statues
it takes great beauty, and lot of favour with fate,
and a certain je ne sais quoi
for the spellbound princess frozen on the abandoned tower,
to be noticed and rescued by the (correct) prince
if, alas, any or all these ingredients be missing,
when the time has run out, and the spell fallen into effect,
she stays that way through eternity, captured, frozen, in stone,
with just a moment and a memory trapped with her for consolation
the sun, however, stubbornly obtuse,
keeps rising and setting as usual each day!
somehow, it seems to have missed the realisation,
that life is slowly coming to an end.
knowing the peculiar bitter flavour of my fate,
and my alloted princes particular brand of impotence,
the allotment itself, i could say,
is yet a twist of fate
my beloved fate.
my like you cannot leave without sorrow the lanes of your mourning,
can you ever be detached from your tormentor, your hatred,
can you ever let go of your thorns, your cross, your flaws?
did cain love adam more or abel
is love, human love, ever love without violence of passions
without anger, demands, and jeoulousy?
or is it so because we all inherited our passionate hate-love from him?
perhaps he who taught me was right
perhaps all love starts at the seeds and the roots layed,
moves upwards to shoot through the ground strong and straight
but otherwise, it twists in spiral like a snake eating its tale. for ever
For M (who knows who she is)
you are right. we've come a long way: you, me, us. if you would believe me, there were many points along the road that i missed you, suddenly and intensely, and i tentatively tried to feel my way back. you were one of the few souls who always unquestioningly let me come and go, and accepted that it was never meant badly, but was just a fall-out of my gypsy ways. i was like the gypsy who had to roam, and you were like the the householder who let me in some nights, whenever i came calling, through the back door and sat with me in a dimly lit kitchen and shared with me a glass of wine, stories and dreams. and you made me feel safe, and i came in and talked to your dog, and your rocking chair, and even fell in love with your old man, a little. and it was warm, so i took of my heavy mask, and put my weapons down, in a corner by the fire. and took out the hidden bags of words and dreams and memories, and the precious special tobacco, saved for special occasions and never touched. thus it was with you and me. and i tried to to test the waters and see if to test if you would still let me come back, but maybe fear, or age, made my knocking fingers tremble, and you didn't hear. and i thought you were busy, with your world, and went away again. but i thought of you, always, along the way. of all the friends i made along the way, you were the one soul who always let me come and go. i always loved you, and i always will, but that's not what makes you special. i felt safe, and i felt loved.
for my little one?
packed in drawers
with the rest of childhood,
hidden in blue-lined books
with formulas and equations,
untouched for years,
and gnawed at by a growing family of termites,
this time home coming,
i found these words,
and the dedication,
for my little one.
"We, the wild falcons of these skies,
the soft orphans of these tumultuous times,
the sweet, intoxicating, poison-hearted, wicked-thorned
Wildflowers of the desert of progress,
We, with delicate bright and fragile petals
with burning acid centers that sear you when u reach them,
much disguised, too late to draw out, to draw out whole,
caveat-emptor, proceed at your your own risk
Will we ever find a home in the Garden
of the Gentle & Wise Gardener
with leather gloved Hands
Will we ever, find our way back to heaven
He was the witch, with the magic potion
The Lord of good and bad
the searing burning deforming goodness
the last hope & salvation
the only one who could save us
could i reach you in time
before you sold out
the price, to learn submission
and faith
The full moon, one night old
the hungry winds screaming down deserted roads
dried and shriveled hearts
empty and drained souls
flashing down the deserted night
a lone peregrine, gray and white
dreams, gone with yesterday
hopes, dead with the last week
but red flames run behind
to even look back would be scorching
to keep running on is the only way left open
into the welcoming heart of the deep dark sea
and then I saw you in the meadow
Night painted dark the hedgerow
No silver moon shone that night
All the light was in from your eye
I stopped and dipped into those eyes
A break in our forever forward strides
You held my hand and made me stop
Something made my heartbeat drop
But i cud never be still for long enough
Shrugged off the feeling and we walked off
Still i knew u remained
somewhere along the road
sometimes a little ahead sometimes behind
not holding hands, not mating lips
but ur were there
somewhere on the same path
we have destinies to fulfil
long way to walk, you and me
i dreamt of a faery
ethereal in the night
i dreamt of clouds
glowing with light
i dreamt of u
i draemt that u died
i dreamt of me going on
empty inside
and this:
It was a deep stormy night
You slept through that night, peaceful
I kept watch
I never saw you, had not really known you
But I knew u were so small & vulnerable
I could feel you
I do not know who you are, do not know how you are
lone star in the dark of the night, sweeter by far
than anything I ever deserved
u came to me for love & safety
i knew that much, yet i drove you away
i had too
now it hurts so much to think of you and all the joy we could have had, together
I will hold this pain forever
I'll never forget you
lone star in the dark of the night,
sweeter by far than anyone anywhere.
sweet child, sweet smile,
big big brown eyes.
gentle and soft,
trusting & lost.
home and safe a night before,
now lost and wandering for evermore.
gone forever, only to remain
in my heart, as a bittersweet pain.
"why?
why was the world created
and populated with life
and made, each so beautiful
and i put in it
if i cant write about it ...
i feel the beauty like a knife in my heart
it moves me so ...
life all around
seasons changing
places turning
people live, dying, growing.
but i? i cant write about it"
with the rest of childhood,
hidden in blue-lined books
with formulas and equations,
untouched for years,
and gnawed at by a growing family of termites,
this time home coming,
i found these words,
and the dedication,
for my little one.
"We, the wild falcons of these skies,
the soft orphans of these tumultuous times,
the sweet, intoxicating, poison-hearted, wicked-thorned
Wildflowers of the desert of progress,
We, with delicate bright and fragile petals
with burning acid centers that sear you when u reach them,
much disguised, too late to draw out, to draw out whole,
caveat-emptor, proceed at your your own risk
Will we ever find a home in the Garden
of the Gentle & Wise Gardener
with leather gloved Hands
Will we ever, find our way back to heaven
He was the witch, with the magic potion
The Lord of good and bad
the searing burning deforming goodness
the last hope & salvation
the only one who could save us
could i reach you in time
before you sold out
the price, to learn submission
and faith
The full moon, one night old
the hungry winds screaming down deserted roads
dried and shriveled hearts
empty and drained souls
flashing down the deserted night
a lone peregrine, gray and white
dreams, gone with yesterday
hopes, dead with the last week
but red flames run behind
to even look back would be scorching
to keep running on is the only way left open
into the welcoming heart of the deep dark sea
and then I saw you in the meadow
Night painted dark the hedgerow
No silver moon shone that night
All the light was in from your eye
I stopped and dipped into those eyes
A break in our forever forward strides
You held my hand and made me stop
Something made my heartbeat drop
But i cud never be still for long enough
Shrugged off the feeling and we walked off
Still i knew u remained
somewhere along the road
sometimes a little ahead sometimes behind
not holding hands, not mating lips
but ur were there
somewhere on the same path
we have destinies to fulfil
long way to walk, you and me
i dreamt of a faery
ethereal in the night
i dreamt of clouds
glowing with light
i dreamt of u
i draemt that u died
i dreamt of me going on
empty inside
and this:
It was a deep stormy night
You slept through that night, peaceful
I kept watch
I never saw you, had not really known you
But I knew u were so small & vulnerable
I could feel you
I do not know who you are, do not know how you are
lone star in the dark of the night, sweeter by far
than anything I ever deserved
u came to me for love & safety
i knew that much, yet i drove you away
i had too
now it hurts so much to think of you and all the joy we could have had, together
I will hold this pain forever
I'll never forget you
lone star in the dark of the night,
sweeter by far than anyone anywhere.
sweet child, sweet smile,
big big brown eyes.
gentle and soft,
trusting & lost.
home and safe a night before,
now lost and wandering for evermore.
gone forever, only to remain
in my heart, as a bittersweet pain.
"why?
why was the world created
and populated with life
and made, each so beautiful
and i put in it
if i cant write about it ...
i feel the beauty like a knife in my heart
it moves me so ...
life all around
seasons changing
places turning
people live, dying, growing.
but i? i cant write about it"
lost
When we are lost, or when we have lost something, the mind keeps drifting back to all the points on the way before the losing. is this what the feel-good-club calls following your bliss? today i can think of three such moments, in random order: walking to portobello from richmond in the rain, all three hours of it, to say farewell to a passion laid to rest; driving in Calcutta, through the rain, to Sector V; Walking along Fredricksburg Road, the day after I arrived in San Antonio.
What is in common to them all? A new start. A new hope. A new goad. Recovery from heart ache or failure. Finding the courage to start again. But most of all, blissful ignorance that one more disaster, and one more heart-break lurked just round the corner, each more debilitating than the next.
Does life have an infinite capacity to recover and re-start? Perhaps, perhaps not. Sometimes, sometimes not. Like everything else in nature, its just a roll of the dice.
What is in common to them all? A new start. A new hope. A new goad. Recovery from heart ache or failure. Finding the courage to start again. But most of all, blissful ignorance that one more disaster, and one more heart-break lurked just round the corner, each more debilitating than the next.
Does life have an infinite capacity to recover and re-start? Perhaps, perhaps not. Sometimes, sometimes not. Like everything else in nature, its just a roll of the dice.
A Happy New Year: Will it be?
In the end we are all looking for a friend, a confidante. Stuck in complicated times, a trapped in complicated roles, we are all looking for someone to tell our troubles to. I used to wonder at our own vanity, I used to be amazed that I, and so many people like me, are so enamored by my own self and my own thoughts, feelings, opinions that we so obsessively want to share each fleeting feeling and thought with our own virtual communities. I wondered what lay behind this hunger, this 'stroke greed'.
But then I realized that we're probably a very lonely generation. A lot of us are caught in flux, trapped between changing social times. We really belong nowhere and fit in with noone. More than ever before, we have no friends, no family, no intimate social circle in the conventional sense to share our problems with, to whine to, vent steam to, share concerns and pleasures with, celebrate success and mourn failures with.
I was born in Syria, grew up in India and have spent the last two decades in two continents and four different cities. I grew up with my grand-parents, came to live with my parents when I was ten and left when I was eighteen. Most of my friends are people either too young to identify with the faint birth pangs of midlife crisis, or they are already planning which school to put their third child in, and therefor in a different place. I dont feel like I belong anywhere, geographically or socially.
I think the point is that an increasing number of people dont fit in anymore. They belong to none of the classic social categories and therefore have very few friends they have common concerns with. I am sure this category misfits always existed, but there werent so many. Or maybe I just feel it more since I am one of them.
Also, there are more single people than ever before, or again, you are more conscious of more single people than ever before. At first glance this appears to be because more people chose their careers over family. But I think thats only part of the reason. I think a large part of the reason is that more and more people didnt fit. The easy early hook-ups were more common amongst socially similar people. People you can relate to easily, have things in common with, have common goals, principles and ideas with. Which has become more and more difficult and as time goes on, and also as time goes on become more important, in a twisted cycle. On top of that I think the new social structure has made infidelity either more omnipresent, or more conspicuous, or both. While all the while the shrinking social structure means that all those little social needs and itches that were once scratched by family, cousins, friends, children have now all converged on the significant other - making frustration with one's partner almost inevitable. I'm this affects existing partnerships, and people on the verge of forming a new alliance.
So maybe the connection between 'our generation' and its new social structure is the classic case of which came first, the chicken or the egg. Do I blog because I have noone to talk to, or do I have no real friends because cyber friendships fill all my free time?
But then I realized that we're probably a very lonely generation. A lot of us are caught in flux, trapped between changing social times. We really belong nowhere and fit in with noone. More than ever before, we have no friends, no family, no intimate social circle in the conventional sense to share our problems with, to whine to, vent steam to, share concerns and pleasures with, celebrate success and mourn failures with.
I was born in Syria, grew up in India and have spent the last two decades in two continents and four different cities. I grew up with my grand-parents, came to live with my parents when I was ten and left when I was eighteen. Most of my friends are people either too young to identify with the faint birth pangs of midlife crisis, or they are already planning which school to put their third child in, and therefor in a different place. I dont feel like I belong anywhere, geographically or socially.
I think the point is that an increasing number of people dont fit in anymore. They belong to none of the classic social categories and therefore have very few friends they have common concerns with. I am sure this category misfits always existed, but there werent so many. Or maybe I just feel it more since I am one of them.
Also, there are more single people than ever before, or again, you are more conscious of more single people than ever before. At first glance this appears to be because more people chose their careers over family. But I think thats only part of the reason. I think a large part of the reason is that more and more people didnt fit. The easy early hook-ups were more common amongst socially similar people. People you can relate to easily, have things in common with, have common goals, principles and ideas with. Which has become more and more difficult and as time goes on, and also as time goes on become more important, in a twisted cycle. On top of that I think the new social structure has made infidelity either more omnipresent, or more conspicuous, or both. While all the while the shrinking social structure means that all those little social needs and itches that were once scratched by family, cousins, friends, children have now all converged on the significant other - making frustration with one's partner almost inevitable. I'm this affects existing partnerships, and people on the verge of forming a new alliance.
So maybe the connection between 'our generation' and its new social structure is the classic case of which came first, the chicken or the egg. Do I blog because I have noone to talk to, or do I have no real friends because cyber friendships fill all my free time?
gratitude
suddenly
out of nowhere
came a blissful wave of grace
and now, sitting down to write
about it, i realised,
this is the angel
that i'd prayed for
so many nights
so desperately
weeping and wishing
down on chaffed knees
when my sanity
seemed like a weight
i barely held on to,
on the verge of slipping
out of grasp,
i prayed
for someone somewhere to send me an angel
and look:
here it is my angel!
disjointed, distorted and detached
but disturbingly real.
and so full of grace
suddenly, out of nowhere
like a dim speck of light
peeping over the horizon
that slowly grows and
you scarcely dare believe it,
but it keeps growing and
breaks the endless night.
thus dawned hope, and freedom
and release.
and stumbling through
just another day,
i bumped into myself.
its been so long,
and i know it wont stay,
but its true
for record: i felt happy today
out of nowhere
came a blissful wave of grace
and now, sitting down to write
about it, i realised,
this is the angel
that i'd prayed for
so many nights
so desperately
weeping and wishing
down on chaffed knees
when my sanity
seemed like a weight
i barely held on to,
on the verge of slipping
out of grasp,
i prayed
for someone somewhere to send me an angel
and look:
here it is my angel!
disjointed, distorted and detached
but disturbingly real.
and so full of grace
suddenly, out of nowhere
like a dim speck of light
peeping over the horizon
that slowly grows and
you scarcely dare believe it,
but it keeps growing and
breaks the endless night.
thus dawned hope, and freedom
and release.
and stumbling through
just another day,
i bumped into myself.
its been so long,
and i know it wont stay,
but its true
for record: i felt happy today
rambling
i have seen this happening to other people. best friends. family. lovers. split and separated by diametrically opposite geography and situations, are wedged apart by circustances and slowly the tiniest mundanities of everyday life slip in the gap left between them while the drift apart. and ties are irredeemable loosed. i keep telling myself it wont happen to us, sister of my soul?
but maybe i should not panic so much. what is broken can be rebuilt. who knows that better than us? they say blood is rather thick. besides however much you value your people and relationships and permanency and completeness, there is only so much you can work you can put into them. sometimes you just have to accept and play along. and hold on to the faith, love and hope package. and tell the voice in your head saying i told you so to shut up and go away. and anyway, what choice do you have?
you are at a new beginning. i am at huge ending. you are at high noon. i am at midnight. orbiting in our cycles, we have come at cross points. remmber, you were born in the morning, and and i at midnight. in all your sunshine, will you lose patience with my darkness, or will you understand (the rolling stones wont be interested in this one)? in all my gloom, running out of light to share, will i run out of things to say to you, wisdom to share, life lessons to teach, patience to hear with, strength to silently bear with. or even, heaven forbid, miss a baobab sapling of bitterness one morning?
i am at the mouth of a tunnel. it's long and dark. my courage is a tattered dirty war-worn security blanket slipping off my shoulders and dragging behind me. my heart is weak and old with centuries of battle, and my determination to not quit is a nagging, complaining horse throbbing under me. but madcap is at the other end.
my madcap. i had seen you glistening in your broken tainted glory, shimmering in the distance. fatally alluring. before the thought of warning formed, i knew the thunderbolt had fallen. maybe it was destiny. it takes mere seconds, for the songbird to spot it's thorn. i slipped away in the dark of the night, leaving all that was known and safe, to set off towards you. are you to be attained? are you even for real, or just a shape in my head? a glorious figment of my imagination? the road ahead is so dark, and so long, and so unknown. do i dare? do i even have a choice? i like to maintain the pretense of deliberating and weighing decisions, standing here, at the mouth of the tunnel, but i am choice-bereft. i cannot not turn away now.
the first stretch was easy. relatively. one bridge crossed. foolishly, i have squandered all my courage and strength, almost, on that first stretch. that bridge has been crossed. but the shore is yet to come into sight. my ship stalls and awaits admission at the shore. will i be let in?
and in all my exuberance, i had not thought beyond that first bridge. it is only now, that i realise, the journey has just begun.
i was curious about the colour of pain
mine is like a mother-of-pearl shell
it glistens and winks in the afternoon light
and darkens with the fast falling night
floating in the flowing wind
it changes shape and weight
not for the first time, i am illogically afraid
but it helps if i dont think, but just wait.
in a way, it's just 'keeping some kind of record'
to mark these days as an end of some sort
but maybe i should not panic so much. what is broken can be rebuilt. who knows that better than us? they say blood is rather thick. besides however much you value your people and relationships and permanency and completeness, there is only so much you can work you can put into them. sometimes you just have to accept and play along. and hold on to the faith, love and hope package. and tell the voice in your head saying i told you so to shut up and go away. and anyway, what choice do you have?
you are at a new beginning. i am at huge ending. you are at high noon. i am at midnight. orbiting in our cycles, we have come at cross points. remmber, you were born in the morning, and and i at midnight. in all your sunshine, will you lose patience with my darkness, or will you understand (the rolling stones wont be interested in this one)? in all my gloom, running out of light to share, will i run out of things to say to you, wisdom to share, life lessons to teach, patience to hear with, strength to silently bear with. or even, heaven forbid, miss a baobab sapling of bitterness one morning?
i am at the mouth of a tunnel. it's long and dark. my courage is a tattered dirty war-worn security blanket slipping off my shoulders and dragging behind me. my heart is weak and old with centuries of battle, and my determination to not quit is a nagging, complaining horse throbbing under me. but madcap is at the other end.
my madcap. i had seen you glistening in your broken tainted glory, shimmering in the distance. fatally alluring. before the thought of warning formed, i knew the thunderbolt had fallen. maybe it was destiny. it takes mere seconds, for the songbird to spot it's thorn. i slipped away in the dark of the night, leaving all that was known and safe, to set off towards you. are you to be attained? are you even for real, or just a shape in my head? a glorious figment of my imagination? the road ahead is so dark, and so long, and so unknown. do i dare? do i even have a choice? i like to maintain the pretense of deliberating and weighing decisions, standing here, at the mouth of the tunnel, but i am choice-bereft. i cannot not turn away now.
the first stretch was easy. relatively. one bridge crossed. foolishly, i have squandered all my courage and strength, almost, on that first stretch. that bridge has been crossed. but the shore is yet to come into sight. my ship stalls and awaits admission at the shore. will i be let in?
and in all my exuberance, i had not thought beyond that first bridge. it is only now, that i realise, the journey has just begun.
i was curious about the colour of pain
mine is like a mother-of-pearl shell
it glistens and winks in the afternoon light
and darkens with the fast falling night
floating in the flowing wind
it changes shape and weight
not for the first time, i am illogically afraid
but it helps if i dont think, but just wait.
in a way, it's just 'keeping some kind of record'
to mark these days as an end of some sort
home and away
It's a strange feeling.
All my worldy goods are packed and put away
in store rooms
in houses
across five cities in three continents.
In the last seven years I have moved house,
and life, about five times.
I am tired.
I feel like going home.
I miss the plain placid peace of those days at "home",
a city, a house, a room, and some people, I havent lived at,
or with, for more than a few months at stretch for the last decade or more
or ever, for the people.
I've scratched my seven year itch,
and I'm done.
I want to go back to the mindless job, the
All my worldy goods are packed and put away
in store rooms
in houses
across five cities in three continents.
In the last seven years I have moved house,
and life, about five times.
I am tired.
I feel like going home.
I miss the plain placid peace of those days at "home",
a city, a house, a room, and some people, I havent lived at,
or with, for more than a few months at stretch for the last decade or more
or ever, for the people.
I've scratched my seven year itch,
and I'm done.
I want to go back to the mindless job, the
i was never crazy on my own ...
i was never crazy on my own ...
you're the kaleidescope maker
you're the juggler
you're the sweetest thing
you're the best i've ever seen
it's a thrill
it's a wonderfull feeling
it's not because of you
it's because of how you make me feel
it's sweet ...
but i'm diabetic
i still dont like a tease
and i still am to lazy to pretend
you make me short of breath,
and i have still miles to run ...
summer's setting
it's autumn's dusk
evening's sober
get out the little black masks
take away evil thrills, though they might enchant
i have greater worlds to win. tonight's my time to dance
you're the kaleidescope maker
you're the juggler
you're the sweetest thing
you're the best i've ever seen
it's a thrill
it's a wonderfull feeling
it's not because of you
it's because of how you make me feel
it's sweet ...
but i'm diabetic
i still dont like a tease
and i still am to lazy to pretend
you make me short of breath,
and i have still miles to run ...
summer's setting
it's autumn's dusk
evening's sober
get out the little black masks
take away evil thrills, though they might enchant
i have greater worlds to win. tonight's my time to dance
words
sometimes, the more you feel, the less you can say
maybe feelings are like silt just below your throat?
for all my acclaimed integrity and scorn of the impure and lesser,
i am damn thrilled with the tokens :D Thank you!
I will pretend to myself they are real be enjoy the warmth of the thrill for a while
As long as there are no misconceptions, I dont mind pretences, as long as we both know we're just playing
maybe feelings are like silt just below your throat?
for all my acclaimed integrity and scorn of the impure and lesser,
i am damn thrilled with the tokens :D Thank you!
I will pretend to myself they are real be enjoy the warmth of the thrill for a while
As long as there are no misconceptions, I dont mind pretences, as long as we both know we're just playing
mera naam joker
there were so many things i had hated about the movie, but there is so much i have forgotten now. i really want to see it again. and hunchback of notre dame. can you really potray, for a uninvolved bystander, in words, or verse or pictures, the agony of the fool, the pain behind the frozen smile of the joker. or the howling anguish of the steppenwolf. well, atleast that one i can re-read, because I always have that with me.
there is something i have been wondering about. dreams. stories (in any form). empathy. what is the relation between them and the real experience. specially dreams. or virtual reality. how would that tie in with the arguments of consciousness and reductivity.
but then, as i almost failed my theories of mind paper, i guess i better keep shut about philosphy. but i wonder.
there are so many things that we wonder about, have theories about, think about. there's no way of knowing is there, who really is right?
An article on empathy
there is something i have been wondering about. dreams. stories (in any form). empathy. what is the relation between them and the real experience. specially dreams. or virtual reality. how would that tie in with the arguments of consciousness and reductivity.
but then, as i almost failed my theories of mind paper, i guess i better keep shut about philosphy. but i wonder.
there are so many things that we wonder about, have theories about, think about. there's no way of knowing is there, who really is right?
An article on empathy
words games
As the time rushes by
like wind in my face,
and sand through my hands,
childlike again,
i try to pluck out from it
a few words, to stay mine
but how do you catch something so fey?
Looking through this emptiness,
holding my throbbing pain pressed still in my hand to calm,
desperate for distraction,
holding on the the last pieces of the corpse I still carry,
or struggle to ... because it has grown intwined with my sanity
i wonder if time has come to let go the ghost
The wet winds and silver skies
Underlined thunder, and the promise of soft rain
Makes me miss something,
or someone,
Or maybe just makes me miss missing someone
But who? Could it be you? Wish I knew.
I wouldnt dare miss you ...
Not with my kind of longing
(having still not learned half measures)
Wanting you, would come at such a price
And everyone knows I am broke
(having nothing left to give, or break, anymore)
Well, anyway
So I hold the "missing" in the palm of my hand,
gently, like a snowflake
And wait for it to melt.
It will pass, wont it?
The scary intensity of this moment?
You will go away, wont you?
I will be free again, wont I?
Because you disarm me and make me feel uncomfortable powerless
Anyway, so I crack a joke and turn away
Such a coward? No I'm just a realist
Save face. Dont rock anything. walk away.
Close the door very gently, so the lock doesnt click
Oh, yes. I leave room for my indecision
Always play safe (atleast, for yourself)
Fleetingly, looking through the emptiness (desperately seeking distraction) becomes looking for you.
Startled, my heart contracts
with a frission of fear.
Who are you?
Who is that I thought I saw for a moment inside you?,
Who is that you hide?
He looks like me!
Or like someone I know so well, from so long ago,
That I'd get him mixed up with me.
Can you let him out to play? Can I take him away? Just for a while?
like wind in my face,
and sand through my hands,
childlike again,
i try to pluck out from it
a few words, to stay mine
but how do you catch something so fey?
Looking through this emptiness,
holding my throbbing pain pressed still in my hand to calm,
desperate for distraction,
holding on the the last pieces of the corpse I still carry,
or struggle to ... because it has grown intwined with my sanity
i wonder if time has come to let go the ghost
The wet winds and silver skies
Underlined thunder, and the promise of soft rain
Makes me miss something,
or someone,
Or maybe just makes me miss missing someone
But who? Could it be you? Wish I knew.
I wouldnt dare miss you ...
Not with my kind of longing
(having still not learned half measures)
Wanting you, would come at such a price
And everyone knows I am broke
(having nothing left to give, or break, anymore)
Well, anyway
So I hold the "missing" in the palm of my hand,
gently, like a snowflake
And wait for it to melt.
It will pass, wont it?
The scary intensity of this moment?
You will go away, wont you?
I will be free again, wont I?
Because you disarm me and make me feel uncomfortable powerless
Anyway, so I crack a joke and turn away
Such a coward? No I'm just a realist
Save face. Dont rock anything. walk away.
Close the door very gently, so the lock doesnt click
Oh, yes. I leave room for my indecision
Always play safe (atleast, for yourself)
Fleetingly, looking through the emptiness (desperately seeking distraction) becomes looking for you.
Startled, my heart contracts
with a frission of fear.
Who are you?
Who is that I thought I saw for a moment inside you?,
Who is that you hide?
He looks like me!
Or like someone I know so well, from so long ago,
That I'd get him mixed up with me.
Can you let him out to play? Can I take him away? Just for a while?
angry island
angry island
i found this really amusing, specially the closing. it's not really funny, but i always am amused by grown men fighting
i found this really amusing, specially the closing. it's not really funny, but i always am amused by grown men fighting
natural selection
so go cry out your questions to the void,
and the void throw you your answers
and the void throw you your answers
I wonder how this works. Intuitively, it would make sense from a mating success perspective, but would it make sense if you extend it to other types of success? Why would 'other types of success' be needed? I always thought because you dont just need to achive mating success but you need to ensure the kids survive, etc. But then most animals would need much lower PI. In that case why would 'other types of success' be needed? You would have to survive yourself too. I can see why this would make sense, though it wouldnt always have to be the case, necessarily.
You could argue either way on this. Maybe thats why they says EP is just 'just so stories'
Talk it Over
I always thought talking it out loud helps, anyone with anything. this article also agrees
The God's of Google
I would normally get mad, but I keep getting distracted by how cool it is. I wrote a mail to someone with some bengali words in it and it comes up with a bangladeshi chat room ad. It's getting to a stage where I sit and think of email content I could write and then look at the ads that come up, try to think of how they would make the connection.
Incidentally, thinking of the thought powered wheel chair, and other such mind to machine interfaces that have come up since then, what would be the reverse of that interface? Scary ..., no?
I am trying to remember the name of this poet who was very disturbed by Darwin's theory and everything that followed. I always find myself on the otherside of the fence in these arguments, but truth be told, I feel sad about it myself.
Nothing? There must be something? Yet, I dont see how there could be!
And then, for a different kind of annoying-awesome conflict, check this out: the manners phone from eureka
Incidentally, thinking of the thought powered wheel chair, and other such mind to machine interfaces that have come up since then, what would be the reverse of that interface? Scary ..., no?
I am trying to remember the name of this poet who was very disturbed by Darwin's theory and everything that followed. I always find myself on the otherside of the fence in these arguments, but truth be told, I feel sad about it myself.
Nothing? There must be something? Yet, I dont see how there could be!
And then, for a different kind of annoying-awesome conflict, check this out: the manners phone from eureka
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.
beloved
the luxury of people who dont like you too much, can be appreciated only after you are inundated by loads of people who like you too much. the thing is, the will not bother to detail-analyse everything you say. they've probably put you in the drawer labelled nuts in the filing cabinet in their heads and dont bother too much about your mad ways anymore. It's like talking to a void, in a way. My beloved void. Very safe. And you know they will never care enough to come after you. You can chase them when the mood takes you, and withdraw (and read, or dream, or walk ... or do other in your shell things) when you like. They will be too relieved for drama ;)
random friday facts
The william dick memorial lecture by Steve Jones on 'Is man an animal' was a let down, I thought.
I wrote a new chapter on dolly, and started a new story - for which i need a old fashioned guy's name. Still in my head though.
Reading the Narnia books. Why are these kiddie books so full of profound facts? Or is it just that i find them so? Reminds me of Wind in the Willows, one of my favourites. Will quote two paragraphs (someday).
Incidentally, do you believe in magic?
If you could re-live your life, what would you change?
I have had some profound thoughts on free will and the Big Choice (while walking back from work) which I will write up (soon).
On a nonPC note, a friend keeps saying she's becoming more and more of a racist after coming here (to Rihcmond Place). I sympathise. Oh my little one, please come back to this world when your done, and dont make me follow you to that crazy place. lol. Okay. Sorry. Just dont start sayings 'anyways'. I'll be happy. Okay. Sorry again. Just kidding.
AnywaY, I'm compiling a list of "learnings in the last 14 years living away from home" to pass on.
Do I not 'get' stats because I hate it, or do I not love it because I dont get it?
updated my wishlist
but whats the point if i am forever-broke(n)?
Saw Jhoom Barabar. I know everyone is gonna hate it. But I thought it was cute, even besides the music. Reminded me of Love and Sex. That was cute! And funny. Didnt get waht the Big B was doing in it though? Although, it did remind of another spectator character. Coming today, isnt that ironic? Just the look on his face. Damn. Everytime I remember that I feel like someone walked over my grave. Which reminds me of a joke from this evenings talk: the creationist argument: 'you evolved, we were created'. paralelly, mine could never look like that. could never be that jealous.
Anyway.
I wrote a new chapter on dolly, and started a new story - for which i need a old fashioned guy's name. Still in my head though.
Reading the Narnia books. Why are these kiddie books so full of profound facts? Or is it just that i find them so? Reminds me of Wind in the Willows, one of my favourites. Will quote two paragraphs (someday).
Incidentally, do you believe in magic?
If you could re-live your life, what would you change?
I have had some profound thoughts on free will and the Big Choice (while walking back from work) which I will write up (soon).
On a nonPC note, a friend keeps saying she's becoming more and more of a racist after coming here (to Rihcmond Place). I sympathise. Oh my little one, please come back to this world when your done, and dont make me follow you to that crazy place. lol. Okay. Sorry. Just dont start sayings 'anyways'. I'll be happy. Okay. Sorry again. Just kidding.
AnywaY, I'm compiling a list of "learnings in the last 14 years living away from home" to pass on.
Do I not 'get' stats because I hate it, or do I not love it because I dont get it?
updated my wishlist
but whats the point if i am forever-broke(n)?
Saw Jhoom Barabar. I know everyone is gonna hate it. But I thought it was cute, even besides the music. Reminded me of Love and Sex. That was cute! And funny. Didnt get waht the Big B was doing in it though? Although, it did remind of another spectator character. Coming today, isnt that ironic? Just the look on his face. Damn. Everytime I remember that I feel like someone walked over my grave. Which reminds me of a joke from this evenings talk: the creationist argument: 'you evolved, we were created'. paralelly, mine could never look like that. could never be that jealous.
Anyway.
Top 5 Meets Song in My Head
1. Funny Face - The Parlotones - LISTEN
Funny face. Funny coz I’m not happy inside. Funny face. If you look real close my eyes have died. Funny face. It’s him you want but I’ll do in his place. Funny Face. It’s a slap slap slap in the face. Is this the hand I’ve been dealt? Where’s my negotiator? Funny face. Your lips may lie but feelings don’t hide. Funny face. Lovers entwined, but where is your mind? Funny face. Looks as though I need a lovers guide. Funny face. Do you know what it’s like, being second prize? You’re all I’ve ever wanted, but I wanted more of you, all of you, more than you were willing to offer even the parts you chose to hide; more of you, all of you, more than you could ever imagine.
2. Honest Mistake - The Bravery (The Radio 1's Live Lounge Version - NOT this one) LISTEN
3. The Bunting Song - The Good, The Bad and The Queen
4. Paper Tiger - Beck - LISTEN
5. Soldier Girl - The Polyphonic Spree
One XTRA: This is your poison - Devil's Cartel
And 5 Old Favourites:
1. ColourBlind - Counting Crows
2. Need you tonight - INXS
Come over here
All you got is this moment
The twenty-first centurys yesterday
You can care all you want
Everybody does yeah thats okay
So slide over here
And give me a moment
Your moves are so raw
Ive got to let you know
Ive got to let you know
Youre one of my kind
I need you tonight
cause Im not sleeping
Theres something about you girl
That makes me sweat
How do you feel
Im lonely
What do you think
Cant take it all
Whatcha gonna do
Gonna live my life
3. Mystify - INXS
All veils and misty
Streets of blue
Almond looks
That chill divine
Some silken moment
Goes on forever
And we're leaving broken hearts behind
Mystify
Mystify me
Mystify
Mystify me
I need perfection
Some twisted selection
That tangles me
To keep me alive
In all that exists
None have your beauty
I see your face
I will survive
Eternally wild with the power
To make every moment come alive
All those stars that shine upon you
Will kiss you every night
All veils and misty
Streets of blue
Almond looks
That chill divine
Some silken moment
Goes on forever
And we're leaving
Yeah we're leaving broken hearts behind
You're eternally wild with the power
To make every moment come alive
All those stars that shine upon you
And they'll kiss you every night
4. Radar Love - Golden Earring
5. Lobo - Dont expect me to be your friend
originally @ 20/06/07 - 00:45 (we must keep the catalog correctly updated - go on keeping some kind of record)
Funny face. Funny coz I’m not happy inside. Funny face. If you look real close my eyes have died. Funny face. It’s him you want but I’ll do in his place. Funny Face. It’s a slap slap slap in the face. Is this the hand I’ve been dealt? Where’s my negotiator? Funny face. Your lips may lie but feelings don’t hide. Funny face. Lovers entwined, but where is your mind? Funny face. Looks as though I need a lovers guide. Funny face. Do you know what it’s like, being second prize? You’re all I’ve ever wanted, but I wanted more of you, all of you, more than you were willing to offer even the parts you chose to hide; more of you, all of you, more than you could ever imagine.
2. Honest Mistake - The Bravery (The Radio 1's Live Lounge Version - NOT this one) LISTEN
3. The Bunting Song - The Good, The Bad and The Queen
4. Paper Tiger - Beck - LISTEN
5. Soldier Girl - The Polyphonic Spree
One XTRA: This is your poison - Devil's Cartel
And 5 Old Favourites:
1. ColourBlind - Counting Crows
2. Need you tonight - INXS
Come over here
All you got is this moment
The twenty-first centurys yesterday
You can care all you want
Everybody does yeah thats okay
So slide over here
And give me a moment
Your moves are so raw
Ive got to let you know
Ive got to let you know
Youre one of my kind
I need you tonight
cause Im not sleeping
Theres something about you girl
That makes me sweat
How do you feel
Im lonely
What do you think
Cant take it all
Whatcha gonna do
Gonna live my life
3. Mystify - INXS
All veils and misty
Streets of blue
Almond looks
That chill divine
Some silken moment
Goes on forever
And we're leaving broken hearts behind
Mystify
Mystify me
Mystify
Mystify me
I need perfection
Some twisted selection
That tangles me
To keep me alive
In all that exists
None have your beauty
I see your face
I will survive
Eternally wild with the power
To make every moment come alive
All those stars that shine upon you
Will kiss you every night
All veils and misty
Streets of blue
Almond looks
That chill divine
Some silken moment
Goes on forever
And we're leaving
Yeah we're leaving broken hearts behind
You're eternally wild with the power
To make every moment come alive
All those stars that shine upon you
And they'll kiss you every night
4. Radar Love - Golden Earring
5. Lobo - Dont expect me to be your friend
originally @ 20/06/07 - 00:45 (we must keep the catalog correctly updated - go on keeping some kind of record)
Aritra and Fire of the Gods - Part I
So then frustrated by the stubborn unattainability of the Gods, Aritra got up from the pyre he had kept burning for these eleven months, and turned back towards the city; the city nestled, far below him, at the foot of the mountains; the city he had left behind almost a year ago; the city sparkling naively superficially; the city blissfully ignorant of higher purposes, sacrifices and life trandescending aims. He looked at all the glitter which he had been so proud and excited to leave behind. He thought of the colours, the people, the spider web of human love and hate, the tastes, the joys, the music, and he thought of Urvashi.
Urvashi, the beautiful. Urvashi the legend. Urvashi, who arrested a man's heart and body on sight, only to set it racing like never before, the next instant, on fire. Urvashi, the great Artist of Love. It was not that her magic had left him unmoved. His blood had raced at her sight, and now at her thought, as much as any other man in the city. But he had been drunk on a greater "high". His mission, his questions, his hunger to know what he had wanted to know, the knowledge of the Gods, the meaning of life, The Secret.
But then, was that really what he had been drunk on? Or was it the "high" of "thinking" he was resisting and the power that wrapt around his self image at the thought?
So in the dark of the night, he climbed down the side of the mountain, slipping the last few steps of the way, and quietly re-entered the town he had left once just before the sun had slipped into the sky. All the while, he cradled his failure in his heart like a treasured first born. Thoughtlessly, he let his feet drift. Just like he had that long ago morning, when he had entered the land at the top of the mountain with the dawn.
And thus it was that he found himself facing Urvashi's door, one hand raised to knock. Then suddenly hesitating, he was about to turn away, when the door opened and she stood there, glorious like the sun at midnight, not saying anything, not smiling, just solemnly waiting for him to come in. Urvashi, who made a Religion out of Love.
--- stuff happens
And then suddenly he awoke, as if from deep daze, a spell cast from outside him. Though in reality, everything that had ever come over him, had been born inside him, in the heart of his mind. In the middle of merging again into her, and into the sea of common humanity that it would represent, he awoke. As if recharged by these few hours of 'sleep', of this break from the relentless Hunger for Something Higher that had driven him - through sleep and wakefulness - for so long now, something like the old zeal slipped into his tired heart again.
At the foot of the hills, he paused one last time and turned back to look at the city. This he had not dared to do the first time he had left it (Though he had told himself he had not cared). Through the darkness he could feel deserted Urvashi at the window, and feel her eyes following his path. And even now, she had no words, no questions. No accusations ever rose in those eyes, because life had never rained enough on that soil to birth expectations. A new sorrow, more sublime, but more lasting, rose in and filled his heart, and he felt this sorrow that he felt for her was like a invisible thread of silver that stretched out in the darkness and tied him to her, a bond stronger than any earthly 'love', whatever that might be. He sighed one last time, and then picked up his burdens and started to climb back up hill.
The dying embers, that he had kicked at in a rage of frustration earlier, looked ghostly in the fake lightening of the sky that comes even before the sun. His heart jumped and wrenched at the sight of it, he did'nt know why. All his hunger, did not come rushing back at once, but ran to the gates of his heart, and stopped there, shy, awaiting his permission to take the last step in. Once more, he felt that whatever his doubts, however high the tuiton, and however heavy the burden of the shame of failure, he would never feel this way for anything in The City. He did not yet know the nature of the feeling, but he knew that the intensity of this feeling, would never rival that other, and that he could never turn his face from it again, and live in peace forever.
For a moment he was caught up with wondering half fearfully, if the Gods had been un-appeasably offended by his anger. Then caught by a glimmer of
Urvashi, the beautiful. Urvashi the legend. Urvashi, who arrested a man's heart and body on sight, only to set it racing like never before, the next instant, on fire. Urvashi, the great Artist of Love. It was not that her magic had left him unmoved. His blood had raced at her sight, and now at her thought, as much as any other man in the city. But he had been drunk on a greater "high". His mission, his questions, his hunger to know what he had wanted to know, the knowledge of the Gods, the meaning of life, The Secret.
But then, was that really what he had been drunk on? Or was it the "high" of "thinking" he was resisting and the power that wrapt around his self image at the thought?
So in the dark of the night, he climbed down the side of the mountain, slipping the last few steps of the way, and quietly re-entered the town he had left once just before the sun had slipped into the sky. All the while, he cradled his failure in his heart like a treasured first born. Thoughtlessly, he let his feet drift. Just like he had that long ago morning, when he had entered the land at the top of the mountain with the dawn.
And thus it was that he found himself facing Urvashi's door, one hand raised to knock. Then suddenly hesitating, he was about to turn away, when the door opened and she stood there, glorious like the sun at midnight, not saying anything, not smiling, just solemnly waiting for him to come in. Urvashi, who made a Religion out of Love.
--- stuff happens
And then suddenly he awoke, as if from deep daze, a spell cast from outside him. Though in reality, everything that had ever come over him, had been born inside him, in the heart of his mind. In the middle of merging again into her, and into the sea of common humanity that it would represent, he awoke. As if recharged by these few hours of 'sleep', of this break from the relentless Hunger for Something Higher that had driven him - through sleep and wakefulness - for so long now, something like the old zeal slipped into his tired heart again.
At the foot of the hills, he paused one last time and turned back to look at the city. This he had not dared to do the first time he had left it (Though he had told himself he had not cared). Through the darkness he could feel deserted Urvashi at the window, and feel her eyes following his path. And even now, she had no words, no questions. No accusations ever rose in those eyes, because life had never rained enough on that soil to birth expectations. A new sorrow, more sublime, but more lasting, rose in and filled his heart, and he felt this sorrow that he felt for her was like a invisible thread of silver that stretched out in the darkness and tied him to her, a bond stronger than any earthly 'love', whatever that might be. He sighed one last time, and then picked up his burdens and started to climb back up hill.
The dying embers, that he had kicked at in a rage of frustration earlier, looked ghostly in the fake lightening of the sky that comes even before the sun. His heart jumped and wrenched at the sight of it, he did'nt know why. All his hunger, did not come rushing back at once, but ran to the gates of his heart, and stopped there, shy, awaiting his permission to take the last step in. Once more, he felt that whatever his doubts, however high the tuiton, and however heavy the burden of the shame of failure, he would never feel this way for anything in The City. He did not yet know the nature of the feeling, but he knew that the intensity of this feeling, would never rival that other, and that he could never turn his face from it again, and live in peace forever.
For a moment he was caught up with wondering half fearfully, if the Gods had been un-appeasably offended by his anger. Then caught by a glimmer of
Song in My Head (2 of 4)
He's laughing with another girl
And playing with another heart
Placing high stakes, making hearts ache
He's loved in seven languages
Jewel box life diamond nights and ruby lights, high in the sky
Heaven help him, when he falls
Diamond life, lover boy
He move in space with minimum waste and maximum joy
City lights and business nights
When you require streetcar desire for higher heights
No place for beginners or sensitive hearts
When sentiment is left to chance
No place to be ending but somewhere to start
No need to ask
He's a smooth operator
Coast to coast, LA to Chicago, western male
Across the north and south, to Key Largo, love for sale
Face to face, each classic case
We shadow box and double cross
Yet need the chase
A license to love, insurance to hold
Melts all your memories and change into gold
His eyes are like angels but his heart is cold
No need to ask
He's a smooth operator
Coast to coast, LA to Chicago, western male
Across the north and south, to Key Largo, love for sale
I'm so tired, of playing
Playing with this bow and arrow
Gonna give my heart away
Leave it to the other girls to play
For I've been a temptress too long
Just,
Give me a reason to love you
Give me a reason to be, a woman
I just wanna be a woman
From this time, unchained
We're all looking at a different picture
Thru this new frame of mind
A thousand flowers could bloom
Move over, and give us some room
Give me a reason to love you
Give me a reason to be a woman
I just wanna be a woman
So don't you stop, being a man
Just take a little look from our side when you can
Sow a little tenderness
No matter if you cry
Give me a reason to love you
Give me a reason to be a woman
All I wanna be is all woman
For this is the beginning of forever and ever
Its time to move over
Bye Bye, Becky Midnight
late night chats in the cove
air think with clouds of smoke
midnight walks
and secret talks
in the rain
near morray house
impromptu makeup
and photo shoots
long nonesense chats
and weepy blues
pigeon watching on hunter square
walks to the lakes and on the hills
boys and clothes and so much more
talk and talk and laugh and laugh
walking down nicholson square
singing loudly on the road
it was such a good year
still i'm gonna miss you
"She would never say where she came from
Yesterday dont matter if its gone
While the sun is bright
Or in the darkest night
No one knows
She comes and goes
Goodbye, ruby tuesday
Who could hang a name on you?
When you change with every new day
Still Im gonna miss you...
Dont question why she needs to be so free
Shell tell you its the only way to be
She just cant be chained
To a life where nothings gained
And nothings lost
At such a cost
Theres no time to lose, I heard her say
Catch your dreams before they slip away
Dying all the time
Lose your dreams
And you will lose your mind.
Aint life unkind?
Goodbye, ruby tuesday
Who could hang a name on you?
When you change with every new day
Still Im gonna miss you..."
Yesterday - Dreaming
My world as I know it is finally coming to an end
The last few bricks now crumble
I could say that
These are the saddest days of my life
(so dont expect me ... to behave perfectly.
getting a sinking feeling ...)
And yet changes always remind me of the airport feeling
180 degrees, always. For me. I miss my airport self
I walk in with the terrible grief of being again uprooted
And I walk out with the exuberance of being free
Do I really?
I dont know
I just try to remind myself that the deep dark vaccuum
Of the world of those who belong to nowhere and noone (least of all themselves)
Is not that scary,
beyond the eon long moment of the jumping in
The last few bricks now crumble
I could say that
These are the saddest days of my life
(so dont expect me ... to behave perfectly.
getting a sinking feeling ...)
And yet changes always remind me of the airport feeling
180 degrees, always. For me. I miss my airport self
I walk in with the terrible grief of being again uprooted
And I walk out with the exuberance of being free
Do I really?
I dont know
I just try to remind myself that the deep dark vaccuum
Of the world of those who belong to nowhere and noone (least of all themselves)
Is not that scary,
beyond the eon long moment of the jumping in
funny blue
funny. started to write the story of my life today
it was the first time that i thought of doing this
but then i lost patience before i reached ten, and thats when all the fun began :)
when i hate the blog is when i feel like i am using it as a crutch, to aid my crippled powers of communication in the real world, to tell someone something i darent face to face. so thats why i stopped
the last time me and barbie talked, we decided that the intense secrecy and the living in the past is madcaps's door. so that we must avoid
have ever since tried to be open-er, but then, who would understand
why do i keep getting caught in these lover's games? these triangles?
maybe that is what the astrolger meant? because they all take me back to that one night of humiliation, when i was first caught between to warring lovers, trying to get at themselves with their little love games and using fool me.
twenty odd years is a long time. dunno why it's still so fresh.
she was wrong. i am not that dumb. i dont fall for any story you tell me.
i dont. i dont. i dont. i refuse to. i wont fall for anything ever. it seemed like the only solution. not to believe anyone, ever. but i cant. she was right. like she said, she knows how she made me. god i hate her. and i love her. my pretty pretty monster.
so i swing. from extreme to extreme.
but i'm not dumb. i just humour you and dont let on. i can atleast put two and two together, just like the next person. lol. yeah right. thats why i keep getting caught in these lie-traps. how can you be like this? you amaze me. you are the chameleons: masters of trechery and disguise.
anyway, the catch is not to feel humiliated. just like a formulated for him. ur dumb bcz someone you loved is bitch enough to make a fool of you. your just trusting and loving. lol. yeah. dumb
It feels like the beginning of the end. I spent one year praying for this one year, and its just beginning to sink in that it is not to be. I feel guilty for every other prayer that I uttered in the period, and every other desire. Feel like I diluted my wish for you. Boston is so far away ...
I cant say these things to you. You would only laugh and tell me I am being silly. That I am being a big baby. Yes I am. I know. But I cant help it. So learn how to help it Bebu, you would say. I started with such a big headstart, lol, how did you so overtake me in grownup-ness?
I did the thing I most hated you doing. Wouldnt it be funny if we exchanged roles? If, like in the movie, if they met in nepal and instead of her dying he reformed her and sent her home and stayed back and became a junkie? be funny, no?
I know you would say not to be so panicked. Its only a year. But its not. Its the beginning of the end. It will never be the same again. We will drift apart again. I spent all those years building the most important relationship of my life, only to lose it again to time and distance ...
I feel like we cant put it off any longer, like we are finally now teethering on the edge of the cliff of adulthood. This is it. 'Life' now begins. I'm scared Barbie ... Scared of going alone, scared of cutting the chord, scared of flying, scared of jumping ... scared of flying solo ...
it was the first time that i thought of doing this
but then i lost patience before i reached ten, and thats when all the fun began :)
when i hate the blog is when i feel like i am using it as a crutch, to aid my crippled powers of communication in the real world, to tell someone something i darent face to face. so thats why i stopped
the last time me and barbie talked, we decided that the intense secrecy and the living in the past is madcaps's door. so that we must avoid
have ever since tried to be open-er, but then, who would understand
why do i keep getting caught in these lover's games? these triangles?
maybe that is what the astrolger meant? because they all take me back to that one night of humiliation, when i was first caught between to warring lovers, trying to get at themselves with their little love games and using fool me.
twenty odd years is a long time. dunno why it's still so fresh.
she was wrong. i am not that dumb. i dont fall for any story you tell me.
i dont. i dont. i dont. i refuse to. i wont fall for anything ever. it seemed like the only solution. not to believe anyone, ever. but i cant. she was right. like she said, she knows how she made me. god i hate her. and i love her. my pretty pretty monster.
so i swing. from extreme to extreme.
but i'm not dumb. i just humour you and dont let on. i can atleast put two and two together, just like the next person. lol. yeah right. thats why i keep getting caught in these lie-traps. how can you be like this? you amaze me. you are the chameleons: masters of trechery and disguise.
anyway, the catch is not to feel humiliated. just like a formulated for him. ur dumb bcz someone you loved is bitch enough to make a fool of you. your just trusting and loving. lol. yeah. dumb
It feels like the beginning of the end. I spent one year praying for this one year, and its just beginning to sink in that it is not to be. I feel guilty for every other prayer that I uttered in the period, and every other desire. Feel like I diluted my wish for you. Boston is so far away ...
I cant say these things to you. You would only laugh and tell me I am being silly. That I am being a big baby. Yes I am. I know. But I cant help it. So learn how to help it Bebu, you would say. I started with such a big headstart, lol, how did you so overtake me in grownup-ness?
I did the thing I most hated you doing. Wouldnt it be funny if we exchanged roles? If, like in the movie, if they met in nepal and instead of her dying he reformed her and sent her home and stayed back and became a junkie? be funny, no?
I know you would say not to be so panicked. Its only a year. But its not. Its the beginning of the end. It will never be the same again. We will drift apart again. I spent all those years building the most important relationship of my life, only to lose it again to time and distance ...
I feel like we cant put it off any longer, like we are finally now teethering on the edge of the cliff of adulthood. This is it. 'Life' now begins. I'm scared Barbie ... Scared of going alone, scared of cutting the chord, scared of flying, scared of jumping ... scared of flying solo ...
homesick blues
amaar paara, amaar ghor
amaar apon, amaar por
amaar joto kaachher lok
amaar dukkho, amaar shukh
amaar bachha, amaar boro,
shobai bodhai bhulei gelo!
amaar kukur, amaar haash
graamer baari, bhindi chaash!
bhor obdi chhat-er thek
alo elei amaar lake
laak-er paashe tomaar baari
haathte haathte eshe pori
amaader shei oboshor
kobe holo eto por
amaar ma, amaar bon
aar praaner bondhu: dujon
khaali paye chhute jawa
amaar parar pukhkawalla
dhum kore nam-e brishti
ma bolto jeno amaar raag :)
shomoy toh shob phuriye gelo
shob i kothay haariye gelo
abaar kobe baari jaabo?
abaar kothay baari jaabo ...
rasta kothay haariye gelo
por apon, apon por
yes, i kind of lost enthu at the end!
homesickness, making me mad.
and the madness of knowing
that there's a shelf-life on those little silver strings
that stretch out between body and soul (One, remember?),
when you first leave 'home'.
this time, the home-coming was the most serendipitous,
and the turning out heartbreaking-est.
(bahut be aabroo hokar ... ;))
Free Will
Really looking forward to this talk. Thanks to Alexis, else I might have just missed! Daniel Dennett - Is science showing that we don't have free will? But wasnt there something about fruitflies and free will recently?
Looking forward to this one too: Is Man Just Another Animal? By Steve Jones, Professor of Genetics at UCL.
Incidentally, this was interesting: Neanderthal brain less troubled @ remote central
And this: "Lifeshirt" can probe status of the mind
Looking forward to this one too: Is Man Just Another Animal? By Steve Jones, Professor of Genetics at UCL.
Incidentally, this was interesting: Neanderthal brain less troubled @ remote central
And this: "Lifeshirt" can probe status of the mind
cruel Intentions
In the end, thats all your left with, arent you? One more layer of accusers lined up to chorus in your head, asking you how you could have been so blind. If it had not been so sad, it would have been so funny. If it didnt hurt so much, it would be funny. Actually, strike that. It is so funny. The last scene in the movie, where everyone gets together to laugh at the fool, is always funny. Pity I never had much of a sense of humour.
It's raining again. Raining through the night. I like the sound of rain on all those different surfaces. it's an excercise of sorts, to lie here and try to sort out the different sounds into different surfaces. The clouds blank out the moon outside. At midnight, it's finally dark even here.
I went to sleep wanting to see romeo and juliet. and woke up to the rain. kind of appropriate. it's that one scene that stuck in my mind. him on the beach. i wanna, be someone else or i'll explode ...
Was very taken by cruel intentions, lately. It was beautiful. Woke up missing. It was so strange walking into the movie to find those lines i used to love on the wall but which used to be orphaned in my head :)
Watched it, or rather, the song, in a loop for a long while and then went for a long walk. I think these midnight head sorting walks will be what I miss the most, were I ever to leave this place. Or would I? When I am confused, I walk to the hills. Conveniently situated in my backyard, at the present.
I am color blind
Coffee black and egg white
Pull me out from inside
I am ready
taffy stuck, tongue tied
Stuttered shook and uptight
Pull me out from inside
I am ready
I am fine
I am covered in skin
No one gets to come in
Pull me out from inside
I am folded, and unfolded, and unfolding
I am colorblind
Coffee black and egg white
Pull me out from inside
I am ready
I am fine
It's raining again. Raining through the night. I like the sound of rain on all those different surfaces. it's an excercise of sorts, to lie here and try to sort out the different sounds into different surfaces. The clouds blank out the moon outside. At midnight, it's finally dark even here.
I went to sleep wanting to see romeo and juliet. and woke up to the rain. kind of appropriate. it's that one scene that stuck in my mind. him on the beach. i wanna, be someone else or i'll explode ...
Was very taken by cruel intentions, lately. It was beautiful. Woke up missing. It was so strange walking into the movie to find those lines i used to love on the wall but which used to be orphaned in my head :)
Watched it, or rather, the song, in a loop for a long while and then went for a long walk. I think these midnight head sorting walks will be what I miss the most, were I ever to leave this place. Or would I? When I am confused, I walk to the hills. Conveniently situated in my backyard, at the present.
I am color blind
Coffee black and egg white
Pull me out from inside
I am ready
taffy stuck, tongue tied
Stuttered shook and uptight
Pull me out from inside
I am ready
I am fine
I am covered in skin
No one gets to come in
Pull me out from inside
I am folded, and unfolded, and unfolding
I am colorblind
Coffee black and egg white
Pull me out from inside
I am ready
I am fine
friend ...
It's been so long
I had forgotten, to even question it
Are you for real? Am I that strange?
You dont know me at all, do you?
How can I blame you. I know me even less.
How could you forget?
When we've loved like old cotton shirts on sunday afternoon skin
How could you doubt me, again?
Ofcourse I do, you big stupid.
And I always will.
You'll always be my best friend.
How could it be otherwise?
These things never change.
I'll wait right here
till you realise.
I had forgotten, to even question it
Are you for real? Am I that strange?
You dont know me at all, do you?
How can I blame you. I know me even less.
How could you forget?
When we've loved like old cotton shirts on sunday afternoon skin
How could you doubt me, again?
Ofcourse I do, you big stupid.
And I always will.
You'll always be my best friend.
How could it be otherwise?
These things never change.
I'll wait right here
till you realise.
It Cannot Be ...
It cannot be :(
It cannot be :)
It cannot be :D
It cannot be ;)
It cannot be?
It cannot be!
It cannot be ...
Can it?
It cannot be :)
It cannot be :D
It cannot be ;)
It cannot be?
It cannot be!
It cannot be ...
Can it?
| Keith Carradine - ... |
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.
Love
I sing alone, for an audience of one
This, is my deepest blood
I cut you my deepest blood
A token, a gesture, an offering
This is what I propose: everything, for everything
Will you strike a deal?
I feel gauche and naiive
Because I've never felt like this before
For this much, thank you
But for any less, no thanks
I'm sorry, the mistake was mine
An honest mistake
As always, I am absent minded
Sometimes, often, I just forget
This, is my deepest blood
I cut you my deepest blood
A token, a gesture, an offering
This is what I propose: everything, for everything
Will you strike a deal?
I feel gauche and naiive
Because I've never felt like this before
For this much, thank you
But for any less, no thanks
I'm sorry, the mistake was mine
An honest mistake
As always, I am absent minded
Sometimes, often, I just forget
On the road again
29 - 5. Will take a while to get back to 10, but I am happy, given the length of the break. I stop at the lake. The geese are very amused by stretches and think the bench press ridiculous
I run, usually, with my head down. It's a kind of home made blinkering system. I go early to avoid people. Still I often bump into people and things. I trip often. I mistake aquaintances for friends. Strangers for soulmates. See ghosts in vacuum. Sometimes I fall and get hurt. I get up, dust off and run again. But it's getting harder.
I need to stick to less peopled paths and times.
I frightened a sqirrel, store on mouth, on it's way home. It recovered and scurried away. I was left frozen. What if ...
Most days I wake up excited and happy. A new day! Then slowly the day and the world sinks in. The first flush is of anger and bitterness. Why? I hate making mistakes. I hate making a fool of myself.
These days I'm scared almost all the time. Scared, or fatal. Can you imagine feeling petrified of something, but not knowing what it is? Maybe someone's dancing on my grave.
Is a few days of the most exquisite happiness you have ever known, of learning, from scratch to take, to surrender, worth the crashing pain of coming reawakening? No it's not.
I run, usually, with my head down. It's a kind of home made blinkering system. I go early to avoid people. Still I often bump into people and things. I trip often. I mistake aquaintances for friends. Strangers for soulmates. See ghosts in vacuum. Sometimes I fall and get hurt. I get up, dust off and run again. But it's getting harder.
I need to stick to less peopled paths and times.
I frightened a sqirrel, store on mouth, on it's way home. It recovered and scurried away. I was left frozen. What if ...
Most days I wake up excited and happy. A new day! Then slowly the day and the world sinks in. The first flush is of anger and bitterness. Why? I hate making mistakes. I hate making a fool of myself.
These days I'm scared almost all the time. Scared, or fatal. Can you imagine feeling petrified of something, but not knowing what it is? Maybe someone's dancing on my grave.
Is a few days of the most exquisite happiness you have ever known, of learning, from scratch to take, to surrender, worth the crashing pain of coming reawakening? No it's not.
sunny days
Its the city of contrasts. As unashamdely contradictory as myself. Maybe thats why felt at home, right the first moment I stepped foot in it.
Is that strange? I used to think it bizzare. A new city, across the continents. One I knew nothing of, inspite of the stories and pictures I had seen and heard before I came here. But I still remember my first day in Edinburgh. I knew I was here for a few months. I knew it was not my kind of city, anyway. But weirdly, I felt at home as soon as I stepped in Princes Street.
There is a castle in the front yard of the city. You can stand on the sidewalk and look down at lucky people soaking the sun in the Princes Gradens below. Its a strange day. Sunny, but cool in the shade. Edinburgh style.
In my dreams, I am at the beach. It's late. I normally dont like noises at night, but here, I like like everything. Everything becomes beautiful because it 'belongs to here'.
Can you describe a texture in words. How does the sand feel between my toes and under my hands? It fine grained and damp in places, and sandpaper soft in places. But it's not the depth of the water, or the softness of the sand (though it helps) its the solitude I love here. The gulls and runners go home as the day leaves the the sky like a fading blush. Me and the big manor house are left alone on the shore to greet the moon. The silver of the moon reflected on the little egdes of water are like a childs laughter. Clean and Pure. I am arrested, floating above lethe. I dont want to lose a moment, or forget. The silence is intense, the night tries to hold one solemn moment before it breaks into the exuberant morning.
There are those moments when we are transported. It's strange how real a dream can feel. Can knock the living daylights out of reality. Coming back, first life seems bizzarely unreal!
There's a long haired boy sitting with a guitar and girl on the grass smiling up at him. Sometimes, you catch a stab of envy for careless youth that slips out before your everconscious conscience snakes out and grabs it.
I dream of a moment like that. But maybe we are too old to be able to live and lose ourselves in moments any more. You dont even window shop without checking warranties. Or maybe not being able to live or lose yourself in a moment is the self defense of those who feel too intensely; or are too chicken? Courage is not the absence of fear, but trying to overcome it.
It might sound strange to you, but I get cheap thrills everytime I manage a clever subterfuge. However trivial and small. When I hold a calm front when I am mad inside. Or laugh when I'm hurting. It feels good. I feel cool. I'm a fool (who makes his world a little safer).
And you will never know how scared I was. Or how brave.
Is that strange? I used to think it bizzare. A new city, across the continents. One I knew nothing of, inspite of the stories and pictures I had seen and heard before I came here. But I still remember my first day in Edinburgh. I knew I was here for a few months. I knew it was not my kind of city, anyway. But weirdly, I felt at home as soon as I stepped in Princes Street.
There is a castle in the front yard of the city. You can stand on the sidewalk and look down at lucky people soaking the sun in the Princes Gradens below. Its a strange day. Sunny, but cool in the shade. Edinburgh style.
In my dreams, I am at the beach. It's late. I normally dont like noises at night, but here, I like like everything. Everything becomes beautiful because it 'belongs to here'.
Can you describe a texture in words. How does the sand feel between my toes and under my hands? It fine grained and damp in places, and sandpaper soft in places. But it's not the depth of the water, or the softness of the sand (though it helps) its the solitude I love here. The gulls and runners go home as the day leaves the the sky like a fading blush. Me and the big manor house are left alone on the shore to greet the moon. The silver of the moon reflected on the little egdes of water are like a childs laughter. Clean and Pure. I am arrested, floating above lethe. I dont want to lose a moment, or forget. The silence is intense, the night tries to hold one solemn moment before it breaks into the exuberant morning.
There are those moments when we are transported. It's strange how real a dream can feel. Can knock the living daylights out of reality. Coming back, first life seems bizzarely unreal!
There's a long haired boy sitting with a guitar and girl on the grass smiling up at him. Sometimes, you catch a stab of envy for careless youth that slips out before your everconscious conscience snakes out and grabs it.
I dream of a moment like that. But maybe we are too old to be able to live and lose ourselves in moments any more. You dont even window shop without checking warranties. Or maybe not being able to live or lose yourself in a moment is the self defense of those who feel too intensely; or are too chicken? Courage is not the absence of fear, but trying to overcome it.
It might sound strange to you, but I get cheap thrills everytime I manage a clever subterfuge. However trivial and small. When I hold a calm front when I am mad inside. Or laugh when I'm hurting. It feels good. I feel cool. I'm a fool (who makes his world a little safer).
And you will never know how scared I was. Or how brave.
A Poem for You
it's not one whole sunny day
but bits and pieces are really bright
it's cold in the shade,
but whenever the sun finds you it warms you
dreams, joys and hopes
come true and brighten up the days
in bits and pieces
though not whole
in the beginning i had drafted specs
and submitted it to life
i had thought of everything
that i could possibly want
and everything i could do without
life laughed. i sulked
but still, it gives me something every day
enough to be happy for the day on.
somethings we try to forget, or get out off
everything is like a habit, like smoking or drinking
you detox. and stay clean for a long time. even years.
then one day you get a whiff of what it was like
maybe someone standing next to you at a bus stop
cigerette in hand, blowing smoke in your face
just that much, is enough to send you reeling.
like riding a bike, it all comes back
and you have to get used to it all over again.
and you did'nt even smoke first hand. what a shame.
strange, the things that stay back
an echo of laughter haunts a deserted hotel room
some textures stain your hands,
busy as the day chatters on,
it the stains float in the background
and words. strange words stay embedded
in strange moments
the most stunning lillies came by post
they were so beautiful
it broke my heart to think how short lived they were
everything is so ephemereal
sometimes it makes me angry with flowers
you took me totally by surprise
i was gaurding the door
i didnt think of the window
or the ventilators
and like in the song
thoughts of you keep sneaking back in
from strange gaps in the fortress
here and there
you become, the happy ghost
the ghost who haunts me
That doesnt really say it, though
Does it?
What could I say ...
Are there words?
I am left
behind you. in a trail of jetlag
word-bereft
but bits and pieces are really bright
it's cold in the shade,
but whenever the sun finds you it warms you
dreams, joys and hopes
come true and brighten up the days
in bits and pieces
though not whole
in the beginning i had drafted specs
and submitted it to life
i had thought of everything
that i could possibly want
and everything i could do without
life laughed. i sulked
but still, it gives me something every day
enough to be happy for the day on.
somethings we try to forget, or get out off
everything is like a habit, like smoking or drinking
you detox. and stay clean for a long time. even years.
then one day you get a whiff of what it was like
maybe someone standing next to you at a bus stop
cigerette in hand, blowing smoke in your face
just that much, is enough to send you reeling.
like riding a bike, it all comes back
and you have to get used to it all over again.
and you did'nt even smoke first hand. what a shame.
strange, the things that stay back
an echo of laughter haunts a deserted hotel room
some textures stain your hands,
busy as the day chatters on,
it the stains float in the background
and words. strange words stay embedded
in strange moments
the most stunning lillies came by post
they were so beautiful
it broke my heart to think how short lived they were
everything is so ephemereal
sometimes it makes me angry with flowers
you took me totally by surprise
i was gaurding the door
i didnt think of the window
or the ventilators
and like in the song
thoughts of you keep sneaking back in
from strange gaps in the fortress
here and there
you become, the happy ghost
the ghost who haunts me
That doesnt really say it, though
Does it?
What could I say ...
Are there words?
I am left
behind you. in a trail of jetlag
word-bereft
"Mein Publikum will doch gar nicht wissen, wieviele Spiegeleier ich mir morgens brate. Ich spreche durch meine Figuren."
"My audience doesn't want to know how many eggs I fry in the morning. I speak through my characters."
Martina Gedeck.
Martina Gedeck.
Rain
Strange coincidences. It rained yesterday. Properly. With a passion. Reminded me of Calcutta (and SA, and dubai too actually - so many rain memories! So it's raining again, and I am reading Tropic of Capricorn again. Reminded me of this post, its one of my favourites: Kal Baishakhi
I have a story. I am really excited about this one. But me being me, I dont know when I will start filling in the skeleton. Maybe this will be another stillborn like Dolly or the Rahul/Priya story :)
Saw Lives of Others. It was really, really brilliant.
Silver Beach
just before the end, you had said i owned you
still naiive, i had been outraged
are you stupid, or silly, or do you think i am?
in which case you really really must be!
before my, then legendary, temper flared,
i forgot to check the expiry date
the first time i saw you, i knew
as you rose, like the girl on the half-shell
out of a sea of men. i knew.
my time had come
my nemesis:
welcome.
now the deed is done
i'm a little proud of how graceful i fall
see, how neatly it conspires to be done?
no begging, bile, bitterness, or tears.
yet i make my gestures,
cur you my deepest blood.
now i draw the curtains of causal politeness.
a feather-handed touch.
and i wait for the poison to spread
here alone by the silver beach
where else would i have had it end?
life and death both beautiful.
there is no home, or i would have longed for it
my heart, in this too, was broken and scattered in the winds by time
and pieces fell in so many lands: each i love truely
but broken, none could i completely. maybe the fault was mine
in my lustful itchy gypsy feet. in roving nomad ambitious eyes.
never satisfied.
is this a sin, for those who aspire to strength?
dreaming of a completelness not found within?
of a something, i know not what
beyond the words, beyond the masks, beyond the games
but then what of the blue feather?
was that, then, just a dream?
still naiive, i had been outraged
are you stupid, or silly, or do you think i am?
in which case you really really must be!
before my, then legendary, temper flared,
i forgot to check the expiry date
the first time i saw you, i knew
as you rose, like the girl on the half-shell
out of a sea of men. i knew.
my time had come
my nemesis:
welcome.
now the deed is done
i'm a little proud of how graceful i fall
see, how neatly it conspires to be done?
no begging, bile, bitterness, or tears.
yet i make my gestures,
cur you my deepest blood.
now i draw the curtains of causal politeness.
a feather-handed touch.
and i wait for the poison to spread
here alone by the silver beach
where else would i have had it end?
life and death both beautiful.
there is no home, or i would have longed for it
my heart, in this too, was broken and scattered in the winds by time
and pieces fell in so many lands: each i love truely
but broken, none could i completely. maybe the fault was mine
in my lustful itchy gypsy feet. in roving nomad ambitious eyes.
never satisfied.
is this a sin, for those who aspire to strength?
dreaming of a completelness not found within?
of a something, i know not what
beyond the words, beyond the masks, beyond the games
but then what of the blue feather?
was that, then, just a dream?
Tagged: Books
Tagged by Vatsala
Total number of books owned:
Very tough question! I really dont know ...
Last book(s) I bought:
Have stopped buying books. I do love my mom (and she threatens to disown me if I send another carton to 'her house'. I can resume buying only when I stop 'gypsy-living' and get a 'proper' life.
Five books that I have really enjoyed or have influenced me:
Influenced: The Little Princess, Steppenwolf, The Hours, A Beautiful Mind, Atlas Shrugged (:D at that time - i was a kid) ...
Identified with: Mill on the Floss, Steppenwolf, God of Small Things, Of Human Bondage, Iron in the Soul.
Enjoyed:
Henry and June (and the movie - yes I know i keep harping about H&J&N on the blog),
Mrs. Dalloway (changed something - many things - i dont know how to describe it),
The Little Prince (so many lessons),
The End of the Affair (mindblowing how he can write so well, from inside a woman's mind),
The Old Man and the Sea, (what can I say :))
Love and other Demons (i dislike marquez - drama and verbosity - but i liked this story),
The Strike ("the twin female desire to show and hide" :D again i have harped on this often on the blog - loved the way it was narrated - it was a masterpiece for me),
An Equal Music (I forget why I liked it - but I remember I did - like many people, no?),
Kite Runner (beautiful, haunting and sad. my eyes hurt from crying after it finished)
The Glass Palace (the detailing, the rowing - hated the end).
Sorry! I strayed from the exact question in the tag. Deliciously difficult :)
Book(s) I'm currently reading:
Tropic of Capricorn, Anna Karenina, On the Road, The Masqueraders
Books I plan to buy next I really want this one, but can't afford it right now: Letters from Iceland, by Auden The guy reads from it in Away from Her, which was one of the most impressive and personally, moving movies I have seen in a while (since cinema paradiso, and le choristers ... and for the same reasons :)) Anyway, after that I'm going to buy this! :)
Books that caught my attention but have never read
Mostly Bangla. I cant read Bangla too well. Have only read a few untranslated. I want to read many of those. Starting with Sanchaita, the rest of Samaresh Mojumdar and Sarat Chandra. SHANKAR!!! I dont know how I missed him! Always loved Chowranghee, didnt know it was by him!
Also, Letters from Iceland, right now.
Books I own but have never got around to reading
Quite a few, actually! Since I dont stay at "home", I have often bought books when there but then had to come back before I could read them!
Every once in a while there is a book I just "cant" read. I keep trying but it doesnt work. And funnily enough, some time in the future I come across it again, and I not only "can", I love it! One, Steppenwolf, Anna K, Zen and ... all fall in this category. I have a theory about it (like I do about everything else) :D
I tag The Austere, Prometheus, Sri Ramana, Manu, Peggy, Me, Prometheus, Austere, Ph, Hyde (doesnt do tags, though) and anyone else it looks interesting to :)
Total number of books owned:
Very tough question! I really dont know ...
Last book(s) I bought:
Have stopped buying books. I do love my mom (and she threatens to disown me if I send another carton to 'her house'. I can resume buying only when I stop 'gypsy-living' and get a 'proper' life.
Five books that I have really enjoyed or have influenced me:
Influenced: The Little Princess, Steppenwolf, The Hours, A Beautiful Mind, Atlas Shrugged (:D at that time - i was a kid) ...
Identified with: Mill on the Floss, Steppenwolf, God of Small Things, Of Human Bondage, Iron in the Soul.
Enjoyed:
Henry and June (and the movie - yes I know i keep harping about H&J&N on the blog),
Mrs. Dalloway (changed something - many things - i dont know how to describe it),
The Little Prince (so many lessons),
The End of the Affair (mindblowing how he can write so well, from inside a woman's mind),
The Old Man and the Sea, (what can I say :))
Love and other Demons (i dislike marquez - drama and verbosity - but i liked this story),
The Strike ("the twin female desire to show and hide" :D again i have harped on this often on the blog - loved the way it was narrated - it was a masterpiece for me),
An Equal Music (I forget why I liked it - but I remember I did - like many people, no?),
Kite Runner (beautiful, haunting and sad. my eyes hurt from crying after it finished)
The Glass Palace (the detailing, the rowing - hated the end).
Sorry! I strayed from the exact question in the tag. Deliciously difficult :)
Book(s) I'm currently reading:
Tropic of Capricorn, Anna Karenina, On the Road, The Masqueraders
Books I plan to buy next I really want this one, but can't afford it right now: Letters from Iceland, by Auden The guy reads from it in Away from Her, which was one of the most impressive and personally, moving movies I have seen in a while (since cinema paradiso, and le choristers ... and for the same reasons :)) Anyway, after that I'm going to buy this! :)
Books that caught my attention but have never read
Mostly Bangla. I cant read Bangla too well. Have only read a few untranslated. I want to read many of those. Starting with Sanchaita, the rest of Samaresh Mojumdar and Sarat Chandra. SHANKAR!!! I dont know how I missed him! Always loved Chowranghee, didnt know it was by him!
Also, Letters from Iceland, right now.
Books I own but have never got around to reading
Quite a few, actually! Since I dont stay at "home", I have often bought books when there but then had to come back before I could read them!
Every once in a while there is a book I just "cant" read. I keep trying but it doesnt work. And funnily enough, some time in the future I come across it again, and I not only "can", I love it! One, Steppenwolf, Anna K, Zen and ... all fall in this category. I have a theory about it (like I do about everything else) :D
I tag The Austere, Prometheus, Sri Ramana, Manu, Peggy, Me, Prometheus, Austere, Ph, Hyde (doesnt do tags, though) and anyone else it looks interesting to :)
Chowringhee
There were three bengali movies that when I was young had made a huge impression on me. Chowranghee, Parama and Deya Neya (meyeder bhai oto raag korle manaye?). One for each me! Chowranghee and Breakfast defined Style in my baby mind. (Just like Little Princess defined Goodness. And P&P, Love :))
Watching Chowranghee after a very long time. And I still love it as much. For me, this is one of the most tragic, most beautiful stories I have seen.
I dont remember where I had first seen this quotation. It said you do not know how real the people and events in books (and movies) are till you live within their covers. You walk in alone (infact, why else would you walk in) and immediately you are with friends. I dunno how true that is. It reminds me of the door with the sign: for mad men only. But the thing about these faerie friends and family is, they are always there, and portable, and you can call on them, whenever you are lonely. And close the covers, or change the subject, whenever you feel like it.
Saw Titli over the weekend. Made me want to read Sanchaita very much.
From Letters from Iceland
"Excuse, my lord, the liberty I take
In thus addressing you. I know that you
Will pay the price of authorship and make
The allowances an author has to do.
A poet's fan-mail will be nothing new.
And then a lord - Good Lord, you must be peppered,
... With notes from perfect strangers starting, 'Sir,
I liked your lyrics, but Childe Harold's trash',
'My daughter writes, should I encourage her?'
Sometimes containing frank demands for cash,
Sometimes sly hints at a platonic pash,
And sometimes, though I think this rather crude,
The correspondent's photo in the rude.
And as for manuscripts - by every post ... "
"For since the British Isles went Protestant
A church confession is too high for most.
But still confession is a human want,
So Englishmen must make theirs now by post
And authors hear them over breakfast toast.
For, failing them, there's nothing but the wall
Of public lavatories on which to scrawl."
"There is another author in my pack:
For some time I debated which to write to.
Which would least likely send my letter back?
I decided that I'd give a fright to
Jane Austen if I wrote when i'd no right to ..."
"Then she's a novelist. I don't know whether
You will agree, but novel writing is
A higher art than poetry altogether
In my opinion, and success implies
Both finer character and faculties,
perhaps that's why real novels are as rare
As winter thunder or a polar bear.
The average poet by comparison
Is unobservant, immature, and lazy.
You must adroit, when all is said and done,
His sense of other lpeople's very hazy,
His moral judgments are too often crazy,
A slick and easy generalisation
appeals too well to his imagination.
I must remember, though, that you were dead
Before the four great Russians lived, who brought
The art of novel writing to a head; ..."
From a letter from Auden to Byron (two of my favourites)
In thus addressing you. I know that you
Will pay the price of authorship and make
The allowances an author has to do.
A poet's fan-mail will be nothing new.
And then a lord - Good Lord, you must be peppered,
... With notes from perfect strangers starting, 'Sir,
I liked your lyrics, but Childe Harold's trash',
'My daughter writes, should I encourage her?'
Sometimes containing frank demands for cash,
Sometimes sly hints at a platonic pash,
And sometimes, though I think this rather crude,
The correspondent's photo in the rude.
And as for manuscripts - by every post ... "
"For since the British Isles went Protestant
A church confession is too high for most.
But still confession is a human want,
So Englishmen must make theirs now by post
And authors hear them over breakfast toast.
For, failing them, there's nothing but the wall
Of public lavatories on which to scrawl."
"There is another author in my pack:
For some time I debated which to write to.
Which would least likely send my letter back?
I decided that I'd give a fright to
Jane Austen if I wrote when i'd no right to ..."
"Then she's a novelist. I don't know whether
You will agree, but novel writing is
A higher art than poetry altogether
In my opinion, and success implies
Both finer character and faculties,
perhaps that's why real novels are as rare
As winter thunder or a polar bear.
The average poet by comparison
Is unobservant, immature, and lazy.
You must adroit, when all is said and done,
His sense of other lpeople's very hazy,
His moral judgments are too often crazy,
A slick and easy generalisation
appeals too well to his imagination.
I must remember, though, that you were dead
Before the four great Russians lived, who brought
The art of novel writing to a head; ..."
From a letter from Auden to Byron (two of my favourites)
"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.
pandora's box
Time, fades the knowledge,
The fear, the remembreance of how potent
The power of the dark,
Thoughts and feelings
Were on your heart
Careless, you turn to the dark and dusty corner
Half forgotten, open the box
Rummage, pull in one bright piece of a memory
Share, and laugh.
Then later,
At night,
When the guests have gone
And, you, alone with your ghosts
The unmentionables,
You wrestle with the memories
And the tears
And you know you wont let them win
But a part of you, weak traitor,
half wishes you could
Do you?
Do you really wish you could let go, just once
Let the day fall heedless around
Let the world dissolve
In the light of an aging sun
While wallow inside the trunk
Of old memories
Yesterdays. Selves. Now gone.
Ghosts, and skeletons
packed, any old how,
shoved into corners
Of carefully concealed corners
Along attic walls
For tonight, these are the memories I found:
chameleon master of trickery masks
Dusk to Dawn
Open Invitation
The Haunting
Black
The fear, the remembreance of how potent
The power of the dark,
Thoughts and feelings
Were on your heart
Careless, you turn to the dark and dusty corner
Half forgotten, open the box
Rummage, pull in one bright piece of a memory
Share, and laugh.
Then later,
At night,
When the guests have gone
And, you, alone with your ghosts
The unmentionables,
You wrestle with the memories
And the tears
And you know you wont let them win
But a part of you, weak traitor,
half wishes you could
Do you?
Do you really wish you could let go, just once
Let the day fall heedless around
Let the world dissolve
In the light of an aging sun
While wallow inside the trunk
Of old memories
Yesterdays. Selves. Now gone.
Ghosts, and skeletons
packed, any old how,
shoved into corners
Of carefully concealed corners
Along attic walls
For tonight, these are the memories I found:
chameleon master of trickery masks
Dusk to Dawn
Open Invitation
The Haunting
Black
arthurs seat in the morning
following my bliss, i landed up hear
heaven must be a place like this
sun is warm on my back
the wind swims in my hair
around me the mountains soar
my arms stained green with grass blood
beneath me, you are solid as a rock
on you, i could float my wildest dreams
together, we could reach the skies
show them how life could be lived
my beautiful. my grand. my city gorgeous
your old cobbled streets, your sudden mountains
silver lakes, tucked into corners ...
yes, you are a mad god's dream
i could'nt even stop staring at you. spellbound. dont release me.
edinburgh, you'll never know how much you mean to me.
heaven must be a place like this
sun is warm on my back
the wind swims in my hair
around me the mountains soar
my arms stained green with grass blood
beneath me, you are solid as a rock
on you, i could float my wildest dreams
together, we could reach the skies
show them how life could be lived
my beautiful. my grand. my city gorgeous
your old cobbled streets, your sudden mountains
silver lakes, tucked into corners ...
yes, you are a mad god's dream
i could'nt even stop staring at you. spellbound. dont release me.
edinburgh, you'll never know how much you mean to me.
Nostalgia
Time fades the knowledge, the fear, the remembrance of how potent the power of the dark thoughts and feelings were on your heart. Careless, you turn to the dark and dusty corner, half forgotten, open the box, rummage, and pull out a memory. You share it and laugh.
Then later, at night, when the guests have gone, and you are alone with your ghosts, the unmentionables, you wrestle with the memories. And the tears. You know you wont let them win. You know you wont let them in, but a part of you, traitor, weak, half wishes you could.
Do you! Do you really wish you could let go, just once? Let the day fall heedless around. Let the world dissolve. In the light of an aging sun. Wallow inside the trunk Of old memories, yesterdays, selves, for a While. Ghosts and skeletons, packed any how, shoved into carefully concealed corners, along dusty attic walls.
Have you ever spend hours, days even, just spilled out on a chair, looking out of the window, into nothing. Mind too tired to think. Too tired of seeing the same self in the mirror. The coward-warrior. The impotent-dreamer.
For tonight, these are the memories I found:
chameleon master of trickery masks
Dusk to Dawn
Open Invitation
The Haunting
Black
In a way, the strangest part of it is this feeling of being seperate, of floating above your 'self', watching it slowly live, breathe, cry, scream ... watching it ever so slowly disintegrate.
I spent three and a half days on this chair. Staring at the walls, the screen, or out of the window.
In my dreams she stands over my head: a macabre grinning skeleton. Her voice is loud and has a metallic sound. She says she's come to clear accounts. She wants a report of what I have done, with the life she bought me with her's.
Spiderman 3, he peeled the black suit off. Could you? Or does it stick after having been on too long. There's always a choice, he said. Like Batman. You are what you want to be as much as what you are ... the beast, listens and chuckles at your naivette.
If you had one 'friend', life would be worth living. Do you? And how do you define friend?
Then later, at night, when the guests have gone, and you are alone with your ghosts, the unmentionables, you wrestle with the memories. And the tears. You know you wont let them win. You know you wont let them in, but a part of you, traitor, weak, half wishes you could.
Do you! Do you really wish you could let go, just once? Let the day fall heedless around. Let the world dissolve. In the light of an aging sun. Wallow inside the trunk Of old memories, yesterdays, selves, for a While. Ghosts and skeletons, packed any how, shoved into carefully concealed corners, along dusty attic walls.
Have you ever spend hours, days even, just spilled out on a chair, looking out of the window, into nothing. Mind too tired to think. Too tired of seeing the same self in the mirror. The coward-warrior. The impotent-dreamer.
For tonight, these are the memories I found:
chameleon master of trickery masks
Dusk to Dawn
Open Invitation
The Haunting
Black
In a way, the strangest part of it is this feeling of being seperate, of floating above your 'self', watching it slowly live, breathe, cry, scream ... watching it ever so slowly disintegrate.
I spent three and a half days on this chair. Staring at the walls, the screen, or out of the window.
In my dreams she stands over my head: a macabre grinning skeleton. Her voice is loud and has a metallic sound. She says she's come to clear accounts. She wants a report of what I have done, with the life she bought me with her's.
Spiderman 3, he peeled the black suit off. Could you? Or does it stick after having been on too long. There's always a choice, he said. Like Batman. You are what you want to be as much as what you are ... the beast, listens and chuckles at your naivette.
If you had one 'friend', life would be worth living. Do you? And how do you define friend?
you
I ask my tears as I watch them fall, who are you called?
I watch my self of salt dissolve.
Where are you? I am still still untaught.
And I'm still a little girl.
Yes I know
So punishment?
then open skin
and take back your bloody blood.
I watch my self of salt dissolve.
Where are you? I am still still untaught.
And I'm still a little girl.
Yes I know
So punishment?
then open skin
and take back your bloody blood.
quietly by the water
the beast is a quiet desperation.
secret, silent, stealthy.
you are opaque.
a cage.
inside, he paces restless.
he screams, hurls himself on the wall.
outside is a pool.
quiet. mirrored.
once in a while, a wave shakes the surface.
could be the wind. perhaps? then all is calm.
words are ripples on the water.
twin edged. disguised.
the flowers on the water's edge
are learning to pretend. pretty masks of paper and wood.
on the other side of the mountain, is unreachable,
now. a yesterday. a way of life. gone.
inside the beasts heart is freezing
he hates your naiive little joys
make no mistake. the beast wants you dead.
the beast has no logic. he wants the world to end.
the sky is blue. the sun is warm
everything. so far away.
the ground is a bed. a bed of knives.
the knife is knowing what you want.
desire is wing broken bird.
a weaver. spins stupid dreams of love.
steel are the bars of the cage
rock hard impotence, made of fear.
ambition is a dream of freedom for the beast.
if the cage could be leaped, he could be calm and strong.
secret, silent, stealthy.
you are opaque.
a cage.
inside, he paces restless.
he screams, hurls himself on the wall.
outside is a pool.
quiet. mirrored.
once in a while, a wave shakes the surface.
could be the wind. perhaps? then all is calm.
words are ripples on the water.
twin edged. disguised.
the flowers on the water's edge
are learning to pretend. pretty masks of paper and wood.
on the other side of the mountain, is unreachable,
now. a yesterday. a way of life. gone.
inside the beasts heart is freezing
he hates your naiive little joys
make no mistake. the beast wants you dead.
the beast has no logic. he wants the world to end.
the sky is blue. the sun is warm
everything. so far away.
the ground is a bed. a bed of knives.
the knife is knowing what you want.
desire is wing broken bird.
a weaver. spins stupid dreams of love.
steel are the bars of the cage
rock hard impotence, made of fear.
ambition is a dream of freedom for the beast.
if the cage could be leaped, he could be calm and strong.