I know it's explainable by science, and the rest is all rubbish. I learn that in so many papers I read, lectures and talks I sit in. Still, it's such sweet rubbish. I used to think liking someone who doesnt like you back is just pure torture, but it's such sweet torture. I used to think it's just a waste of time, but it's such an lovely waste. It's stupid that a dead-end lane can be so enchanting, isnt it? Isnt it amazing that the fact you know something wont go anywhere, and you would'nt, or could'nt let it, even if it wanted to; that you know it will pass, in time, does in fact make no difference to the rush off blood that sings in your head, each time. It's still sweet torture when eyes meet. keep calm. look calm. smile. casual. easy does it. Dont let on ... Hey! You gotto hide your love away. Its illogical that just a few minutes can last so many hours. That days of reasoning with yourself, learning and teaching control and practising restraint and caution, can be gone with the wind in seconds. But then, it is a windy city ;)
All around me everyone is talking about it. Everyone is falling in or out of love, or rocking boats. Everyone has thrills or tears to share. God! Am I surrounded by love birds. Looking at them, sometimes, I feel tempted by the sweetness of the madness, but sometimes, I think maybe its better off calm.
something, by the Beatles, on youtube
Showing posts with label Favourites. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Favourites. Show all posts
A Good Day to Die
it was a beautiful day. they were a beautiful sequence of days. the sun was shining. it came and it went, but when it came, it really shone. soft and sweet. and once, direct, bang in my eyes.
but thats not the day i thought of it. i thought of it another time. it had been one whole sunny afternoon. the sun smiled, grinning in quaint grey corners, twinkling on polished old cobble stones. many dreams came true that day. thats when i thought of it.
i doubt that i will ever be able to explain it. its one thing to feel things, and another to shape them in words. have you ever lived a moment so perfect, so full of promises that you dont ever want it to end? a moment who's promise is so exquisite, pleasure so complete, that you dont want to move a step beyond it?
i remember flatliners. havent seen that in a long time, wanted to see it again. they are showing a bout de souffle, and atlast, double life of veronique at Edinburgh Film Centre.
whats new is a kind of letting go. there's a common thread to all the different types of courage i have found in the last few months. courage to open up and let people in. courage to try something new. courage to risk losing, failing, being rejected, looking stupid, being disliked. courage to close your eyes and step off the ledge, past the fear of falling, because you dreamed of flight. maybe it will be allright. i know that if i can only make it past this moment, this day, i will survive.
but thats not the day i thought of it. i thought of it another time. it had been one whole sunny afternoon. the sun smiled, grinning in quaint grey corners, twinkling on polished old cobble stones. many dreams came true that day. thats when i thought of it.
i doubt that i will ever be able to explain it. its one thing to feel things, and another to shape them in words. have you ever lived a moment so perfect, so full of promises that you dont ever want it to end? a moment who's promise is so exquisite, pleasure so complete, that you dont want to move a step beyond it?
i remember flatliners. havent seen that in a long time, wanted to see it again. they are showing a bout de souffle, and atlast, double life of veronique at Edinburgh Film Centre.
whats new is a kind of letting go. there's a common thread to all the different types of courage i have found in the last few months. courage to open up and let people in. courage to try something new. courage to risk losing, failing, being rejected, looking stupid, being disliked. courage to close your eyes and step off the ledge, past the fear of falling, because you dreamed of flight. maybe it will be allright. i know that if i can only make it past this moment, this day, i will survive.
crankpot
i'm becoming cranky, nasty, bitter
and perpetually, sweetly, deviously, sarcastic
do i watch out zealously to find in others
faults i cringe to see in me?
the thing is, you need a window, and a lot of blinds
and scattering of ventilators
and a couple of doors that can be opened from the outside
some NMI's? without ma and with baribe far away,
there are no more NMI's
and perpetually, sweetly, deviously, sarcastic
do i watch out zealously to find in others
faults i cringe to see in me?
the thing is, you need a window, and a lot of blinds
and scattering of ventilators
and a couple of doors that can be opened from the outside
some NMI's? without ma and with baribe far away,
there are no more NMI's
sister of my soul. and other ramblings.
still tired and nauseus almost all the time
under a couple of layers of miscellaneous excitements
is a layer of calm numbness
and beneath that a speechless panic that
next a layer of impotent detachment.
as it watches the rotating mind pass that spot again
where it knows a way of life has passed for ever
and though the table has been cleared
and the sorbet brought in,
i have no clue what i want for my next course
at the bottom, i think, is stinging angst
of feeling unsettled and unsure
and just plain missing friends
and their reality checks.
without you to give me a reference point
without you to laugh with,
without you crack stupid inside jokes with,
without you to talk about love, life and men with,
friendless, twinless, alone.
anyone else is too many words away
noone knows as much background as you
i could talk but who'd understand
half sentences, like you do.
watching Hazaaron Khwaishen reawekens the itch
and relocates it tantalisingly, teasingly,
just barely out of reach.
what who where is this thing
i ache to be.
outside, its a sunny day.
and i'm feeling much better today,
thank you. a bit busy (for polite non conversation).
brb. catch you. cheers. happy new year to you too.
under a couple of layers of miscellaneous excitements
is a layer of calm numbness
and beneath that a speechless panic that
next a layer of impotent detachment.
as it watches the rotating mind pass that spot again
where it knows a way of life has passed for ever
and though the table has been cleared
and the sorbet brought in,
i have no clue what i want for my next course
at the bottom, i think, is stinging angst
of feeling unsettled and unsure
and just plain missing friends
and their reality checks.
without you to give me a reference point
without you to laugh with,
without you crack stupid inside jokes with,
without you to talk about love, life and men with,
friendless, twinless, alone.
anyone else is too many words away
noone knows as much background as you
i could talk but who'd understand
half sentences, like you do.
watching Hazaaron Khwaishen reawekens the itch
and relocates it tantalisingly, teasingly,
just barely out of reach.
what who where is this thing
i ache to be.
outside, its a sunny day.
and i'm feeling much better today,
thank you. a bit busy (for polite non conversation).
brb. catch you. cheers. happy new year to you too.
love, or something like it
in most womens lives, there are atleast three men
the one she loves. the one who loves her. and the safest bet.
any or all can be manifested in one person,
be absent, be imaginary, yet to appear, in trial, or absent.
if a lot of people love you, you cannot
love everyone who loves you.
sometimes, some people bore you so lethally,
that however fond of them you are, or however sorry you feel for them,
or however much you want to, or however hard you try,
its impossible to love them.
i have often thought that some people have an aptitude for joy. they are happy whatever the circumstance. the reverse is also true.
i think the same is true for love, and in relationships.
its possible to oscillate between the two ends or,
live somewhere in between.
the one she loves. the one who loves her. and the safest bet.
any or all can be manifested in one person,
be absent, be imaginary, yet to appear, in trial, or absent.
if a lot of people love you, you cannot
love everyone who loves you.
sometimes, some people bore you so lethally,
that however fond of them you are, or however sorry you feel for them,
or however much you want to, or however hard you try,
its impossible to love them.
i have often thought that some people have an aptitude for joy. they are happy whatever the circumstance. the reverse is also true.
i think the same is true for love, and in relationships.
its possible to oscillate between the two ends or,
live somewhere in between.
home again
been home for a week or so
feels like i had never left
took all my stuff out of packings and wrappings
and laid it all out again
strange tpo be back amongst my own again
own books, room, music, movies ...
i'm slipping out of the me of the last few decades,
that built a world out of these things
i'm peeping out
been here for years but never been to ccfc for new years
somehow
might go this year
funny place where i am
so much has changed
and so much still the same
its so easy to slip into sweet promises
you cannot afford to mean
gypsies and travellers
cant afford to pick up so much luggage
still amongst it all, you feel like your floating
travelling, desperately seeking
someone, something, somewhere which i can sense, but not grasp
like the half remembered word
tease ...
feels like i had never left
took all my stuff out of packings and wrappings
and laid it all out again
strange tpo be back amongst my own again
own books, room, music, movies ...
i'm slipping out of the me of the last few decades,
that built a world out of these things
i'm peeping out
been here for years but never been to ccfc for new years
somehow
might go this year
funny place where i am
so much has changed
and so much still the same
its so easy to slip into sweet promises
you cannot afford to mean
gypsies and travellers
cant afford to pick up so much luggage
still amongst it all, you feel like your floating
travelling, desperately seeking
someone, something, somewhere which i can sense, but not grasp
like the half remembered word
tease ...
leaving you
this should be routine by now.
the sorrow, the shame, the betrayal,
but somehow this time hurts more than ever before.
i dont know why. what will tomorrow bring?
i had burned all my bridges and
headed out towards a distant glimmering dream.
now as it shimmers and teases, and fades further
with each step i take,
and as my breath slowly ebbs,
and as i think of the time
i have remaining, and how ambitious my dreams,
i wonder where i'll end up in end.
what waits around the next bend?
the sorrow, the shame, the betrayal,
but somehow this time hurts more than ever before.
i dont know why. what will tomorrow bring?
i had burned all my bridges and
headed out towards a distant glimmering dream.
now as it shimmers and teases, and fades further
with each step i take,
and as my breath slowly ebbs,
and as i think of the time
i have remaining, and how ambitious my dreams,
i wonder where i'll end up in end.
what waits around the next bend?
goodbye again
i had saved up months of longing,
of patiently waiting, of missing you
i spoke to noone about you
i spoke to noone about anything that matters
i collected each tear-ghost, each bastard-wish,
that i had no right to make, that came out of nowhere,
each night, spent awake, counting sighs that i didnt sigh,
and when the weight of it all grew too much,
when it threatened to tumble and fall
then out of nowhere, your voice rang out
once again, in the middle of the night, in the dark room,
i huddled on the floor cradling my phone, delicate
fragile, fleeting, the most precious of connections
how did you know i had been calling
how did you know i was giving up?
or on the verge.
i borrowed you back for a few seconds
i crammed it all in, packing time best i could
but efficiency was never my forte
i rambled uselessly
silly songs i had heard, that had made me think
of you and smile
decisions i had made
paths i had chosen
but there was still so much to say
before we timed out
and so much to not say
so much you can never say
and this too, that i never thought you didnt
get in touch last year because you "felt odd"
yes. it was the worst time of my life
in a way, it still is
she took a lot with her
so many things
whatever you had left behind
most of that she took away
now there are just a few things left
like the laptop
an obscure reference
but maybe you'll get it
but maybe its for the best
what would i say had there been the time and chance
i'm sure its for the best
anyway. what will be marker this time?
from veer zara to umrao jaan :)
of patiently waiting, of missing you
i spoke to noone about you
i spoke to noone about anything that matters
i collected each tear-ghost, each bastard-wish,
that i had no right to make, that came out of nowhere,
each night, spent awake, counting sighs that i didnt sigh,
and when the weight of it all grew too much,
when it threatened to tumble and fall
then out of nowhere, your voice rang out
once again, in the middle of the night, in the dark room,
i huddled on the floor cradling my phone, delicate
fragile, fleeting, the most precious of connections
how did you know i had been calling
how did you know i was giving up?
or on the verge.
i borrowed you back for a few seconds
i crammed it all in, packing time best i could
but efficiency was never my forte
i rambled uselessly
silly songs i had heard, that had made me think
of you and smile
decisions i had made
paths i had chosen
but there was still so much to say
before we timed out
and so much to not say
so much you can never say
and this too, that i never thought you didnt
get in touch last year because you "felt odd"
yes. it was the worst time of my life
in a way, it still is
she took a lot with her
so many things
whatever you had left behind
most of that she took away
now there are just a few things left
like the laptop
an obscure reference
but maybe you'll get it
but maybe its for the best
what would i say had there been the time and chance
i'm sure its for the best
anyway. what will be marker this time?
from veer zara to umrao jaan :)
parting
ever since i was born, i have borne partings.
every few months, everytime i got used to one setup, one house,
one set of people, one set of gaurdians, i had to move to another.
one would think, by now, i'd get used to it. yet, somehow, i never do.
life has taught me to put down roots easily.
i get attached to new people before i know whats happening
strange places become home. i used to say, home is anywhere
i spend the night. i carry my home inside me.
life has taught to make friends quickly and fast.
and then labelled me unfaithful for being a good student.
but what i havent learnt is how to dull the agony of parting.
it still shatters me, everytime, to say goodbye.
and the last years new lessons taught me that partings
are not always followed by reunions.
everytime you leave your family,
you will not see them again, next year, next summer.
i have grown up seeing my father once a year.
somewhere, there was a hope that if i wait long enough
time will come, when we will be together forever
one day, we will all live together. so i waited.
but time changes everything. time erodes the goalposts
even while you are running towards them
so that panting, coughing blood, when you somehow
arrive, somehow survive, there's nothing but ghosts to greet you.
time takes everything away. you try to pluck a moment and
freeze it in your heart, but when you take it out again'
in some quiet corner of a faraway tommorow,
you find nothing but ghosts of memories. fast fading.
so the wise let go of each moment as it passes
they live only in the one they find themselves in
i have learned that trick with places and people
teach me how to do it with time. teach me to be a master of time.
every few months, everytime i got used to one setup, one house,
one set of people, one set of gaurdians, i had to move to another.
one would think, by now, i'd get used to it. yet, somehow, i never do.
life has taught me to put down roots easily.
i get attached to new people before i know whats happening
strange places become home. i used to say, home is anywhere
i spend the night. i carry my home inside me.
life has taught to make friends quickly and fast.
and then labelled me unfaithful for being a good student.
but what i havent learnt is how to dull the agony of parting.
it still shatters me, everytime, to say goodbye.
and the last years new lessons taught me that partings
are not always followed by reunions.
everytime you leave your family,
you will not see them again, next year, next summer.
i have grown up seeing my father once a year.
somewhere, there was a hope that if i wait long enough
time will come, when we will be together forever
one day, we will all live together. so i waited.
but time changes everything. time erodes the goalposts
even while you are running towards them
so that panting, coughing blood, when you somehow
arrive, somehow survive, there's nothing but ghosts to greet you.
time takes everything away. you try to pluck a moment and
freeze it in your heart, but when you take it out again'
in some quiet corner of a faraway tommorow,
you find nothing but ghosts of memories. fast fading.
so the wise let go of each moment as it passes
they live only in the one they find themselves in
i have learned that trick with places and people
teach me how to do it with time. teach me to be a master of time.
Yesterday
can you feel jealous, hurt, betrayed, in retrospect?
funny, how i used to ask you about it, jokingly
and you always were so calm. that should have rung a bell
but no, its a bit funny, how foolish i was
and naiive, to believe all your lies
such a big lie, why did you do it? i feel like asking you
your morning prayers, your chinese screens, your games
i dont think you can be, indignant in retrospect ...
just glad for any happiness anyone finds and
gladder that i'm far away from all of it
Originally Posted at Prerona.
funny, how i used to ask you about it, jokingly
and you always were so calm. that should have rung a bell
but no, its a bit funny, how foolish i was
and naiive, to believe all your lies
such a big lie, why did you do it? i feel like asking you
your morning prayers, your chinese screens, your games
i dont think you can be, indignant in retrospect ...
just glad for any happiness anyone finds and
gladder that i'm far away from all of it
Originally Posted at Prerona.
time to go again
still feels like i barely got here
and its time to go again
leaving for calcutta on the 19th
i still have 2 weeks of hols left
why am i going there? it feels so ironic at times
there were 2 years of my life when i didnt have
to split time between calcutta and dubai
i was in texas and i didnt come home for 2 years
ironically, those years bought even bigger sorrows
the kind that maim and leave permanent scars
perhaps, the worst 2 years of my life
i guess compared to that, these are small things to bear
splitting time and love and loyalties
there are many things i think about writing here
but it never comes out
like most people i know, this page is too much of a stranger
to share anything so intimate with
or even anything too thoughtful
bcz if you shout at the wrong wall,
the echoes that will come back will be too crass
and insensible and stupid to bear
so why do we keep writing blogs
the people who do not write about news, or reviews,
or travel, or humour. what is it about this page that
you cant shake off? or maybe that question can be
extended to society. except for 3 or 4 people i have known
all my life, no one will really come close enough for me
to be my true self with, to share anything close to truth
i will be polite and funny, and sectretly, condescending
but why bother then? i spent 5 years starkly alone
i lived away from the friends i had, and made not even a single
acquaintaince to fill the space left by them
did i miss people? no. i still say what i got beaten up for saying
as a kid: no company is better than 'filler' company
and its time to go again
leaving for calcutta on the 19th
i still have 2 weeks of hols left
why am i going there? it feels so ironic at times
there were 2 years of my life when i didnt have
to split time between calcutta and dubai
i was in texas and i didnt come home for 2 years
ironically, those years bought even bigger sorrows
the kind that maim and leave permanent scars
perhaps, the worst 2 years of my life
i guess compared to that, these are small things to bear
splitting time and love and loyalties
there are many things i think about writing here
but it never comes out
like most people i know, this page is too much of a stranger
to share anything so intimate with
or even anything too thoughtful
bcz if you shout at the wrong wall,
the echoes that will come back will be too crass
and insensible and stupid to bear
so why do we keep writing blogs
the people who do not write about news, or reviews,
or travel, or humour. what is it about this page that
you cant shake off? or maybe that question can be
extended to society. except for 3 or 4 people i have known
all my life, no one will really come close enough for me
to be my true self with, to share anything close to truth
i will be polite and funny, and sectretly, condescending
but why bother then? i spent 5 years starkly alone
i lived away from the friends i had, and made not even a single
acquaintaince to fill the space left by them
did i miss people? no. i still say what i got beaten up for saying
as a kid: no company is better than 'filler' company
hajaar mountains in the rain
I'm back at a strange place
Half familiar, half forgotten
I havent been home, to this one,
In winter, for years ... and alone.
How could four walls and a patch of
green change so much in a season?
The mountains in the backdrop, that I have always seen austere and dusty, dry, are rain soaked.
The winds that roar outside,
are not hot enough to burn skin.
And in the sky,
float clouds: pretty, bluish grey.
I want to walk out to the mountains.
More than ever they call me.
In this season,
I can sit for hours on the old bleached beech swing,
and cut back and forth through
the cloud of memories we have wea\ved around it,
for 18 years ...
18 years we have inhabited this house,
every odd vacation
but it still doesnt feel like home
but then, 18 is less than 31, and still
this life doesnt feel like home.
sitting alone with him in the dozing evening,
i remember the time i first saw him,
its been 18 years
as times goes by all the memories fade
and grow less cool
leaving behind just the calculations
tallying time ...
'quiet desperation' is stuck in my head
and i want to go home ... and read it again
a find a smile as i sneak up on myself ...
thats all there is to it then
home is where all my books are
watched dead poets society, bluffmaster and binodini (sorry, chokher bali) again ...
i never understand
wish i could read bangla enough to read the book
why did meggie come back?
had he read the book, or is there a common thread,
found it in many others as well
she is so hauntingly familiar
she makes me shiver
greed is like barnacles
unbearingly, fascinatingly,
disgustingly, irresistibly ugly
across time and geography,
its never been allowed us
its dead poets that reminded me of quiet desperation
and why did that remind mee of 'end of ...'?
and popcorn, and rainy days, and shadowy rooms
and hiding in corners with words.
loneliness has a sharp edge of desperation
most of the times, we dont venture there
our eyes meet, but i turn away
i dont want to go your way
but what would turn out, i wonder
if i let it loose? what would the desperation do?
Half familiar, half forgotten
I havent been home, to this one,
In winter, for years ... and alone.
How could four walls and a patch of
green change so much in a season?
The mountains in the backdrop, that I have always seen austere and dusty, dry, are rain soaked.
The winds that roar outside,
are not hot enough to burn skin.
And in the sky,
float clouds: pretty, bluish grey.
I want to walk out to the mountains.
More than ever they call me.
In this season,
I can sit for hours on the old bleached beech swing,
and cut back and forth through
the cloud of memories we have wea\ved around it,
for 18 years ...
18 years we have inhabited this house,
every odd vacation
but it still doesnt feel like home
but then, 18 is less than 31, and still
this life doesnt feel like home.
sitting alone with him in the dozing evening,
i remember the time i first saw him,
its been 18 years
as times goes by all the memories fade
and grow less cool
leaving behind just the calculations
tallying time ...
'quiet desperation' is stuck in my head
and i want to go home ... and read it again
a find a smile as i sneak up on myself ...
thats all there is to it then
home is where all my books are
watched dead poets society, bluffmaster and binodini (sorry, chokher bali) again ...
i never understand
wish i could read bangla enough to read the book
why did meggie come back?
had he read the book, or is there a common thread,
found it in many others as well
she is so hauntingly familiar
she makes me shiver
greed is like barnacles
unbearingly, fascinatingly,
disgustingly, irresistibly ugly
across time and geography,
its never been allowed us
its dead poets that reminded me of quiet desperation
and why did that remind mee of 'end of ...'?
and popcorn, and rainy days, and shadowy rooms
and hiding in corners with words.
loneliness has a sharp edge of desperation
most of the times, we dont venture there
our eyes meet, but i turn away
i dont want to go your way
but what would turn out, i wonder
if i let it loose? what would the desperation do?
Us and Them
its peeks like this that makes us wistful ...
so we should just stop being such peeping toms, huh?
but why the 'wisteria'? would we want to be an axis?
we know we're better off this way
and better still, the fire didnt melt, just forged
then why, still, when we see 'them', and their naiive innocence,
the heart cries ...
so we should just stop being such peeping toms, huh?
but why the 'wisteria'? would we want to be an axis?
we know we're better off this way
and better still, the fire didnt melt, just forged
then why, still, when we see 'them', and their naiive innocence,
the heart cries ...
It is not who you are inside, but what you do that defines you:
It's the mantra which is, at times, the only weapon against the darkness that wells up from inside me: the darkness that comes from sight, shame, sin, guilt and memory.
So I've ticked off genetic inheritance, and character flaws. Can I dismiss past actions and choices as easily? Do we know what we will never do again? How much penance, is enough to heal?
How much time, must wash over old sores of memories, wash awake ennui so innate, and feed awake seeds so dormant?
In time still rings a 12 year old's voice echoing on a deserted balmy december night, "give it to me, spare them, i can take it more easily, i'm stronger". do You allow second thoughts, if she had them? dont worry Your sadistic soul: she wont.
At times i feel silly, thinking of how much i loved You, personalised You, and made You my own. They are right, You're just a figment of someone's imagination. And still, for them and for myself, there's a residue of the old love left: its called fear. I dont fear You the way I fear them. Them, I just fear I will hurt, carelessly.
Originally Posted at Prerona.
So I've ticked off genetic inheritance, and character flaws. Can I dismiss past actions and choices as easily? Do we know what we will never do again? How much penance, is enough to heal?
How much time, must wash over old sores of memories, wash awake ennui so innate, and feed awake seeds so dormant?
In time still rings a 12 year old's voice echoing on a deserted balmy december night, "give it to me, spare them, i can take it more easily, i'm stronger". do You allow second thoughts, if she had them? dont worry Your sadistic soul: she wont.
At times i feel silly, thinking of how much i loved You, personalised You, and made You my own. They are right, You're just a figment of someone's imagination. And still, for them and for myself, there's a residue of the old love left: its called fear. I dont fear You the way I fear them. Them, I just fear I will hurt, carelessly.
Originally Posted at Prerona.
in progress
ruthless fingers dig into putrid, rotting, tortured flesh. the maggots, sly, smiling, suspicious and disgruntled, crawl out one by one. healing can give so much pain
Originally Posted at Prerona.
Originally Posted at Prerona.
trapped
is an easy place to come to.
mundane-ish day. woke up late. did dutiful round of classes. amusing visiting studen in ICS class. came home to my horrifically-dirty-at-the-moment room. obsessed about how much speed cleaning could be done before guest arrived, when guest knocked. fed guest chai and couscous gone bad and over-large dose of coffee. guest got dsgusted and cycled away. participated in extended gossip session in garage with steve the night gaurd and friends from uni, about this and that and ho much work we had (which we werent doing, bcz of extended gossip session). came up and searched for papers trying vainly to look for 2 basic-ish papers related to neural basis of schizophrenia for lit review (IRR) paper. freaked out about lack of joy in finding anything remotely useful. freaked out somemore. went back to searching. obsessed somemore in background about the other (ICL) assignment that was still incomplete. decided to write post instead while listening to sound and fury of wind outside.
"
You thought you'd found a friend
To take you out of this place
Someone you could lend a hand
In return for grace
"
missing my little best friend. funny how noone else will do. and so much practise wont get me used to her ethereal ways. is this how the other end of the stick feels? damn. why does she have to be so like? blame it on the genes!
feels strange that I will be home at the end of the month. scary-strange. so out of mind has it been. but shworma and rex, i can get excited about. funny how i get so scared of meeting them again and so excited when it actually does happen. there's a reason why i talk so much about it not being possible for people to know themselves. maybe we are all brains in vats. or a vat. which would be yuckier.
what else? yes. still feel trapped. how do you do the desparado thing? there should ba a reform school for gypsy, wastrels, rebels, committment-phobes, claustrophobes, adulation-phobes, happiness&contentment-phobes and self-phobes. yes, i made that up. perhaps the key is in not wanting. just stay still and take whatever comes. why does that feel so sad?
i havent been running in months now. situational. my sneakers are calling me. i got itchy feet. i should have done the race for life again this year. lol. irony! race for life.
mundane-ish day. woke up late. did dutiful round of classes. amusing visiting studen in ICS class. came home to my horrifically-dirty-at-the-moment room. obsessed about how much speed cleaning could be done before guest arrived, when guest knocked. fed guest chai and couscous gone bad and over-large dose of coffee. guest got dsgusted and cycled away. participated in extended gossip session in garage with steve the night gaurd and friends from uni, about this and that and ho much work we had (which we werent doing, bcz of extended gossip session). came up and searched for papers trying vainly to look for 2 basic-ish papers related to neural basis of schizophrenia for lit review (IRR) paper. freaked out about lack of joy in finding anything remotely useful. freaked out somemore. went back to searching. obsessed somemore in background about the other (ICL) assignment that was still incomplete. decided to write post instead while listening to sound and fury of wind outside.
"
You thought you'd found a friend
To take you out of this place
Someone you could lend a hand
In return for grace
"
missing my little best friend. funny how noone else will do. and so much practise wont get me used to her ethereal ways. is this how the other end of the stick feels? damn. why does she have to be so like? blame it on the genes!
feels strange that I will be home at the end of the month. scary-strange. so out of mind has it been. but shworma and rex, i can get excited about. funny how i get so scared of meeting them again and so excited when it actually does happen. there's a reason why i talk so much about it not being possible for people to know themselves. maybe we are all brains in vats. or a vat. which would be yuckier.
what else? yes. still feel trapped. how do you do the desparado thing? there should ba a reform school for gypsy, wastrels, rebels, committment-phobes, claustrophobes, adulation-phobes, happiness&contentment-phobes and self-phobes. yes, i made that up. perhaps the key is in not wanting. just stay still and take whatever comes. why does that feel so sad?
i havent been running in months now. situational. my sneakers are calling me. i got itchy feet. i should have done the race for life again this year. lol. irony! race for life.
Us and Them
There is a storm outside, as noisy as a group of drunken men in a brawl. Its one of those days, when time rolls back like a curtain and you are every age you have ever been, at once. On days like this, I just wake up with a voice in my head echoing Ginny's voice from 1000 acres, 'because those children will have something we never had a chance of ever having ... hope'
Enthrallment lies in the heart of the beholder. I remember watching you for hours, never bored of the tiny details of your daily life. Your tiny hands curled into two smudged pink blobs of half done flesh, topped with sharp slivers of nail, with which you scratched yourself all over.
Originally Posted at Prerona.
Enthrallment lies in the heart of the beholder. I remember watching you for hours, never bored of the tiny details of your daily life. Your tiny hands curled into two smudged pink blobs of half done flesh, topped with sharp slivers of nail, with which you scratched yourself all over.
Originally Posted at Prerona.
Sunshine
one blissfully empty day, sandwiched between two nights of fun and friends. being happy leaves a intractable bitter after taste of guilt. am i not supposed to be in mourning still? i forgot, for a while. and then, little things remind me of you again. and its all i can do not to break.
those immature drawings you saved, and even put up on the wall, furiously crayon coloured bright blue skies and smiling suns. now all the suns have gone out. and i had thought it would be such a bracing feeling to be all alone in the world, like a brisk walk on a chilly day with fresh winds in your face.
this day brings you back so much more than anyother. you were always so happy on my birthday. not that she wasnt, but only when the mood took her, I guess. I think about all the times I let you down for her, that I missed her, loved her. Guilt is the most potent poison.
nobody saves my drawings now. like nobody waits for me to come home, anymore. maybe if i hadnt kept you waiting so long, you would have stayed.
its days like this that you want to sit and listen to "crying", dont you. i love you even more, than i ever did before. but darling, what can i do.its so final. there's no reaching you, no negotiating, no bargaining, like I always did. So strange to think, I cant make you change your mind even by turturing myself, or atleast it hasnt worked yet.
Originally Posted at Prerona.
those immature drawings you saved, and even put up on the wall, furiously crayon coloured bright blue skies and smiling suns. now all the suns have gone out. and i had thought it would be such a bracing feeling to be all alone in the world, like a brisk walk on a chilly day with fresh winds in your face.
this day brings you back so much more than anyother. you were always so happy on my birthday. not that she wasnt, but only when the mood took her, I guess. I think about all the times I let you down for her, that I missed her, loved her. Guilt is the most potent poison.
nobody saves my drawings now. like nobody waits for me to come home, anymore. maybe if i hadnt kept you waiting so long, you would have stayed.
its days like this that you want to sit and listen to "crying", dont you. i love you even more, than i ever did before. but darling, what can i do.its so final. there's no reaching you, no negotiating, no bargaining, like I always did. So strange to think, I cant make you change your mind even by turturing myself, or atleast it hasnt worked yet.
Originally Posted at Prerona.
Hello Stranger
So I've lost you again
Its my own stupid fault
I should never have come away
Stayed home and on gaurd
Now ur floating again
In ur clouds of purple haze
My sweet little child
I look at you and wonder
What is it I want
From and for you, anyway
Then you'll say again
You're grown up and sane
More than me anyway
Yeah!
Right
Thing is, she said she made you for me
My little dollie
Now ur all messed up and getting dirty
I want my baby clean
Originally Posted at Prerona.
Its my own stupid fault
I should never have come away
Stayed home and on gaurd
Now ur floating again
In ur clouds of purple haze
My sweet little child
I look at you and wonder
What is it I want
From and for you, anyway
Then you'll say again
You're grown up and sane
More than me anyway
Yeah!
Right
Thing is, she said she made you for me
My little dollie
Now ur all messed up and getting dirty
I want my baby clean
Originally Posted at Prerona.
Hollow
the melted copper moon
trickles down
the black night
and gathers in a puddle
on the floor
in a corner
of my room.
a test a tear,
and wonder if its too soon.
in the darkness
the minutes march
marking time
as it slips away.
somewhere, you wander too
where are you?
there's a place,
by the sea.
black stone walls
strewn around.
there is spray,
dancing in a moonbeam
and the silence of darkness,
full and heavy in my hand.
i remember the feel
of gravelly wet sand
i remember the rythms of waves
the rise and swell and fading away
once again without you i'm hollow
though toys come and toys go
though you hold my hand, my heart is empty
still, incomplete, a windblown leaf,
that cud have been beautiful
had it in not been stolen,
and frozen by the wind
floats and dances and swirls in the breeze
and comes and falls in ur palm
entranced, u smile. ur fingers curl
dont move. dont crush it. its dry from the cold and time
and dont open ur hands and let it fall
couldnt find the song! but here's a link!
Copper Moon
Originally uploaded by trevindc.
Originally Posted at Prerona.
trickles down
the black night
and gathers in a puddle
on the floor
in a corner
of my room.
a test a tear,
and wonder if its too soon.
in the darkness
the minutes march
marking time
as it slips away.
somewhere, you wander too
where are you?
there's a place,
by the sea.
black stone walls
strewn around.
there is spray,
dancing in a moonbeam
and the silence of darkness,
full and heavy in my hand.
i remember the feel
of gravelly wet sand
i remember the rythms of waves
the rise and swell and fading away
once again without you i'm hollow
though toys come and toys go
though you hold my hand, my heart is empty
still, incomplete, a windblown leaf,
that cud have been beautiful
had it in not been stolen,
and frozen by the wind
floats and dances and swirls in the breeze
and comes and falls in ur palm
entranced, u smile. ur fingers curl
dont move. dont crush it. its dry from the cold and time
and dont open ur hands and let it fall
couldnt find the song! but here's a link!
Copper Moon
Originally uploaded by trevindc.
Originally Posted at Prerona.