I am waiting for a break through. There's a dam being built, slowly, carefully - built solely for the purpose of accumulating, absorbing, refining and then breaking to allow the better version to pour forth. Where is the better version already? Isn't it time yet?

MoonSpel

If, by some freak chance, anyone's been wondering why there aren't any new posts, it's cause I have a new blog. And I was out of town for a really really long time =)

www.moonspel.wordpress.com <- The Link

if life was sound... it would be the wild, high-pitched cackle of the insane.

I feel like I'm being moved by strings... lifted up and falling. Someone's screaming inside my head, running sharp long finger nails down the sides of my skull. The nails are painted red. I don't feel a thing as the needles puncture my skin. In and out. The threads hold my skin in place. They're paper thin.. and flaky. The cloth is tearing, giving way at the seams. and there's no one there to stitch it back this time.

taphophobia

I dream that I'm crawling. Crawling along wet, brittle earth. My face is blackened, my hands unclean. My clothes cling to me... stick to my body. The dirt and the damp creep on my skin. There is no light. It's as if Light doesn't exist.

Somewhere in the distance a choir is singing. Sharp voices of steel rise in unison and fuse to form an intense music. A quality one lone voice could never achieve.

If I lie still the music reaches me... reaches within me, shifting energy inside me... lifting it farther and farther away from my body... till I can finally look down at myself lying motionless in the mud.

My body looks up at me and for a brief second I am in two places at the same time. I see myself suspended above my head. I give off blue light; faded, translucent, washed out like photographs taken in the 40's. But blue nevertheless. Calming. Of water. It doesn't shimmer. It isn't iridescent. It's smoky.

My crawling is not futile. I have a destination to reach. There is a hole in the ground. A trench, into which I slide. My other self follows me where ever I go. It illuminates the hole, but only faintly. I can smell what I cant see. It's the stench of the squelching mounds of worms under my feet and other dead things; the smell of mild decay.

For the time being, I am fated to remain in this hole. I don't mind terribly since I can sense the openness above me. However, once that begins to close, little by little, slowly but surely, I begin to panic. What if I am stuck here all my life? Will I die. Decompose, just like the rest of the half living organisms down here. Turn to dust. Re-emerge as a blade of grass. Or worse. A weed of some sort.Something forgettable. Obsolete.

There is no way out, except one. My body begins to let go of it's energy. All of it. My other shadowy, blue-light self turns stronger. The smoke grows denser. The microscopic, dust-like balls of light glimmer and swell. Now that part of me is whole. My body is empty. Exhausted. I don't feel what it feels any more. I can drift.

When the sun rises and light breaks the air into fragments the smoke curls... upwards ... above the damp heavy air... into the light. It is breathed in.

where I end and You begin

when I'm listening, my mood changes, in time to the music. the speed at which I type changes. just to suit the flow. to suit you.
the weather changes... the heat buzzes. hangs heavily, making it hard to breathe. the heat is too frenzied. I like it when the sky clouds over. grows dark, ominous. when it rains it's as if a veil's been lifted... off the air... off my chest... off the planet... out of this world.

the weather changes to suit your mood. the music changes to suit the weather. I change to suit the music....

that's where
I end... and you begin



"I love you as certain dark things are to be loved,
In secret, between the shadow and the soul."

- Pablo Neruda

who are you, little i - e. e. cummings

who are you,little i

(five or six years old)
peering from some high

window;at the gold


of november sunset

(and feeling that:if day
has to become night

this is a beautiful way)

%drift away (*extremely rare) ...

What started off as a slight breeze grew slowly and steadily into a raging storm. One would hardly imagine that such a seemingly inconsequential occurrence could morph into such a tragedy. It was shockingly devastating. And all there was left over were vestiges of the already broken down surroundings that had originally incorporated the landscape.
I could hardly believe my eyes. I had never for a moment imagined that I would see what I’d seen already in the unnervingly recent past. Or was it the future? Momentarily I couldn’t tell, overwhelmed as I was by the sound of the wind sweeping around me. The vast green fields I’d dreamt of were broken. I had imagined that, no matter what, the land would withstand the pains inflicted on it. I had been proved wrong.

And as soon as it had come… it was gone.

Strange sounds floated past me in my sleep. I dreamt of incense, the soft, burning lights of earthen lamps and slow rustle of cloth sweeping along the floor. And suddenly we were running. Running. Wildly. Past all sorts of the kind of incidental things that one encounters while running like we were. Had we gone too far? Perhaps. But who cared? We were free? To watch the little white flowers nod in their fervent, restless sleep. They must have unhappy dreams. How could something so beautiful contain so much misery? And why?

The way I see it is, I could keep doubting, mistrusting, misinterpreting. Making an arse of myself, generally. And be completely miserable in the process. I could fuck things up a billion times over, but I can do it only a few more times before things go snap. There is nothing wrong. There is no apathy, no pain, no emptiness.

I wish I could just get off it already.




I like typing with my eyes closed. It’s a lot of fun. And relatively easy as well. Haven’t made a mistake so far. Except the capital letters which I shall fix eventually.

I wish I lived in a paper bag.

Oh! Look! Another Beatles song!

But.

Why is this making me sad? I don’t want to be sad. Not tonight. I always get sad around this time. But the writing is helping. I think.

"Bright are the stars that shine
Dark is the sky
I know this love of mine
Will never die…"

Oh, how romantical this song must have been many years ago! *sighs*

Today, in this terrible, cynical age, even to me it sounds… clichéd and a little stupid.

Will this tragedy never cease to be?

now I cant find anything to write.

but it feels like I should, maybe i'm just conscious cause i know i'm going to post this.
so fucking what?

oh, yeah. Jay and I started a new blog. it's kind of weird alter ego thing I guess. but can you tell which one's which?



there's nothing on it yet though, i just suddenly felt the need to write this little piece of information down.

yes.

that is all i have to say

in the arms of an angel

if i lost myself forever and ever, no one would miss me, except me.

i can smell something burning, smouldering. i wonder if i could just go up in flames. just like that.


'You're a stranger
So what do I care
You vanish today
Not the first time I hear
All the lies...'

Heaven Torn Asunder

'far from the twisted reach of crazy sorrow' - bob dylan


Have you even been in a dream? One in which you were perfectly happy? One in which there was sunshine and a haze? One with bright lights and vivid colours? One in which there was perfection, whatever you idea of that may be?

Yeah?

What happened then? Where did it go? Did darkness seep in like ink? Were there short sharp bursts of pain in it? Were you angry? Were you hurt?

No?

Well I am. I'm tired. I'm hurt. I don't want to go back to bed because I know it will not help me to be enveloped in the dark... under a blanket... trying to keep the cold out.

It wont work.

The cold is insidious. It will get to you in the end.

I will take a moment here to say certain things that I really want to say. First of all, Devika. It's right here. Crystal clear for you to see. I am a loser. I'm a whore. I AM whatever you say I am. In fact you know what, after right now I can take all the shit you could possibly dish out to me, to everyone you've ever known, know or might know in the future and it'd be all the same to me. So you might as well save it.

The same goes to every single one of you. Every one of you who have your own little agendas, your own lies, your own sad, pathetic, miserable little lives to work your way through. Go and try to do something with it. STOP with the pointless insane messes already. There is no room left to fucking breathe.

At the risk of sounding like I'm losing it, I MUST say that I hate you all, completely and without exception... Ok, so I'm kidding. I just felt like saying that. There are, of course, exceptions.

There are people who've learnt to open their minds. To fucking think and not just be. Like dead dumb animals asleep and vacant. Yeah, sure there are exceptions...


but mostly you make my skin crawl...

imagine a cat, big and charcoal gray, light gray eyes and a long thin tail. he's full and dozing off on the window sill in the winter afternoon sun. i keep getting this feeling that my mother is screaming at me from a distance. i feel disturbed. like the cat when it's rudely shoved off it's window.

i wish i had a pair of magical headphones that i could put on whenever i felt the need, that would block out everything. and i mean EVERYTHING - noise, thoughts, 'feelings', people - EVERYTHING.

we're all so emotional. we feel. we feel bad and dont usually realise it's good for us. we feel empty and never realise that it's only because we had/have something worth missing.

anyhow, what's the point in thinking? it's always just one thing after another after another.

movement. is important. but it's important to think too. before you move.

i'm gonna go have a bath.

(crappy picture of Steve sitting on me)

My turtle died this morning. For those of you who didn't know, his name was Steve but that came much later and I always just called him Poochki anyway. He was the bestest turtle ever and I already miss him. He had the brightest, greenest eyes and when I'd put him down somewhere he'd turn his head and look at me as if he was making sure I wasn't leaving him there alone. My vet said that turtles cant be pets in the same way dogs and cats can. But that's not true. Last night Steve and I hung out and watched a movie together. He mostly just sat on my chest with my blanket over his head. He was a tiny turtle but... well just that.

I dont even have one decent picture of him. I was waiting till my dad sent me his camera to take some really good ones. He was too little to get a good close up of.

We wrapped him up in crisp white tissue paper and buried him in the backyard. I'm going to miss seeing him become a big turtle and buying him a bigger aquarium which i was planning to do anyway, when i got the money.

La Vie En Rose

Sometimes I see so many beautiful things around me. When I'm walking down the road in the evenings alone, listening to music. That's a moment. It's not created. It happens. It's for real. I feel alone, but wrapped in this blanket, and while I'm alone and while I'm walking down that road and as long as the music is playing everything I look at is beautiful. For that 'moment' I'm not here anymore. I'm somewhere else, far away, high above everything else around me. I'm flying.
I was walking down an empty lane with yellow light filtering in through the leaves of these trees. The branches hung down like showers of green rain. With bright red flowers hanging from them. I could smell the fresh cut, wet smell of the grass and the sky was dark blue and wonderful. I've noticed, no matter where I am the sky remains beautiful. Last night, I was waiting for a bus in a crowded, brightly lit up part of town. There were cars honking, buses rumbling past and all I had to do was look up and I could've been on some ocean somewhere sailing to the end of the world. I was walking down the road to my house and it wasnt very well paved in one area and there were little sand particles shining in the lamp light. It looked like I was walking on stars.
Everything look so perfect, like a dream. =]

Hold me close and hold me fast
The magic spell you cast
This is la vie en rose

When you kiss me heaven sighs
And tho I close my eyes
I see la vie en rose

When you press me to your heart
I’m in a world apart
A world where roses bloom

And when you speak...angels sing from above
Everyday words seem...to turn into love songs

Give your heart and soul to me
And life will always be
La vie en rose

i was listening to this song. it's called C'est L'amour (It is Love), and it says "to love it to dream" (C'est l'amour qui fait rêver). heh. i guess that is true. the rest of the song is pretty nutty. i mean. it's emo. but when i'm listening to it and i close my eyes i see a big, soft white sofa in a room filled with sleepy afternoon sunlight, big leafy green plants, a floppy little doggie, stark white walls with large framed painting, colourful, monochrome.




and... i've been listening to a lot of nancy sinatra (=P) but she's cool. there's this one song called Summer Wine which says - "strawberries, cherries and an angels kiss in spring/ my summer wine is really made from all these things". that's a sunny image too. wine. white wine. though, i think she was thinking red. i like white better.



the funniest of the lot is this Tom Jones song called "what's new pussycat". it's so hilarious and annoying. the first time i listened to it i was in the car with my mom, and i burst out laughing because it reminded me so much of jahnavi. my mother thought i'd gone loco. =P she gave me the "look"
Pussycat, Pussycat
I've got flowers
And lots of hours
To spend with you.
So go and powder your cute little pussycat nose!
Pussycat, Pussycat
I love you
Yes, I do!
You and your pussycat nose!
ha ha ha!



"Images of broken light which dance before me like a million eyes,
They call me on and on across the universe,
Thoughts meander like a restless wind inside a letter box they
Tumble blindly as they make their way
Across the universe"
I LOVE this song. Ok. everyone knows it's by the beatles but Fionna Apple did this cover of the song and i love it. she sounds really hot. =D and i like the song. coz it's so meandering and warm and happy. it's all purple and orange. well. no. it's white and green. or maybe i just think that because i'm in a white and green frame of mind.

just a little bigger than that

i dont know what to write anymore. because now it matters. it's not just a 'thing' now, it's a THING. i dont even know where i'm going. it's like being in a long winding passage with beautiful images framed and hung up on either side, so breathtaking that you dont stop to look how far you've gone.

then suddenly you're not even there anymore. you're some where else. with blood red roses. dark black. dark gray. thick gold. like a furnace. the cold stings your lungs when you breathe. you're in the army, marching, along straight line, uniforms. guns hanging from your hearts.

then you're lost in a playground. rain trickling in through your hair. running down your face. making furrows in the thick paint. red and white. you see mouths move around you but the noise they're making is indecipherable. and as you sit by the swings, lost and confused and cold, they walk up to you and pour their blame over you. washing you in it's foul, sordid, warmth. and all you can see is yesterday.

just a girl who'se had too much to drink. maybe she'll be back someday. even if she didnt you'd've had your share. "and if the sun comes up tomorrow, let her be"

it's raining now. colours changing. grey and green. rust and black. books. the cold floor. the windows are thrown open so you can see the road outside... "curling up like smoke". and a dark eyed angel lifts you up and lets you fall.

cream white piano on the window sill with the apple pie. the sky's so dark it could swallow you whole. the hole is so deep it could suck you in.

i just suddenly felt empty... like a certain nothing crawling on the wall... carried on the wind. i am empty. like a soda can in the gutter. like a mall with lots of people in it.

dont leave. i wont forget.

in the end you dont understand. in the end we all die. in the end there's not good or bad. but there is bad.

we were s'posed to rise above... but we sink... into the ocean

i had a dream that it was raining. everything that was drying, dying out came back. they were echoes. floating back from a far away place. i left them behind. but i couldn't really.
i heard the sound of breaking glass. like soft bells in the distance. it almost fooled me for a moment. it was like going back in time. but forward.

we cant make a moment. it just happens. but to perceive it is the most easy yet the most difficult thing in the world. easy because it's 'instinct' that leads us to it. difficult, because our instincts have been etherized.

Love Song To A Stranger

i crave emptiness. like hot choc'late on a cold day. i'm happy. coccooned inside the sound of some ancient forgotten music.

black paper the windows. nail boards across the doors.

i heard something new, that i know i've heard before. it died before i could get to it. there's a whole new revolution brewing. but they burnt it at the stake.

i never read the love letter on the breeze. fragments of it still lie scattered across some lonely, distant soul. there's just so much i can say. the rest has been said before, but you never listened. some of it is left unsaid ..smouldering in the shade... going to waste.

"Don't tell me of love everlasting and other sad dreams
I don't want to hear
Just tell me of passionate strangers who rescue each other
From a lifetime of cares
Because if love means forever, expecting nothing returned
Then I hope I'll be given another whole lifetime to learn"

- Joan Baez (Love Song To A Stranger)

wish i could...

amidst all of the whole world essentially, i need.

like when i'm listening to something particularly...something... and my mind strays away to these images... images that are completely simple..completely basic..clichéd perhaps...



holding hands... carnival lights... sweet... a starry sky and the sea... glass bricks... rooms and windows... rainbows... eyes...
single images, like snapshot. flowers in a vase. blood that tastes sweet... a little bitter.



and then it's gone. and i'm still sitting in front of my computer. still thinking. still seeing... still needing...

ultraviolet

it's like having something completely abstract and formless on display in a window. would it be any colour? would there be a spotlight, pointing in one direction? this is where to look. this is the point. this is the exact location of the thing you were once looking for.
will there be paper signs stuck on the outside on the glass? will they have prices printed on them? will be ever extract ourselves from this mindless clutter?
honestly, i'd rather not. but, then again, i'm dying to.

and when you're going way over the speed limit
not really lookin' at what's in front of you
when you're sprawled across a broken wall
when the sky breaks into a million tiny pieces

that's when it really counts...