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What’s mine.

“What I feel, is beautiful.
And I won’t give that away.”

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On Judgement and Post Heart Crisis.

Have you ever had a friend who is always around to hear about you problems and give you advice? Not the causal ‘Captain know it all’ but the sneaky kind? The one who gets you to open up or zip you down to your undies but sidesteps when it’s their turn to divulge something personal about them? The kind that pretends everything is normal and boring with them- with a set of pre-made conversation-enders? A person who sometimes feels genuine but also makes you wonder if you’re talking to a porcelain doll?

Yeah if you get my meaning you’d be feeling uncomfortable with their image in your head right now. I’ve known only two friends like that in my life, one I know is repressed narc and has absolutely no capacity to admit when he is wrong(because I’ve never seen him admit it in freaking 12 years!) and the other always had me with my one foot out the door. They both have advised so much here and there in life very little times genuinely but a lot of times under the pretense of some wannabe guru fantasy, they both seem highly intelligent when it comes to the surfaces but when you get past that you start seeing the messy matrix they’re hiding.

When it comes to asking for opinion or hearing a judgement from them-  and if their target happens to be you, it’s best to shut your emotions and confront them with a cold heart-

See it’s been my experience that they take everything you’ve ever told them and twist it against you to dominate you, they don’t really care about you, they are not in the business of being a friend(it’s all just a pretense) you want, when it comes to choice you’re always an option. No matter how much you feel for them, how many years you’ve known them; A day will come when for the slightest of convenience they will be more than happy to throw you under a bus and still under the pretense of friendship act like your friend.

Moving on, Have you ever had someone who meant a lot to you but things just all went kaput? Especially someone who made it extremely painful for you to be with them but you did anyway because you loved em, and hoped to dear future it would change but didn’t? And post all the crisis, when you’re walking down a lane, and you pause, turn around and reflect back to find them beautiful all the sudden? You know what’s surprising about that?

It’s absolutely normal. Yes! It’s normal and the good news is you’ve forgotten the hell they made you walk with them because you’re only human.

At that point instead of admiring the idea of that person in your head or entertaining other cheery thoughts, turns around, remind yourself this was the reason you were with them and it didn’t work. There is nothing sad about it, knowing that you were genuine is a relief in it self.

And no matter what story your heart spins- don’t ever turn back to what you’ve forgotten.

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The In-between.

Tenacious battle
of clinging thought,
disrobing hands,
await the birth of words.

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The Red Pill(1)


When we were kids we were taught mathematics in school, for the A graders- it was fun, it was an awesome subject! But for the rest of us pathetic and averages by grade 4 it was boring in class exercise, the cringe in our homework and a tear jerking grade on our result cards. (All of you autistic math-geniuses can fuck off- we know you just liked it because you were good at it.)

I hated fractions- still do, every time I see that line between two numbers I know I’m fucked. Unfortunately I didn’t realize how fucked I was until I started to teach kids and eventually meet the bully from my past- and this time I was the one who was going throw the punches as one day when I was teaching my baby sister(and freaking out at her constant capacity of making the same mistakes), I realized how fractions work like odds- All my life I made bets on luck with the illusion of being special- of the idea that my perception could dominate reality on the whim of my desire; That if I select to roll a proverbial dice I would have the odds at 1:1(50%) instead of 1:5.(17ish%). [Hahaha]

Why didn’t the many teachers that taught me maths didn’t make me count my odds? Screw that why didn’t they make it fun? Why didn’t they elaborate it? Why did it all have to be cramming and practice? They could have made it an elaborate joke of grades- a funny story or anything but no they just had to come in write the question from the book and pretend to be teaching.

And here is where I would say again- Conditional. See here’s the thing people do things “conditionally”, my teachers they didn’t want to teach me maths for the sake of it or because they liked or loved to, they didn’t teach me maths because it made them fulfilled, I’m beating a dead horse here but it was a paycheck.

See they didn’t care if I learned maths- they didn’t care if I applied to my life- as long as I could count, multiple or add to the amount of zeros on their paychecks they were happy to beating the shit out of me when I screwed up and get paid for it, oh and don’t forget to take that X and X with a side of 0 out of 10.

Now before you jump on a high horse let me stop you because you wouldn’t know how to get down from it. It’s all bullshit when someone says they do it for the fulfillment- it’s all bullshit when they say they do it for love, it’s all shit when they all make you think you’re special. See when you shrink or take away that paycheck- the teachers they’re not going to stand by that speech they gave to look like lovely people; that they love doing it, that they cared, that it fulfilled them- the truth is everyone wants their pound of flesh. And the outliers making a difference out that you do see? There is an excellent and a very special word in the dictionary for people who do shit like that- it starts with I and ends with T because guess what no one can sustain in that direction because somewhere, someone in the universe is chopping cute little nuggets of flesh filling up the shape sorted TV dinner trays.

Okay still- let’s say we find that magical person- That. One. Good. Person; who has gone green and can sustain it, Okay yeah sure let’s entertain the idea of good people existing but if you’re telling me they’re one in ten,twenty, fifty or a hundred- I again introduce you to the concept of odds and tell you those are the odds of you not being the I to d T person.

Now this whole babble- it just doesn’t apply to the context I’ve put it in- you can pretty much see it happen in all kind of social relationships- friends, parents, siblings, lovers, coworkers and whatever wait- PETS too, There is always that one condition which acts as hinge in a relationship- It could be blood, It could be character, it could be nature or just plain old mutual dependency, whatever, It is that one thing you can’t bet against and expect to win. This fucking condition is what dick-tates the unspoken rule- you can break any other rule in the world and get away with it except for this bastard- And when you think you’re special or dealing with special the circumstances will not change in your favor just because it’s you and your desires. Adapt to have odds in your favor, eat a cupcake and run don’t voluntary to be a senile fat cupcake.

Lets move on,

Love and Nature-

Let’s see, look to the skies- see the stars? The space is ever-stretching? See how far the stars are from each other? And the space keeps stretching between them, they’re burning- look at the sun, look at it burning over and over, feeding the whole system- see how it’s feeding life- wonderful isn’t it?

Now imagine being the sun, imagine space being the nature of someone you care deeply about- guess what?

You’re fucked.

You see- The moment you decide to bet against somebody’s nature- You’re going to burn out but their nature? It won’t- and no matter how much you wish for your rays to reach them, you’d be a void in space before they cover half the original distance.

See when someone you love or trust breaks you- break that one thing on which the whole thing hinged upon- they reach that speed of expansion where no amount of rekindling will ever thrust your rays fast enough to stop the suffocation of life that sustained you; and when somewhere in time where you decide to fool yourself into thinking that one day things will change with this person- you will be empty when it hits you, as you realize you’ve wasted all that time wishing, hoping and wasting because you bet against somebody’s nature to change, the fact is you have been factored in the equation And it isn’t you or your worth that changes them.

And that day inches closer when you wouldn’t know what happens and the fuel runs out. And people call that romantic? It isn’t when you’re alive and not conjured from some Shakespeare’s novel.

Of course this isn’t a rule- it’s not a norm; Yes people change- not enough, mostly late and when they’ve been kicked enough times to the curb- Is that what people wait for? Is this what you would wait for? A kick in the head?

I hope not. Why?

Because if you ever take them back after that profoundly awaited kick- they know they could do it to you again because it becomes your nature to take them back.

The scorpion stings the frog and they both drown; Fooled you once shame on them, fooled you twice shame on you, hoping they’ll develop a character as they beat their own nature and recognize your worth WRONGO BONGO.

Here’s the thing- the only thing you can expect to change in life are your own choices- not your nature, you can give up to your own nature and call yourself whatever or you can choose to build a character by making a choice- See it’s sort of like reverse-revenge, you expect something profound to happen to this person who will become a prince/princess from a frog and endeared of you but here is the irony- they tell you dig two graves on the path of revenge but this in wished upon a star quasi reverse-revenge you only dig one grave. Yeah the whole idea of hope is WRONGO BONGO here.

Unfuck yourself and move on or cleave up a pound of flesh-

On that note a pound of flesh please.

To be continued.

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Protected: Because it was alright even if I didn’t.

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The heart is such a strange organ.

I can recall what I was going through last year but-

I can’t really ascribe values to the moments I had or even remember them vividly, I can’t remember the dread, the terror of things I fear or the horror of things I couldn’t stand; but my heart sinks. It sinks when I look back, it sinks to the same depth or perhaps It sinks all over again.

I can’t really put it to words but here I am trying. A part of me thinks it’s a bad idea to look back; I mean I understand now what people meant by not looking back-

I’ve come to know the feeling of not looking back. And I find it remarkably comforting, to get over things I thought I never could, there is a threshold you have to cross-

And I regret I learned that late.


You only have to look back once to feel the dread creep up on you. And the weird mix of feeling that follow-

A toothless maw slowly squeezing at the chambers, the strings stretching until they break, a silent thud like someone shot you in the heart. And the pain feels so sweet it’s guilt-ridden to pursue. This mixed feeling-

This dread, it’s not something I could get use to. It’s not something that will cease to lose it’s potency-

The only remedy being to not look back.

I think I understand some people more now, the people who don’t look back-
The unfathomably willful. The shaper of their own paths-

They’ve mastered the skill of not looking back.

I try to follow them and today I failed. But I can’t deny how much I keep wanting to look back, even though I’ve grown to look forward to the point I thought it wasn’t possible. I have crossed that threshold. It makes me sad to realize people from my past– have always been priceless to me.

I’ve lost many. I’ve left many yet I can’t forget them even though I’ve blurred what I felt with them and for them; But I’ve come to realize- I had forgotten myself in them.

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I’m not sure if writing to you; now that you’re gone- holds any meaning, but I know I’ve been waiting long for something to catch me in strings and make me do this– It’s been long, the wait has had it’s toll.

I haven’t slept, I couldn’t- I know you disliked that. You never asked me why? Or be you already knew- The first time it happened.

It was 2 am, I couldn’t sleep. You and Mother got back together, it had been months- I slept in a small space in grandmother’s room and now being back in my own room, my own thoughts kept me awake- where was all of it going? I couldn’t figure it out and it robbed me of my sleep.

So I came down stairs and sat next to the dinning table, the music box on the gallery caught my attention- I picked it up and opened it. I didn’t want to turn the key- it was too simple, I had to open it, fiddle with the comb and see the teeth get plucked by the pins; seeing the cogs fickle and sing on my whim; forcing the key to move on its own.

It felt good.

It felt good not having to think about anything anymore. You entered the scene with your big mug of tea, You asked me if I couldn’t sleep. I shook my head and then I looked at you,  you were smiling.

It was the first time you smiled when I couldn’t sleep and it also became the last.

You wanted things to end like paperback novel endings sold in the children’s book section, but the story didn’t end that day did it?

But now the story has ended for you.
I don’t know the last moments you experienced-
I didn’t get to be alone with you.
I didn’t get the chance to show the letters I wrote to you,
I didn’t get to see you read them.

And I didn’t get to hear that you don’t even remember half of it.

When we came back home, I realized,
I wouldn’t get annoying midnight calls from you,
wouldn’t get to talk to you,
wouldn’t get to have lunch with you,
wouldn’t get to hear your voice,
I now knew the ending.

No more new moments.

I broke down.


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At the edge of the coast
staring blindly at the sea
the sands of your time lingered on my lips.
Seven years had passed, in chains
I kept from you.
Drowning in my memory,
had the hurt had been like the storm,
when you asked me to feel it for once;
That kiss that brought us to tears,
On that horizon where the sails sunk,
like my heart in your ocean;
Did it cross your mind to think
my disclosure meant my hurt?
When your voice had grown on me
and squirms traveled, when
I missed you like the brontides.

On that glimmering seafloor
where you thought I
loved the idea of you;
my heart crackled like timber,
because you were a storm,
I wanted for the wind.




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To take a step.(Short)

Observing the nature of people around me and of my own I’ve come to realize people are less understandable in colors and more as canvases– motivated by innate and complex mix of evolving ideals; but always changing from point A to B.

Everything is fluid, ideals, nature and reality– the perception of them, all the sudden absolute truth feels like an absurd term for denial. I think I’ve misunderstood the expression ‘true colors’ — I thought it reached a singularity, constant, unchangeable and eternal; but now the concept of eternity feels skewed.

We have all the colors– dots, in wholeness of a spectrum ever-moving and still, the limits of a prospective grow narrow the longer it’s observed and in a click or a fickle the center is lost.

I admit– I did not feel comfortable with this openness; where you have an exposed back but I realize a new meaning of strength; to know yourself is all the strength you need.

After that should come the first step– Not the last. -(02/Sep/2015)


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