Antidepressants.

turning a study session into a conversation that uncannily resembles a game of skeletons in the closet. Making plans to steal a turbooz at 5 am in order to metamorphize it into the king kong of all bongs, impersonating the wonderbunny by jumping up and down at the speed of a highly excited chuwawa to "seven nation army". Taking turns talking for five whole minutes on absurd and random topics such as tea cosy's, penis's and the likes, walking to seven west through piles of snow, in the 8 am sunny whiteness of a -5 degree morning that feels more like -20, inhaling a juicy steak, cheese omellete and potatoes for breakfast,listening to unchained melody while doing so, singing along in your head because your mouths full, falling asleep at 10:30 am on a saturday morning with a belly on the brink of explosion, waking up at 5:30 pm with no urgency or anxiety,lying in bed talking about nothing for another hour, catching up with an old friend who decided to visit, dressing up for a night out on the town. having a night out on the town in an alternate state of mind and describing a night out on the town thrice using the same painfully boring cliche. Having a random but innocent conversation with complete strangers, reflecting on our respective experiences of the night at the shawarma place while ridding the hole that is my stomach of the peculiar feeling of hunger that so often characterizes the aftermath of a prolonged session of dancing, Returning to the suite of sin at 4 am to play need for speed with ten other people, feeling nostalgic to the old indian song playing in the cab on the way home, falling asleep on the phone at 6 am on a sunday morning and waking up to unexpected visitors, 2 of whom are insanely adorable boys between the ages of 4 and 8, being silly with the boys and having pizza and coke for breakfast (followed by ice cream). Once again failing miserably to create a dent in the pluto sized body of work thats beginning to make my back bend from its weight, thinking about the grind called my week that starts tomorrow and trying to find little pockets of time and allot them to various sections of work knowing well its never going to happen. Long showers. Breathing. I love weekends.

Exhale

so you think you have her all figured out.Inside out. Label her facets, label her. She thinks she knows it all doesn't she ? Vain in her self obssessiveness, inscure in her craziness, just plain stupid in her assumptions. You trace her reasons and judge her actions, give her sensibilities a name and trivialise her passions. You poke, prod and push till she gives up and is lost to nothing in particular. You think you can see through her and in your haste you see past her. Past the intensity of her metallic being. For her its never about maybe's but about absolutes. She is bored with caution,bored with fantasy, bored with red and the reality of it all.

you are afraid of failure, of being unable to light up her eyes and her seamless skies, you used to do it just by breathing. You give up before you start out. Hold your breath, dance a little, bring her to the surface - don't fail her miserably beacause your common sense comes in the way, in the way of being not-cautious. Not-cautious is not the same as being careless, it is not the objective, its allowance as an attribute of self-conduct is irrelevant. You steal the stars from her smile in this buisness called caution, the texture from her starry night, the hues in her sunsets and the life from her being. She stands in your way so you go through not past and tastes the salty solid lifelessness you leave her with. She returns to you and as a result is an agent of the depletion of her dreams. Stop breathing. The next time you do it, do it for an absolute, not a maybe.

Wish You Were Here

So, so you think you can tell
Heaven from Hell,
Blue skys from pain.
Can you tell a green field
From a cold steel rail?
A smile from a veil?
Do you think you can tell?

And did they get you to trade
Your heros for ghosts?
Hot ashes for trees?
Hot air for a cool breeze?
Cold comfort for change?
And did you exchange
A walk on part in the war
For a lead role in a cage?

How I wish, how I wish you were here.
We're just two lost souls
Swimming in a fish bowl,
Year after year,
Running over the same old ground.
What have we found?
The same old fears.
Wish you were here.

- Pink Floyd (Wish You Were Here.)

in the dark, at night, all alone, all the time, wish you were here.

Heart Shaped Consumer Whore

so what is it about valentines day that provokes bile to rise up to my throat and expel itself from my mouth.... ? is it the pink and red flimsy paper hearts that populate every nook and corner my eyes can find to rest themselves on ? A morbid reminder of the colorful paper-thin superficiality everyone possesses or am i just being unnecessarily cynical ? Valentines day never seems to run out of heart-shaped-ness , ironic how people always run out of heart. Heart shaped chocolate, heart shaped candy, heartshaped decorations, heart shaped balloons, heartshaped cookies, heart shaped cakes, heart shaped bracelets, heart shaped pendants, matching heart shaped tattooes, heart shaped tops, heart shaped envelopes, heart shaped picture frames, heart shaped cushions and my personal favourite - heart shaped lingerie. Your hearts not special anymore, thats why they took its shape and littered the world with it, displayed it and sold it till u were forced to acknowledge the vulgarity that has now become a part of every heart shaped product consumer pimps are selling to us. Im surprised they havnt figured out a way to grow heart shaped roses yet. Still its amazing how this heart shaped hallmark holiday produces a heart shaped bubble for little heart shaped people to co-exist in and excludes all those who arent heart shaped. Knowing this, a little heart shaped girl inside me thinks in her little heart shaped head and says to herself in a little heart shaped voice, i wish my name was on one of those little heart shaped thingies.

Angel underwater

"angels must get really tired carrying around such heavy wings and all...."
i turn the corner and catch a glimpse of you. The hint of a smile, a shoulder sticking out of the entrance to a store, the back of your head, your dark all encompassing hair, your eyes - piercing, intense but childlike the next minute. Shoes only you would wear. I follow in silence, my heart providing the soundtrack, i get lost somewhere on the way. I never see all of you, just parts, fragments, little pieces belonging to other people that i steal and keep to myself buried deep down inside with all that is sacred. I share you with the mirror, ask questions to the fragments contained within, put them together and find my own answers till the next time they fall apart.I want to choke you and pull you under, till you're drowning with me so that the next time you come up for air we inhale in sync.

The sky is falling on white buildings and pink elephants.

my heart has its own gravitational force, 10 times that of the earths'. Take a look inside... its sucking my sky. folding itself, doubling up. My hearts nowhere near being big enough to take that force so all it does is sink. The sky folds inwards getting closer and closer to the foundations on which my emotions have stood for 20 years. The walls collapse and are sucked in until numbness overcomes all. A void is left, one that aches - oddly enough. A numb void that aches in whispers.....now theres a thought. Voices become unfamailiar and fade into the background, words disintegrate and all that is left is a series of low pitched muffled sounds. Everything fades away and the lipstick stain on the coffee cup comes into sharp focus to sting my eyes. Every ridge, every line belonging to the lipstain becomes painfully clear, a pink broken down crescent. Pink elephants like to wear shoes. A thought as clear as the blue sky and im focused on it as my heart stumbles to find its own skies and subsequently re-construct the world on which my emotions can stand once again. White buildings aren't very impressive. Someones talking to me, only i dont know what they're saying, there seems to be a wet sponge between my ear and the speakers mouth, or else i would hear them. If only i could stop thinking about the white buildings maybe we could do something about the sponge. Physical contact is made. The pink lipstain comes back into sharp focus. I resume conversation with a question and melt back into this parallel world where i name my hearts gravitational force, loneliness its called.

The aftermath of an insane celebration.

"...as they woke up on the beach the morning after the birthday celebration, wondering what they had done the night before, they took comfort in the fact that they still had there hats on...."

pink roses in recession

funny thing memories are. fuzzy in some places, sharp in others, bitter, sweet or both bittersweet, black and white or colored - take your pick-for most memories you get to decide. I guess one thing that makes them funny is how they're relative, just like time... in some places it moves at the speed of lightning in others at the speed of a fungal infection eating away at a corpse stored in a cedar wood closet. In others still time is like a rock waiting to cross the road, no matter how hard you try it just wont budge on its own.
coming back to memories, you can save them however you want, or where ever you want , you can see them, feel them, smell them, taste them, tuck them away in some dark crevice in the recesses of your mind or cherish them through glorification, but heres the catch, that little thing called time inevitably creeps up on them and phases them out for you unless you clench your fists around them, shut your eyes so tightly in the attempt to let nothing seep through you - not even through your eyes- that you begin to see neon spots in the darkness that pursues, your face muscles begin to hurt from the distortion employed in this attempt, your body tenses up and your swollen cheaks feel a cool breeze as your tears dry up. You begin wondering if you lost something along the way and what you remember now is a reflection of reality or merely a tainted version of it - your tainted version of it.
The other kind of memories time doesnt take away for you. These come back with a vengence periodically, stab you in the gut, twist around your insides and leave an open wound, exposing you for what you really are - a sum of your experiences, inviting others to reach in and pull out your insides. Vulnerability its called, quite a mouthful that word is if you ask me, skeptical i am of its use. i dont like it very much when people use it as in excuse for their weakness's, After all what wont kill you only makes you stronger right ? -kill you at least not in the heart-stopped-beating/pumping blood-unable-to-breathe-or-move sort of (biological way) which by the way i believe is the best form of death you;ll EVER encounter. Your strength is an alteration of who you used to be, you behave differently due to this new found strength from this experience that hasnt killed you, different reactions, different responses, different person. So lets go back and say this one more time, what wont kill you biologically will kill you otherwise and make you a different person. i'll let you believe its always for the better to satisfy that undying desire in everyone to imagine things in this cute little positive pink hue.
here i am, with my memory's relativity. thoughts and memories floating in and out of my head without sequence, without structure till i put a hue on them, dress them up and glorify them, write them down and deal with them,with my tainted reality.