Tuesday, August 18, 2009


There's a moth in my room, and it's beautiful. It has blue wings that have gold edges. I wish I had a camera. I wish it would fly out the window. I think I make too many wishes. It's only because the stars keep falling.

I have no idea where I will be in twenty four hours. I've come to the conclusion that I'm not a very big fan of change. I always thought I was, but quite clearly, I was horribly mistaken. I don't even have the energy to curse this glare anymore. The windows are always open, Peter.. (but that's only because I keep forgetting to close them.)

There's just so much to do. I don't know where I'm going to find the time. I wish they would have just let me stay. I hope things work out in the next six hours. I can't leave now... The rain is here...

Now playing: Khadki Junction Blues
via FoxyTunes


It feels like the end of the world. There is screaming and madness, gray skies and people fleeing in thrilled states of panic. Different cars crowd the usually empty roads, people talking in quiet voices, looking at every known stranger with mistrust in their eyes. It's all chaos and confusion. And the fear sets in: What we believed to be the chimes of freedom, may just be the prison bells. The King is dead, long live the king.

It bothers me. If the world is ending, there is a lot I have to do, but I fear there is no time...

If the world is ending, all I want to say is goodbye. To all my friends I haven't seen in too long, to all the people I have hurt, to all the good times and all the bad, to the memories we've created and the memories we've lost, to conversations both hilarious and melancholic, to dreams and futures and islands and songs, to things that should have been said and things that should never have been thought of... I regret little. And I cherish all.

Maybe, the world will still be here tomorrow. Maybe, I'm just seeing storm clouds raging though the sky is really blue. Rose tinted glasses are just one shade. And every shade is a shade of gray. But, if it is the end of the world, I want to have been able to say goodbye.


Now playing: Godsmack - Moon Baby
via FoxyTunes

Saturday, August 15, 2009


I'm beginning to think that I may not be able to finish my CPC paper by 4 pm today, though a part of me keeps chanting "But we always manage". Yeah, well, there's always a first time, darling. With 26 rupees on me, no money in my bank account and the sudden realization that I don't even have enough money to print out my project, there's little I can do but laugh.

The only rule to be kept in mind is to go down fighting. I guess this is a last minute thing. I hope it is. I'm waiting for the panic to kick in, but I can't begin to care.

"It's only after we've lost everything that we're free to do anything."

I have a lot left to lose, but I think I'm working on that.

Now playing: Godsmack - Mistakes
via FoxyTunes

Wednesday, August 12, 2009

Aeternum vale

I don't understand why I feel like I'm going far away. Every day, so many things disappear into too-soon approaching horizons, and it feels like it's me who is receding into the icy waters. Except the colder it gets, the hotter I feel. There must be some way back. But which way is back?

If everything disappears, will I disappear too? If everything that makes up my very existence burns to smoldering ashes, will I burn too? If all that means anything comes to mean nothing, would anything mean anything ever again ?

Rule one: Stay in the abstract. Rule 2: Always remember. Rule 2, proviso: Remembering includes remembering to forget.

Why must everything always contradict everything else? Why is the "odd one out" the odd one out, when one is always odd anyway? Why does it all come down to numbers? Why must everything mean everything else? Why must everything mean nothing?

Why can't I find any answers? I don't know where to look. And everywhere is a very large place. I think I'm running out of time. I wish I knew where it all went. It's been twenty years, and every day, all I know is a little more of nothing.

I've stopped thinking. These are thoughts that keep escaping because I don't want to keep them in my head anymore. I can't, because I have no room for them.

They keep telling me to think back. But back to what? And with everyday, there's so much more to choose from. And I wasn't always me. I am not always me. But we get by with a little help from our friends. And a friend of the devil is a friend of mine.

I scare myself.

Monday, August 10, 2009

True Story # 1

Lying upside down in a tiny hotel room, in a black dress and pointed heels, smoking a cigarette, watching Alvin and the Chipmunks sing for Christmas on TV.
While a guy she'd met for the first time the evening before took a shower.
Her phone which lay beside her, almost out of charge, told a tale of a call list she could only cringe at. The only charger they had between them was in her bag, which was incidentally with the manager of the last bar they hit the night before. It also contained all her money, both her cards and enough stuff to put her in jail for 7 years.

Also, she was missing her 21st and 22nd hours of a certain class.

(As related to this blogger, last winter)

Sailing Sinking Ships

We live in constant fear, tired and paranoid eyes scanning the gray seas for any signs of their ships. They wish to hunt us down like the supposed criminals we are. Criminals? We are, but mere, dreamers. We do not believe in their petty Gods of selfish goals and pretty furniture. And for that, we are watched and hunted and live under the constant threat of exile.

Exile! But if there were only a place to run away to! Oh well, the world is round and we've been sailing for years. If we knew where this world ended, there would be no need to wander the seas for, what could only be, eternity.

There are many among us who believe that the right boat will come along to pick us up, even though it means doing little more than waiting forever. These men live in the inner cabins of the ship, which they've decorated to look like ordinary homes, barely aware of the journey itself. Many fall asleep holding on to memories that stopped being valuable a hundred thousand years ago.

There are a few who leave us, on small boats, convinced that there is no point in this journey. Often, they return once they realize that the night is a thousand times darker when you are alone. Sometimes, we never see them again.

There are those who believe that the shore will appear on the horizon if we just keep sailing. But we've been sailing for an eternity. The World is round. But I do not have the heart to remind them.

There are some who sit on the wooden deck under moonlit skies and talk in hushed voices. I join them, sometimes, if only to see the stars reflecting in their otherwise tired eyes; faces suddenly years younger than they appear to be under the glaring light of the sun. Their company makes this voyage bearable. Their thoughts make my soul want to cry out at the unfairness of our flight. Their dreams make me smile. Their hope spreads like flames from a candle kept too close to too many sheets of paper.

And then there are those who have thrown themselves into the raging seas, convinced in the madness of stormy nights and thunderous skies, that the only land there is to find lies many many miles under the water's surface. I have seen many rescued from such a plight. And I have seen many faces gasping for air before the waters claimed them forever. I have said many goodbyes.

I choke and drown on memories that have long left the insides of my mind. I think I made a mistake when I turned it inside-out. Now the whole world is in my head. And there's no place left for me in there, anymore.

I have no country to return to. And the land we set out sailing towards seems to be nowhere in sight. This ship and it's crew is the only world that exists tonight. But even the hushed voices of the people with stars in their eyes can't drown out the screams of the drowning. Perhaps the only land that exists is really a thousand miles under water.

They never told us that you couldn't sail the moonlight to the moon...

I think our ship is sinking.


Saturday, August 8, 2009

I thought I'd get some work done before I fell asleep, but I think I'm asleep now. Or soon going to be. Maybe I am asleep and just dreaming about writing this blog post. Yuck. What a horrible dream. It's such a waste of time... But I could sleep for a thousand years. If only no one would wake me up... I'm sure I could stay asleep forever.

Friday, August 7, 2009


I miss you guys. It's so sad that the only real place we have left to return to is the past. And I don't know how to get there. It isn't like I don't remember. It's just that I don't realize when I have gone away somewhere. I'm running on automatic. Would you like some tea? I just want a cookie. One with fine print all over it, so that I can taste something meaningful. Like Strawberries.

I keep waiting to wake up and start again from some checkpoint. The only problem is that there are too many of them. And I have one foot on the accelerator and no hands on the wheel. There's a fine line between drifting and crashing. I have a thing for fine lines. Tight rope, she said. No, ma'am, it's only copper wire.

I'm so weary. I can't remember feeling this way. Whatever this way is. Wherever it goes. I don't know. Does it matter? You can't get lost if you don't have anywhere to go.

If no one has the answers, then how do I find them? Where do I look? The skies only reflect my own confusion back at me, after magnifying it by a thousand times. And I can't get inside my head 'cause there isn't any place left in here. there. Here?

Maybe, I've just run out of memory. Or charge. Maybe my validity has expired. I want to vanish in green smoke. Not the popping kind, but the one that looks like fire.

It's getting late again. It's always like that, even with so much of nothing to do. I'm tired of all this moving. I'm tired of standing around. I want to see how deep the rabbit hole goes. It's like being six again. The fact that you may never be able to get back from under the rainbow was never a problem that had to be dealt with. One step at a time. We were all so much smarter as children. I do believe in fairies, but my window is barred. Or I'd have flown away by now.

"Who do you suppose decided birds are free? They can fly wherever they choose, but if there's no branch for them to return to, they might regret having wings. Don't you think? Perhaps true freedom is having a home to return to."

"No one is free. Even the birds are chained to the sky."

It's not like they promised us an ideal world. It isn't like we're ideal ourselves. But in the middle of this relativity and reasons that change like seasons, perhaps it is the smoke that one must cling to. You can't, for too long. And it makes me think of falling snow.

I'd take you home if I knew the way. But, apparently, we can't breathe in space. I wish they hadn't told me. We could have made it there inside one of those raindrops that cause rainbows. A rainbow-colored, near transparent little bubble.

I'm going to hide now.
Count to a hundred.
I've already hidden all the threes.
I have to go.
I'm getting carried away.

Now playing: neil young - the needle and the damage done
via FoxyTunes


I'm going to fall ill. I know it. I can feel the dull ache somewhere in the center of my head. Or is it my mind? Whatever. And my throat hurts. It isn't surprising, considering how many sick people I've been hanging out with... including my own room-mate! And I suppose the midnight cold coffees and LMNs really don't help.

I can't afford to be sick. Not with my attendance being at the levels it is now. I don't know what I'm thinking. Project submissions are in three days and I haven't started either. In fact, I haven't had a single consultation. Wait, it gets even better. I'm not sure what my ADR topic is. And he's gone off somewhere to chill...

I don't want to fall sick. Not with project submissions and convocation so close. But, this time, I can't get myself to snap out of it.

Argh, this is pathetic!!!
Whatever has to happen, shall... I guess.

Wednesday, August 5, 2009

The Endless Story

Break-up season is here again. Not that it makes any difference to me, personally. But everyone around me seems to be losing their mind. I'd laugh if it weren't so sad. And once again, I'm sixteen years old, convincing an old friend not to go ahead with her grand plan of revenge. It's a year later and I'm sneaking out of my home and into a friend's, eyes on the bottle she won't let go off. That was all so long ago... I guess some things never change.

It should be a comforting thought, in this crazy crazy world. But... it's not. If everything has to change, why can't the sad things change too? Why won't the things that are wrong, change? It's a messed up place, and it seems like it's only the beautiful things that we're all out to destroy.

In a world like this one, there's nothing to do, but survive. You do what you can. And you do what you have to. If everything was always pleasant, the rain wouldn't mean a thing. And every silver lining's got a touch of gray.

But, in the end, words are words. And they can be forgotten. Or remembered even when they were never exchanged. Like smoke, words are swirling, hazy and momentary. Memories are nothing but the stale scent of smoke clinging to your clothes.

Change, darling.
It's all you can do.


Now playing: Pink Floyd - Comfortably Numb
via FoxyTunes

Monday, August 3, 2009


A hollow space can be filled with anything.
And light can emanate from the inside.
But we have no place for warmth.
And the moon must wait in line.

A perfect world?

We'll get to a better place, don't worry.
There has to be something more to this.

Isn't there?

Isn't there?

Isn't there?

Silence is an awkward answer.

Sunday, August 2, 2009


The world is changing too fast... and I can't keep up. I'm falling behind and getting carried away by strange currents.

(...They aren't half as bad as they've been made out to be)

I really don't know where it is that I'm going to, but I don't understand this world anymore. And I don't understand anybody in it. I don't want to know. I would rather leave, thank you.

You're only ever on the outside if you can't get back in.
Or won't.

I would really like to be asleep right now. I want to fall asleep and wake up only when I can't sleep anymore. I want to be bored of sleeping. Tired of it. I want real pent up energy instead of sugar rushes and sleep deprivation side-effects. And I want a small island that isn't on any map...

I already have a name for it.


Now playing: The Cranberries - 13 Dying in the Sun
via FoxyTunes

And Autumn Frosts Have Slain July...

I was supposed to do some history research today. Unfortunately, the canceled future brought with it a busy and surreal present. And just when I was done with it all, the past caught up with me again. You know what the past is like. Everyone does. It finds you no matter where you run to or where you hide.

Oh, you can escape the Future if you try hard enough. Losing the present is the simplest thing in the world. But, the Past? The Past will always find you, no matter how far you go...

I'm running out of places to run to...

And if not sanctuary, can you give me some shelter from this storm?