Suicidal thoughts have made there presence felt in perhaps most of our minds at some point or another. Depression, fear, anxiety, pain or just maybe a sudden desire of a momentarily crazy mind to simply end it all. The thrill, the horror, the terrible feeling of actually, consciously, deciding to take one's own life. The fascination it evokes in certain half-balanced souls. The eternal escape route of the quintessential escapist. But how is it being a coward? How is a suicidee a coward? How is his decision "escaping" reality? How is it pathetic? Isn't it just plain sad? Shouldn't we shed a tear at least after they are dead and gone? Don't they deserve that? Even if they don't deserve it-say it was the guilty conscience of a child molester-shouldn't we force some sympathy out any which way? They are dead you know. It's over. Finished. They won't be around to see, hear, feel, touch, live any more. It's all over. It takes a lot of courage to die. It takes more courage to end one's life than to face life with all it's difficulties and challenges and be a brave warrior who faces things and takes them on. Some say we don't have the right to kill ourselves. I feel that's the only right we have to be honest. Some say those around us will be devastated and broken so we must live for the ones we love and who love us. I feel, that one wouldn't need to commit suicide-to even think of such an extreme thing-if those around them loved or understood them. Now, "understanding" someone is a mighty tricky task because no one can ever actually delve into another person's mind. What if there really is no hope? What you have waited and waited and waited for things to change or get better but they just don't seem to? What if the "little joys" that life has to offer actually start scaring you because those "little joys" giv you hope and hope leaves you and its all gone. Why cling on to hope? What is the point in delaying something that's inevitable anyway? Why is it considered a moral crime? Why is it worse than euthanasia? Why is physical pain always given more importance than the mental torture that one has to feel day in and day out with no solution. Why is it less important? Because the scars don't show as proof of your suffering? This is just a thought that's been on my mind ever since I really started wondering why I am never happy. Those who can never be happy no matter how hard they try, those who can never be of any use, who are not "social animals", who indeed love basking in masochism and self-pity. If they do actually want to die, they should not be condemned if they do gather the courage to really end it. I am not asking every depressed person to go out there and end their lives, but yes, if I do gather the courage to actually end it myself, I will. Nothing can be more satisfying than consciously ending what's most precious to you, if you just can't continue with it. There's a beauty in that.

The Lady of Shallot.

Heard a carol, mournful, holy,
Chanted loudly, chanted lowly,
Till her blood was frozen slowly,
And her eyes were darkened wholly,
Turn'd to tower'd Camelot.
For ere she reach'd upon the tide
The first house by the water-side,
Singing in her song she died,
The Lady of Shalott.

Coldfeetandhands.

Nothing is. Thinking makes it.
A fragmented existence, existing only in parts and inconsequential fractions.
A very futile attempt to be whole. The fractions never adding up. The graph always remaining as a negative hyperbole. But come to think of it, it's beautiful. This meaningless quest to reach entirety.
There are so many parts to us, so many "masks"? or disguises? What is a disguise? Isn't a mask inherent? Can anyone actually ever claim to be unidimensional? Wouldn't that be painfully boring? But wait, it 's not possible to begin with! Slip in from one role to another. The basis of your existence. The social animals that we are or are supposed to be. At times these selves collide and just when you thought that the pieces of the puzzle that you are so desperately trying to arrange, have been misplaced yet again-overthrowing with it, your misplaced sense of judgment about yourself and "the other". There is an idea behind the self. A very carefully constructed fortress that we all build, some consciously, some sub-consciously. For those who create this carefully constructed image for ourselves, it becomes increasingly complicated to hold on to a certain facade for too long-especially when things tend to go unplanned and off-track. Insecurities creep in and you try to salvage whatever little you can of your self-induced embryonic immunity. Steps in self protection and damage control. Re-trace a few steps, erase a few unwanted moments. Moments that lead to choices, choices that lead to moments and so on. But you cannot really re-trace. You can only lament and regret and despair. But you can also put on the mask of indifference and pretend. But for how long?

Sacher-Masoch.

Shiny, shiny, shiny boots of leather
Whiplash girlchild in the dark
Comes in bells, your servant, don't forsake him
Strike, dear mistress, and cure his heart

Downy sins of streetlight fancies
Chase the costumes she shall wear
Ermine furs adorn the imperious
Severin, Severin awaits you there

I am tired, I am weary
I could sleep for a thousand years
A thousand dreams that would awake me
Different colors made of tears

Kiss the boot of shiny, shiny leather
Shiny leather in the dark
Tongue of thongs, the belt that does await you
Strike, dear mistress, and cure his heart

Severin, Severin, speak so slightly
Severin, down on your bended knee
Taste the whip, in love not given lightly
Taste the whip, now plead for me

I am tired, I am weary
I could sleep for a thousand years
A thousand dreams that would awake me
Different colors made of tears

Shiny, shiny, shiny boots of leather
Whiplash girlchild in the dark
Severin, your servant comes in bells, please don't forsake him
Strike, dear mistress, and cure his heart.

The Comforter.

I hate winter rain. The damp gray skies and the fog and the mist. Somehow it's not romantic at all. The dew drops on the leaves on an early morning or the silent drops steadily making puddles on the rather indifferent ground. Somehow, winter depletes rain of all romanticism-a strictly personal point of view. It's a very inconvenient marriage of two very distant clones. Both induce me with melancholy, both can make me uncomfortably nostalgic and both make me day-dream more than usual. But somehow when they are united and surround me in real-time, it takes away half of that charm. When the thoughts cloud up with images that vapourise but never condense and shall perhaps never precipitate. A strange sensation creeps all through, all over, as I hide under my comforter, tucked in, blanketed and warm. Foetal and safe-like. The darkness helps and makes things seem more mysterious. The shroud provides some much needed privacy. I feel at peace. The restlessness goes away for a while and I am finally alone with all my thoughts and feelings and the thousand sensations that I crave to feel and savour but don't ever get to. Imagination helps. But I still don't enjoy winter rain particularly. But then I guess seasons or season changes don't really matter too much and I can feel the same way any time of the year, any time of the day. As soon as i slip under my comforter, it's like a whole new world embraces me and I feel at home.

Time.

Ticking away the moments that make up a dull day
You fritter and waste the hours in an offhand way
Kicking around on a piece of ground in your home town
Waiting for someone or something to show you the way.

One of the fundamental things to capture the human imagination and interest with fear, awe and a sense of inevitability. The race against and with time. Time and eternity. The ultimate and only truth that characterises life.

And you run, and you run to catch up with the sun, but it's sinking
Racing around to come up behind you again
The sun is the same in a relative way, but you're older
Shorter of breath and one day closer to death.

The ancient Greeks divided time into two contexts- chronos and kairos. While the former refers to chronological sequential time, the latter signifies a time in between, a moment of undetermined period of time in which something special happens. Chronos is quantitative in nature-numeric and precise. The nature of Kairos is qualitative. While both are co-dependent and related, Kairos can be considered to be a sub-set of Chronos which is universal and ever progeressing, hence being absolute. Kairos connects time with space and the persona. In philosophy, kairos is "a passing instant when an opening appears which must be driven through with force if success is to be achieved." Kairos was the Greek god of "fleeting moment", “a favorable opportunity opposing the fate of man.” It was a moment which must be seized. Carpe Diem. Then comes Father Time- Chronos, the one who turns the Zodiac Wheel. The serpentine god and his consort, Inevitability, controlled the structure of the universe, the skies and oceans.

Every year is getting shorter
Never seem to find the time
Plans that either come to nought
Or half a page of scribbled lines
Hanging on in quiet desparation is the English way
The time is gone
The song is over
Thought I'd something more to say.

Kairos, unlike Chronos, exists outside space-time. the former being metaphysical and the latter being physical. Kairos giving us the leisure to take a brief pause in the eternal continnum of Chronos by capturing the moment which has the possibility to be eternalised.

Home, home again
I like to be here when I can
When I come home cold and tired
It's good to warm my bones beside the fire
Far away across the field
The tolling of the iron bell
Calls the faithful to their knees
To hear the softly spoken magic spells.

EMILY.

Emily tries but misunderstands,
She's often inclined to borrow somebody's dreams till tomorrow
There is no other day
Let's try it another way
You'll lose your mind and play
Free games for May
See Emily play

Soon after dark Emily cries,
Gazing through trees in sorrow hardly a sound till tomorrow

There is no other day
Let's try it another way
You'll lose your mind and play
Free games for May
See Emily play

Put on a gown that touches the ground,
Float down a river forever and ever, Emily, Emily
There is no other day
Let's try it another way
You'll lose your mind and play
Free games for May
See Emily play.

And even though the moment passed me by
I still can't turn away
Cause all the dreams you never thought you'd lose
Got tossed along the way
And letters that you never meant to send
Get lost or thrown away

And now we're grown up orphans
That never knew their names
We don't belong to no one
That's a shame
But if you could hide beside me
Maybe for a while
And I won't tell no one your name

Scars are souvenirs you never lose
The past is never far
Did you lose yourself somewhere out there
Did you get to be a star
And don't it make you sad to know that life
Is more than who we are

You grew up way too fast
And now there's nothing to believe
And reruns all become our history
A tired song keeps playing on a tired radio
And I won't tell no one your name
And I won't tell em your name

I think about you all the time
But I don't need the same I
t's lonely where you are come back down
And I won't tell em your name

What do you do when you can feel, witness, feel, see, comprehend, *realize*, feel that you are being sidelined?
That you hold absolutely no importance in that very person's life who seemed so much to empathise with you? Who you empathised with? What do you do when you feel indifferent towards someone who was so important in your life? When you simply don't feel like bothering to ask "Oh how are you doing?"
When you don't wish to be around that person or talk to them or hear their steady droning voice?
When you start feeling angry- angry because you're guilty of something you aren't even aware of.
When you start slipping in a downward spiral.
When the facade falls and you are left disturbed.
When the layers of hypocritical denial and complacence are pierced and you feel like exploding into a thousand tiny bits of exasperation and in a strange way, satisfaction.
And then dissolve, dissolve, dissolve.
Become a heterogenous solvent that might just crystallise into something even more ridiculous!

It seemed as though the ferryboat was a part of that frozen lake that simply refused to thaw.
It seemed as if the blues would somehow swallow all the hues surrounding it.
It feels strange to be writing these random bits of gibberish considering its autumn and there is no trace of blue anywhere.
The sky too is bleached.
At times you force yourself yourself to think because it can be scary to feel stupefied and blank.

And the violets were blending seamlessly with the fuschia and the oranges.
A sunny day when you feel like stopping by that random tree and searching for a scope to analyse a butterfly pupa?
No. Wait. Does that sound suspicious?
Maybe.
The kind of day when you actually feel like celebrating perhaps. Anything. Doesn't matter. Reasons hardly make any sense. Anymore.
So I think Iam going to sit here. Thats right. I'll get up and take hesitant peeks outside, from time to time, well hidden behind the folds of these heavy curtains and I'll think of reasons not to go out.

Iam suddenly reminded of Super Mario.
Those magic mushrooms.
Metaphorical or what?
:)

There will be time, there will be time

To prepare a face to meet the faces that you meet;

There will be time to murder and create,

And time for all the works and days of hands

That lift and drop a question on your plate;

Time for you and time for me,

And time yet for a hundred indecisions,

And for a hundred visions and revisions,

Before the taking of a toast and tea.


Another poetry session was concluded.
Random blurry images rushing past like torrents of uninhibited garbage.
And then the moment of truth?
She gets up and walks a few paces and comes to a suitable conclusion.
But ofcourse, he must be told!
And so he is.

"because we are so immune/detached/unaware/scared/paranoid about reality and physicality and real love and we are so scared of rejection/denial/boredom that we have convinced each other that we are the perfect one for each other but since that cant be fulfilled either we are trying to convince each other and more importantly ourselves that real and true love are different and we are so so so very devoted to that idea that we have perfectly convinced ourselves and we are now convinced that we are insane because we are too scared to know what it actually can be."

I rest my case.
I plead insanity.

I need inspiration.
And a reason to be alive. A good enough reason.
Iam sick of being a failure.

20th june.
he is here.
buried buried buried in his arms.
never letting go off him.
and for a change, he is holding on me, like he'll never let go.
"i hope you're happy..."
that familiar smell.
that voice.
his casual laughter.
his justifications- why he chose not to tell me that he loves me. ..how he had to be responsible and act like an adult.
how he now feels that i indeed deserved a fair chance. that he took awa my fair 50%
how a girlfriend is differnt from the one you love.
how difficult it is to take care of him.
his scars.
he does not want me to share his burden. so he says. he does not think its fair.
he now feels he treated me wrong.
that if only there was time.
he'll give up anyone he is with to be with me if circumstances permit that in the future ever.
he says he wont think twice.
he was scared he would feel for me more than he has ever felt for anyone.
and he pushed me away.
because he felt it wouldnt work out, that he would be hurt, it would be unfair.
he is right.
and he tells me this today.
long since i have ceased to be.
:)

When you bury your emotions with your own hands and carelessly butcher a part of you that
you know you can't live without.

A deliberate denial.

Desensitization
Slipping thpugh my fingers.
My attempts at stoicism are proving to be quite comical.
And painful.

Running, running,

far away.

Where the winds cannot touch me.

Where the moon cannot mock me.

Running, running,

stumbling, falling.

and its raining.

to make things worse.

What?

What is so hard to figure out over here?
Isn't it pretty obvious?
This game that iam playing-that iam enjoying-is going to end pretty soon, and pretty abruptly. But till it does, I'll enjoy every minute of it!
Do you know how much effort I have to put in all this? All the meticulous plans I have to chalk out in my twisted little head?
Funny how ridiculously heartless a person can be! But then again, what is so funny about it? Of course I have the right to do as I please and that is presicely what Iam doing right now (as I always have done previously as well).

It gives you a different kind of rush altogether.
Slice, slice, slice.
Sprinkle a little bit of genuine indifference,
A pinch of lust,
A dash of stiffled conscience,
And a whole lot of pretense!

And there you go! You're all set for an experience of a lifetime!!
Go ahead, judge me.
I bask in your apathy and disgust towards me.