Tuesday, March 30, 2010


I live a life of nonexistence. One that should not be, but is. Like a million others who trudge through this marshland; each step dirtier than the previous one. I don’t know why, but I continue to live. Maybe because I am too scared to die. Maybe because I am not ready. It could not be worse though. You know, what is the worst punishment? To wake up every day and not know what to do, or why to do what you do. Its horrible. It’s a sense of nihilistic termite that has crept into the golden arch of my life. Everything is eroding. Inch by inch, slowly ground into dust. I can still see the paint chipping off the wall. The wall is not golden, it is red.

I am a fool. Deluded, hallucinating and depressed. They are not all bad things. Sometimes you see this world for what it actually is, when you are in this ‘blue’ zone. You see the lies people carry around within their hearts. Lies are much like cement fillings that you patch up in walls to hide the holes you drilled. But pretty soon, the wall is crumbling, till you add in more and more of these fillings and then, there comes a time when all there is left are the lies. The wall has long ceased to be. I know at least ten people who live their lives in such a falsely created fa├žade. I am one of them.

I am at a stage where everything is supposed to fall into place. Good or bad. I should know it in a while. That is what scares me. Someday I am going to wake up and not like what I became. I am going to struggle to come to terms with the dish reality served me. Who am I kidding? I still am. That is the problem. Nothing seems simple anymore. Everything comes with a ‘conditions applied’ term. It’s a pain to read through all that small print to realize it was worth nothing. But then, I could not ignore it. Its my life. What do you care? All you need is good reading. Timepass. Well, I don’t blame you. I surf around the net too. Looking for pathetic life souls like me, crying whining. Gives me a sense of belonging.

Funny, isn’t it? All our lives we struggle to be different. Yet, somewhere deep inside, we are always afraid of it. We want to belong to some group. Weird, fun, boring. It is always better in a group. We need somebody to tell us, “its fine. You ain’t alone.” Constantly in search of self appeasement. Suckers for praise, aren’t we? It boosts our ego. Something that has no physical existence beyond the jellied borders of the cranium. We are a strange species.

Even if we are, I must be the strangest of the lot. At least in the top 100. The truth is, and it is always harder to say, I am scared. I am scared that I am not capable of what I am. I am not the guy everyone thinks me to be. I am scared that I might be living a lie like a million others, hoping that someday it becomes the truth. I don’t know how that’s possible, but I just hope. I am scared it won’t. My college days are ending. A huge part of my life is. Memories, fights, love, poetry and friendship shall be left behind in dark corridors frequented by unknown faces. The truth is always left behind. I am scared I’ll carry on with a lie. Forever. That is the curse.

Wednesday, March 10, 2010

Summer Afternoon

The afternoon slinks by silently past my window. Throwing in long shadows from past the box grill. I sit at the keyboard tapping in one key at a time. Each letter more tired than the next. Something in it all tells me I hate doing this. But there is nothing else to do. I can’t just sit quiet. Well, I could. What I meant was that I can’t vegetate in a single place. As a human, I am forbidden to ennui. And yet I have a uniquely hidden talent to find boredom in everything I do. It is not very hard. It usually takes less than 5 minutes for me to get bored of something. Life is so exciting, I could die without it.

I look back up at the nonsense I have just written and think why I wrote it. I have no idea. I am usually this confused and lost. It’s like I am on a permanent supply of dope. LSD running through my veins, coursing its way to my brain, exploding in a psychedelic mix of technicoloured madness. And I haven’t lit my first cigarette yet. Well, I think I might quit. After all, why do you need to waste money on smoke when you are smoked already?

The dust flies up in scattered difference when I type on the keyboard. I always promise that I’ll get around to cleaning it but never do. It now looks like the uncovered remnant of an ancient civilization. Soon it will be. With me. I wonder how it will feel to be old. I don’t worry about age a lot. It doesn’t seem to affect me. All around me, people keep growing up and changing. Kids I saw crying over lost cricket balls now have children of their own to feed. I am a creature in the zoo. The last one of its kind. The last Peter Pan. Somehow, the name has been corrupted in today’s world. It becomes more telling of a paedophile to be called that. Tragedy.

Time has a weird way of troubling you. It has this madness of stopping in its tracks just when you are egging it on to move faster. It is never the minute hand that stops. Actually, to think of it; you never see the hour hand move, do you? The thing that really pulls my whiskers is the second hand. The irritating fast moving second…when it pauses just when you think it’ll move. Maybe I am hallucinating, maybe I am not. If you believe in god, I am sure you’ll believe in all these weird phenomenon. I don’t. Not so much, so I think I am hallucinating. I can only write when I am. So there, I prove myself.

I have heard what the talkers were talking, the talk of the

beginning and the end,

But I do not talk of the beginning or the end.

I talk of the middle. The long languorous, never ending middle. The middle we are forever stuck in. One which drags and trails our bodies, caging our lives within through this dusty world. At each ste we tug harder at the noose aound our necks and are dragged an inch further. Till there comes a time when we give up and accept the exciting boredom of being dragged wherever we are dragged to. That’s all the nonsense there is for today.

I think it was Twain who said no one writes nonsense better than him. Its time to question that. Another insane madman has arrived.

Thursday, March 04, 2010

Insanity!! My asylum from the world

Your brain pummels inside the skull.Beating its squishy pulp against thick fibroid walls, crying every time. You don’t know why. All you can do is stare at the world through itchy, dry eyes and every thing you see begins to burn in front of you. Nothing makes any sense anymore. Not logic, not nonsense. Nothing. It’s like the centre of your world just got shot by a cannonball, and you are left standing upon a black volume of vaccuum. It keeps sucking you inside even as you fight it, with the last amount of strength left in you. No one gives you a hand. People look at you like you were a weirdo. A drug addict, drunk, hobo beggar who has lost his mind. Yes, you have lost your mind. Insanity never felt so rational. But how can you feel? You are numb. Numbness is a feeling in itself. Se what I mean,hahahah see what I mean. How can you see meaning? You can only ..i don’t know what.. Fucking language!!! Never conveys what you want to say in the exact terms.

Breaths come in with a great difficulty. Every gasp wishes to be your last and you wish the same back. And yet you can’t stop breathing. It comes in fast and full. Filling your empty lungs with a light gaseous matter that enables your mechanical heart to beat on. You have half a mind to grab that lifeless mass that is keeping you alive and squsihing every pint of blood out of it. It’ll stain your hands, but you don’t care.

All you wish for is death. Death. An end to all ends. When the whole world will fall silent. Nothing speaks nothing moves. If it does, you’ll never know. Peace at last. No questions asked, no answers to defend yourself with. Freedom in all its pure absoluteness. You are mad. Mad is what the world calls you. Funny, you should call it a madhouse. Yes, you are mad. The maddest of all people in this asylum. A lunatic beyond comprehension. You dance to silence and sing to death. The world goes on like a pallid dream in front of your sleepless eyes. Staring at you like a curious child staring at an absurdist movie. You don’t make sense to it. You never did.

You throw out money from your window, and stare as strangers rush in with beaming smiles to grab at these paper. You wonder if they are all right. Maybe you should call the asylum. They might need help. They think the same about you. They care. You don’t. You just point and laugh. At those masses of inane individuals who act irrationally. Paper is all they care about. And they call you insane… Well, artists always were. You can make music they cannot hear, you can sing to deaf ears. You do not have to explain. You do not have to follow. Lead, lead to your own wonderland.

The dance is tiring you out. It can be hard. In a world where no one understands you, it can be hard to survive. You need somebody to trust. And yet you are scared. They might think you are insane. If not, they might be as insane as you. You can’t cry. Not after all this. You can’t laugh, your heart is in too much pain. You are torn apart like a bunny caught in the jaws of a crocodile. Each gnashing teeth minces your soul to tiny fragments of the original self. Soon the fragments will vanish into the giant belly, nothing will remain. You’d like that wouldn’t you? You insane bastard.

I like you. I don’t know why, but still. Maybe because I am like you. In a way, not completely. You are after all a part of me. In fact, you are me. The other me. Lost, insane and cruelly true.