From: India
About me: About me? Well.. Recluse, dysphoric, morose, inane, insane, caffeine-addict, misread, ascetic, platitudinal, dreamer, volatile, scathing, auspicate, deviant, disparate, iridescent, chatoyant, irate, morbid, colors, canvas, creation, hue, saturation, redemption, vehement, profound, intense, abysm, aphoristic, bound? Creative, encumbered, blasphemous, extant, sentient, opiate? Absurd, moronic, loony, preposterous, harebrained? Plastic blue conversations, paradoxes, anomalies, threnodies, acousmas, delusions, illusions, soliloquies?
Thursday, April 26, 2007,2:49 AM
Ayesha's leaving. For Australia.
Sigh.
I'll miss her so much. So much. She has become so much to me in such a short period of time. The perfect friend I never had. Until I got to know her better. I don't think I've felt so strongly towards any of my friends, as I have for her.
Veerz, perhaps, or, Asad, maybe.
I'll always cherish the times we were together. The three of us, running impishly away from everyone else. Talking for hours on end. Gushing over Henry Cavill, Deathcab, Indie, or any of her latest finds.
I think I was able to talk to her more freely than I have with anyone as of late. Thins have gotten odd in the group. I don't think I can relate to anyone, anymore.
Of course, she'd visit India, over hols, and I'd meet her. Probably.
But will things ever be the same? 'Course I'd mail her and talk to her online as and when possible. But its just that she'd have so much waiting for her, there. Just so many better things to look forward to, and I'm so happy for her, but I just can't help the tears that flow. I wish she wouldn't go. But that would make her miserable.
I can keep re-iterating the fact that I'll miss her, but I can never actually describe what I'd feel. I can only hope to be to her, what she is, to me.
Just when things were so good, and I was so happy in having found such a great friend, she has to leave. Sigh. Life's an ironic bitch.
I'll miss her so. I'll miss Crossword, and Moshe's and the hummus, and those cigarettes. The conversations over coffee. The ebooks. Henry Cavill. DeviantARTing.
I'll meet new people. Maybe, sometime. But to forge a strong bond with them, just as I shared with her, would be... slightly impossible. I'm not so trusting anymore. It took a lot of tentative steps to get where I have, with her.
I'll miss her odd fits of laughter, those conspirational whispers. Study sessions that proceeded late into the wee hours of the night, when we'd suddenly give up all the books and just talking about random things or start meandering the pathways of the Web.
I'll always remember the 24th of April, 2007, when I was with her and Veerz at Mocha's and I just thought I couldn't have been happier. It was such a perfect day.
Filled with laughter, coffee, cigarettes, and the hookah, of course.
Some memories are meant to be preserved. The same as a select few people.
Precious.
Sigh.
I'll miss her so much. So much. She has become so much to me in such a short period of time. The perfect friend I never had. Until I got to know her better. I don't think I've felt so strongly towards any of my friends, as I have for her.
Veerz, perhaps, or, Asad, maybe.
I'll always cherish the times we were together. The three of us, running impishly away from everyone else. Talking for hours on end. Gushing over Henry Cavill, Deathcab, Indie, or any of her latest finds.
I think I was able to talk to her more freely than I have with anyone as of late. Thins have gotten odd in the group. I don't think I can relate to anyone, anymore.
Of course, she'd visit India, over hols, and I'd meet her. Probably.
But will things ever be the same? 'Course I'd mail her and talk to her online as and when possible. But its just that she'd have so much waiting for her, there. Just so many better things to look forward to, and I'm so happy for her, but I just can't help the tears that flow. I wish she wouldn't go. But that would make her miserable.
I can keep re-iterating the fact that I'll miss her, but I can never actually describe what I'd feel. I can only hope to be to her, what she is, to me.
Just when things were so good, and I was so happy in having found such a great friend, she has to leave. Sigh. Life's an ironic bitch.
I'll miss her so. I'll miss Crossword, and Moshe's and the hummus, and those cigarettes. The conversations over coffee. The ebooks. Henry Cavill. DeviantARTing.
I'll meet new people. Maybe, sometime. But to forge a strong bond with them, just as I shared with her, would be... slightly impossible. I'm not so trusting anymore. It took a lot of tentative steps to get where I have, with her.
I'll miss her odd fits of laughter, those conspirational whispers. Study sessions that proceeded late into the wee hours of the night, when we'd suddenly give up all the books and just talking about random things or start meandering the pathways of the Web.
I'll always remember the 24th of April, 2007, when I was with her and Veerz at Mocha's and I just thought I couldn't have been happier. It was such a perfect day.
Filled with laughter, coffee, cigarettes, and the hookah, of course.
Some memories are meant to be preserved. The same as a select few people.
Precious.
Sunday, April 22, 2007,7:18 PM
Twilight Fading..
I read a book as of late, rather, I read two books. Twilight and New Moon by Stephanie Meyer.
I could not relate to the first book so much, perhaps, as it was something that I hadn't experienced. It was more about something I yearn for. Happiness.. Maybe love..
The second book, however, hit closer home. Perhaps it was the fact that it was increasingly morose and no miracles happened during the course of the story. It was closer to reality. My reality.
Mom's voice drones on somewhere. It seems distant, so distant. I take a moment to pause, and try in vain to formulate some sort of train of thought. I look out of the window, towards the sky.
I do that very often, I guess. Maybe it is some sort of sub conscious gesture.
I wait. For deliverance.
Deliverance, salvation, moksha, nirvana.
It is all about karma, a voice says. A voice far too familiar, far too close than it should be. I jolt out of my reverie. It is just Mom who has come wandering into my room, still talking about something that fails to register on me.
Deliverance from what? I ask myself. The answer does not come. It never does, for I have never known it. The waiting is prolonged. I do not know how long it is supposed to last. But I wait. I wait for something that I do not have an inkling about.
Do I wait for a messiah? For a saviour? For a knight in shining armour, who will come and rescue me out of the muddy waters of morbidity which have now become increasingly comfortable for me?
I laugh out loud at that thought.
Knight in rusted armour on an ancient steed, more like.
An owl screeches incessantly into the now fading twilight.
It isn't the prolonged waiting that hurts.
It is the not knowing.
I read a book as of late, rather, I read two books. Twilight and New Moon by Stephanie Meyer.
I could not relate to the first book so much, perhaps, as it was something that I hadn't experienced. It was more about something I yearn for. Happiness.. Maybe love..
The second book, however, hit closer home. Perhaps it was the fact that it was increasingly morose and no miracles happened during the course of the story. It was closer to reality. My reality.
Mom's voice drones on somewhere. It seems distant, so distant. I take a moment to pause, and try in vain to formulate some sort of train of thought. I look out of the window, towards the sky.
I do that very often, I guess. Maybe it is some sort of sub conscious gesture.
I wait. For deliverance.
Deliverance, salvation, moksha, nirvana.
It is all about karma, a voice says. A voice far too familiar, far too close than it should be. I jolt out of my reverie. It is just Mom who has come wandering into my room, still talking about something that fails to register on me.
Deliverance from what? I ask myself. The answer does not come. It never does, for I have never known it. The waiting is prolonged. I do not know how long it is supposed to last. But I wait. I wait for something that I do not have an inkling about.
Do I wait for a messiah? For a saviour? For a knight in shining armour, who will come and rescue me out of the muddy waters of morbidity which have now become increasingly comfortable for me?
I laugh out loud at that thought.
Knight in rusted armour on an ancient steed, more like.
An owl screeches incessantly into the now fading twilight.
It isn't the prolonged waiting that hurts.
It is the not knowing.
Rain, rain on my face,
It hasn't stopped raining for days..
My world is a flood,
Slowly, I become, one with the mud..
Downpour on my soul
Splashing in the ocean, I'm losing control..
Dark sky all around,
I can't feel my feet touching the ground..
Calm the storms that drench my eyes,
Dry the streams still flowing..
Cast down all the waves of sin,
And guilt that overthrow me..
But if I can't swim after forty days..
and my mind is crushed by the thrashing waves ..
Lift me up so high that I cannot fall ..
When I'm falling,
I'm weak and I'm dying,
I need you to hold me,
Keep me from drowning again..
Monday, April 16, 2007,10:59 PM
Burning Your Black Flags..
Dead girl,
There will never be another one that dreams like you..
Dead girl,
There will never be another one that screams like you..
She asked if it would hurt,
I smiled and said no,
The lie ran down my chin like embryo..
She smiles like a corpse,
Life dries cold beneath the dead soul lights..
When death sleeps,
It dreams of you..
I've been dryin' in a dead age,
I've been reekin' of the new plague..
The sound of the ocean is dead..
It's just the echo of the blood in your head..
Dead girl,
There will never be another one to look in your eyes..
Dead girl,
There will never be another one that dreams like you..
Dead girl,
There will never be another one that screams like you..
She asked if it would hurt,
I smiled and said no,
The lie ran down my chin like embryo..
She smiles like a corpse,
Life dries cold beneath the dead soul lights..
When death sleeps,
It dreams of you..
I've been dryin' in a dead age,
I've been reekin' of the new plague..
The sound of the ocean is dead..
It's just the echo of the blood in your head..
Dead girl,
There will never be another one to look in your eyes..
Cyanide & Happiness @ Explosm.net