tried to hold on it. it was being pushed out of his mind by tiny ursuping stupid little attentions and affections. he didnt want that to happen.
in a moment of secret desperation, he called his wife. maybe talking to her would help. she sounded surprised and then strange. like she didnt know what to say anymore. there were long awkward pauses while they each tried to come up with something gay and funny to talk about.
it was funny he thought. how he wrestled with this growing sense of depression, this desperation on his own. he felt - at times - like he was sinking in a bog of quick sand inside his mind - falling into himself, so to speak. he felt like screaming, but his voice wouldnt come out. he desperately wanted to reach out to someone, beg some passerby to stop and help, but ironically, when he talked to anyone, he would just laugh and make jokes or talk about inconsequential things that didnt matter. while the beast of quiet desperation sulked and skulked and seethed inside. and then they, innocently naiive, walked away again, with a smile and a laugh, thinking (probably) what a fun cheerful person he was, and the beast looked out after them, through the bars of the cage of politeness and social expectat normalcy, and grind his teeth in anger and hatred, at them and at their bliss and his helplessness, and the frustration of the whole thing.
but then he knew it would pass. perhaps that was the curse of it. he was yet a practical man. he went to work, made his money, and did all the other practical things. he knew many people he could talk to about these wild things in his head, but they were too different, too much on the other side of the fence. they were wastrels, and junkies and, sometimes he thought, wasted perverts. maybe he was too much of a mix up of too many things. maybe he just wanted to much.
a waiter was looking at him strangely. he felt like they wanted him to go, though it wasnt yet closing time. but his mind was still a murky mass of unresolved thoughts. he wanted to be done thinking before he went home. he wanted to drink till he was tired and mind numbed and sleepy. in his dreams, dolly always came alive, again.
Randomly ...
yesterday was one of the happiest days of my life. it's strange. i didnt notice when i reached this place where i had noone i could say this to, or rather why.
had a 45 min long conversation today with 'one of my oldest bestest friends on how and why i always give people the impression i like them more than i do, and what i could do to not so do. do i just like too many people too much? or maybe its a translation thing. sometimes i feel like i am just being polite, or kind or affectionate but it's mis-taken. sometimes i really do like you a lot, but then i like tonnes of people ... i dunno
i held you in my mind all the way through the meadows. each day at this time i allow myself free reign to be lost in thoughts of you. there's only one thing i fear. that you will fade from my mind, like you sneaked out of my life. i still miss you intensely. or the idea of you. or maybe i just use you as an excuse to label my hunger.
i dont know if this is a true memory. probably not. it's of jampot - all those years ago. a red bike. and me going round you in cirles. round and round and round. and you trying to tweak a twang out of my tongue (but cis had been your idea :P)
yeah. maybe i miss you. or maybe i just miss having someone to adore so completely. and vice versa. it's such a heady feeling - like sleeping on silk. loving and being loved and being able to let it show. with abandon. beyond 'i'.
misty afternoons like this remind me of early morning EP classes. dunno why. maybe the last class was like that. we did ep of rape. it was awesome. isnt it the awesomest when you meet an idea you had no idea existed? that you didnt think of ever. almost as awesome as that click moment when something you have always known falls into place.
i write poems to you in my head as i walk to work. sometimes they make me cry. sometimes they make me laugh. no no. i'm NOT using you for the words. like i said before, this time, i'm june (... or almost)
i miss you today, a lot. there's something i'd like to say to you. amongst many others. i wonder if you can hear me, though. i wonder if you still love me. i wonder if you even remember me. but, you couldnt forget me could you?
i had a long talk with her yesterday. you should have heard her. she was so happy. she's all growned up. i love her so so much. you would too, if you saw her now. and i'd be jealous :P ... aint i always :)
i love you.
who could i say these things too? see! thats the irony. thats why i have so many mustard seeds.
"Dolly" - Part 4
Dont know where this will fit in - probably after he has run away from home and from his wife and he meets the other woman. He is attracted to her, and he is - in a strange detached way - surprised at himself for being so. He is surprised he can still feel things like this. Dolly is still dead. He can still feel the weight of her little body in his hands. He can still here her screaming 'dadddy'. This is the first time he has felt anything intense outside her grief, however feeltingly, and he is surprised he can. He doesnt feel ashamed, or guilty, thinking of his wife back home, who he ran away from. That too surprises him. Its like he is apart, watching this strange creature called "him". He hasnt told her about anything. This new woman. He doesnt actively pretend or ie, he never does, as much as he just 'forgets to mention' any 'unnecessary details', unless asked for. Some cruel part of him is pleased with the deception. How? Why? And at night he still dreams of his little girl, still feels guilty he let her die. thats kind of context for this part of it. if i could use verse id plug the beast here somewhere. at the end. maybe at home, by a fire after he has drunk a lot and cut his hands by some stupid accident and he cant be bothered to get up and clean or stop it. he just sits there and stares at it and his mind runs on in thoughts. Dunno - might scrap that too
It's not sexual, though it dances on the fringes of passion. It's like a burning need to know. To know something about the other person. But the feverishness of the need makes it almost seem to trandescend the intellectual. I would'nt know how to explain it more efficiently, really. In a world where human thoughts, desires and relationships are stored in strictly methodical filing cabinets, managed by zealous and efficient keepers of society, it is awkwardly out of place. Ofcourse, there is an element of desire, but its more like a tropical summer storm, than the year round british rain. It comes like a fever in the head, and you very well know it will pass.
So you were with me in my thoughts. Having spent the day and night with you like this, by proxy, (and you'd be amazed at the silly-mad things we did) makes me wonder if I am, finally, losing it! And it also makes me wonder what it would have been like if life had placed me in a different context.
Cruel, yes it was. A bit. Laughing, I hand out praise and strokes like crumb to swans gratefully floating. It's not exacty bait. But neither is it something more. It's entertaining to see you react. It's all in the game.
Now I wish you were here. I miss someone, or something, like a kick in the stomach, like me breath being kicked out of my lungs ... but I dont know who ...
Could it be you? Wish I knew. Wish I had the right to miss you. But I dont. Wanting you, now, comes at a huge price. One I know cant afford. Even in installments. So I hold the "missing" in the palm of my hand, gently, like a snowflake (like a begger frozen outside the pastry shop ... will the little princess come out and be kind to me?) And wait for it to melt.
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 ...
In sudden flashes, looking through the emptiness, desperately seeking distraction, becomes looking for you. Startled, my heart contracts with a frission of fear. Who are you? Master, Slave, Friend, Twin ... Who is that inside you, at the heart of the onion: who is that you carry hid? He looks like me. Can you let him out? Can I take him away. I promise to be bored and done soon - one day. And you can have him back, then. But not before.
It's not sexual, though it dances on the fringes of passion. It's like a burning need to know. To know something about the other person. But the feverishness of the need makes it almost seem to trandescend the intellectual. I would'nt know how to explain it more efficiently, really. In a world where human thoughts, desires and relationships are stored in strictly methodical filing cabinets, managed by zealous and efficient keepers of society, it is awkwardly out of place. Ofcourse, there is an element of desire, but its more like a tropical summer storm, than the year round british rain. It comes like a fever in the head, and you very well know it will pass.
So you were with me in my thoughts. Having spent the day and night with you like this, by proxy, (and you'd be amazed at the silly-mad things we did) makes me wonder if I am, finally, losing it! And it also makes me wonder what it would have been like if life had placed me in a different context.
Cruel, yes it was. A bit. Laughing, I hand out praise and strokes like crumb to swans gratefully floating. It's not exacty bait. But neither is it something more. It's entertaining to see you react. It's all in the game.
Now I wish you were here. I miss someone, or something, like a kick in the stomach, like me breath being kicked out of my lungs ... but I dont know who ...
Could it be you? Wish I knew. Wish I had the right to miss you. But I dont. Wanting you, now, comes at a huge price. One I know cant afford. Even in installments. So I hold the "missing" in the palm of my hand, gently, like a snowflake (like a begger frozen outside the pastry shop ... will the little princess come out and be kind to me?) And wait for it to melt.
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 ...
In sudden flashes, looking through the emptiness, desperately seeking distraction, becomes looking for you. Startled, my heart contracts with a frission of fear. Who are you? Master, Slave, Friend, Twin ... Who is that inside you, at the heart of the onion: who is that you carry hid? He looks like me. Can you let him out? Can I take him away. I promise to be bored and done soon - one day. And you can have him back, then. But not before.
Dolly (Part 3)
Disclaimer: With the exception of work labelled non-fiction, the characters featured in this site are completely fictional. Any resemblance to any person living or dead is purely coincidental. No similarity to any person either living or dead is intended or should be inferred.
I have something that is eating me up. I want to say it to someone, but I have noone to say it to. Or to put it better, I have noone I would care to say it to. For miscellaneus (I cant spell that) reasons. Maybe its a good thing, because I would'nt know the first thing about how to phrase it.
Is'nt it the kind of irony that could only happen to me, that today, when I should be so happy, I am so deeply sad. Well, not sad, but ... I dont know how to say even that.
We make our choices in life. We leave the things we have, and come seeking that which we don't. We leave our homes to look for adventure. We come and live in places which can never be home. And we know, we know all the time, that this is what we have chosen, and that noone will ever understand why, or that you will be lonely as a dog: warm, friendly befriended, fed, loved ... but never one of us. And we know what we are leaving behind, though sometimes we kid ourselves about it, for a while.
And you know that those who gave their life blood to make you who you were, who brought you up, and saved you, who found a stray orphan and loved it like their own, against all those million odds, and waited patiently for that one day when it will finish growing up, and be a 'full grown friend', you know that just at that night before harvest, you are stealing the crop they have nurtured for so long,
And you know they sit on the old rocking chair, in the cold and lonely house, where noone comes to visit, looking at the old collapsible gate, and waiting for you to come home ... know by heart the way you put one arm on the 'rock' and haul yourself up, shouting hello to uncle-ji (who they also know you secretly love) and ring the bell in 'your tune' while rattling the gate in 'your beat', which they probably hear in their dreams ... and you know that they will die in the that rocking chair by the time you are done wandering (and racing and rowing and winning cool stamps that you think are entry tickets to self-approval ... racing your shadow to try and satiate your insatiable, lustful, greedy 'self') ... you know they will be dead.
And the fruits of their labour, will be free to go back to the maker ... the cuckoo will fly back to its nest.
But still we do it. And we know, somewhere, while making our choices, the payments we are agreeing to, in regular installments, for all of time to come. And when the check arrives in the mail, we are expecting it, we have made our peace, had our joy. Won our races. Buried our dead.
But yet sometimes, it seems hard. And you just feel like you can't take it, like you've been paying all your life, for something or the other, that your tired of always paying for everything you wanted. why cant life be free.
But then it passes. Just like a toothache. It passes. You laugh at yourself. Blow your nose. make a coffee. Light up. And go stand by the window. And fondly think of how silly your 'little-child-self'gets once in a while, and smile. (And in a secret part of your heart hope it has truly passed ... and watch yourself a little skeptically, a little extra careful for a while ... just to be sure).
And so it is with love. Or atleast, with mine. I made my choices. I always knew it was out of reach. I always knew this would get very deep. From the first second I knew. It took me a while to reaise it, and then some more to come to terms with, and believe it, but from the first minute I knew.
And I always knew I could never, ever, ever reach out and touch the stars, or even ask the stars to come down. because thats NOT the WAY I want it. And i wouldnt be satisfied. Not with a gift. Or charity. Or compromise. Or agreement. I've been there too. I know ...
My logical side (is that my thalamus {supposed seat of consciousness}?) has made its peace with that. Its like loving a snowflake. You love it. You want it. But you know its so delicate, if you reach out and touch it, it will melt. You just cant have it. You can just watch it dancing from a distance: dancing, twirling, spinning, falling ...
But there are times when my younger side takes over (old brain?). there are times when I cant bear it, just for that moment, just to reach out and touch my little snowflake.
And to know that I wont. That I cant. That I just wouldnt allow myself, couldnt, wouldnt, shouldnt ... and all of that 'jiving around'.
And that I will just watch it float past my face. Free. Like it was meant to be. And I will let it go. I always knew that. But sometimes, it just seems awfully hard. And I wonder how I will do that.
But still, I'm glad. All my (other) dreams have come true. My life is blessed. I have friends, after a fashion. And now I even have somewhere to go (for what thats worth).
And knowing my little snowflake ... it would have turned out to be a bloody nightmare, had that one come true. Like they say, be careful what you wish for. And sometimes not getting what you wanted, is the best thing that could happen to you.
What does come with age is a (just) little bit more patience. And acceptance. a few years ago I would have gone to town on this. Now I sit and wait for it to pass - knowing for sure that it will. Before, I would have gone out of my way to keep out of people's way, now I know there will be time enough for that, when the time comes, and it will be soon enough. There was a time when I would have been angry or dissapointed in myself for being either so out of control, or so silly, or not brave enough to just do what it takes - get off the fence, this way or the other - but with time I have learnt to accept myself and loosen my ambitions about who I wanted to be.
So I just brace myself and prepare to try my best to let you go without a scene, without giving away anymore than I must. I dont care if I can't have you, but face ... I must save face. And I build up my scrap book of memories, for later, for the rest of the way. My box of rain. I collect every scrap of time and affection that falls of your careless ways. A pebble that you threw at me, a half sucked candy that you stuck in my hair, a strand of your hair ... but how do you collect the little formless things? A tone of voice, a carefree song, a look, a fleeting touch ... guess that too must be let go, huh?
PS - Please wont you NOT leave a silly comment? I have turned wiser, calmer, much much PC-er and polite-r, with my three decades old wisdom ... but inside, silly still pisses the fuck out of me. Just kidding. ;)
I know this does'nt weave in, in any way shape or form with the other two parts of 'dolly' (as they didnt with each other) but in my head they all fit in with the master-plot and one day they will be woven together, trust me ;)
Saw Away from her, I think it was the most impressive movie I have seen in a while ... or its the movie that moved me most (ever since cinema paradiso).
I have something that is eating me up. I want to say it to someone, but I have noone to say it to. Or to put it better, I have noone I would care to say it to. For miscellaneus (I cant spell that) reasons. Maybe its a good thing, because I would'nt know the first thing about how to phrase it.
Is'nt it the kind of irony that could only happen to me, that today, when I should be so happy, I am so deeply sad. Well, not sad, but ... I dont know how to say even that.
We make our choices in life. We leave the things we have, and come seeking that which we don't. We leave our homes to look for adventure. We come and live in places which can never be home. And we know, we know all the time, that this is what we have chosen, and that noone will ever understand why, or that you will be lonely as a dog: warm, friendly befriended, fed, loved ... but never one of us. And we know what we are leaving behind, though sometimes we kid ourselves about it, for a while.
And you know that those who gave their life blood to make you who you were, who brought you up, and saved you, who found a stray orphan and loved it like their own, against all those million odds, and waited patiently for that one day when it will finish growing up, and be a 'full grown friend', you know that just at that night before harvest, you are stealing the crop they have nurtured for so long,
And you know they sit on the old rocking chair, in the cold and lonely house, where noone comes to visit, looking at the old collapsible gate, and waiting for you to come home ... know by heart the way you put one arm on the 'rock' and haul yourself up, shouting hello to uncle-ji (who they also know you secretly love) and ring the bell in 'your tune' while rattling the gate in 'your beat', which they probably hear in their dreams ... and you know that they will die in the that rocking chair by the time you are done wandering (and racing and rowing and winning cool stamps that you think are entry tickets to self-approval ... racing your shadow to try and satiate your insatiable, lustful, greedy 'self') ... you know they will be dead.
And the fruits of their labour, will be free to go back to the maker ... the cuckoo will fly back to its nest.
But still we do it. And we know, somewhere, while making our choices, the payments we are agreeing to, in regular installments, for all of time to come. And when the check arrives in the mail, we are expecting it, we have made our peace, had our joy. Won our races. Buried our dead.
But yet sometimes, it seems hard. And you just feel like you can't take it, like you've been paying all your life, for something or the other, that your tired of always paying for everything you wanted. why cant life be free.
But then it passes. Just like a toothache. It passes. You laugh at yourself. Blow your nose. make a coffee. Light up. And go stand by the window. And fondly think of how silly your 'little-child-self'gets once in a while, and smile. (And in a secret part of your heart hope it has truly passed ... and watch yourself a little skeptically, a little extra careful for a while ... just to be sure).
And so it is with love. Or atleast, with mine. I made my choices. I always knew it was out of reach. I always knew this would get very deep. From the first second I knew. It took me a while to reaise it, and then some more to come to terms with, and believe it, but from the first minute I knew.
And I always knew I could never, ever, ever reach out and touch the stars, or even ask the stars to come down. because thats NOT the WAY I want it. And i wouldnt be satisfied. Not with a gift. Or charity. Or compromise. Or agreement. I've been there too. I know ...
My logical side (is that my thalamus {supposed seat of consciousness}?) has made its peace with that. Its like loving a snowflake. You love it. You want it. But you know its so delicate, if you reach out and touch it, it will melt. You just cant have it. You can just watch it dancing from a distance: dancing, twirling, spinning, falling ...
But there are times when my younger side takes over (old brain?). there are times when I cant bear it, just for that moment, just to reach out and touch my little snowflake.
And to know that I wont. That I cant. That I just wouldnt allow myself, couldnt, wouldnt, shouldnt ... and all of that 'jiving around'.
And that I will just watch it float past my face. Free. Like it was meant to be. And I will let it go. I always knew that. But sometimes, it just seems awfully hard. And I wonder how I will do that.
But still, I'm glad. All my (other) dreams have come true. My life is blessed. I have friends, after a fashion. And now I even have somewhere to go (for what thats worth).
And knowing my little snowflake ... it would have turned out to be a bloody nightmare, had that one come true. Like they say, be careful what you wish for. And sometimes not getting what you wanted, is the best thing that could happen to you.
What does come with age is a (just) little bit more patience. And acceptance. a few years ago I would have gone to town on this. Now I sit and wait for it to pass - knowing for sure that it will. Before, I would have gone out of my way to keep out of people's way, now I know there will be time enough for that, when the time comes, and it will be soon enough. There was a time when I would have been angry or dissapointed in myself for being either so out of control, or so silly, or not brave enough to just do what it takes - get off the fence, this way or the other - but with time I have learnt to accept myself and loosen my ambitions about who I wanted to be.
So I just brace myself and prepare to try my best to let you go without a scene, without giving away anymore than I must. I dont care if I can't have you, but face ... I must save face. And I build up my scrap book of memories, for later, for the rest of the way. My box of rain. I collect every scrap of time and affection that falls of your careless ways. A pebble that you threw at me, a half sucked candy that you stuck in my hair, a strand of your hair ... but how do you collect the little formless things? A tone of voice, a carefree song, a look, a fleeting touch ... guess that too must be let go, huh?
PS - Please wont you NOT leave a silly comment? I have turned wiser, calmer, much much PC-er and polite-r, with my three decades old wisdom ... but inside, silly still pisses the fuck out of me. Just kidding. ;)
I know this does'nt weave in, in any way shape or form with the other two parts of 'dolly' (as they didnt with each other) but in my head they all fit in with the master-plot and one day they will be woven together, trust me ;)
Saw Away from her, I think it was the most impressive movie I have seen in a while ... or its the movie that moved me most (ever since cinema paradiso).
Dolly (Part 2)
This just a brain dump - for the next part of a story I have been working on for a while. Its the story of a man who's daughter dies, and he always feels like he killed her, due to circumstances. One day when I have time, I will tidy it up and join it all together :)
This is the the part I wrote earlier, which comes further down in the story:
Then End
I.
the older i get,
with every passing day,
the more i skip back to my beginnings
there is a new determination
to be oblivious to forces from outside
stupid and pointless and dark
i want to live, more every day i progress towars the end of life
the more i recognise its inevitability
i could never do it
i love it to much
everyday, in all its madness and boredom or excitement
is dear and fun
and also, to do the things i want to
fill what remains with the best fruits of life
i like to laze on sunny afternoons
watch sun patterns on a stony ground
cloud shadows on rolling meadows
gulls with the sun on their wings
sunlight glinting on the water
i dont know or know that i belive in love
but there is this strange sense of wholeness
and peace, on everyday in the sun
like life has just begun
this too will pass
and soon
but i will not think about it today
tomorrow is another day
II.
and part of me looks over my shoulder
the road, thank god, almost untouched
lonely, rocky, full of falls, and hard
and the beginning ...
clean, untouched, fearless
only full of questions
and chatter and words and laughter
and sunshine
eternal sunshine ...
short lived
but safe
then the fall of the mighty empire
and the people of the refuge, shipped back to their origins
exciting, beuatiful, tropical, cruel, harsh
self absorbed
en-missioned
or so it then seemed
whispered, half guilty confidences
about the ways of the world
and secret indiscretions
analytical comparisms
and first hand demos
a whole new world of pagan excess
every kind and direction explored
in the first decade or two of life,
i still found them amazing and perplexing ...
so new, so different
a whole new world
and then there are so many dimensions to the latch key world ...
yet, in a way, we grew in the same garden
our first impressions and lessons, came from the same school
quaint, adventurous, 'different', but clean, wholesome, loving
then how did we turn out so different?
is it the seeds that matter? hers first hand, mine second ...
in the twisted of my lot
first came the artificial
then the real
first true and logical, then crazy and unpredictable
first kind, then harsh
unlike my role model, the little princess
i floundered for so long ...
so in my turn i tried to save the next edition
pack, isolate, separate
but its hard
the wild and the dark world has a beautiful face
and a fatal attraction
or maybe the dark stranger was right
the fatal flaw is in encoded in the seed
now we must decide ...
is it vital or fatal, to pass the baton on
is the madness in the hands of the he who last carries it,
in which case, we could work to wipe it clean,
or is it in the burning torch
which then, must be safely extinguished, destroyed, and the world made a better place
This is the the part I wrote earlier, which comes further down in the story:
Then End
I.
the older i get,
with every passing day,
the more i skip back to my beginnings
there is a new determination
to be oblivious to forces from outside
stupid and pointless and dark
i want to live, more every day i progress towars the end of life
the more i recognise its inevitability
i could never do it
i love it to much
everyday, in all its madness and boredom or excitement
is dear and fun
and also, to do the things i want to
fill what remains with the best fruits of life
i like to laze on sunny afternoons
watch sun patterns on a stony ground
cloud shadows on rolling meadows
gulls with the sun on their wings
sunlight glinting on the water
i dont know or know that i belive in love
but there is this strange sense of wholeness
and peace, on everyday in the sun
like life has just begun
this too will pass
and soon
but i will not think about it today
tomorrow is another day
II.
and part of me looks over my shoulder
the road, thank god, almost untouched
lonely, rocky, full of falls, and hard
and the beginning ...
clean, untouched, fearless
only full of questions
and chatter and words and laughter
and sunshine
eternal sunshine ...
short lived
but safe
then the fall of the mighty empire
and the people of the refuge, shipped back to their origins
exciting, beuatiful, tropical, cruel, harsh
self absorbed
en-missioned
or so it then seemed
whispered, half guilty confidences
about the ways of the world
and secret indiscretions
analytical comparisms
and first hand demos
a whole new world of pagan excess
every kind and direction explored
in the first decade or two of life,
i still found them amazing and perplexing ...
so new, so different
a whole new world
and then there are so many dimensions to the latch key world ...
yet, in a way, we grew in the same garden
our first impressions and lessons, came from the same school
quaint, adventurous, 'different', but clean, wholesome, loving
then how did we turn out so different?
is it the seeds that matter? hers first hand, mine second ...
in the twisted of my lot
first came the artificial
then the real
first true and logical, then crazy and unpredictable
first kind, then harsh
unlike my role model, the little princess
i floundered for so long ...
so in my turn i tried to save the next edition
pack, isolate, separate
but its hard
the wild and the dark world has a beautiful face
and a fatal attraction
or maybe the dark stranger was right
the fatal flaw is in encoded in the seed
now we must decide ...
is it vital or fatal, to pass the baton on
is the madness in the hands of the he who last carries it,
in which case, we could work to wipe it clean,
or is it in the burning torch
which then, must be safely extinguished, destroyed, and the world made a better place
Dolly (Part 1) (version 2)
it was four in the morning. he stood by the water, leaning on the side of his car. the crickets were just begining to break through the silence, taking over from the daytime noises. everything else
was deserted and quiet. quite nearby an industrious spider spun busily away. there were a few drops of rain stuck on the web. they glistened in the moonlight. why had he never noticed how pretty
they were. he'd just been paranoid of ever getting near them. he wasnt scared of the spiders but he felt some nameless paralysis at the mere thought of walking into a barely material curtain
unawares and feeling it rest slowly on his face. dolly had always pulled his leg about it. daddy is scared of spiders. daddy's a scaredy paredey poo. the stupid silly things she used to say. all at once his
mind froze on that thought and came to a halt. its strange how one part of ur brain starts a thought and suddenly, in a delayed response the rest of ur brain latches on. in that strange way, the
whole of his mind registered that a part of his mind had used the past tense for the first time. he didnt feel anything. he wasnt the feeling sort. just a kind of clenching in his stomach. like something
went all tight for a second and made him hold his breath. then it passesd. it wasnt hard to deal with this. all he needed was not to close his eyes and not to think and to be left alone so that he could do
these things. he didnt want to forget. he didnt want to 'heal' - whatever that meant. he didnt want to be happy. he just wanted to be left alone. for now, atleast.
was he being unreasonable? overreacting? how much reaction is okay when your only daughter dies leaving u nothing really except a numbness, a feeling that nothing mattered.
he wasnt the only one in the world who had lost a child. he wasnt even the only one in the world who had lost this child. her mother, his parents, her parents, everyone loved dolly. everyone was
saddened by her loss. they were being far more rational than him, he knew that. yes, he knew that. but somehow, it felt like his case was different from all the others. he 'knew' at some level that it
wasnt really so, but still, it 'felt' that way. what was the difference? did he love her, sorry - had he loved her, more than they had? not really. perhaps the difference was that he had never loved
anyone else. he had not been very human to begin with. she had melted some tiny corner of his heart - just enough to make room for her little little self. now that she was gone and that room was
empty, and it felt like his numb, frozen heart would cave in a fall into itself, into the empty room. she had taught him to feel things but now that she was gone, he didnt know what to feel. he was in a
no mans land. neither here nor there
he spent hours by himself in her empty room.
and he felt like he had just been hung out in the cold. he couldnt go back to what he was a nd feel nothing and he didnt know waht to feel either.
she had not been his reason excuse to live, she had been but a reason why she he could not die, could not want to die
he thought now, while she had lived she had always blindly adored him. whatever her daddy could do no wrong. her daddy was her biggest hero. her daddy was above all things. beyond all things.
better than everything. now that she was dead would she have found out everything about hikm, all his hidden sins, transgessions, mistakes. all the times he had fallen, had not been able to help
himself, had cleaned up and come home to her later. shining in his daddy armour again? would she know nknow? would she still love him? did she hate him now?
why hadnt he come home. he had known she was ill. her wife had called the station frantically about a doxen times. dolly is burning with fever. dolly is acting strange. come home. scome home come
home. but he had kept putting it off. he hadnt taken it seriously. now he couldnt bear to look at his work. couldnt bear to walk into the little office. sit at the desk.
my love wasnt enough to keep you
nor my pain enough to bring you back
and neither my guilt enough to take me with u.
all iwant is darkness
all i want is sleep
backout
oblivion
all need is lethe
i have no right to mourn u
i didnt love u
enough to hold u
i didnt car
anough to be there
i have no rights
to anything
all i want
is a final exit
actually everything was beyongd repair now. his work, his marraige. with you, he thought, i have betrayed everything. when i turned away form you, my eyes burned the world down.
he was getting better, he supposed. everyday it got a little number where there was just raw pain before at first. everyday he lasted a little longer with out closing his eyes to see hier laughing
mockingly at hiom. not his baby gentle laugh. a adult, sinister, cruel laugh. that seemed to say - who's sorry now.
without suddenly out of the blue efeeling her dead weight of her tiny, limp body in his arms gain. like a dead sparrow.
was deserted and quiet. quite nearby an industrious spider spun busily away. there were a few drops of rain stuck on the web. they glistened in the moonlight. why had he never noticed how pretty
they were. he'd just been paranoid of ever getting near them. he wasnt scared of the spiders but he felt some nameless paralysis at the mere thought of walking into a barely material curtain
unawares and feeling it rest slowly on his face. dolly had always pulled his leg about it. daddy is scared of spiders. daddy's a scaredy paredey poo. the stupid silly things she used to say. all at once his
mind froze on that thought and came to a halt. its strange how one part of ur brain starts a thought and suddenly, in a delayed response the rest of ur brain latches on. in that strange way, the
whole of his mind registered that a part of his mind had used the past tense for the first time. he didnt feel anything. he wasnt the feeling sort. just a kind of clenching in his stomach. like something
went all tight for a second and made him hold his breath. then it passesd. it wasnt hard to deal with this. all he needed was not to close his eyes and not to think and to be left alone so that he could do
these things. he didnt want to forget. he didnt want to 'heal' - whatever that meant. he didnt want to be happy. he just wanted to be left alone. for now, atleast.
was he being unreasonable? overreacting? how much reaction is okay when your only daughter dies leaving u nothing really except a numbness, a feeling that nothing mattered.
he wasnt the only one in the world who had lost a child. he wasnt even the only one in the world who had lost this child. her mother, his parents, her parents, everyone loved dolly. everyone was
saddened by her loss. they were being far more rational than him, he knew that. yes, he knew that. but somehow, it felt like his case was different from all the others. he 'knew' at some level that it
wasnt really so, but still, it 'felt' that way. what was the difference? did he love her, sorry - had he loved her, more than they had? not really. perhaps the difference was that he had never loved
anyone else. he had not been very human to begin with. she had melted some tiny corner of his heart - just enough to make room for her little little self. now that she was gone and that room was
empty, and it felt like his numb, frozen heart would cave in a fall into itself, into the empty room. she had taught him to feel things but now that she was gone, he didnt know what to feel. he was in a
no mans land. neither here nor there
he spent hours by himself in her empty room.
and he felt like he had just been hung out in the cold. he couldnt go back to what he was a nd feel nothing and he didnt know waht to feel either.
she had not been his reason excuse to live, she had been but a reason why she he could not die, could not want to die
he thought now, while she had lived she had always blindly adored him. whatever her daddy could do no wrong. her daddy was her biggest hero. her daddy was above all things. beyond all things.
better than everything. now that she was dead would she have found out everything about hikm, all his hidden sins, transgessions, mistakes. all the times he had fallen, had not been able to help
himself, had cleaned up and come home to her later. shining in his daddy armour again? would she know nknow? would she still love him? did she hate him now?
why hadnt he come home. he had known she was ill. her wife had called the station frantically about a doxen times. dolly is burning with fever. dolly is acting strange. come home. scome home come
home. but he had kept putting it off. he hadnt taken it seriously. now he couldnt bear to look at his work. couldnt bear to walk into the little office. sit at the desk.
my love wasnt enough to keep you
nor my pain enough to bring you back
and neither my guilt enough to take me with u.
all iwant is darkness
all i want is sleep
backout
oblivion
all need is lethe
i have no right to mourn u
i didnt love u
enough to hold u
i didnt car
anough to be there
i have no rights
to anything
all i want
is a final exit
actually everything was beyongd repair now. his work, his marraige. with you, he thought, i have betrayed everything. when i turned away form you, my eyes burned the world down.
he was getting better, he supposed. everyday it got a little number where there was just raw pain before at first. everyday he lasted a little longer with out closing his eyes to see hier laughing
mockingly at hiom. not his baby gentle laugh. a adult, sinister, cruel laugh. that seemed to say - who's sorry now.
without suddenly out of the blue efeeling her dead weight of her tiny, limp body in his arms gain. like a dead sparrow.
For Dolly (Part 1 - version 1)
It was four in the morning. he stood by the water, leaning on the side of his car. the crickets were just begining to break through the silence, taking over from the daytime noises. everything else was deserted and quiet. quite nearby an industrious spider spun busily away. there were a few drops of rain stuck on the web. they glistened in the moonlight. why had he never noticed how pretty they were. he'd just been paranoid of ever getting near them. he wasnt scared of the spiders but he felt some nameless paralysis at the mere thought of walking into a barely material curtain unawares and feeling it rest slowly on his face. dolly had always pulled his leg about it. daddy is scared of spiders. daddy's a scaredy paredey poo. the stupid silly things she used to say. all at once his mind froze on that thought and came to a halt. its strange how one part of ur brain starts a thought and suddenly, in a delayed response the rest of ur brain latches on. in that strange way, the whole of his mind registered that a part of his mind had used the past tense for the first time. he didnt feel anything. he wasnt the feeling sort. just a kind of clenching in his stomach. like something went all tight for a second and made him hold his breath. then it passesd. it wasnt hard to deal with this. all he needed was not to close his eyes and not to think and to be left alone so that he could do these things. he didnt want to forget. he didnt want to 'heal' - whatever that meant. he didnt want to be happy. he just wanted to be left alone. for now, atleast.
was he being unreasonable? overreacting? how much reaction is okay when your only daughter dies leaving u nothing really except a numbness, a feeling that nothing mattered.
he wasnt the only one in the world who had lost a child. he wasnt even the only one in the world who had lost this child. her mother, his parents, her parents, everyone loved dolly. everyone was saddened by her loss. they were being far more rational than him, he knew that. yes, he knew that. but somehow, it felt like his case was different from all the others. he 'knew' at some level that it wasnt really so, but still, it 'felt' that way. what was the difference? did he love her, sorry - had he loved her, more than they had? not really. perhaps the difference was that he had never loved anyone else. he had not been very human to begin with. she had melted some tiny corner of his heart - just enough to make room for her little little self. now that she was gone and that room was empty, and it felt like his numb, frozen heart would cave in a fall into itself, into the empty room. she had taught him to feel things but now that she was gone, he didnt know what to feel. he was in a no mans land. neither here nor there
he spent hours by himself in her empty room.
and he felt like he had just been hung out in the cold. he couldnt go back to what he was a nd feel nothing and he didnt know waht to feel either.
she had not been his reason excuse to live, she had been but a reason why he could not die, could not want to die
he thought now, while she had lived she had always blindly adored him. whatever her daddy could do no wrong. her daddy was her biggest hero. her daddy was above all things. beyond all things. better than everything. now that she was dead would she have found out everything about hikm, all his hidden sins, transgessions, mistakes. all the times he had fallen, had not been able to help himself, had cleaned up and come home to her later. shining in his daddy armour again? would she know? would she still love him? did she hate him now?
why hadnt he come home. he had known she was ill. her wife had called the station frantically about a doxen times. dolly is burning with fever. dolly is acting strange. come home. scome home come home. but he had kept putting it off. he hadnt taken it seriously. now he couldnt bear to look at his work. couldnt bear to walk into the little office. sit at the desk.
my love wasnt enough to keep you
nor my pain enough to bring you back
and neither my guilt enough to take me with u.
all iwant is darkness
all i want is sleep
backout
oblivion
all need is lethe
i have no right to mourn u
i didnt love u
enough to hold u
i didnt car
anough to be there
i have no rights
to anything
all i want
is a final exit
actually everything was beyongd repair now. his work, his marraige. with you, he thought, i have betrayed everything. when i turned away form you, my eyes burned the world down.
he was getting better, he supposed. everyday it got a little number where there was just raw pain before at first. everyday he lasted a little longer with out closing his eyes to see hier laughing mockingly at hiom. not his baby gentle laugh. a adult, sinister, cruel laugh. that seemed to say - who's sorry now.
without suddenly out of the blue efeeling her dead weight of her tiny, limp body in his arms gain. like a dead sparrow.
was he being unreasonable? overreacting? how much reaction is okay when your only daughter dies leaving u nothing really except a numbness, a feeling that nothing mattered.
he wasnt the only one in the world who had lost a child. he wasnt even the only one in the world who had lost this child. her mother, his parents, her parents, everyone loved dolly. everyone was saddened by her loss. they were being far more rational than him, he knew that. yes, he knew that. but somehow, it felt like his case was different from all the others. he 'knew' at some level that it wasnt really so, but still, it 'felt' that way. what was the difference? did he love her, sorry - had he loved her, more than they had? not really. perhaps the difference was that he had never loved anyone else. he had not been very human to begin with. she had melted some tiny corner of his heart - just enough to make room for her little little self. now that she was gone and that room was empty, and it felt like his numb, frozen heart would cave in a fall into itself, into the empty room. she had taught him to feel things but now that she was gone, he didnt know what to feel. he was in a no mans land. neither here nor there
he spent hours by himself in her empty room.
and he felt like he had just been hung out in the cold. he couldnt go back to what he was a nd feel nothing and he didnt know waht to feel either.
she had not been his reason excuse to live, she had been but a reason why he could not die, could not want to die
he thought now, while she had lived she had always blindly adored him. whatever her daddy could do no wrong. her daddy was her biggest hero. her daddy was above all things. beyond all things. better than everything. now that she was dead would she have found out everything about hikm, all his hidden sins, transgessions, mistakes. all the times he had fallen, had not been able to help himself, had cleaned up and come home to her later. shining in his daddy armour again? would she know? would she still love him? did she hate him now?
why hadnt he come home. he had known she was ill. her wife had called the station frantically about a doxen times. dolly is burning with fever. dolly is acting strange. come home. scome home come home. but he had kept putting it off. he hadnt taken it seriously. now he couldnt bear to look at his work. couldnt bear to walk into the little office. sit at the desk.
my love wasnt enough to keep you
nor my pain enough to bring you back
and neither my guilt enough to take me with u.
all iwant is darkness
all i want is sleep
backout
oblivion
all need is lethe
i have no right to mourn u
i didnt love u
enough to hold u
i didnt car
anough to be there
i have no rights
to anything
all i want
is a final exit
actually everything was beyongd repair now. his work, his marraige. with you, he thought, i have betrayed everything. when i turned away form you, my eyes burned the world down.
he was getting better, he supposed. everyday it got a little number where there was just raw pain before at first. everyday he lasted a little longer with out closing his eyes to see hier laughing mockingly at hiom. not his baby gentle laugh. a adult, sinister, cruel laugh. that seemed to say - who's sorry now.
without suddenly out of the blue efeeling her dead weight of her tiny, limp body in his arms gain. like a dead sparrow.