Magic without a T.

Image from somewhere in the internet's depths.

I have an archive of beautiful images from around the place.
Photographs, posters, fashion and artwork which is exciting, inspiring, technically emulative or simply something I'd love to keep around me.

The above image popped up and reminded me that today is

The Day I Gained Purpose in Life! 
The Day I registered my grad film, my final year project!

that I don't write much save Tweets or the teensy blog/ DA posts.
Which is sad, really. 
There's just so much less to think about when I write. It's easier to put words together in text, than have face-to-face conversations or participate in stilted Facebook chat sessions.
(I should just post on my Blog. And tell people to read the daily RSS before we meet.Simple aforementioned problems solved.)

Coming back to the point,
Words are powerful. Radical Self Love from my favourite blogger in the world confirms that.

The more I realise that the only thing constant in life is change, I love life a little bit more. The minority of happy people on the planet can subscribe to that notion.

The Now is:

The unbeatable roasted lush of Coorg coffee, made in a steel filter every Ahmedabadi morning
September weather spells of warm wakings up in the cold morning
The unavoidable,hilarious and exasperating daily updates of the neighbour dogs,brought to you by your lunch buddy 


Skinny lizards skating over  the peppery ceiling searching for roaches
The new forevers of rediscovering Neruda on a tattoo quest
The old forevers of Radiohead,Jefferson Airplane,T.S Eliot and
the blazing nows of the Xx, HerSpaceHoliday, Vampire Weekend and all the indie music in the world made for you and only you


Ego-tickles and skin-tickles and goosebumps,
Beer and perfectly made eggs in honey-teriyaki sauce to share,
Letters from never-lost long-ago-still-here girls in penguin swimsuits who
made houses out of orange tang, dinosaur baths and magazine covers FYVP  when
the roof tiles were unguarded and  comfort came years, years later in a car-ride


Sister cats waiting in Mysore town with babies that are sprouting like acrobats
Photograph sleeping in folder not awake not  yet not again
Insomnia over  coffee dates and dirty drawings of furtive couples in stretchy pants and brown sugar

spells now in not so many words,

none at all.

  
  

bang.

It smacks you in the face and leaves you gasping for breath.
Every sound is as insignificant as it is noticable,every hushed expression as tragically pathetic in the light of your own mind-storms.
A terrible coldness,calming and wintery,resides in the depths of your shallow heart.
Alcohol strings it out till your exhausted, photographs are too painful and hence not worth the time to put up and garland,opulently,on your dusty laden bookshelves.
You stare dumbfounded,(and sometimes,dare one admit,without emotion)at rows of melting candle stubs marking the memorial of someones death.
Today was the memorial for an ex-NIDian, a pg girl who left college to pursue fashion.She killed herself,and Im probably one of many who dont know why.
Last semester was Bobo's memorial,his was an ending you choose not to fathom because you end up feeling like youre drowning yourself.
Again,candle stubs have this impact.
They remind me-of what?-I cant tell you,it seems to elude me.I question too much.I would start to hate the sound of laughter,and avoid reading the daily flurry of articles on the Mumbai terror attacks.
They say Bangalores the next target,in 37 days. Im hellbent all the more on going home this month. One would like to spit in the face of these so called activists, and challenge fate that extra bit.

"Dare I disturb the Universe?"

Last night it was Oct 16th and Aug 1st

Can you
can you
Can you
Can you see the burning light?

Did they
Did they
Did they snatch your dreamless hours
and turn them into wakeless nights?

Have I

fallen

in
to
the
spiraling
twisting
strangling

voiceless empty void of the voyeaur

Did not wake up to nothing last night
Did not snap my knuckles
Did not cry for you, or you, or those two
Did not see darkness no light only white
white
white
the sun rose

and I hated he who stole my nightmares and gave me this
this
this dreamless sleep
this engulfing,stabbing
whitehotblade
that went through one shoulder
and swallowed the rest.

Death is the road to Awe

I am the road to awe,not death.

Awe is too far away for death to reach,though they both had the same beginnings.

The road is just a road,and scuffs the burnt souls of your feet,bruises your lips,clouds your eyes,and cocoons your heart.

But I still walk the road to awe,and death smoothly hushes behind.