Les choses simples

More often than not, I'm unable to put across an idea and it jumps onto my pile of unsaid things simply because I don't know how to start. Maybe its because I don't usually think of the most normal things. If you're thinking about Idli, then you think of Sambhar and Chutney and hence you already know where to begin. If you're thinking love, then you think of your prized possessions and your parents\friends\lovers and things have actual conceptualized beginnings and endings.
Fortunately or I daresay unfortunately, things in my mind don't work so simply. Maybe because our definitions of simple differ. During the context of my writing, simple means I can refer to all my readers, to none of them or maybe even refer to myself in the middle of the post using the word 'you'. But maybe that word doesn't process in your head with the same amount of Serotonin I wish for it to send. Maybe that's my fault. Maybe not. But I will die with the belief that by making your eyes move past these letters, you're almost  here. Somewhere close by, somewhere far. But here, nevertheless. That by using mere words I can make you feel like its just the speaker and the listener in a dim-lit room with our conversation blooming\flowing.
I'm happy that I'll never be ashamed of this belief.
That's a good thing, for any of you nihilists or sadists out there.
Maybe I lost myself here in the last paragraph but you're just beginning to find yourself in here. Where everything is new, and nothing is too far from reach.

A lot of times, when I re-read my old stuff, I feel like I'm looking at a checkpoint-mirror-image of myself. Because of what has changed since that has been written, that guy and I need not be one and the same. Its a delightful experience, truthfully.

With reference to the title, I was watching the 2nd episode of the MTV show called Bring On The Night and seeing them design the place just made me add 3 things to my bucket list. 3 things that I'm okay with being put up in cyberspace.
1. Paint an entire wall\room on my own. Use some spray paint and chalk and what not and kill that shit. Maybe draw a honeycomb pattern, drill some holes, shove some lights inside 'em. And make that shit trippy.
2. Write an actual message and send it through a bottle. Write without inhibition, without worry and more importantly, without sanity and just let it go. Hope and pray that the person who finds it knows English.
3. Make a sign on just trash cardboard, write "Free Hugs" on it and stand in Times Square in NYC or at Trafalgar Square in London or someplace in India where it won't look completely out of place for atleast an hour. Might even add something wacky below the sign like "Ask the Chef for daily specials" ! I'd like to do it with company, but I'm open to negotiation on that bit.

 Try reading this again while listening to a song called Farewell Spaceman by Buckethead. If you'd really do it, go to a room where there's only one small source of light, a candle perhaps, play this song and try to lose yourself inside yourself. It really is that brilliant a song.

Math exam in 2 days. Haha

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V

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Now Reading - City of God - Collection of short stories
Now Listening - Farewell Spaceman - Blockhead and Verstrahlt - Marteria
Now Feeling - Uh, alright.

Commuter Combinations

Work of fiction that was maybe inspired by something I read on Thought Catalog. I will not tell you if I would stand behind what I write below.
I wrote this out of boredom. And on that count, I like what I've done.

/*

I will only see her once. In that short meeting I will probably never see her look anywhere but at the screen of her phone. Her ears will hear nothing but her own taste in music  I'm listening to something too, which just makes me wonder if she's listening/ listened to the same song and already feel a sense of connection with her. I'd probably read the 2 lines on her T-shirt that were randomly generated by some computer and I will over-interpret it to how we support the same social causes or how are attitudes are similar. I will probably assume that she isn't dominant based on the colour of her nail polish  Assume that she is an independent woman just because she carries a backpack. Mentally curse the unknown and probably very good-looking boyfriend because, who would let such a pretty face stay single?

Maybe I'd have a completely horrible first date with her but I try not to think of all that. I skip to the part where we're both unduly attached to each other and its just the two of us walking along an empty shore. I will see how her hair's tied up but probably go on to imagine that she likes more to let it loose.

I wonder if I must marvel or cry at the fact that just by looking at her and probably the book that she is reading, I can truly convince myself that I want nothing more than to grow old with this woman.

She probably speaks a language I don't understand, doesn't believe in love, doesn't want kids, etc. Actually, for the sake of my argument, she may and may not be all the things I've listed, and more.

But what I feel for her, for lack of a better word, is an honest affection.
Honestly felt compassion and affection that I probably don't even feel for the multiple people I am currently in love with. 

But I smile and end that train of thought. Get off and wait for my next train, wondering if I was ever the object of someone's commute-fantasy. 

*/

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V

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Uh I've been reading more, so thats a good thing. Been writing more. Thats a great thing.
I feel like I'm in a good spot now. With dread and anticipation almost cancelling themselves.
October, be good to me. 

Now Listening: Whomi - Tipper and Silver Cruiser - Röyksopp

Now Reading: 11/22/63 - Stephen King

Now Feeling : Alright, I guess

Bisu

Firstly, the title. Its got nothing to do with anything occult.
I just read Birth of The Demon again, sometime back. Its the origin story of Ra's Al Ghul. Beyond this, if you don't understand the meaning of the title; then you need to get to speed on your Batman.

Im just very bored as I write this.
My journal has been left untouched for a while and that just makes me sad. Like somehow a small part of me has been forgotten by myself. Thats just betrayal, innit?

Hah, but why would I concern anybody but me about all this?

I dont even know why this post is published. Maybe its one of those subconscious contigency measures Im setting up for myself.
Like Im stuck in a dark sea. With only a few batteries left for my torch so Im rationing the amount of time I use it for.
Its a complicated analogy. Im not gonna bother explaining.

Right, I'm gonna leave you now. 

I think this note will fascinate me in a year, maybe.

Night,

V

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A beautiful woman delights the eye; a wise woman, the understanding; a pure one, the soul.  

- Minna Antrim

Now Reading : Arkham Asylum - Grant Morrisson

Now Listening : Crystalised - The xx

Now Feeling : Bored

Gift Wrapper

I think this story would deserve the title Airport Love - Part 2 but somewhere in the middle of its conceptualization the current title became more fitting.

Try listening to My Body Is A Cage by Peter Gabriel when you're reading this. A macabre mood does you good sometimes.

If you listened to me, then you're reading this at the airport as you wait for your flight.

Looking around at plastic smiles, plastic baggage, plastic cups and breathing recycled.
So I decided to have a conversation that Im certain I wouldn't have the guts to do face to face.

Something that is better left unsaid. But since when have I followed my own advice?

We've been together, what, 7 years?

Maybe there have been surprises here and there, small bouts of suspense. But overall, our relationship has been nothing but predictable.
Like walking into a Nolan film expecting to be awed.
Or expecting a Mani Ratnam movie to have a happy ending.
Life doesn't always have happy endings. Something I learnt from you.

But I remember vividly, the first night we spent together. Camping somewhere near Perth.
I remember waking up next to you. I remember wanting to wake up next to you, even if there was no dawn and no sunset.

I remember watching you wake.

I remember cooking for you. Serving wine to an already intoxicating person.
I still want to drive through northern French countryside with you.
But cruelly enough, I want to drive back alone.

The feelings I had, I will forever have for you. But I think my want for expressing them has been satisfied. It reminds me of something my mother used to do. Something that I never clearly understood until now.

She took more care in unwrapping the gift paper than she took joy in enjoying the gift.

I think our relationship has reached a point where anything more is certainly a gift.

A Wrapped Gift.
But I'm so much in awe of how perfectly our previous conversations have ended that I'm too scared to tear open the gift wrapper.

That somehow, crazily enough, I will enjoy our memories more than the process of making more.

So when you return from your trip; nothing will have vanished.
Except for me.

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I enjoyed writing this story. Dont hate, appreciate.

Now reading - The Return of Bruce Wayne - Grant Morrisson

Now Listening - We Swarm - The Glitch Mob

Now Feeling - Uh, Tired

Of All Things Lively

Hello.

Maybe its been too long since I wrote here. Maybe it hasn't.
But somehow, no matter how much I try, I can't write unless there's that sudden spark of inspiration.
I always imagine an artist can doodle something anytime. And a musician can always make a tune in progress.
Maybe writers pen short fiction and poems in these mid-spaces where inspiration is absent.
But somehow I can't.

Although I do have a pretty radical explanation to it.

What if what I perceive as inspiration isn't it? What if there's more? What if every moment until you realize you're inspired is in some way a small parcel of the overall inspiration?
Reading that sentence makes me shudder at how optimistic I am sometimes. I like being realistic. If you're gonna drown, you're gonna drown. Can't really tell you the water's nice and warm then, can I?
But maybe as humans we're programmed to believe in something? To always hope. To always look up and hope to see something that prolongs this eternal hope.
That line made me a little sad. But sadly enough, it is the truth. 

On unrelated notes, thanks to the unreliability in availability of an Internet connection in India, I've started maintaining a journal. Its probably something I should have done a long while back, but I guess something kept stopping me.

I hope  to find more meaning to life in the emptiness of the pages that will no doubt be filled.

And if you've been reading this all along and somehow within you a voice agrees, that maybe this dude has a point (most of the time), then Im being bold enough to ask you if agreeing with me has indeed affected you?
Its probably the most powerful thing someone can do. Inspire.
Especially unintentionally.
Imagine if someone shaped their lives based on something you once said. Or an action you once did.

But I said I was a realist. And that includes acknowledging the other side of the coin. Its an act of inspiration. Doesnt require that the person continue to be that way all the time. Or even that the particular quality you found interesting about someone is no longer there. That doesn't necessarily make them uninteresting or uninspiring but it sure as hell makes me wonder.

Why stories should have definite endings.
Because more often than not, its enough that we know of one incident and learn to move on from the experience and not let it rule us.
Like how in Asterios Polyp, they choose not to show anything beyond Asterios reuniting with his lover. Somehow its the best ending the book can leave you with. The knowledge that he has gained redemption, meaning and he's reunited with the woman who completes him, however abstract a concept that might be.

Maybe we too should choose the endings for certain moments in our lives. Save on the pain and spread some love, maybe.

Try reading this listening to Dawn at the Deuce and Sail on Soothsayer by Buckethead.

I shall end now, hoping that its adequate to say no more,

V

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Now Reading - Transmetropolitan

Now Listening - Sail on Soothsayer - Buckethead

                              Kaliyuga - Engine Earz Experiment

                              Khoya Khoya Chand - Kala Bazaar

Now Feeling  - Calm?