Chromosomal hormonal

Things have gotten closer to the sun and I've done things in small doses. So don't think that I'm pushing you away when you're the one that I've kept closest.

Enter sardonic now.

blues on tues

Light my way, Virginia May. Great accidental discovery. 

Spontaneous combustion

ki khobor tur?

theeke theeke.. i'm still working with my old company, on a new project that I don't give a rat's ass about. Personal life seems to be in tatters along with managing finances. But i'm learning not to whine. Many things can be fixed with beer, and for that which cannot, there's always worse stuff lurking at the bottom of your pockets.

tur ki khobor?

i'm okay. finance wise, don't ask. otherwise doing quite well. can't seem to get the company moving. did a play. full houses and all but after that, i'm too tired to think of doing something new. Personal life? hmm...what's that? I've already given up hopes for that. But all in all, i can't say i'm unhappy. and i can't say i'm ecstatic.

hehe. i feel on the verge of something extremely transient. unfortunately, don't know how to jump start that. keep in touch bujiso. would like updates and I am sure you would lurve to know about mine. thoroughly fascinating as it is.

I sometimes feel like shifting out of here. to some place new. It's like i need a newer place. a new town a new city. but then i think a little more, and then i feel i need atleast two more years here after this. i just don't know. you ever feel like getting out of that place?

i know exactly what u mean. few months back i was all set to move somewhere, was considering options too. then i decided that all cities will be more or less the same, and that I am not done with this place...yet! i mean, wtf. so my plans changed overnight. i would be content if i could take regular breaks and just take off somewhere for a while, but no sir, that also is not happening! after what passed this year, i was all set to revolutionize my life. did. not. happen.

It's just that every time i sit down to think, i always get stuck on how long everything will take. sheeeesh. i need some more madness in my life. i need a whirlwind romance and some mad people. I need to get drunk on the streets and creatively enhance myself. i need to get work done. finish things that i started. most importantly.

i think it's time to just close shop with those things, maybe even only in your head. i hate monotony so much that i willfully screw up perfectly simple and 'nice' things, just to see how bad it can get. but yes, i too feel the static.. not a good feeling at all. which is why i do what i do, and then things simply spiral instead of moving anywhere linear (?).

exactly. I'm beginning to get the whole circular notion of time rather than it being linear. anyway, eez not cool. I need something nice, dramatic to happen. not bad. nice. Something that gets me somewhere. you know?

i think maybe we reach a point where we invite Anything to happen. nice is good, but if not, who cares, things are moving! ridiculous actually. like a split second life altering decision that you have not thought through.

hz my sister doing? u guys still together or what?

no. no. we broke up. long back. and too long a story. lets not get into that. not that its very hurtful or anything. just that it reminds me that i was the bad boy here. i need something to happen. something to give. good or bad but something that leads me to something concrete in the way i want my life to unfold. i guess its too much to wish for. but that's the way i feel. can't help it.

aah. ok.. atleast u ppl avoid ambiguity in your relationships. mine reflects the conflicts in my head, and is resulting in disasters with no fault of the other. need to get me sorted man.

relationships are bound to fail yo. i know its almost overtly pessimistic but i guess people who come into your life have a shelf life. after a point you'll get tired of them. want someone new. something new. and its unavoidable. atleast in my case i gather.

are u kidding me? it's a truth i've known all along and ironically shelved until recently, where it gathered strength and overthrew my clean cut regime of a relationship. i don't know whats happening. don't particularly want to confront it either, since i'm not in a position to play victim. i'm learning to be manipulative u know. i think it's a good skill to have and use sometimes.

manipulation is good. but it kills the heart. i like to play the romantic. it means i can move from one attraction to the other, knowing full well its my hearts business and not for my mind to rationalize.keeps me sane. keeps me from thinking too much about it. and keeps my sense of no morals alive inside me. at least social morals.

it's a weird sort of kick i say. but if you're so fluid in your ventures, what on earth is stopping you? change the routine a bit, you will see results.

No,see i like the feeling of falling for somebody. i like the feeling of being in love. but its just that all of that is so ephemeral. its all lost in transition you see. of constant change and all those beautiful things.

if i 'msleeping with someone, i'd have to want to talk to the person. know her. listen to her, try and understand maybe, take a genuine interest in her. be in love maybe. but then there is hardly any poin to holding on to any of this for a lifetime. even when maybe you klnow, you should let go. and i'm not even talking about heartbreaks and growing beyond someone else. just that maybe you've found someone you find more interesting. or just waning interest. you know the person too well. you are now bored. too long eh? i guess the first half of it makes a little sense.

Slippery September

Running straight into the things I tried to get away from. My methods don't work or maybe there are things much stronger than only my will... and unlikely as I thought that to be, I am surprised by the constant dogging, nagging, irritating forceful extraction that only strengthens the spirals. A new discovery- Karma doesn't bite back at your actions, but at your intentions. 

Defeat is not so fine. Just as Eid has passed I feel like a certain spark has died out. I tried very hard to keep me going, to ignore my base instincts and move at least. It's not working out and I'm back to the start where I don't care anymore, about anything..

It's quite lonely here, at the bottom and I can't find a way to go. Didn't mean to sound so depressive, but .... can't say tomorrow will be any better... 

Through the looking glass

"Glimpse, peek, and if you seek

of pointy ears, and eyes that leer,

four of a finger -

do all but linger,

for the chance is that you will find

the strangest of our kind."

- Old elves song

There's a Goblin in the mirror!

Oh me goodness, Macavity, I loves you!

This poem is the shizzle. I so mean it. The imagery is wondrous... and is a brilliant concoction of Elliot's inimitable palate of wit. I wish I could write like him. Each character in Old Possum's Book of Practical Cats is impossibly perfect and malignant. I am going to order the book from Flipkart as soon as I can, given the current state of my finances. The poem has just taken over my afternoon and I am ditching work to re-discover further fascinations by Elliot, in the form of one Growltiger, who is dosed his own medicine and is forced to take his last stance on board a treacherous ship.Feline melodrama, ahoy!

This poem reminds me of school and my aunt who is an English professor and once attempted teaching me Elocution. It reminds me of the extremely eventful train journey to Lucknow in school, where I did get up on a massive and blinding stage, all by myself, and vomited my version of The Listeners by Walter De La Mare, a powerful and evocative poem if there was one, wearing a leather cowboy hat, breeches, a checked shirt and ankle boots -uh uh, stirrups, if you please- and only thing missing in my attire was a lasso at the waist. The poem was meant to be eerie (maybe that was successful) and  was sprinkled with innovative words like 'Spake'. Spake! Too bad I didn't have my own horsie, like the fellow in the poem had, that 'champs' on the grass. I was initially supposed to recite Macavity itself, and I am so glad that I did not (yes, did NOT), because, hold still, the school would have made me wear a tail. I'd take Eerie Cowboy over Demented Cat (me, not Macavity) any day, although, in retrospect, without the cat outfit, Macavity would have been a blast. So, I did The Listeners to a half-filled auditorium, blushed purple and got the hell out of there. For good. I have never ever recited anything else in my life. Never will. And speeches make me nervous as hell too, and I had to do a few to the school assembly even after the hideous recitation. On one particular occasion, the only thing that kept me going was the fact that I had written it off so damned well. It might have sounded lousy over the mic but in my head, it was the World's Greatest Assambly Speech. Which is where originated my belief that I think am better with the written word than the spoken, a concepy I even shoved into the faces of my current bosses, one drunken evening (too many). Also, the above mentioned assembly speech helped me win an election, yessir.

Any which way, smug as I may be right now about my fantastic speech-writing abilities, I am nowhere near writing well, as I would like to be. I am out of shape and have encountered the Block too many daunting times lately. I need practice and I need some forsaken inspiration! But it is poems like these that light some matches, and the fact that it was created by our own human kind, given that I believe everyone is born equal, I may have a shot somewhere, if only I am willing to explore the possibilities of what I may be good at. But I am too lazy for that and will possibly be bored half-way through, having the attention span of a drunken monkey. In the meantime, I present to you, and please read it, because this whole post is about how great it is, Macavity, the Mystery Cat:

 Macavity's a Mystery Cat: he's called the Hidden Paw -
 For he's the master criminal who can defy the Law.
 He's the bafflement of Scotland Yard, the Flying Squad's despair:
 For when they reach the scene of crime - Macavity's not there!

 Macavity, Macavity, there's no one like Macavity,
 He's broken every human law, he breaks the law of gravity.
 His powers of levitation would make a fakir stare,
 And when you reach the scene of crime - Macavity's not there!
 You may seek him in the basement, you may look up in the air -
 But I tell you once and once again, Macavity's not there!

 Mcavity's a ginger cat, he's very tall and thin;
 You would know him if you saw him, for his eyes are sunken in.
 His brow is deeply lined with thought, his head is highly domed;
 His coat is dusty from neglect, his whiskers are uncombed.
 He sways his head from side to side, with movements like a snake;
 And when you think he's half asleep, he's always wide awake.

 Macavity, Macavity, there's no one like Macavity,
 For he's a fiend in feline shape, a monster of depravity.
 You may meet him in a by-street, you may see him in the square -
 But when a crime's discovered, then Macavity's not there!

 He's outwardly respectable. (They say he cheats at cards.)
 And his footprints are not found in any file of Scotland Yard's.
 And when the larder's looted, or the jewel-case is rifled,
 Or when the milk is missing, or another Peke's been stifled,
 Or the greenhouse glass is broken, and the trellis past repair -
 Ay, there's the wonder of the thing! Macavity's not there!

 And when the Foreign Office find a Treaty's gone astray,
 Or the Admiralty lose some plans and drawings by the way,
 There may be a scrap of paper in the hall or on the stair -
 But it's useless to investigate - Mcavity's not there!
 And when the loss has been disclosed, the Secret Service say:
 `It must have been Macavity!' - but he's a mile away.
 You'll be sure to find him resting, or a-licking of his thumbs,
 Or engaged in doing complicated long-division sums.

 Macavity, Macavity, there's no one like Macavity,
 There never was a Cat of such deceitfulness and suavity.
 He always has an alibi, and one or two to spaer:
 At whatever time the deed took place - MACAVITY WASN'T THERE!
 And they say that all the Cats whose wicked deeds are widely known
 (I might mention Mungojerrie, I might mention Griddlebone)
 Are nothing more than agents for the Cat who all the time
 Just controls their operations: the Napoleon of Crime!

-- T S Eliot

Un-understanding

Is my heart made of rubber?
And are my eyes deceptive saucers?
Do I have 'Stoopid' stamped on my forehead?

It's a burning white truth
on the way-side of me,
like the hills that make like elephants,
but to me, gloomy and gray.
Rain pacifies surfacing fury
the same as the world spins,
just to come back and start
at unfruitful cycles again.

People, we simplify,
give words to feelings,
which in truth
are infinite.

The elephants loom large and gloomy,
beacons of size and intensity,
calm and ferocity,
- the white truth,
than we flee from.

It's the white that reminds
that you cannot flee,
and the gray melts to find
a world never to be.

At the bottom of the pond

We’ve walked some dirty roads together and climbed some wound up hills. We’ve travelled many miles of life together and now I find myself on a lonely road, sore without your presence, your guiding presence. You let my steps match yours, a rarity in this absurd world, even as I knew I am far behind in your walk of life. We talked some much, fought, parried and grumbled. Hurt, hurt, and envied. But laughed, and laughed so much. Sang, argued and talked. I learnt while you vented. I failed to answer and understand your swift mind sometimes but gained a world in every conversation. I hated you many times for being so calm (and correct) during my fits of anger and regular tantrums. People have told me how I have been the center of your universe and I didn’t see it through the daily grinds that we faced but I know I was your friend, more than anything else that I was to you.

Sometimes I forget what happened until those hazy visions barge into my mind and I am forced to remember how and what went by. It is the single most influential event in my life and I’ve lost more than I have ever gained from anything, including us. I need to talk to you sometimes, cry, laugh, whatever. I can’t stand the banality and mindlessness of conversations all around me; it makes me recall how we used to talk, which was nothing like anyone does anymore. Talks with you can be weighed in gold (for lack of a costlier metal), for the amount of knowledge anyone could gain, for the sheer pleasure of listening to your precision of words and navigation of subject. You were a clown. A king.  A sailor, a minstrel, a soldier, my father. And like I do in my dreams, I hope to meet you again someday, when I have understood what you have taught me all along.

In like Flynn!

Talk about cheaply monetizing on emotional ties that we claim in this world. If I buy a card and send it to you, would it make me a better person in your eyes? Maybe, though just maybe, it would be enough to safely put away in that store of things from me. Which only I am able to discover years later and realize that each little token of mine that meant practically nothing to me was a goldmine to you.

Generations of family come and go. Maybe some boisterous relatives, like historians, record these facts with dulled minds that are produced and reproduced many times over, ultimately overdone. The sensibilities of my world stumps me sometimes, but I can see now those morsels of unlikely sense in those baffling statements of yours. 

Nancy and Frank had a way about it. Unlikely yes, but that's how we were, too. 

So here goes, SK, to the funny words I sometimes say, and the funny ways you always answer. The world is doing this, and I feel left out tonight. I am feeling a bit dull and unproductive, dimmed vision stirred with blurred thoughts. It only takes a moment to change the season of the mind and I only have to move to the next track in the playlist to do so. I somehow dread saying these things in public, but it's a sort of scream that wants the world to know that while they're out doing what they do, I remember you now, more than ever and that the next simple, moronic letters I type spell out a Happy Father's Day to you. 

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0f48fpoSEPU

Garbled brain-addled time warp

I'll write some when I feel strong enough not to splatter my heart into the keyboard and smear my tornado thoughts onto the screen. Taking a hiatus and will come back sometime soon with some definitive stuff. Or not. 

Leaving the building

you
take me to the zoo,
please
climb a rock with me,
or maybe
give me a sip of your cognac.

let me
tape you dancing,
disturb me while i finally study.
teach me
to eat some mustard
and let's laugh
at the women who don't get our joke.

find
that one videotape we watched over and over,
hand me a toothbrush -
your customary parting gift.
talk of
kings and gods,
girlfriends and friends,
enemies and money.
Strength.

see,
when i saw you all i thought was you really don't look good like this. abandonment thrashed plenty into my absent mind and it melted into a furnace of confusion that isn't going anywhere. well, i guess it's right then when you say, life dies, but dreams, only sometimes. 

Thought of who

"I watch the stars from my window sill... the whole world is moving and i'm standing still.."

It's about me me me ME Me me ME ME me me me me ME ME ME ME ME ME! Did I say me? 

Sorry. I am sorry your life didn't turn out the way you wanted to. I'm sorry that you cry. I'm sorry that you make up stories, aches and pains to call me. Or her. Or them. I'm sorry that you are not strong like you used to be. You can't lift me up on one hand anymore. The seat of my world, no more. When you lie, I can see right through that wall around your head, a prison of your own making. You don't want to get up from bed, there's nothing to do today, no one to talk to, so you turn to one friend who has been therewith you through out, and it's no matter that he took you away from me. Her. Them.

I like that person. I understand why he means so much to you. He means a lot to me too. He makes tou talk at least, makes me talk at least, though no one really bothers to hear us out when we do. We don't even listen to each other so what do they matter. I know I am like you.

We let them go. We like to mess things up. We like to test ourselves. We screw up to a point of no return and then we cry. You and me.

What is it with this song? I'll tell you about it if you care to hear me out this once. I know you won't, that's why i'm writing here instead of actually calling you. This song pulled a tight heart string in me. For a long time, I thought it meant me, as I always do, make everything about me. And all of a sudden, I was wrong. This song means you. I know this is true because That Vein started hurting, The Genuine One. It did, and still does. 

I wish I could do anything to help you, but I won't and you won't let me. Both of us have past a willingness to make better. Both of us are worthless now. We want no one and don't want the ones we have. We avoid. We distance. We hurt. We don't care. We trouble. We sleep. We waste. This song is for you, as I know you to be. I may not be able to make you listen to it but know that I realize this song is not about me. It was always about you. 

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XYrYSXTphFQ

What can I say?

Apologies.

Since the year of the 'downfall', I've been on an incessantly murky journey. No, longer than that. For a long time, I called it growth. I called it revelation. I somehow thought I could see it all in black and white. Pink and green, if I may. Ofcourse, grays are mostly what I got. Or orange rather. Like my orange house. Orange walls. Orange peeling off.

I also thought I thought something worthwhile. I thought I wrote something worthwhile. I thought I could do those worthwhile things. My frivolity wanted to stop but it never did for me and today I think that's what defines me. A frivolous, worthless object, trying too hard to be anything. Taking people onto this dusty highway with me, and then leaving them holding a cup of water and watching me scurry off to the next left turn. Taking on the task of doing something I don't want to for an evening, making a fool out of myself, just for the evening and thereafter. 

It goes on and I don't think it will stop. I am never under the influence of anything larger than me. It's me who loves you, me who hurts you and me who hates you. Me who cares about this whole world and me who cares only about my own. Me who talks too much often but me who can't answer a single question. 

Too often, I am faced with my own one, specially on mornings I wake up to and recall, like a blunt stump of an old tree cut down, 'what can I say that will make this go away?' its the toughest and I have no answer because even if I do have one, I will not carry it out because someone like me thrives on self-created misery, some sort of parasitic mania, subdued at all times but stinging myself in the eye. And I do love that kind of pain. 

We choose the people who enter into our lives and once they do, each for their own individuality, the absence of them leaves a vacuum that no other can fill. Sometimes, we send them invitations to enter and at other times, they crash into ours. They talk and they mean the words you hear. 

I can argue with myself for years now. R to A, A to R. I am a bit scared of my once cherished favourite passtime. Like that body bind curse that made me feel dead twice. I enjoyed the fear and confusion it provoked into a sleeping stone structure like me. 

I really have no point to make, apart from a warning sign to stay away from the diabolics of our population, comme moi.

The Patch-up

What a Greasy face I have today!
I did not sleep for the past two days...
A hot, sweet, sugary, cup of tea
Would really spring some sense in me.
Or maybe some ice cold lemonade
Would help my head and the mess I made.
But why make these promises I cannot keep?
The only thing missing is a good night's sleep.
I'm sorry Aqueous, here's a kiss and a hug,
So Cheers to all that and lets down our mug!

NH 37 : Summer Wine

I'm going back a decade or two. The most memorable part of my road trips with my parents is me lounging in the back seat, sometimes sitting low but mostly lying down, with the windows open, my head propped up against a bundled up jacket on the car door. That way the wind didn't mess up my hair and I could look at the sky and the occasional hills, that would poke up into the window frame. I would stare endlessly at the telephone cables, swooping low and rising up again till they reach the next pole. I would judge their symmetry and predict how high or low the next one would be. Sometimes birds sat on them and sometimes the cables vanished till the next post. I would fall asleep gradually, but since I can never sleep well unless it's my bed and it's silent, car honks, speed breakers, or my folks talking would wake me. I would turn over, because it gave me a back or leg ache to lie in one position, and listen to the cassettes they were playing. They had then and always have had a good taste in music, both. I liked what they played. They would take turns driving.

Sometimes I tried to be a part of their conversation but had less to contribute apart from how I was feeling (many times, sick), what township came next and whether we were going to stop there. My dad pointed out many things on the road, like a well-known culvert, some funny buildings, what the local people were doing in their fields and what it was called, and animals, especially the monkey duo with crazy names, who we met on one trip. Only once, he said something which I've only recently remembered. My mom likes wide, smooth roads with big, thriving trees on both sides. I think I do too. He mentioned it to her, and I poked in to understand what that meant. Ever since (but I stopped when the trips stopped), whenever we passed a road like that, I would tell her that this must be a road she liked. She would agree. Always. We would stop for puris, daab-pani (rarely, though, since I didn't like it much), to spot a rhino, at the circuit houses (where my mom was treated royally), for some booze, to buy me an exclusive can of coke, to look at the slopes of a healthy and expansive tea garden, to look at the monkeys at the temple of a village (especially the one who imitated the priest, a hilarious fella), to say hello to family on the way, for me to puke and gulp some water when I felt sick (especially on the winding hilly roads), to eat at dhabas with hyperactive hundred year olds wanting to come home with us, for me to take some pictures with my now ancient camera. Sometimes, I don't know why we stopped but I always liked a break to get down and stretch my legs. They would switch drivers then. Sometimes not, and just talk with the car doors open, the fields on both sides, breezy, sunny, clean and easy, watch the cars go by and the open landscape. They would smoke Wills.

I can't even remember who the others were apart from them, when we were driving back to home one time, and somehow, it was nightfall (we tried and completed all these 8-9 hours journeys in the daytime). There were 2 cars somehow and I don't remember who was driving but my folks were there in the same car with me. Me was in the backseat as usual, and I looked up between the seats when the driver remarked surprised. Wow! About 20 elephants stretched across the straight road ahead of us and no room for even a cycle to squeeze through, many kids among them and they were Huge. Ooh. It was was too exciting since we stopped and the friends in the car behind us stopped and discussed what to do. Duh. You could not go through them. Well, retreat it was. We stayed somewhere for the night I think, because I remember it was late and a pink lodge is swimming somewhere in that memory, or maybe we tried again later after they cleared out and got back to the journey home. The episode was a sight, in the beam of the car lights, in which I saw one of the most vivid memories of those times.

My things would be packed into one of their bags, usually by one of them. When I grew a little older I carried my walkman with me (the oldies were ancient now, I couldn't bear it anymore). Usually no one would accompany us and usually, these journeys were from home to Nani's place, where we would stay for a couple of nights and drive back. It was about 450 kms and we covered it in about 8 hours which was the average I calculated, with our stops and all. Leaving Nani's, I could always count on her to stand at the big balcony, looking down, in her white saree sometimes draping her head, rarely unaccompanied. I would always turn back and see her there and wave and she would wave back a mental Khuda Hafiz. Then we passed those huge gates and the road was ours again.

But, now. It's already a new decade and I am in my office. Nani is no more. We have a different car. Two houses. The landscape of 37 has changed. The hills that prequel the planes have been cut further and have turned an ugly, bare red. The towns are hotter and bigger. The circuit houses renovated into unfriendly smoothness, with no goats grazing around. The phone cables are ignored by me.The puris and peras are uneaten. And I am without my folks on those journeys but sometimes on short ones with friends, drinking my beer and smoking my Wills. 

Mas

Moi jodi aji eta mas,
kali kiba beleg hom.
'Jibon nodir duti par'ot
eibar xui nejao.

Escapist

I thought I was out.
But, still here.
I thought the song was over,
but the dance continues.
I'm fed some sand and
I try to enjoy it too,
but I hear the right word,
and i'm a mad, raving dog.
It continues future foretold,
nothing but unsuitable distractions,
I'd love to see water on fire-
or maybe -(Sagittarius A*)- myself.

Day

The old man on the curb remembered my name and beckoned me to chat. I said I would stop the next time because I was in a hurry. 

The guy at the lunch buffet counter hurried to get me a fork because I asked for one. He wiped a fork and a spoon meticulously and handed me both, while I asked him for a cold drink. He rushed off to get it, while I lay down the spoon. 

The man in the scooter next to my auto, in the off white shirt and pants, green helmet, did not glance at me while I felt uncomfortable to smoke at the traffic signal. I was relieved.

Today was one of the very few times I controlled my anger well and did not break anything.

I forgot to give my boss the packet of tea I got for her. She left office sometime back with her mother and brother(?) while I am still here with the others.

A friend sent me a sad smiley a while back which I ignored because of my ugly mood and pretentious work.

Music I don't want to hear plays abundantly.

Iranians, both male and female, dress sluttily. Observed at the lunch buffet. But I am generalizing.

Worry, anger, laziness tempted me equally as I tried to finish what was on my plate. Then I got up and ran because worry won. Or curiosity. 

I like the smile of the person sitting opposite me. Very wide and sweet. Changes the contours of his face completely.

I wonder what the Feng Shui lady will have to say about me the next time she comes by here. Will she discover the secrets of my birth, fate and energy? I am doubtful. 

A friend feels guilty about a howling dog in her room while she is away. The dog must go. I am relieved and disappointed.

I flit between shallow and intense today. I drive away people and I try to keep some. 

"...somebody said they saw me swinging the world by the tail, bouncing over a white cloud, killing the blues."

Tea is a magic hot liquid. I'm sitting here contemplating the evening. To carry out my original plans or try something new. I see people there and I want to turn away. 

one of the somethings i listened to while writing this.

grim beginning

...or ending. anyway, before that. the new year. technically, the earth completes one revolution around the sun, in 365 days. that's it right? but only following the roman calendar. by that logic, any and every moment is a completion of a revolution, at each inch that the earth draws in direction to complete the cycle, at each micro milli second, a revolution is complete. so... sorry to burst that bubble called new year's day but there really isn't one. atleast to me. since i want to be the boss of my own time. not follow some jerk who decides the names of months and the number of days in it.

anyway. somethings seem fine while at the exact moment, turbulence of the highest order occurs. it seems fine when the rewards come by. and these could be rewards for anything. even just existence. so these rewards are motivating enough to look forward to the next reward but the problem lies when u know a higher truth. about everything- yourself, others, intentions, actions, the world, particles. everything. well, somewhat because i cannot know everything but it is at least a deeper realisation that most people i see around me. everything seems futile yet exciting. boring yet the best thing to do. how long is the problem. how long can I carry on my charade of inner and outer stage-play? but really, what else is there to do? i am tired of people and i don't want to go out and meet more people who have created more things and destroyed even more. seems like the endless spiral has crept up on me. and there is no way out. or wait. maybe there is. but not now anyway.

see there. that 'maybe there is'- thats the point of motivation. thats also the point of no return.

in between this sneaky mess is my human-ness. all those wonderful and crushing emotions. tears. anger. sympathy. love. grief. ego. endless as it is but it is there. and sometimes amplified by circumstance.but what to do? in every aspect of life there seems to be a conflict. taking on things that i can't handle is not a good passtime. in that process, in that paradigm, a lot gets wasted and a lot gets demolished. people get demolished. i do, atleast. i am in some sort of clamped glass case. a fish in a bowl. i can see but i can't touch. i can feel but i can't act. i am sure many people feel the same way and everyday that they do, they wonder what is it that actually binds us to the way we are going. people realise that it's not something as simple as following a moral or ethical protocol. they know it's like some intricate weaving of fate, the way they plan meticulously to cook up a dish or stitch something minute. the way things are meant to be undisturbed, the flow. and they retreat, like me, a bit angry with this system, into a parallel realm that exists inside them, one that surges into the open at times, but mostly remains hidden, not for another to see and jugde. they wind up a bit frustrated that they can't really rule their own worlds, that they are ordained by other fates, other threads of existence that aren't in their control. they know this but don't do anything. it really comes down to that. even by choice they are bound. now that is grim.