Peace? What peace?

I saw the first episode of Californication, and its been way too long for me to relate to someone so deeply.
WHY? Because I believe in screwing things up. I believe in avoiding happiness to the extent that no matter where I step in, it is the last contender of my attention. Do i hate myself? No. Do I love myself? No. What do I want? Its not happiness.
It has been very long since I talked about movies, but now I know why. I haven't been writing because i haven't seen a movie that would move me enough. And that is because I have been watching stupid romantic comedies  or romantic dramas. Now why the fuck is that? I guess its because I needed that lack of profoundness in my own life. Or maybe because I wanted someone to make me feel not-alone. But the fucking paradox is that the moment i find happiness knocking at my door and inviting me for a freaking party of love, i want to  run away. I want it to stop and never chase me because I can never understand or acknowledge it. Why would I want to acknowledge happiness, it is a much deserved thing for almost everyone. And why the fuck am I even complaining, I have a life that is better than half of the world  (given how many people die of lack of food every DAY). I have a perfect healthy life, but these times are like those of war. The misery and chaos of the world starts reflecting and resonating in your own life. The world is ending, it really is and when it will, we'll be running for shelters, because no one built a dream house safety abode for us.
So, the choice is either of a Forrest Gump innocence or Hank Moody misery. Would I be pleased with myself if i stopped bothering about my inspirations, and just innocently kept moving in a path i believe will do me good, or should i keep chasing the misery because that keeps me inspired but constantly craving. I don't fucking understand, i don't fucking get it. I tried to drown myself in alcohol last night, and was left feeling sick and disoriented. I am getting pent up, like  a very big hurricane swirling inside me, and god knows what it will make me do next. I have done something that i am already ashamed of,, but do i want that again. Hurting yourself leaves marks, and marks never fade away, they settle like ruins on your skin. Ruins of fortresses.
The effort that it takes to move away from the natural urge of companionship and be happy in your little private space is TREMENDOUS. It took me an year to get on the first step of this very fulfilling staircase. And now life has presented me with an opportunity of beautiful happiness and company, a wonderful man who can and will love me at my best and worst.
I need peace.
But then, what is peace?

A Confession.

I have a confession. A one that changed my life and that happily ruined all familial melancholy of my existence.
I am still questioning my decision of saying it out loud, because I never said it loud. I never told or prepared myself for a moment like this. Maybe because I had been wired, or made myself comfortable with the possibility of never coming across such a moment. Because he, resonates tragedy. Never a bad man, but fallen by his own hamartia. I guess, there are times you ignore the smaller disasters and the damage they have done, so you can embrace the beginning, end brings along with it.
You pass decades of childhood, living in an absence, you construct that absence as a void, and the choice of a violent wail. Its natural only, to blame your difficulties and partialities on an absence. But a moment comes, when you simply rise above it. And you see.
He is broken and very fragile, if I ever say this to him, he will fall apart. Either happy or sad, he is living in an hallucination and in it there is a happy family which has always loved him and his mistress. Do I want to agree to that, maybe. Nothing is achieved by clinging onto an already weak string. So, I have aligned myself to his hallucination  and consciously agreed to a pretense of his love. I keep myself happy, by thinking that if this hallucination can last a lifetime then I will be happy to see my children playing with him, falling in love with him, thinking of how he too loved me so.

So, here goes the confession:

I love my father.

The Room.

I haven't written in long. And Poetry is not whispering in my ear, rather I feel vacant and don't know what to write about. I can write about what I am reading and how it is piercing through me, or maybe I can talk about I am unable to identify myself with the nymphomaniac who never felt complete without other body. I read my own words and understand nothing, I can feel what I once wrote but I don't believe the woman whose mind gave birth to them. I am living in a void, it is not unhappy, very strangely so.




It was bed with six legs, a rather big one. The bed sheet wasn't tightly held together by the heavy mattress, rather it fell loosely on the edges and felt like it was slept on. It had not been lonely. With wrinkles and waves of cloth covering its space, and the white beauty of it, which was well seen and well moved on. It wasn't a bed that seemed unfamiliar, but it was huge. It was broad and long, and the heavy fluffy mattress looked comforting on it.
I sat on an edge of that big bed. Switched on the television, channel after channel I kept falling deeper into the void and got lost in the static that held all these colors together. So I keep the remote down and play the tune of what I once wrote on my phone. My legs felt dead, not mourning their stillness, rather appreciating their laziness. The man I had been waiting for walks in, we make love, he smokes and leaves.
Its interesting how zippers are not as comfortable as they are were advertised to be. I don't like zippers, so I don't wear clothes with them. Days have been passing rather slowly and despite how pathetic this room makes me feel, i cling on to its safety. Stepping outside, where everything is cracking-up is hurtful. I came across this new street, it was dark and very badly broken. The man I met there walks in, we make love, he leaves and kisses goodbye.
The windows of this small room are my height, and I am not very tall, but these glasses make me feel so. I try and look out, the terrible fear of heights had kept me from enjoying so many things. Things are always beautiful when looked at from far above. They are organized and well structured. I can trace the place I call home, and look back the clock on the wall. One more night here and I will go home. The man who said will take me comes on time, we make love, he promises seeing me tomorrow, leaves.
Smoke fills empty places, but temporarily. And I recall who all I promised for one meeting. I will wash my hair, gather my clothes, wash myself, put on a pretty smile and walk right out of here. Everything that needs to be done will happen only once I walk out of here. But would you have left an abode so quiet and controlled. The man who cleans the bed, comes on time, we make love, he leaves.
Last night was terrifying and the horrid dreams of unending labyrinths and caves, took me step by step into nothingness. I kept anticipating the destination, but. So when I woke up, I looked at myself in the mirror and fell into a terrifying coma. I tried moving, like my legs, my entire body was so comfortably lifeless. Like they had declared a submission. Lying right there, on the ground, blood slowly covering the floor. Dragging myself I reach the door. I can go out.
But I cling on to the room and its familiarity. Unlike my home, it does not expects me to dress and sleep a certain way. The bed is huge and is made for company, which I love. All this flashes by my eyes while I kneel in front of the door. I lift myself up. And lock it. I am safe now, within these walls and a window my length.

The Notebook

The Golden Notebook:

Something is always odd..and everything is cracking up.
I can relate.
With me, the world, the people and the very culture.

Lets see how it goes.

Lonely: Happy.

I think inspiration is important and so is loneliness.

I am inspired by so many people.
My tragic father, my wise mother
My brother who is disintegrating and all the lost and forgotten lovers.

Bleeding is the essence of life, as much as winter warmth is.
You crack and you bleed, the beads of shiny maroon life
Float and flow through the contours of what life is.

It is essential, it keeps us alive and it keeps us breathing.
The breath of loneliness mixed with the husky smoke
Easily fills the spaces around us and soon they can be replaced by laughter.

And when it is, finally replaced, you can feel missing footprints.
Broken glasses and cohesive smoked traces leave behind memories
Memories form the shape that fill the chalk-line of what we call identity.

The little knots you tied, every time you got off the wrong stop
Is the definition of the strong rope you now hold onto to stay alive and enabled.
You might have made that thread with tears or laughter, but remember, its strong.

I made you hide large dreams in little spaces, it might soon fall short.
And when they burst out of the little boxes make sure you feed them
Not kill them, but feed light, food, happiness, hope and strength..along with love.

Heat in freezing moments, and happiness in loud funerals
Time played you around like a little doll with small space and now
You hold onto that hope and those little indulgences. Hold strong.

I have been in love, and so have you. We both went away and so did they.
Now when the dust of their presence is gone and cleaned. Play
that song you wrote with me for them, and we'll sway.






This was inspiring. Beautifully written.

Old One Day.

We'll be old one day, both you and me. Very old.
With pictures of your children around us and familial music in our ears.
We will look across the room at each other, wrinkled slightly
Happy, most probably. I will smile a long smile and
In that glance I will tell you that I love you, even after the decades.
Even after we found someone else, even after the times we spent with them,
The happiness we shared with them, the plans we made with them.
I will tell you in that smile, that I remember and hold close the times we spent.
The warmth of your hands, the tenderness of your touch, the heaviness of your heart
The longevity of your companionship, and I will make you remember this
All with one smile. Because you knew me, you still do.
And though time and norms failed us, our belief in each other never did.

We will be old one day. And you'll be around the corner.
I won't hesitate to tell you that I love you and always will.

Phase. Really?

I am moving into another phase. This one feels like a room, where I can step in whenever I feel like and for however long it comforts me. Then I can step out for few moments, take in some fresh air and affirm my confinement.

The comfort in knowing you don't have anyone to please, no one to turn to and probably limit yourself to as few people possible. Maybe the comfort is because of the security that comes with it. But once you have stayed in that safe place for too long, it hard to get back again.

I think I fell in love, and then spent a night with him. This utterly failed and I am dejected.

She is the only one, ever to remain by my side and seek my love effortlessly. And the ONLY fear I have for my personal life is just IMAGINING a world without her. Her absence is haunting and dreadful.I can bear anything, but not this.

I imagine a separate reality. Different from the one I am in currently. It is amazing how simple it becomes to mark a path of escape and set up beautiful street lights along the way, so it never feels lonely.

No matter how many times and how harshly I dismiss the cracking up of mirrors, and the value of little disasters in and around me, it doesn't mean they have ceased to exist.

But for sometime, nothing seems important enough. Nothing at all. Not even the changing times, neither the breaking down of humanity, nor my heart ache neither the trouble of companionship. Tonight, I am just alone.

Physical cravings are beginning to cease, and the meaning of compassion is also beginning to change. Do I need it or do I no longer inhabit it in me. And I am doing it again, trying to find a deeper meaning out of this boredom induced sense of sadness.

I am moving into another phase, and I hope it doesn't last very long.