Monday, April 22, 2013

High alone at night

Getting high alone is always a different experience. Undiluted by the presence of others, my own self sorrounds me. I am humbled, amazed, flattered and flabbergasted by my own brilliance. I'm also a little annoyed. And cowed. And afraid.

The wind whispers
Silent secrets
Into my ears.
Their hushed cadence
I hear.
I am alive.
In the moment...
It is agony
It is ecstasy
It is what IS
And what will be
It is life
And so
It begins.

Sleep - A Cycle

Read this differently. What you see is how you see it. Try...

For the innocent shall
For they who do not
For they who do
For those who do not
For those who do not
For they who shall
For those who do shall

Friday, January 25, 2013

A random drunken Fancy

And I drift along like the moon
Among the clouds wandering
Less beautiful somehow
Yet, nonetheless, a beautiful thing
Is thought condensed of all malady
A beautiful thing, a prize pursued...
For it's not all about silver rings
And tales long forgotten.
It's a tale of beautiful things
Of princesses oft gotten...
Of cabbages and kings
And of promises broken.
It's a tale of thought and life
And life and thought unknown
It's a life of thought unbroken
And of roads walked among the shadows
All alone....

Sunday, August 12, 2012


"They say it is better to have loved and lost, than to have never loved..."

If you can, read it with the music playing. I feel that it will add to the overall experience.

I read this saying a long time ago when I was barely 10 years old. I didn't agree then. Yet the words have stayed with me since. A year and a half ago, newly heartbroken; truly heartbroken for the first time in my life; I disagreed vehemently. 'It is better to never have loved, if you're to lose it all anyway!' thought my angry 19 year old self. What is the point of loving and losing anyway? I always used to argue this with myself. How can anyone miss what they never had? What is love anyway?

Why is love one of the greatest enigmas? Everyone knows what it is like to be in love yet no one knows what it is. It is there in every society, culture or civilization. Much has been said about it from Ancient Greece to modern day Australian aborigines, from the writers of philosophy to purveyors of pornography. Yet, curiously they all agree. Love. they say. is all powerful. Love is something that cannot be understood. Love is without boundary. Love happens. Love cannot be explained by the laws of logic. Yet no one knows what love is.

Yesterday, I watched a movie called Mr. Nobody. It was about the infinite webs of choices that lead one to their ends in life. It was also about love. The protagonist, Nemo, endures endless torment: years and years of living alone, boredom, physical pain, millions of lives lead and possibilities explored. All for love. To be with his love. I realized that I have never felt that way about anyone. In my entire life, I have never loved someone the way Nemo did. Selflessly, doubtlessly, eternally. What a beautiful thing is love! To never feel it, yet see its purifying effects on others. To watch them endure in the hope of a one in a million chance, watch them fight for it. Kill for it, die for it. Is painful. It's not a sensible torture. You feel no pain. Even pain is a presence. It's torture because you feel absence. Something missing. Yet you do not know what is missing. Because you have never felt it. And thus, you cannot stop wanting it. You can banish, ignore or endure pain. But  you cannot fight what you cannot see, cannot not-be what you've never been. Most of us go on living our lives without noticing it, but even the dullest among us knows, feels that gnawing void. Life is too short. And life is too long. Whatever we chose to make of it. This music reminds me of it. Like someone I knew long ago but don't remember now.

I hope I feel it before it's time to go. I hope everyone does.

Saturday, August 11, 2012

Rain Clouds

When we see something, especially after a certain age and with certain things, do we see it or do we see what our mind sees? In the rain, especially in pre-rainy weather, my mind invariably wanders to times in my childhood when such weather was followed by rushing outside to play as fast as humanly possible. I think I have lost that animal pleasure. Swapped it rather, for the moral-mental satisfaction of an intellectual one. Loss? Who's to say? Anyway - 

The clouds sauntered across the sparkling sky
The wind sang to match
Cool children of raindrops float in spray
And join my sweat in harmony
It is a beautiful cloudy day
Noon darkened to early dawn
A beautiful smell of fresh-wet-earth
Springs from the air like song

The day is suddenly full of possibility...

Sunday, April 29, 2012

For You Whoever You Will Be

I had a really unique experience yesterday. Or yesternight to be precise. I was in a bar and understandably sozzled. I met a girl there. She excited me beyond anyone I have ever been excited by. For those 3 hours I was there, everything else but her ceased. I wrote this for her. This is the unedited version. I've never done something like this before. Nor will I do it again. Perhaps.

Inexpressible as it is I'm drawn to you

I see myself in fields of green because that's what this reality represents

I don't know why I feel the way I do

I don't understand what makes me so

Makes me think of places I want to go

With you

With places I want to explore

Within myself

I want to know


Thursday, April 12, 2012


I don't know where I'm going. Or why I'm going. I do know how though. Logic devoid of reason is Chaos. All the more so because it wears a cloak of Order.

Erasing the lines across your face
Across the trail left by the things left unsaid
What you cannot erase shall cease anyway
And build up and destroy its own

Its a testament to unreality
Because only that exists what we see
Everything that exists is so because we
Dream it up in our own pseudo-rationality
Not realizing that we're rationalizing
Until infinity
Swallows and is swallowed by

Like a snake
Eating its own tail
Going round in a circle
And in its own destruction it sustains
Itself mindlessly
There is no time if there is no

Is a shadow
Of what doesn't exist
In not-being it is-not
And thus is the anti
And in the anti it is
As a mirror of what is
And what will be
Is in the anti not-is
And never-be
Like infinite spirals in