psyche

quite random....but i like what came off the randomness.. :)

jim morrison

The grand highway

is

crowded

w/

lovers

&

searchers

&

leavers

so

eager

to

please

&

forget.

Wilderness

note: thanks blow for introducing me to this man who's messing up my head...i'm loving it ;)

hahahaha

love calvin!!

kudos to Bill Waterson for creating Clavin and Hobbes....who would not relate to these two...

To read some of the best Calvin and Hobbes Strips click here.

The Lies You Are Told Are True

(from Winterson's 'Sexing the Cherry')

Lie 1: There is only one present and nothing to remember.

Lie 2: Time is a straight line.

Lie 3: The difference between the past and the future is that one has happened while the other has not.

Lie 4: We can only be in one place at one time.

Lie 5: Any proposition that contains the word 'finite' (the world, the universe, experience, ourselves...)

Lie 6: Reality as something which can be agreed upon.

Lie 7: Reality as truth.

fettered freedom

the mind -

a scoop of rainbow

in the summer sky,

the softness of the salt

in a teardrop,

the choked voice

in a suffocated throat,

the elixir off the fountain

in the forbidden terrain of innocence.

the mind -

the wings of a unicorn

the golden glint in the eye of the dragon

the darkness of the dungeon of death

the black grey silver of life

the only open window

the only locked door

the only prison

the only cascading river

... the mind

blistered

haze in perpetuity

inebriation to be forgiven

it's the state of sanity

deserving persecution

incantations galore

repeating the repetition

momentlessness

nonetheless survival

survival of the fittest?

no oppurtunity but that

suspended in a second

a second in a second

time captured by time

these are walled

by transparent walls

merciless walls

hope will linger

be the flame

on the dying waxed wick

mirage of choice

breathless illusions

hallucinations illusions

fingers spinning

webs of complacency

a series

a circle

loops within looops within loops...

...haze...

The senses need to be numbed.

Does it happen to you?

You did everything that you do everyday.

You even interacted with people.

Laughed, felt irritated, got angry, laughed some more.

Yet, at the end of a few days...

You just remember vignettes off the past few days...

Disjointed, without any sequence or chronology to them

Like in a dream...

Like the frames of postmodern cinema...

Like the last few days were for me...

Maybe the overworked senses protested and went numb on their own.

paintbrush :)

Poetry

Not from labour does it peek,
The rhythm of an uncouth me
Within a me.
It would be simpler if ink could gallop
Not without reigns.
Yet it escapes.
The black sense of the floating black letters
Resist the fetters resist a rhyme
Reading the beyond, yearning to meet.
Clandestine – that’s what it is.
The river is constant
About all but one.
Diffident of constancy
Seeking as it flows.

Figment

Deception of the mind,
Or a silhouette escaping the shadow?
Language untraceable,
Fire of a fluid frame,
Waiting for the raindrop,
To capture an eternity.

Ashes to ashes,
Dust to dust,
Speaketh she no more
Just the silent lust.
Fantasies fables folklore,
All they rust.

The voice of the nothing
Aching to speak,
Namelessness of the pain --
Invisible abyss.
I – no voice but just the I.

she spoke but then...

lay strangled

the death drone drumming in her ear

the air

morbid pungent

hollow promises

floating

rotting in their guts

the dirge of

the black waters

inhaling the

fragmented red shards of her being

words extinguished

in shadows

illumined grey

words slayed

violated

extinct
silence reigns
unscathed
unbidden
unchallenged
stoned memories
disappearing in liquid flames

dancing

celebrating

pyre of hope

but she spoke...

silence was sleeping when...

she spoke
words ran
basked in the sun
stole fruits
teased butterflies
nectar off the flowers
dew off the grass
they swam
in the clear
blue air
the ripples they made
drew people
used brushes
they shaped
she spoke
words played
hide and seek
myriad colours
angry red
shy black
innocent yellow
purple that rebel
and blue
my favourite
her favourite
she spoke
words galloped
they swam
they played
breathless
panting
sweating
troubled
embarassed
fervent
nervous
shy
contemplative
thinking
slowing down
sitting
catching their breath
calming down
they sleep
unsound
awakening tired silence
but she did speak

I have trouble writing.

It's ok when I have a question paper in front of me and know exactly what words are expected to fill the pages. It's ok when I have been assigned a topic to write on. On occasions like these I have a hard time staying within the assigned word limit.

How do I write about myself or my self.....

It's tough.
It's taxing.
It's gruelling.
It's almost masochistic.

I will be judged. The words that I have strung together will be evaluated. I perspire. Will I pass the test. Will people like what I have written. More importantly, will I be proud of what I have written a few months from now...

Writing for me is masochistic....
and this blog is a proof of my exhibitionist tendencies....

I've been told that I'm expected to write only good literary stuff....ahem! that's a tall order. For all those who are uninitiated into the world of literary horrors, literature is no lay person's cup of tea.

You have to develop the perseverence to sit through hours of staring at a black wall... for that is what the black print of your monster text begins to seem after a few hours. You need training, mind you, this is tougher than treading the treadmill or those excruciating crunches....for without training you would have lost the weight of your senses in less than two hours. Literary theory (for that is what intellectually stimulating literary stuff is made of), also requires you to acquire decoding skills, for here, as some understand, the sheer complexity of the structural pattern and its correct syntactical representation with right amount of verbosity thrown in, makes good literary work.

*humph*

Yes.It's certainly not my cup of tea.

For those who vote against all that stands for high literary acumen, cast your votes.

One vote casted!Win by majority.Only high gibberical talent of the highly lay order allowed....

René Descartes said "I think therefore I am"

hmmm.....

"i do therefore i am...and shall be till i don't" :-) ;-)

nascent.....

...change

breathe....