Tuesday, August 4, 2015

What is rare is the willingness to listen. What is rarer is the willingness to understand. With listening comes the desire to understand. With understanding comes respect. A beautiful bond often develops out of such respect between humans, which can rightfully be called love —or at least something close to it. It is apparent I couldn't resist the cynical temptation to not idealise love, but that temptation is much necessary I think as such pure humanity without an ounce of cynicism is too dangerous to oneself. In a way, my inner cynic is the guardian of my inner humanitarian. This I say not as an attempt to glorify my cynic but to notify the sheer vulnerability of my humanitarian. Why guard my weak humanitarian you may ask. Why turn myself into a monster I may answer.

Saturday, July 26, 2014

"She has lush lips—They talk sense; address absurdity; swing deliberately with insouciant dances and jarring jocularity; exhibit uninterested profundity and profanity; morph her countenance into a benign, demented child from their whimsical and nosy laughters; and castigate casually slippery simpletons. Their variegated performances spur my senses and allure my attention."

“Your current life is characterised by incessant slumber and a few awake moments. You easily know the nature of your sleep; the detrimental qualities of your cosiness. Yet you let yourself lie and perish, for your spirits are too sleepy.”


“A rather chirpy, gay busybody once ponderously—and honestly—asked me in a disinterested intrigue what do I want in life at all, for which I exhilaratingly replied, “I am hounding with greed-filled eyes for unprecedented joy, possessing full awareness of its bleak possibility.”


“Insidious inhibitions interrupt and injure my writing cascade. I limp like a crippled lizard, yet am covetous enough to hunt an exuberant gadfly. I stage this travesty—or perhaps tragedy—often.”


“See I am warming up; my jaws are relaxing; my buttocks are relaxing; I have slid down in my sitting posture like stoned Al Pacino. You must believe I am not nervous, especially after presenting you with such compelling evidence.”

“Donning, or even adorning, frivolous or facetious persona at the time of serious and substantial intentions makes me very uncomfortable and sometimes outrages me indignantly—cerebrally, viscerally, carnally.”


"The transition of boredom to ennui is at once disastrous, delightful, and thus bitterly rich!"

"I'm composing a 5000-page tome that starts like this: There is a deceptive apple pie for every beggar out there."

"Some of my most pleasurable solitudes have been in a noisy crowd full of dancing strangers."

"More than the mere fact of delineating harsh truths—harsh for yourself or others—it is the manoeuvring attitude of the act that determines the harshness of the entailments."

"You're a keen and inquisitive listener who deliberately rides on a facetious—sometimes factitious—and frivolous facade."

"The unspeakable and unbearable burden begotten from a relationship with another person that is essentially driven by possessive love is existentially very unsettling."
"The dizziness to which my mind is writhing because of the endless shots of espresso I gulped, is at once cosy, melancholy, and pathetic. My eyes are blurred—part deliberation, part biological. But—amidst all this—I must express my gratitude to the yellow lights illuminating this room, for what better a companion could I ask for in such a muddle."


Wednesday, January 1, 2014

Overwhelmed Ode to Visages

Visage #1

Her face poses an austere threat of brusque shunning in one's attempt to trespass into it; wise men, though, may doubt a forlorn mellow soul hiding behind that shunning iron cast, susceptible to injury by even the bluntest of thorns from the faintest of forces. The angular offence her face renders to the frivolous fishermen, shines in glory like that of a matte metal used only in creating weapons to the bleakest of wars waged by the noblest of ethereal beings.

Visage #2

The subtlest of satires conceived from the sheen of her sheer smirk and flows mellifluously along the sharp lines of her crimson lips, fails never to encounter in serendipity the cherubic charm it inherently possesses, which my aesthetician had adroitly captured upon the first glimpse. Marked by a sharp alarm, the humanitarian in me screams a disclaimer every time to attach an alertness for the wellbeing of covetous cretins about the scathe of the vilest scourge her face may pull out upon their feeblest falter. Legend has it the rapturous dances of her vivacious mouth intrigues even a devoted ascetic wielding a meticulous meditation.


Visage #3



Posing as coy as a plagued lamb amidst a crowd of rattling noises; rampant carnivals; outrageous inventions; odious euphemisms, sin it may be startled by my religious compeers, loss by my capitalist neighbours, tragedy by poets, despondency by impoverished aspirants, 
to overlook the scintillation her fa├žade forts. A scintillation shamefully deserted by the shallow ogles of dizzy creatures in the plethora of existences; a scintillation as vivid as a replica beholden intimately and lusciously by a raving narcissist of oneself. The scintillation commands earthly shimmers to shy away and demands to dictate cosmic luminosity. Exhaustion from the expended energy in my raging reverence sedates my gleeful glares only to bring out the absolute revelation to my attention. A revelation that glistens in grandeur; a revelation only the greediest adventurer dare dreams; a revelation that unveils the epitome of enchantmenther lipsephemeral yet eternal.


Tuesday, December 31, 2013

I will loathe the very core of my existence, upon weariness, if I explain about myself more than three times--to others or to myself. I explained more than three hundred times today, to her; I am soaked in a sewage load for years, I feel; my brain corrugated from excrement smear, I feel; silence shall dictate me for another thousand years, I feel; treason I committed to the fleeting beauty of my words, I feel; shrunken and exhausted, I feel.

Time and age make my life all the more a farce to the already underlying absurdity it carries. Only doesn't the farce bring a laugh with merriment, but a faint smile of moroseness. Quantifying insults my vagueness. Solidity shall reign but in the land of ideality, for my reality ostracised it.

Thursday, November 28, 2013

Reminiscence is a respite from your existential burden. 

Sunday, August 4, 2013

I feel like a miscellaneous barf of all the vulnerable personalities of my life's metamorphosis.