I'm killing myself.

and it's so liberating.

Fuck all your 'Break-the-system' agenda!!!
What we need is order, authority.

WE NEED THE SYSTEM!

sail.

~laugh.talk.bitch.laze.
dope.trip.smoke.gaze.
blink.print.type.ink
love.hope.dream.think.~

Disguise

-cackle-
-swish-
-rustle of parchment-
Readers, regard 'you' in the abstract AND plural.

One.
“Aye.
Pity me to thy heart’s content.
Strew alms from thy lofty pedestal.
I am your charity, your prospect.
I, your chessboard, I, your spoil.
I am your gilded roulette table.

Pray robe me. In thy generous fabric,
Teach me words, give me ink.
Civilize me. I am anti-rubric,
A-form, anomalous, deviant,
I am the slack in your link.

I deny society.

Pity me.”

Two.
[If only I were in your vicinity
Now, you patronizing fuckface,
You would see my profanity
In my laughter, my homage.
How long? Your guess.

I am the forking serpent
In your Paradise.
Dishonest dice,
No FUCKING rice

In your famine.

I am bad rhyme.
Defaced dime,
Unholy clime,

Against your domain.

I am your foil,
I am your toil.
And once I boil
Over,

You are my disdain.
My BLOODY gain.

Amen.]

Three.
“My fears whet your reason
My tears wet your treason.
I am your receptacle,
Your prolific season.

Pity me.

Yet.
My eyes are nothing but orbs
Through your glasses.
And my tears are but cogs
Meandering your twisted passes.”

Four.
[FUCK YOU SHITHEAD.
Today.
I break your cuffs.
Smash your casino windows.

Today I freaking
Kill my rhyme,
Tear you off my pages.

My tears are not,
Were NEVER, real
You cuntface!

You bitch you goddamn fucker,
You. You. And you too.

Screw YOU. ALL.

All along have I known,
But have never let you know,
That I knew.
.....................For you knew that
I did not know.
.....................And, you see,
Letting you know, that I knew,
......................Would
......................Be

......................IDIOTIC.

Yea.
It would shatter thy complacent sadism.
It would make your observatory walls collapse,
Mist your telescope over, you asshole,
Grind your lenses,
Adulterate your fixatives.
And I, you see, wanted the experiment to end.

[Spineless hypocrite you!]

I had known all FUCKING along.
Don’t you see?
That you never did belong
In ruling ranges. You freak!

It has always- yes, always- been illusory. Elusive.
Newsflash, bitch!]

Five.
For,
I am you.
Your identity.
I am true,
I am your density.

I am what makes you opaque,
I am your form.
I am the leash around your neck,
I kill your norm.
Today.

Six.
Go pick on someone stupider, sucker!!

-crack-
-clink-
-splash-

-S…I…L…E…N…C…E-
_______________________________________________

Life update: I got a lip piercing so yayyy!! pics here.

To A Ghost Lover

....................................................I

The sky opens up.

How long ago was
The last time it did?
How long ago
Were the last rains?

The bolts are always
The same. Purple.
Blinding white at their core.
Sometimes the light
Enters the bedroom
And fuses with
The white heat
Of the tubelights.
It’s all electricity
In the end…

And how long ago
Were the last rains?

Not while you lived,
Not while you smiled,
Spoke, whispered and

Walked.
Not while you
Were you…

They say you still live.
They say you still
Get drunk
In the local pub…

They say that.

They also say You
Wander. Alone.
And they wait.
Tonight.
Like every night,
For you to return
Home.


II
For thus was it proclaimed at your funeral.

That you would return…
One night,
When the sky is so red
And so viscous,
And the trees so awake, (You Shall Return.)
That they shudder
And wonder…
Is it twilight?
Or is it dawn?

And they still know
That it is neither.

It is night.
And the skies have, now,
Shut their barrage gates…

It is night,
Quiet,
Red, luminous.

The equinox is approaching…
Dark merges into light,
Day, with night.
And the air waits…

III
Gases in the tubelights
Spark, flicker and waver…
The night is yet not dark enough
To kill the light with dark,
Not just enough.

How much more opaque?
They ask.
How much more opaque
Should the calm get
Sir?

IV
They have seen you.
You.
Frozen momentarily in this plane,
In headlights of
Car strangers, Strange
Cars… Strange.
Estranged.
You.

They have caught
The whiff of your
Drunken breath
In winter fogs
And summer hazes.

They have smelt the tobacco
Felt the look…
Your gaze…

But only I
Have felt your lips on mine.
I have felt your touch
On my neck.
Your arm around me,
Fingers entangled in mine.

Not a thing has changed
Since you
Became one
With the yew…

Not a thing…
Except,
I cannot see you.

V
And tonight,
That shall be redeemed.
You never really died.
The world,
Our world,
Knows you shall return.

And they hope.
Tonight, like every night,
They HOPE.

But tonight,

I.
KNOW.

VI
My love…



My love.

Pain

[I have run out of pronouns.
I hate ‘you’, I hate ‘I’.
How then do I talk?
Nay, not of you and I… for, I disown my you.]


They say,
Where blows the wind, there grows the poppy.
The Opium poppy.
They say,
Where grows the poppy, there shows the day.
Another day.
Not a new one. An Other one.
Of the other kind, running parallel
To our days.

They say,
Where shows the day, there bows the rain.
There bends the rainbow.
They say,
Where bows the rain, there vows the gold
At the root of the rainbow.

Wonder then: Have they looked for it?

They say,
The wind kills.
Kills in ecstatic raptures.
Kills a painless death.

Nay.
Are memories painless?
Even the golden ones?
The Death is painless,
Not the grave.
For the Grave is more real than the Death?
{Some wounds are ever so beautiful,
Dealt with such swords as one would die anyway
To be hurt with.
Death from such wounds
Is painless to say the least,
Blissful.}

The numbness that follows
In the darkness of that cold clam
Six feet under
Is Pain. Incarnate.

How strange are feelings
When wounds spell numbness
and even joy,
But the afterlife
Spells unbleeding Pain.

Rejoice then.

Is death validated
When emotion-spirits
Still hover?
Is death validated
By that painful sense
Of Existing through feeling?

Pray then

For a rain that washes off
The mud on the Grave.
Pray for a rain
That brings another rainbow
Arching from the Grave
To the Gold.
Another gold in another life.

An Other.

Life Shall Then Stand Alone.

Life Shall Love,
But not Yield.

Yield, the Mud Shall.
The Body Shall Push Daisies.
The Earth Shall Yield Crop.
The Grave Shall Yield the Spirit.

But Love Shall Not Yield.
And Neither Shall Life.

Egoisme a deux.
Amen.

Thy Will Be Done

Amor fati: let that be my love henceforth! I do not want to wage war against what is ugly. I do not want to accuse; I do not even want to accuse those who accuse. Looking away shall be my only negation. And all in all and on the whole: some day I wish to be only a Yes-sayer.” –Nietzsche

I do not wish to leave it to You Oh Mighty.

Not now

Not ever…

I do not wish to surrender to Your omnipotent will

You are all that I have, all that I will have…

Yours the only will…

So be not my nemesis.

Destiny, almighty,

I do not wish to believe You tore me apart.

I will not be reminded of Your despotic rule,

Even so,

Be patronizing for one moment in Your billion light years…

For,

I wish to believe-

And I will all of that wish to perceive-

That I had to be taken apart,

Even if You had not intervened

(If that were possible, that is,

For You are All, and

‘All’ does not intervene,

Instead, has to be intervened in…)

Let me believe then

That You were guided by the Greater will

Of Your own inevitability.

Give me one reason then..

One reason.

And I swear I will…

(And so I will my curses-…)

So give me one reason to despise.

[Amor fati is a Latin phrase that loosely translates to "love of fate" or "love of one's fate". It is used to describe an attitude in which one sees everything that happens in one's life, including suffering and loss, as good. That is, one feels that everything that happens is destiny's way of reaching its ultimate purpose, and so should be considered good. Moreover, it is characterized by an acceptance of the events that occur in one's life. It is almost identical to the Jewish concept of Gam Zu Letovah (this too is for the best). ]

bye bye orange pie.

The dusks are gone.

Long ago
When they were almost inevitably, invariably,
And happily there,
The setting sun
Smelt of cigarettes and ice cream,
(Almost as a promise of days
That would return,
Like a blissfully tired brain…)

The smoke is still there.
And the cold.
Only not the orange…

I sacrificed my evenings to a meaningless cause,
As meaningless
As forced poetry,
Sheer stockings under jeans,
Persuasion and blames,

And push-up bras for fifty-five-year-olds.

I live.
And shall yet
Assign aims to objects,
Objectives to aims…
But never meanings to paralysis,
For there are none.

stupid.

It is said thou art too wise,
It is said
Thou canst not be deceived.

One score years ago
It was announced…

“This creature that is born
As the firmament doth pour down its sighs
In a dejected rain,
This creature that is born with
Talons,
And the high broad brow
Of a scholar,
Shalt be cursed forever
With a vision
Too clear to trust,
A heart
Too hardened to surrender
Even when it is necessary to.

This creature of chance
Shall be forever incapacitated,
For it may never willingly
Suspend disbelief,
And hence, never comprehend,
Nor assimilate, poetry.

This creature
Shall be at once cursed
And blessed
To never participate,
But always be the interested
And unattached observer,
And hence,
Always be alone,
But never suffer the infliction of company.”

One score years after this was prophesized
Lives
The creature that knoweth not trust,
Or love at its purest;

A creature that knoweth not complete blind surrender,
But wishes it did.

the age of enlightenment...NOT.

["Down, chemical sacrament.

Blasphemous prayer,

Deliver me from this

So serene apocalypse.

Just make me fucking numb,

Deaf, blind, and fucking dumb,

Return to sacred sleep.

This could be my requiem,

And I'll feel no pain.

This could be my requiem,

But don't bury me too deep."

-Lamb of God,

Requiem.]

.

.

.

Take away my reason for a change
I know I have no heart. I was created false.

So take away, for a while, that one thing that has made me run.
Like a toy train. My reason.

Or

Switch it off. Atleast for a day or two,
(I’ll need it again I daresay.
I’ll always need it and I’ll always have it.)

Just do not let it be my master.

I was created false.
I have no heart.
Let me be an idiot.
For a day or two.

So let me survive,
Grant me this and no more.

Leave me not the chair anymore
Let me not Judge.
Let me not pray,
Let me not seek
Balance.

Somewhere out there is the master blueprint.
But I shall never know.
I am a copy,

A counterfeit.
Perhaps one of many.

So why endow me with Reason beyond
What a clone needs

To function?

And yet,
I’ll need it again
Only to curse it again…

[Sometimes I really hope I were a poet.]