She is like a character straight out of a Tagore novel. Slender built with long dark hair and no sign of any makeup whatsoever; a paragon of beauty. As simple as it seems to describe how she looks like, it is equally difficult to describe how she is as a human being. Her level of sophistication can only be reached by a handful of people. Fancy words, adjectives, phrases and locutions seem to fall short when used to describe her. Her demiurgic self seems to transcend beyond her other selves.
Loving her came as easy as breathing to me because I loved her as if she were an extension of myself.
All the problems arose when I started missing her terribly. And then I realized that missing her felt so dreadful because it was like missing myself and that missing her was a part of loving her.
Rain made him feel that
Everything in life disappears
So he used to desperately latch
Onto any form of happiness
That he found and hated rain
For being a form of spite
For washing away her voice
It rained one day
And the rain washed away
All his unspeakable despair
All his burdens
Everything that he hated but himself
And even though she wasn’t near him
He could hear her voice
Through the rumbling sound of thunder
Through the sound of rain
Falling on leaves
And through the sound of
A heart being mended.
You are living without any sense of direction or purpose
Wondering around in this vast universe
Thinking that you have free will
Thinking everything you do
Will mount to something
What is unknown to you is that
You were killed thousands of times
You were killed when they scolded you every time for failing
You were killed when they told you that
You were ill when your soul suffered
You were killed when they tried to make
Their ghastly actions seem normal to you
You were killed when they made fun of you
Because of your race, gender and physical features
And told you that you are a God’s mistake
You were killed when they chose your life for you
When they chose your destiny
You were killed when they told you to choose
But never gave you enough choices
You were killed when your virtues were taken for granted
You were killed when they told you to stop being you
Stop being a human being.
He lives in a world where
You can be the writer of your own story
Where clouds are made of
Where Ouroboros roams where
There is any lust
Where axes that cut down trees
Are made of wood
Where dreams are kept in a bottle
Waiting to set sail in the sea
Sky is an enormous puzzle
With a missing piece
Where age is just another myth
Like the dark side of the Moon
Where Nessie is the most revered pet
And dogs have human pets
Where only money grows on trees
And only the caged birds sing
Where bananas peel themselves
And turn the peels into hammocks
Where pictures of pipes have written under them,
“This is not a Pipe”
A small room in the basement
Countless lava lamps dispersing dreams
Poster of Woody Allen and Sid Vicious side by side
Taped beside my retractable bed
And some good old fashioned background music
That was my version of a perfect life
Until she came along
I was living through my vices
Busy with my Punk Rock serenade
Balancing out the traveling sound
And craving for Hell’s approval
Walking behind my own shadow
In the surreal world devised inside my mind
With a sheer sense of fulfillment
And then she created the void
That was never there to start with
She was like a sweet dream
From which I didn’t want to wake up from
I was spellbound and I didn’t even know it
She was everything that was right in this world
In a distant parallel universe
Resides my opposite self
A nice fellow with a heart of gold
His vices are replaced by innumerable virtues
Power saving bulb lights his room
With God as his sidekick
That is the perfect version of me for you
And yet you keep haunting me
In my picturesque dreams
Telling me to find you
And make you mine
I can’t believe that I’m writing after all these years. Just when I thought that I forgot how to actually write, I’m writing. I can’t believe my sheer luck that I found this small pencil today, just lying around on the floor waiting to be picked up by me. Most people wouldn’t believe what I had to do to bring it with me to my room; they surely wouldn’t. I had to push the pencil into my anus as far as I possibly could, so that it wouldn’t be found when I’m searched before entering my room. The things people do to keep their sanity. Only if I could ever fully realize that the mere idea of sanity is overrated. They let us keep a personal journal with us but they wouldn’t give us anything to write with and they call us insane.
It is said that the pen is mightier than the sword. It couldn’t be truer in here than anywhere else. I would’ve believed it even if I didn’t see it for myself because when you’re here, you learn to believe in things. Mr. Burns was 47 years old. To us age was merely a number to help us find a way to cope with the fact that we’re living in hell. Well, there might even be a remote possibility that people from down there look up on us and laugh at our miseries. This is how bad things are down here. Let’s get back to Mr. Burns, shall we? He was just another aging person suffering from dementia and had no one to help him through it. He nearly got himself killed several times before deciding to get himself admitted in here only to be killed by his own hands.
His decision to come here was probably the worst decision anyone in the history of human kind has ever made. It was stupider than Hitler deciding to invade Poland. What a prick that Hitler guy was! Mr. Burns didn’t last much long in here. All the sane people have a hard time accepting the fact that they aren’t as sane as they think they are. Mr. Burns found a pen lying in the floor, kind of like me, I guess. I don’t know how he took it with him to his room. If it didn’t involve his anus, I’d surely like to know the method. Anyway, he supposedly pierced his windpipe through the pen and pulled it right across his throat. The pen probably wasn’t as good as a knife but it worked and that is what mattered to him.
It was a bright sunny morning. Danny woke up at seven O’clock, just in time to freshen up, have his breakfast, get dressed and go to his school. Instead of doing these things, he chose to stay down at his bed wondering about the dream he had the previous night. He dreamt about defeating Dick Dastardly and his partner in crime, Muttley in a dog fight. It was a comical dream because at the end of it he saw Dick Dastardly turn into Snidely Whiplash and he turned into Dudley Do-Right himself and rescued the damsel in distress.
Danny got up from his bed and started having his breakfast without even brushing his teeth. His parents left early at the crack of dawn for their work as usual. Work, that is what they do, think about and live for. They leave early and come back after the sun drowns in the western hemisphere. “It’s not easy running your own business”, they say when Danny asks them why they can’t go to any of his events at school.
Danny subsequently went to the living room and turned the TV on. That is what he does during most of his daytime, watch TV. He is a smart kid but too smart for his own good. Once he got caught trying to skip his school and stay at home to watch TV but he got off easy as he’s barely eight years old. He missed the telecast of Tom and Jerry the previous day, that’s why he decided to stay at home and catch the re-telecast of the show. After he was done watching the show, he felt kind of lonely. Maybe he needs someone, the Scooby to his Shaggy. He finds his world in TV and is glad being like that.
That day his Uncle Charlie came to visit him in the afternoon. Uncle Charlie could see how engrossed Danny was in watching TV. He decided to fool around with Danny. He called Danny and said, “Do you know why TV exists, Danny?” “So that we can get amusement”, replies Danny while smirking. “No”, says Uncle Charlie. “We, adults have made TV so that we can control you kids. It’s a part of our propaganda; so that you guys listen to us and not think too much,” continued Uncle Charlie in a grave voice and looking dreadfully solemn. Danny didn’t know what propaganda meant but it sounded appalling to him nonetheless. So he started scratching his head when suddenly Uncle Charlie started to talk again. “Do you see your parents watch too much TV, Charlie?” said Uncle Charlie in a relaxed voice. “No, not really”, replied Danny in a concerned voice.
Uncle Charlie knew that his work there was done, so he left in a rush while Danny just stood there thinking about what his uncle just told him. He decided to write a letter to the TV network he loved the most. He wrote about the things his uncle told him and if they were really true or not. The guys from the TV network got his letter and they started to get worried after reading it. It was exactly what they were doing all along, making kids watch commercials and involve them in consumerism.
They wrote to Danny back saying all of the accusations were false and the TV network is run by kids of his age who’re just trying their best to show what kids like him want to see, there is no harm in that. Whoever told him these awful things was just probably messing around with him. The adults are trying to incept the idea that TV is bad for the kids in to their mind. The TV network even telecast shows telling the kids that their parents are lying to them about these things.
When the parents got to know about this, they naturally got really angry at the TV network and tried to shut it down. While the two sides are busy throwing dirt at each other, the protagonist of this story is back to where he initially was; living his life in TV and thinking about tying Snidely Whiplash to the rail tracks for a change.
As I started to spend more time with her
It made me want to see her
Even more than what it already did
That feeling was getting inconsolable
And that made me take a look at myself
I saw myself like I was staring into the clouds and trying to find God
I saw myself like I would see a stranger through my nude eyes
And as I saw myself even more
A cloud of judgement arose
And I could see myself getting distant
And moreover myself.