Life, In a minute...

About writing -

2011-07-03T17:47:00.001-07:00

Writing is my extended form of schizophrenia.

There are no rules of engagement involved. Let us establish that first.

There is nothing to crib or cry or whine about.

You know what, you're full of shit!

Ouch!

My life... and my stories...

2011-07-03T17:42:00.000-07:00

Women are nothing but psychosomatic manifestations of society.

Morts En Rouge/ Caught Dead in Red

2011-01-27T09:04:00.000-08:00

INT. ANNA'S HOUSE NIGHT

FADE IN:

LOBO climbs into the balcony, eyes squinting, teeth
firmly clamped around a bouquet of roses. He climbs
across the parapet and slips inside THE HOUSE with the
door groaning in protest.

Even with the sparse lights one can tell THE HOUSE
appears sinister though tastefully done with the barest
of furniture. It is obvious that the occupant is far,
privileged and of grace.

Cautiously LOBO moves to the bedroom and searches
underneath the bed. He whistles jubilant as he pulls out
a violin case. With the bouquet in his right hand, the
other on the violin case, he heads to the balcony. He
cuts short into the hall for a breath and glances across
the room. Perfume?

ANNA
Checkmate baby, its over!

She comes out of the shadows with a snub nosed wheel gun
pointing at his nose.
(beat)
You were supposed to be dead by
now.

LOBO puts his hands up in mock surrender offering the
bouquet and positions his violin.

LOBO
You call this a living?

ANNA
Go figure, LOBO. They're all
looking for you.

LOBO
(nonchalant)
Impressive.
Its obvious I'm fired
and I need to look for options.
Take your shot while I consider a
concerto.
2.

ANNA
(scathingly)
KNIVES wants you dead, LOBO!

LOBO
Et tu, ANNA? Do you want me dead?
(he takes a step
towards her)

She cocks the gun at him with more determination.

ANNA
(sobs)
FUCK YOU, LOBO!
The Dons gone! Dad's no more,
LOBO.
He was the only one holding this
together...
And now its between you and
KNIVES!
He wants it all as you make a run
for it1
WHILE I STAND DEAD CENTRE IN THE
FRAY, DAMMIT!
(beat)
He knows, LOBO.
I know he knows.
He sent me to kill you.
I bet he sent his dogs first.
If I don't I'm gone too, LOBO.
I'm useless to him now.

LOBO
(grins)
Alors pas? So big ol'Bluto cares
more to finish Popeye,
Than the lovely Olive herself.

She looks at LOBO apprehensively as he clears the
distance, her gun hand hesitates and lowers. He steals a
kiss with the barrel against his jaw.

LOBO
(still reading her
eyes)
Les femmes et mon couer, c'est la
maladie du ma vie...

SUBTITLE: WHEN IT COMES TO WOMEN AND MY HEART, THERE LIES
THE SICKNESS TO MY LIFE...
3.

Maybe KNIVES got the jumbo.
I'll settle the score someday!
(beat)

ANNA gets a grip over herself and steadies her gun
against the back of his head as he walks away.

ANNA
(screeches)
JACQUES!!! NE PAS!!!

From the farthest corner of the room a huge body heads
towards LOBO brandishing a 9mm. He takes huge strides and
hesitates with the gun clearly at a loss to take him
alive or not.

He swivels the gun and strikes Lobo with the butt.

BAM!

LOBO holds the butt of the 9mm in JACQUES hand. JACQUES
looks at Lobo with a dumbfounded expression, as LOBO
looks to ANNA. Smoke runs out of ANNA's gun as she stands
wild eyed clutching a bouquet of roses.
(beat)

ANNA turns to hysterics, slowing backing way aiming at
LOBO with trembling hands.

LOBO
C'est bon, ma jolie. Its over...

SUBTITLE - IT'S OK, LUV. ITS OVER...

A shadow cuts on LOBO's shoulder as he looks over to see
KNIVES standing over looking impassively at JACQUES.

The gun falls from ANNA's hand, the bouquet crushed to
petals. She clutches at her stomach, gasps and falls.
LOBO runs to her, catches her RIGHT before she hits the
floor and turns her to him.
4.

Eyes wide LOBO rages, takes her gun and turns to Knives
with murder intent on his face.

LOBO
Checkmate Knives. Its over!
(beat)

KNIVES
You and I are no different, LOBO.
In fact you could do worse.
It ends here!

They look at each other standing 10 paces away. The
silence of the duel excruciating. With a battle cry
KNIVES charges, LOBO takes aim and fires. KNIVES slashes
at him with a vicious machete. LOBO feints and fires
again. Both stumble away hurt and gasping for air.
(beat)

LOBO realizes he is mortally wounded with a blade
sticking at his side and stumbles towards ANNA. KNIVES
gasps for air on his knees coughing blood.

KNIVES
C'est la fin, mon seul ami.

SUBTITLE : END OF THE LINE, MY FRIEND!

LOBO
See you in hell, mate!

LOBO falls to ANNA's side giving the bird to KNIVES, a
ring with a poking end encircles the finger and a barrage
of grenades falls from the violin case, KNIVES grimaces
in realization.

BURN OUT

CREDITS ROLL

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RAW

I have the plot clear in mind however uncertain I am about the movement and action and therefore have added the french quotes on purpose to sustain on the gear and performance. I'm tragic at the language so please reconsider even before you try and flame me for it and press comment at the end.

In the world of the narcissist, for a short 3-4 minute film, I think it is a grand scheme to fit a higher purpose someday. For now I should move on to the next draft. Oh, this was also my first shot at Final Draft 8. Its neat but it could prove to cause a lot mishaps with the new .fdx codec and older versions.

CAUGHT DEAD IN RED - First Draft

2011-01-22T09:11:00.000-08:00

CAUGHT DEAD IN RED
INT. HOUSE NIGHT
FADE IN
Lobo hoists himself upto the balcony with his eyes squinted mockingly reminiscent of Clint Eastwood ruined by the teeth clamped around what vaguely seems like a bouquet. He climbs into the balcony. The door groans as he casts himself into the house course shadows cutting at him.
Sparsely lit light the room appears to be tastefully done with the barest of furniture. He walks decidedly and peers around and heads towards the bedroom where he crouches and searches under the bed. With a sigh of satisfaction he pulls out a violin case and gathers himself up keeping one hand on the case and the other clutching the roses. He walks back into the room and looks towards the balcony but stops to inhale deeply. Leather? A woman’s perfume!!!
Anna
Check baby! Its over!
She walks out of the shadows towards lobo with a cruel snub nosed wheel gun aimed steadily at his face.
(beat)
You were supposed to be dead by now.
He quietly places down the violin, raises his hand in mock surrender gesturing the bouquet towards her.
Lobo
You call this living?
Anna
You sure are stupid to come back here with so many on your tail.
Lobo
Well, since its so obvious I’m fired and at,
I decided on a career change.
Thought of picking up the violin and hitting the streets for alms.
Anna
(scathingly)
Knives wants you dead, Lobo.
Lobo
And you? What do YOU want, Anna?
He takes slow swaggering steps towards Anna and she cocks the gun at him with more determination.
Anna
The don is dead, Lobo. My father is gone. And now its down to just the two of you. And Knives wants its all, Lobo.
(beat)
Lobo looks her dead in the eye right over the barrel of the gun.
Anna
He knows, Lobo. I know he knows.
He sent me to kill you. I bet he sent his dogs first.
If I don’t pull the trigger, he’d kill me. He doesn’t need me anymore anyways.
Lobo
Proves my point, doesn’t it? Bluto cares more to destroy Popeye and take whats Popeye’s than Olive herself.
She looks towards him apprehensively as he steals a small step towards her and she lowers the gun and he leans forwards and steals a kiss with the gun against his jaw.
Lobo
Women and their mysteries. She asks the one she loves for his life and pleads for her enemy.
(beat)
He turns aways from her and takes a step.
Lobo
Tell Knives I’m coming for him and this time will be the last.
Anna takes back a hold of the gun and points it decisively at Lobo with his next step.
Anna
NO! JACQUES!!!
Lobo notices that from the farthest corner of the living room a huge body morphs out of the shadow walking towards him brandishing a 9mm. The man takes huge confident strides overs her and strikes with the butt of the 9mm.
The strike lands with a nasty scrunch and a shot rings out. Smoke runs out of Anna’s snub nosed. Lobo has caught the butt of the 9mm an inch away from his face crushing Jacques hand, as Jacques looks on Lobo with a dumbfounded expression and a thud.
(beat)
Lobo
(Grins)
I should have known better than to buy 13 red roses with my kind of luck.
He moves towards Anna sympathetically where her face distorts into a frantic plastic mask of horror, her eyes rolling hysteria writ and she points the gun a Lobo slowly backing away.
Lobo
Its ok, angel. Relax. Its over.
(beat)
Vincent approaches out of the darkness looking down at Jacques impassively.
The gun falls from Annas hand, where the other cluthes at her stomach and bile runs down from the corner of her lip. Lobo rushes to her. He breathes heavily and for a moment loses himself between grief and rage.
Lobo
(sobs)
Its over, baby.
He picks up Annas revolver and points it at Knives with a malice scratched on his face. Knives looks on to him impassively.
Lobo
Check, Knives. Lets finish this.
(beat)
Knives
(coldly)
Once upon a time, Lobo, nothing stood between us.
There was the Don. There was always Anna. And you and I.
The Don I protected is dead.
You were the son to him, and I was the dog at his feet.
The Anna I loved is dead.
She wanted you for.A.Long.Long.Time.
Noticed?
Once again, nothing stands between us.
May the best man win?
They stand in that tense moment looking at each other impassively till their expressions turns to bitterness and hatred. The intensity rises as Knives lets out a battle cry, pulls out twos blades and spears towards Lobo chucking one at him slashing with other. Knives feints to the side and another shot rings out. Both stumble away from each other.
(beat)
Lobo realizes he’s fatally wounded with a knife sticking at his side and falls against the battered roses and stray petals and the violin case. Knives has one knee bent on the floor and is gasping for breath. He’s shot in the shoulder a few inches from his heart and bleeding from the neck where a bullet grazed him.
Knives
I win, Lobo.
Lobo
(gasps for his last breath)
Its over, Knives.
Lobo sticks out the finger as he falls where a ring with a poking end circling the finger.
Knives grimaces as the violin case opens to and a barrage of grenades pouring out.
EXPLOSION!!!
REEL BURNS OUT

Thought of the Day.

2011-01-18T07:40:00.001-08:00

Truly there be reason to everything justified through perception, we live in a world which is more of a paradox considering the measure of any argument or any school of thought. And there be a reason why man is nothing more than an object of sympathy against the odds of time. Then I consider destiny, fate and if there be man after all in the throes of the Lords shadow. And I know why we say amen. Another paradox if broken down to syllables.

The Deluge - Script

2010-08-23T08:34:00.000-07:00

FADE IN

INT. CLINIC- MORNING

(Anushka and Bose are facing each other separated by a large mahogany desk. Anushka is peering over her notes, Bose is sprawled in his seat nonchalant with his eyes fixed on a window away from her.)

ANUSHKA

[Looks at Bose and his posture and shakes her head] Is everything alright?

BOSE

[Has his gaze fixed on the window, a certain silohette passes by seen only by him. He does not reply.]

ANUSHKA

I hear that you've refused to take the medicines again and cooperate. He's not real, Debashish, and these pills ensure he doesn't harm you, or you end up in more difficulty.

[She notices his silence with resignation, assumes his gaze and goes back to her notes]

BOSE

[Voice Over]

They always refer to him in third person. As if he has no rightful name, no identity.

[ Sarcastic Laughter] As if he is nothing. I've known him as a good mate for sometime now.

ANUSHKA

Debashish, has he spoken to you again?

BOSE

[Shakes his head and sighs]

ANUSHKA

[frowns] I'm having a hard time believing you.

INT. HOSTEL CORRIDOR- DAY

BOSE

[He is standing at one end of the corridor, the camera zooms in till it catches his strange expression and keeps zooming till it reaches his eye uptil the pupil and the screen goes black]

ONI

[He is standing in the other end of the corridor in the shadows and walks towards where Bose is standing. The footsteps and the knock of his broken heel is heard distinctively. He walks down the corridor till he is close enough and his face is partially revealed, a strange smile dancing on his lips.]

INT. HOSTEL ROOM- DAY

(The bare room has two figures facing each other, contrasting in the looks and the moment. Bose is sprawled out lazily like a cat on the bed half facing towards Oni who is pacing back and forth the length of the room in a restless obscure pursuit. The Tibetan Book of The Dead is lying open and faced down on Bose's stomach, as he is busy rolling a joint with sheer glee. Every now and then the dark figure of Oni looks at Bose.)

BOSE

Finished…

[Picks up the joint with a sense of satisfaction and shows it off to Oni whose face is half stuck in a sneer and a scowl. He puts it to his lip and picks up the book.]

ONI

Cute!

[Pulls out a cigarette and lights it flamboyantly.]

BOSE

I know, I'm getting good at this.

[Lights the joint and focuses on the book.]

ONI

You think this is real?

[Shoots his arms wide like a gothic christ and sneers, cigarette hanging from the lip.]

ONI

This is the GOD DAMN EXTENT of our existence! What the fuck do we know of the world beyond. And don't get me wrong, even with all our notions where does it come from? However did it reach us? Who as the right to say what is real and what is not? After all there is an opionion and then there is a clash of perception. And we all know humans are prone to make mistakes along the way!

BOSE

What’s it to you? Fuckin' anarchist!

[Takes a deep drag off the joint and exhales a billow of blue-grey smoke. Oni goes back to pacing as Bose is caught in coughing fit, the books falls off his hand till Bose catches him self with a heavy whack on his back and picks up the book.]

ONI

Think about life and what it exactly represents. What good are ya'll? Yeah breathe, you live, you eat, you shit, you kill or you get killed and you die! Ever thought of that?

BOSE

Ho-hum.

ONI

[Stubs out the cigarette on the floor and reaches out for an apple lying on the fruit basket and peers at it. He motions close to take a bite, smiles and keeps it back.]

BOSE

Yeah? And Macintosh is Satan. How? Think about the brand representation with the apple and the bite bitten off. Now think about the fall of man from the garden of Eden and the image that goes with it.

ONI

You were better off with the fuckin' (Sun Tzu's) Art of War than that religious, all knowing, spiritual piece of...

INT. CLINIC- MORNING

ANUSHKA

Debashish, we're all here to help you. You know how you've been addressed regarding this issue...

EXT. THE COLLEGE SPOT- MORNING

(Bose and Oni are sitting like the best of mates conversing animatedly in what seems an intense conversations till a group of girls pass by.)

BOSE

Stereotyping and generalizing is after all human tendency, mate. Its hard on all of us but we learn something at the end of the day.

[Oni has not yet remarked and Bose catches him staring at the women with an intense look on his face and a classic smile.]

(The girls look at them in an obvious and distressed manner)

BOSE

Onie...

(The girls head off hurriedly and Oni keeps on looking at their dissappearing figures)

INT. HOSTEL ROOM- EVENING

[Bose is sitting on his bed looking towards where Oni once stood and stares into the empty space. He picks up the book and throws it against the door, the sharp THUD is heard.

(Oni is on the other side of the door when he hears the thud ad he closes his dark eyes in a painful expression.)

BOSE

[Take the bottle of the pill and violent unscrews the top and gulps down a few till he chokes.] Why... why... why...

[Bose who bursts into tears, tears at his hair till he loses out and sobs and holds his head in his hand.]

EXT. COLLEGE MORNING

(Bose is sitting alone and talking to his side as if he is conversing animatedly with someone till a group of girls pass by.)

BOSE

- Its hard on all of us but we learn something at the end of the day.

[He keeps looking to his side in an inquisitive manner.]

(The girls look at him with a distressed expression and start walking away fast)

BOSE

Onie...

(The girls head off and Bose is left with the fading monologue.)

INT. CLINIC MORNING

ANUSHKA

Do understand, Debashish, from what you have told me and trust me I've checked, there are no records of this character called Oni. He did not study Delhi University, and no he was not in Alliance Francais. Nobody close to his appearance lives in the East Side of Delhi in Kirti Apartments. What is surprising me is that the areas exist but the man does not and there is a middle aged couple living there.

EXT. THE COLLEGE SPOT- EVENING

(Bose is sitting brooding looking at the people walking by, he starting tapping his feet in a strange jittery manner and puts is head into his hands. Oni comes in and bumps into him, deliberately pushing him aside.)

BOSE

[Furiously] WHAT???

ONI

Qui? You looked as if you needed a push in the right direction.

[lights a cigarette and leaves it hanging on the lip.]

ONI

By the way, the name is Oni! In the orient... it means the devil.

INT. CLINIC- MORNING

ANUSHKA

- We're all here to help you, Debashish. And I promise you from here on it would only get better in the times to come. But I must insist that you take those pills that I gave you and I'll see you again next week around this time to see your progress. Try not to be late...

[Without a word Bose gets up and makes his way out of the officer. The only thing noticed is the door that closes behind him that reads out her name in bold caligraphy "Anushka Sharma, Psychiatrist".]

(She sighs and walks out from her chair towards the window; pulls out her cigarette, lights it and inhales deeply. Her calm face is distorted and screams of an adolescent girl is heard.)

EXT. ROAD TO HOME- MORNING

(Bose is seen walking morosely and he looks behind him every now and then as if looking for someone till he sighs with resignation. He hears the rumbling sound of an Auto and hails it. As he's about to board it he lights a joint.)

(A black figure is noticed out of focus in the distance as Bose lights his cigarette. The figure is smoking as well; Bose boards the Auto and moves out of frame.)

(The figure is noticed to be that of Oni smoking and as the focus clears and zooms, the intent on his face is noticed. He is standing in what seems to be a circle of cigarette stubs, a sign of impatience.)

INT. CLINIC- MORNING

(Anushka is still smoking her cigarette and staring out the window.)

BEHIND ANUSHKA, HER DESKTOP PICKS UP STATIC AND STARTS ON ITS OWN WITHOUT HER NOTICING. AN ARTICLE/ FACEBOOK PROFILE IS NOTICED SIGNIFYING AN ACT OF MURDER WITH THE PICTURE OF A YOUNG MAN NOTICEABLY WITH ONI'S FACE.

[Anushka stubs out her cigarette and chucks it out the window. She takes a room freshner and sprays. As she moves back to her desk she notices a book lying next to where Bose was sitting and she picks up the book. She opens the book and turns.]

ONI

[Appears out of nowhere and mutters in a raspy whisper] MISS ME?

ANUSHKA JUMPS IN FRIGHT.

FADE OUT

(A small montage alongside the ending score: Picture of Bose with a caption that reads "Debashish Bose pursued his love for music and became a successful blues guitarist. He never saw Oni again...

Picture of Anushka with a caption that reads: She was found dead that evening, the cause of death remains mysterious.)

CREDITS

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2JAaftYdTj8

Ouch...

2010-08-14T12:23:00.001-07:00

How often have I been introduced as a writer and how often have I been mistaken to be creative or artistic. There is absolutely nothing genius about writing. On the contrary it can be regarded as a more socially acceptable form of schizophrenia or worse...

Writing is not unlike fornicating. At first you do it for a simple childish curiosity till you come to like the feeling. Then you do it for the sake of friends and the people you come to like and eventually you end up doing it for the sake of money, subjected to the fantasies and the insults of god knows how many...

Getting around the maze of my thoughts

2010-08-14T12:07:00.000-07:00

Today after a long long time did I find the chance to get back to my roots and write and scribble. I sat here on my chair for hours staring into the empty space looking for a single word to write of my thoughts. This is what followed:

Cut open my veins and you'll find ink. Tear the pages on which I write and you'll find my blood.

Oh well, life can never be more clear after a few hours of loafing around. At least it's productive in some sense if not morbid once the realization hits of what I did to myself. But then again, I guess the whisky will be a lot more agreeable than my pen.

Keep Soldiering On

2010-08-10T09:09:00.000-07:00

Just a traveling soldier
walking the path forgotten long
searching for a clover
hiding beneath the grass
who would care to remember us
and who might we forget
need there be any regrets
or a woe, perhaps two to despair
keep soldiering on, boy
now is not the thought to look back
nor the time to walk
keep marching onwards, lad
spare not a farthing for a word
odds are towards lies and deceit
or an abuse flying as dart
shiny glimmer of an accusing threat
clickity clack as we march on
towards the looming sun on the horizon
somehow the skies are different today
thought there may never be enough love
or even the sight of respect
but breathe steady as you scare to scramble
or seeds may never bear to root
for there is only one hand for courage
and another for the sligthtest care in grace
As destiny would cross the bridge of time
and this life be put to measure
I remember I looked to the heavens as a child
wondering what they meant
when they said godspeed
From the run of games I stooped to march
did i stop to love and understand
what was it like to live again
all that i saw, is it any more than a dream
I know it changed within the moment of wake
and wait for everything to come to an end
as we soldier on to yet another day

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Raw
Rambling Rambling Rambling...

So much for Rogue? Correction!!!

2010-07-25T07:06:00.000-07:00

It wasn't courage. Turns out it was the following:

1. 3 beers
2. 2 Tequila Shots
3. Single Vodka
4. A shot of Rum

All that it takes for your ex to want you back and profess undying love without any memory of it and deny everything the next day.

And yet there so much to life to look forward to...

On the other hand there is a girl who is supposedly claims to love you and you love her and yet life cannot be prioritized or addressed in accordance to the words we feed each other day in and day out and at times like this you feel like a bigger man to give it back to her and watch her cry.

I didn't mean to, but the moment you see her face go red and the single tear fall down her cheek... how might one react?

FUCK YEAH! SHE HAD IT COMING!!!

I wish there were a better way to sort out things and not fall into emotional dilemmas but isn't that why books are "men are from mars and women are venus" made to exploit?

So much for Rogue?

2010-07-24T15:05:00.000-07:00

To my absent readers and to all those beloved people from my life who have cared less to venture here... I wish to say...

The Rogue returns again...

Yes, its been a few months and I too see my enthusiasm fading when I note the number of posts for this year. What can I say? I've been busy catching up with my life which seems to have taken the strange austerity as the roll of a dice.

So I haven't been writing much and I barely read now as well. Not even MANGA!!! BELIEVE YOU, ME! (School Lingo I picked up) Is this the sign of chronic adulthood? I think not... I haven't touched a newspaper yet and nor have I bitched about nothing that I read there to somebody who might lend half a ear during breakfast and smoke breaks...

Now that the term is almost closing in and my grades have shown to be the in-numerous D's with the meager B's, lets get back to the roots. Before that, Woot! Technically I passed and my overall grade is an average. Hey, at least I'm average somewhere. I mean before this I was just keeping my nose above the water. Oh, let us not digress further.

Hows life?

Good? You don't say...

Well, I've haven't had much to do except for being morose, boggled around, drunk stupid, running around organizing assignments and failing to submit them out or sheer lethargy (that explains the D's now, hahaha!), getting stomped on verbally because everybody nowadays is an intellectual and I ain't no genius (wait a minute, correction = AREN'T A GENIUS!!!), physically assaulted and thrown out of the class for dozing in a lecture (don't look at me, I think the guy is a retard for doing that!) and to getting into a bar brawl in the supposed peaceful place in the country during world cup night. Go me!

But that is not what is disturbing me now, is it?

The only thing that has been keeping me at bay is a girl far far away who says three magic words and the world becomes rosy again. Add "so much" to those three words and the world is my oyster. And I don't mean the freedom to pee anywhere I want either! I've been sober for longer durations that now last more than a fortnight, found some faith in temples (it was unconventional and peaceful) and guess what, the brawl I spoke of before, I walked out of it! Yeah, I did!!! I can't believe it either...

So in this slanderous life, what can disturb me out of my mind?

Its when the old flame's call or visit!

Normally when something like that happens it either to boast about their pro-efficiency in their careers and how they are further along their paths than YOU and YOU means YOU LOSER for YOU SUCK NO MATTER HOW HARD YOU TRY!!! Or its about this great new bugger they have just met and made out with and how YOU ARE NOT ONLY A LOSER WITHOUT AMBITION BUT YOU LET A GOOD ONE SLIDE BY...

Or its to remind you of what a horrible person you were and how you took great care and pride in ruining their life's...

No, that is not what is disturbing me either...

It when they call and they're nice to you and they still want you and they miss YOU!

WHAT THE F***!!!

Yet I'll give respect and credit where its due. Must have taken a lot of courage to admit to that and I shall tip my bonnet in a gesture of a class act.

For the love of all things holy how did that happen? Call up your mates and they'd rile you for being a sucker enough to pick the call in the first place. They ain't the one's awake at 4 in the frickin' morn thinking about it in the first place, now are they?

And then the girl you love is far because 2 and half hours of difference in time makes all the difference in fate.

So this is the point with the thin fine line that you gotta toe...

Mates, I'm royally screwed in the head.

Symptoms:

1. Knees weak
2. Gut knotted
3. Heart clamped
4. Throat constricted
5. Mind racing

Relationships are made complicated and so streamlined in its pursuit of obsession that is has got half the world wanting it desperately and the other half being stomped on.

Look around...

Majority of the information found online is based upon this subject matter in various shades and forms.

As if there is nothing more to life...

Time chases by...

2010-07-24T15:02:00.000-07:00

Sit down and put everything that comes in your head, then you're a writer. But an author is one who can judge his own worth without pity and destroy most of it!

Colette

Selective Memories: The Road of Dreams (part 1)

2010-02-10T00:27:00.000-08:00

The kettle whistled hard, its lid already dancing in a threat to set everything aflame or at the very worst, drenched and scalded till a pale hand reaches out and turns off the gas. The kettle composed itself and returned to its former docile self and allowed the hand to pour the water into a cup which already had the dregs of tea from its overuse.

There are some things that he’d have liked never to see again, but every time he closed his eyes, it kept staring back at him. There is that blast like that of a musket tearing the darkness, a woman against the sunlight where the colors dancing in her hair sparkled far more vividly than the spectrum in the rays of the light itself. Her eyes were on a vase which held a bouquet of violets, and her pale squared fingertips were going through a sheaf of letters. The last thing he saw was the vase as her hand nudged it and it tumbled over the edge of the table top, and he could see every turn it took in the air till it smacked the floor hard and broke into a burst sending sharp bits flying everywhere.

Andy hugged his knees harder, staring out of the window into the distance and he kept reminding himself that “it was just a dream and nothing more”, even though there wasn’t much sense to see in it, he remembered it as if it was already a part of his life.

Looking at the clock, he learnt that it was about 5 in the morn and he’d slept about for only a few hours. He pulled down the curtains and reclined back, with his fingers knotting through his hair and he closed his eyes till his thoughts eventually picked up and carried him back into the dark emptiness of his mind.
“WAKE UP! WAKE UP! WAKE UP, YOU GIT!!!” a loud voice ranted from somewhere nudging him for sometime now.

He opened his eyes for a moment and saw a black and red botchy face with metal glinting on it, strangely the sight vaguely reminded him of an old friend, but his focus was lost before the recognition. Lethargy prevailed! He yawned and turned to the other side and mumbled, “just another 5 minutes…”

“ANDY! ITS ALREADY QUARTER PAST 8!!!”

And in that very instant, the sheets went flying as the youth sprang out of the bed and rushed towards the shower one hand tearing at his night clothes and the other reaching for his tooth brush. Before he realized, he was already drenched and soaked through his clothes as he looked haplessly with the brush sticking out at one side of his face. His mate had left the shower running and in his haste he’d slipped right into it.

He looked up to the mirror and took a long glance at himself. Staring right back at him was a man, whose hair was longer, a flat temple falling short to eyes red and doused heavy with sleep and a five o clock shadow that must have lasted for ages. He took whatever that came into his hand, wore them without a thought and walked outside. There was already a migraine threatening to creep up on him and he muttered “just another long long day”.

After sleep walking for the next two hours, where time doubled its pace as the world remained beyond his comprehension as voices turned to exaggerated phonetics worthy of chipmunks, he now found himself on a beach with a few friends from school and caught a half burnt cigarette between his lips. He took out the packet from his pocket and noted that he was already short of a few. Strange -

The sickly sweet smell of the sea stung his nose along with the stench of the fish boats and the gutted remains of their surplus from one side of the beach, he caught his brows twitching. Next to them were vendors trying to sell their colorful wares of sweetmeats and licking ice, while constantly harassed by the flies which probably dissuaded most of their potential customers as he noted in the reactions of his friends.

On the other side he noted a stray line of couples in an attempt to catch a moment with each other against the boundary wall. He noticed that they were almost on the verge of inventing a new Olympic sport which strangely involved their tongues and their hips, and out of the corner of the eye he noted one of his batch mates recording them with a small handi-cam. On a second glance, he noticed that there was a curious kid, no more than 13 years of age, with his torso hanging over the wall trying to catch a glimpse at the scene of obscenity below. It was nauseating and he almost retched. His batch mate was more engrossed in trying to capture the entire spectacle in a still, a grin frozen on his face already picturing the finished image in his mind and how many tags he’d make off the social networks on the internet.

He took off his shoes and knotted the strings together and he slung it around the neck and folded the ends of his trousers till his knees. Within the first few steps, it was as if the warm sand underneath his feet had already clambered on and claimed him. His feet had almost disappeared into it and the moist grains dotted all over his ankles till his knees glinting like mirrors in the light. He walked till the end of the beach, until he reached a board that said forbidden zone. He took a look around and noticed that most of the populous was on the other end of the beach, only a small fence and the board was keeping him from the unexplored terrain, and a few shadows hovering in the distance against the horizon.

As he tried to sneak his way over the fence, a loud noise came from the west and he noted a tall life guard waving his fist and smacking his hand yelling something. He took no further notice, turned and made a run for it.

By this time, he’d noted that across the waters, there were a few islands stretched in the distance shadowed by an imposing figure of a monastery whose golden dome seemed as if kissed by the very sun itself. His eyes attached to the monastery, he made his way towards the group.

“What a dump!” exclaimed Andy, as he closed in on his friends; Manish looked at him with a quizzical stare and Andy smiled coy. “Dirty clumped sand, no sea shells in sight, murky waters that brings back the pollutants of civilization (points to a polythene bag wading in the waters), not to mention the stench.

“Shall we make it to the monastery?”

“We’d have to take the ferry. It’s about 35 bucks…”
Fishing around in his pockets, he caught hold of a few notes and counted it to be around double the amount necessary for the fare.

“See who all wants to come and let’s go for it…”

He turned and walked towards a cigarette shop. He took out a note and handed it to the burly dark man and asked for “gold flakes” as the man smiled back at him showing his stained teeth. Taking the change and muttering a thanks, he returned to his friends who were now in a small group buying the tickets. He grabbed one from Manish and walked with him to the ferry.
While climbing on the rickety iron plank, it was as if the sand was almost pulling him back to the shore warning him of the cruelty of the sea. In defiance, he made his way to the boat bobbing with glee in the water trying to set itself free from the anchor.

The boat was already half full, and he noted that there were a few red plastic tires hung on the grating, obviously not enough for all them if the boat had to drown. There were already too many people for all of them, counting the group of college students at the back where a huge man-woman was trying to top the banter in defense of her shy friend next to her against the two loud men. There were two couples next to them who were discussing their past travels, a youth and two women across where the youth was actively interested in the one next to him where the other was trying to put herself back in the conversation. The girl caught him looking at her and she stared back, where Andy went red and quickly looked to the other side.

Suddenly, there was a roar amongst the men in uniform as they clamored on aboard and the boat jerked to a start. And almost every one hurrahed in delight, and he heard a few of his mates clap each other on the back. As the boat started making its way towards the destination, Andy stared out in the waters. It was murky and there was a foul smell that lingered about it, and as the boat cut through it, he could see the snake like ripples chasing it till it disappeared in the waters.

As he blinked, the sea disappeared in a haze of smoke. And suddenly he saw that sepia sunlight caressing her hair again. Only this time she wasn’t distracted by the vase or the letters, she was looking at him and smiling. He smiled back, till he realized the monastery was dead ahead, the waters were clear and there was a man walking on it (obviously on a platform) cleaning with a long handled net. He looked towards his hand and saw the ring and thought again of the promised day.

That night, he was with his friends and it was the same setting as last night replaying itself. It was the same seedy bar they’d crawled out, another half full pitcher of beer, his friend Bones (with the comical grin, the broken nose and the eye brow piercing), laughing to a girl from somewhere who must have made another sadistic remark zinging him (something he’d been ignoring for past few weeks), and Dushu looking at him in a mock disapproval marking her victory in the banter.

“Oy, where you lost?” was the last thing he heard before he poured himself another drink.

Sweet Nothings: A Rogue Production

2010-02-10T00:26:00.000-08:00

Scene 1: A day on the terrace
Location: The terrace

The setting is somewhere around dusk, where there is the silhouette of a boy and a girl sitting at the edge of a 4-5 storey terrace set against the horizon. From the focus, it is evidently noticeable that the boy has long brown hair and is sitting in a contemplative position looking at the sea crashing against the shores, throwing a shy glance at the girl every now and then. The girl has short red hair, tattoo on her back, and multiple piercings on the ear as the metal glints in the setting sun. She is dressed in a casual attire of tank tops and shorts, and there is a bubbly aura about her. The camera moves towards them and sets the closure, when it suddenly pans forward and shows both of them from an overhead angle. The boy’s converse shoes are shown tilted towards each other, whereas the girl is wearing home slippers, her toe nails painted in an off beat color and the heels of her feet bouncing off the wall every now and then. Moreover, it is easily noticeable that there is a pavement below their feet with a flow of people making their way by foot and an occasional car passing the curb.

Scene 2: The Conversation
Location: The terrace

The camera focuses on the lovely profile of the girl, and it is noticeable that there is laughter in her face and she is obviously swaying from one shoulder to the other expressing the joy in her heart. The boy’s side profile is noticeable from the angle, and it is evident that his piercing eyes are set on the horizon.

Girl: So, what now? We have the world at our feet…

Boy: What if they don’t exist?

Girl: (laughs) Lets find out...

And the camera pans in an overhead shot which shows their feet and the pavement again as the boy turns towards the girl.

Boy: How?

Here she looks down and a shingles single slippers off her feet and its drops to the flow of the pavement below. It almost misses the trunk of a man, who is walking and attending a phone call at the same time and hits the pavement with a smack. Nobody notices the slipper and they keep walking on. The next shot is that of the boy and girl looking and laughing with all their hearts.

Scene 3: What’s the difference?
Location: The terrace

Alternative 1

The camera is set on their backs and as the sun is setting, they huddle closer to each other till the girl kisses him on the cheek and rests her head on the shoulder looking down at the people making their way beneath her feet.

Alternative 2

The camera is set on their backs and it circles them both. The boy still looking at the horizon with piercing depth, and there is a grit resolute on the girls face. As the camera reaches their back, it is noticed that the girl is holding on the ledge with all her strength. Suddenly she let goes. In the next angle, she is shown flying towards the ground with a smile on her face till she reaches flat on the road and the blood drips from the orifices of the face.

At the hospital, the girl is shown lying on the bed with a cast on her leg staring out at the world beyond the window. The guy strolls towards her and with a shrug hands her the flowers and smiles as he notes the delight on her face.

Boy: You know, there is nothing much to matter in the world out there. But for us, my world resides in you as yours resides in me…

And the camera closes in on the girls face as the emotions cloud her eyes with his form obvious on her pupil.

Icarus Rising: A Rogue Production

2010-02-10T00:25:00.000-08:00

Scene 1:
Location: Whistling Woods
Scope: Black and White, low frame rate

The focus is set in black and white (with distortions giving a vintage effect) on the luminous sight of the sky and the clouds hovering by and gradually moves on to the institute building with the students and faculty piling in and guests lolling about. The engagement of the human activity is shown through a slight jerky and archaic footage with major distortions (white spots and lines) till the camera deliberately pans right and focuses on a single individual who is mopping the floor.

Transition is shown through a deliberate err in editing where the screen blacks out for a second or half till the next scene

Scene 2:
Location: A & D Wing
Scope: Black and White, mediocre frame rate

The camera focuses on the man mopping the floor with a dull look on his face till a waltz number begins and his face perks up. He listens to the music with intent and then looks at the mop and bucket and continues with his work. Only this time he slowly starts dancing with the mop while indulging with the work. His little number becomes more and more romantic, as if the mop were an imaginary woman till he tips it and comes back with only one hand on the mop and the other in the air. He turns and slips, the mop drops and clatters to the floor.

Scene 3:
Location: A & D wing
Scope: Black and White, Increased frame rate

The man comes into the frame in an attempt to catch his balance. As soon as he does he notices the sudden change in his environment and he takes a look at himself. He finds himself dressed in waist high trousers, suspenders and hat and says something but is barely audible. He tries again till he says something obviously silly and then laughs as he realizes he can speak but there is no sound coming from his lips, instead he gives up and claps his hand to initiate a burst of sound in polka/ clarinet instrumental and does a silly jig. He tries to spin around and this time he finds a small red rose in the backdrop, whose red sparkles against the black and white back drop and he picks it up with a shy look in his eye.

Scene 4
Location: A & D Wing to Recreation Room
Scope: Technicolor

The footage shudders and the man thinks he is in and earthquake till he finds ground and balance and he sees himself without a warning in a Technicolor frame and looks at himself with an audible “aha!” He looks around at his surrounding and hears a small romantic tune playing in the distance.

Alternative 1:
See’s a woman in the distance wearing white/ blue and attempts a romantic interlude by handing her the red rose. They hold each other and he looks her in the eye, till she turns and in a dramatic mood throws her face in her hand and with the other pushes him away. He turns dejected and notices a door with the quote “Exit” and walks through it.

Alternative 2:
Hears the tune and follows it till he reaches a door (recreation room) and knocks on it with a romantic look in the eye. Instead of the door opening, there is another knock on the other side. He knocks again to hear another knock in reply. He knocks musically, to get another musical reply… till he bursts through the door.

Scene 5:
Location: Recreation Room
Scope: Eastman Chrome tone

He finds himself at the billiards table with the sound of jazz, and the footage mostly continues with shots of cigarette in hand, smoke twirling in the air, the clink of whisky tumblers and the activity of the billiards with emphasized focus on the pocket balls flying helter and skelter with a cue break, and the obvious passing of the gave with a few frames devoted to the roll of the red ball towards the pocket and the cue ball hitting the 8.

Scene 6:
Location: A & D Wing
Scope: Eastman Color.

Coming out of the room, the man walks back down with a simple smile as he forgets about his earlier activity and the wet floor, till he slips and falls hard to the floor.

Scene 7
Location: A & D Wing
Scope: True Resolution

Finding himself on the floor, the man is shown rising to the sound of inspirational music and finds himself rising back in his overalls and reaches the mop to look around at the true resolution. He goes back to work, the camera focuses on him and slowly focuses out spanning in a few seconds as the credits start rolling.

Film Name: Icarus Rising

2010-02-10T00:23:00.001-08:00

Duration : 3 minutes

Basic Concept
The cinema is a basic compilation of random footage with a slight sync in the storyline constituting the life of cinema and the men behind it. The cinema starts with old format analog countdown timer which fades into blackness and the first footage is shown in black and white of the material depth in life through the focus on the institute building till it comes across a single man with limited means and destitute looks mopping the floor (in a very low frame per second rate) and a sound which suspiciously sounds like marching behind. This is shown through the old school thought of video reminiscent of the late 1900’s

The second scene chances on the imagination where the man picks up his mop and dances with it at the sound of a waltz number (Mozart/ Wagner) as he continues mopping the floor. This is shown in the same archaic footage as the start till the mop drops and he slips on the floor and gathers his balance.

In the third scene the man finds himself in the next frame into the depth of his imagination and way deep into in his logistic schools of humour (still in his conscious mind) which is represented through his costume of waist high trousers, suspenders, tie and complete with a bowler/ fedora hat. He looks back where he dropped his mop and finds a cane instead which he picks up. The footage is comparatively a lot more improved than the former with a slightly increased frame rate, the sound of a whirr against the soothing essence of a clarinet playing and reminiscent of the time of Charlie Chaplin and Buster Keaton in a blend (reference: limelight).

The progress of the concept carries on giving scope of the various shades in cinema right from the romanticism of the Technicolor in the 60’s with romantic music calling for a lover, to the bohemian and beatnik 80’s with Eastman Chrome Tones and the setting of the present times in true resolution. .

Film Name: Icarus Rising

2010-02-10T00:23:00.000-08:00

Looking Back

2010-01-14T00:17:00.000-08:00

The clouds are crashing, there is thunder and lightening
And these are the times when I feel there is nowhere for me
To hide, under the blankets or under my skin;
My mind is like a Siren, wailing with so many questions
Run away, run away, run away before the riders come riding
Before it starts, there’d be a past you never could forget
And all those reasons for which I waited for you
Would start to seem wasted…
There is a canvas waiting on the bed, begged for us to make it
The mirrors against the green, acting coy for you to be touched
Fill it with the colors of love, in every way we can
I am but the cloud drifting in the distance, I can’t be held
Bury myself in those valleys, locked in your embrace
But I better run away, run away, run away, and never look back
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There is a question that comes to mind when you search for a mate and then realize what its like to be found wanting. The measure of the ages past lacks a measure in integrety and tears the other from within. How can the valour of integrity in itself can be treated like loose change in the pocket? How can hope, curiosity and frolic be an excuse to shield yourself from the falling curtains of truth and reality? Perhaps a loss of regret in itself makes for human deluding themselves in mishapen world of conformity. People, these days, can only measure so far till they wake up one to realize that the moment they've waited for come to them arrived, but what they made of themselves made that moment come a little too late. All set against the times when you love till that love makes a living lie of your fate...
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Godspeed,
Rogue
Poet of the Shadows
Back from the dead!

Jezebel

2009-12-07T18:07:00.000-08:00

Today I shall speak of those moments
Where I trifled in the glory of a fool’s parade
Breaking my fingers, tearing my hands
For words that came by a chosen few, bitter in spite
Knives set on each other, the hilt to a heart of grit
And the point to mine
There I condemned myself to wither and die
Before I knew, the cold steel point dangled and prayed
On the very rhythm of me heart, all three of them
Months changed, Seasons passed and years sighed
And I remained where I stood, watching the world go by
The anarchist, the poet, the man to be hanged
His voice and words to die, reckless in a misgiving fight

And then the angel tilted the light to his darkness
As the walls came down, ravens ran crimson in pride
Blades flew to tear flesh, cackles of blood lusted laughter
But the eye opened, and captured a refrain stolen in time
The boundless prince savaged in words of madness
As the legends and mythology despaired of an era that went by
Two and Seventy hours waning, sleepless and broken
The words she spoke of love, music in her ears
Since her years of wanton muse and innocence
He growled to her as a beast and reminded her of abandonment
Till the angel broke down and cried
The moon caught in the sparkle of the tear filled eyes
But the blade fell free, and he caught his heart as it came to break

Boundless though he walked from the paths of trust
Of the pure, of innocence and the vision of faith and credence
With every word she spoke she proved him wrong
And caressed the vision of him as she did so, unknotting fears
Till there was a world beyond madness, against the world
That had the moment of every day without the sight of her
So now he knew, if there be anything of a word called love
It came in her, along with harmonious laughter and a shy whisper
Serenity traced her high cheeks, lips that tasted wine
Drinking to his name and the essence of guileless arrogance
The god of sleep walked envious, scoffed of his lovely possession
And the ticking moment closed on four months, eight and twenty days
Of excruciating penance, austerity and longing of the angels grace.

To the day she will walk the earth again, on the soil he stands
Beckoning the lost man, the fallen child to take her hand
And leave the stolen glances behind, the days in her wait
The barbarians of the centuries far, the villains of yesteryears
To Grecians who live beyond the distance of marble and columns
High and above the thoughts and reasoning of mortal plane
Grateful of the sun and heaven,
Watching her smile, call out a forgotten name
Asleep and smiling, watchful and willing of the time to come
Caught in her sleep, so peaceful, so silent, adorable as a gentle dream
She sighs within her tender breath, and in longing, my words lie in a fret
Though the days be far, noble lies that soft road wherein every turn
I’ll remain locked in the enchantment of her name, Jezebel…

Heavens Denied

2009-09-27T05:29:00.000-07:00

I, the artist, am going to search for the very essence of beauty in this world. For I know, only the eye that cares to see it would claim it once it comes in sight. I will know and understand innocence and joy of living even though I will search for a long time. There will be pain, there will be sorrow as well; but I am knowing enough to realize that there will be happiness at the end of the road and it will wash away everything and leave them all behind as a simple memory that would search for a smile for those yesterdays. And eventually she would come and I'll taste the very grace of love and how it defines my life. I am the horizon.

He, the poet and the dreamer, is going to question forever and be lost within the search of answers. The very woes of complication would befal him as he knows of no start and would reach no end. Though with time and the amourous grace of a wordsmith, he'd unleash numerous works and poetry for everyone to read and those that give even a glance would have the answers he seeks. And eventually, when he is touched by kindness and passion, he would turn to his heel and run as far as fuel and his feet would take him. He is the mirror.

Who am I?

Wisdom Of the Gods

2009-08-26T16:56:00.000-07:00

...and before I knew what I was doing, I had kicked the typewriter and threw it around the room and made it beg for mercy. At this point the typewriter pleaded for me to dress him in feminine attire but instead I pressed his margin release over and over again until the typewriter lost consciousness. Presently, I regained consciousness and realized with shame what I had done. My shame is gone and now I am looking for a submissive typewriter, any color, or model. No electric typewriters please!

Rick Kleiner

Wisdom of the Gods

2009-08-23T17:17:00.001-07:00

It will be of little avail to the people that the laws are made by men of their own choice if the laws be so voluminous that they cannot be read, or so incoherent that they cannot be understood.

James Madison (1751-1836)

Fenrisulfr : An Excerpt

2009-08-20T04:32:00.000-07:00

De temp en temp?

Fenrir: Love cannot be seen with open eyes and can only be caught with closed eyes; because with material and shapes being the only sights the open eyes can see, but what to make of love which has no shape, sight or colour. Therefore love can be seen with closed eyes, felt with open arms and understood only with a heart. And we ask why love is blind?

Anastassia: Please, you should stop now! You're making me feel-

Fenrir: Feel of what?

Anastassia: Loved, lovable, loving: something I considered stupid or not worth the essence in time or impractical, foolishly sentimental, need I go any further?

Fenrir: But you are, my love! And I'm merely pampering you, though it be not what you expect-

Anastassia: I beg your pardon; though it may not be what I expect but can you sure it is not what I want? The enthusiasm of a woman's love is beyond that of the realms of realization.

Fenrir: It might not be what you desired, but haven't you been lain in wait for? Might I go far as to say it be what you may have strived for? Saying so might make less of me extending the complement to me alone, but you know it be just and true.

Anastassia: The tides of love takes off masks that we cannot live without and before you know of it, we cannot live within. I've come across its first light and I may have taken a glimpse at the second. But what might I make of you? Is this what you desire? Ask yourself of your happiness and you cease to be so-

Fenrir: And these are the moments where I wish to say "time alone will tell".

Anastassia: No, not time but by your lips alone.

Fenrir: I know I am happy. I know I want you, and I have known that I always did and now I look for a lot more.

Anastassia: Then perhaps, we have a lot in stock to say. As a wise soul once said,

Is love a fancy, or a feeling? No:
It is immortal as the immaculate truth;
'Tis not a blossom shed as soon as youth,
It lies not in our power to love, or hate
For the will in us is over-rulde by fate.
Where the two are stripped long
ere the course begin,
We wish that one should lose,
the other win.
And one especially do we effect
Of two gold ingots like in each respect
The reason no man knows, let it suffice
What we behold is cons ensured by our eyes
Where both deliberate, the love is slight

Fenrir: :smiles languidly: To think an angel aloof and proud fell from the grace of heaven just to caress the matted fur of a man-beast, kiss his chapped hands and look tendre in his raging eyes. All because he howled to her but the moon.

A: Whoever lov'd, that lov'd not in first sight. Pardon me, my love for quotes and rhymes gets the worst or the best of me and at moments as these, I would not be wrong. I am all but arresting that there has never been a time like this.

Fenrir: Take heed, woman, for you hold my heart within your hands.

Anastassia: You must be speaking of the past, my Leander, for tonight what was in your heart is in mine and for ever.

Fenrir: Bless me, and them fools say that you fall in love, I did admit so once but since I've courted your grace I have done all but fall and learn’d to rise.

Anastassia: Then rise to the level of the sun, so even he would shy away from the brightness in your eye.

Fenrir: And now I am at a loss of words, and only you can make a poet stumble upon his tongue. Is it passion, or could it be a lot more?

Anastassia: What might be your thought; does passion inspire a poet against the gods? Or does it give you to free everything that has been hidden till now? Passions are no more forgiving than human laws and burdens, though they reason justly so. Are they not based on a conscience of their own, infallible as an instinct?

Fenrir: And pray, tell me how would I come to know?

Anastassia: Hark, I wish to speak more but I have to make haste. I hear them searching for me and they find you there would never be the promise of another night. < exit>

Fenrir: Till how long would you wound me so? Oh, the Gods be to curse, for he showed me the the vision to her and lit the path to her, but snatched oft the sands of time which binds my fate to her now and for ever. : thoughtful: For-ever - oh, for how long would this be so?
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This is an excerpt of a bit I wrote in College and hacked it when I saw that it couldn't go the direction I wished it to go. However, the charming part of this bit is that it is based on a real conversation which took place between me and a remarkable lady a long long time ago.

Oath to Mars

2009-08-18T13:30:00.000-07:00

I live alone with the dark
My very soul a sword
Except to those under me
Fatal to any coming close
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Since I have nothing to lose
A fearless blade is sharp
Walk on mountains of rubble
Crush anything left standing
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I fight, slay to roam tireless
Need only a path to victory
Know not of the word defeat
If I lose, life itself will end
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I conquer, loot and plunder
No love for a soldier’s heart
Gone are smiles and pleasure
Just a blade and scars to show
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This poem dates back many many years and is the only one I have memorized. I wonder how many would understand the essence behind these staunch words...

Ballad of the Fallen Angels...

2009-08-18T13:19:00.000-07:00

Beyond the holy light of the moon
Echoed your voice piercing night,
Angel of Eden, pray who are you?
Beckoning me to claim the fruit
As the doors of fate are lost forever;
Never to reveal what it once held,
And anxiously I hold me breath
For I know where my zest lies;
Within those eyes that tell a tale,
Red fumes within a mystics seal;
A smile that ebbs away slowm
For the sorrow that comes with it
Sweeter than the taste of first rain-
Our journey is yet to begin, love;
Call the winds to cushion the fall,
Kiss away the pain that will come,
But the heart that throbs so hard
Can never forget what it heard;
Tossed like a scarf into the draft,
Dancing with the clouds for days,
Just waiting forever to be caught;
Brimming in the wanton desires,
Whisper for time to chime a call;
A breath that tells of eternity,
The wild flowers ruled the land,
Heaven entwined in our fingers,
But the wolves that ran died;
Their howls just echoing now,
Without the voice behind them,
The brambles they slept on froze,
Earnest to be remembered again:
But it is time alone that will tell,
Within the pages of our destiny-
The tale of the angels who fell.
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An falling attempt in making something out of the mumbles of a drunken fool… this is as far as I could go...

To be, Rogue

2009-08-07T01:50:00.000-07:00

Evolution,
Expression;
Quills,
Art;
Joy,
Fool;
Opportunity,
Possibilities;
Recession,
Obsession;
Rice,
Flavor;
Thought,
Parallels;
Inebriated,
Disoriented;
Live,
Evil;
Love,
Intelligence;
Reasoning,
Understanding;
Poker,
Jack;
Ace,
Spade;
Cat,
Eyes;
War,
Demise;
Boom!
Chick;
Rogue,
Words;
Pray,
Godspeed.
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Boo! You call that writing... :hangs his head in shame and turns to the book rack:

Ode to the Smiling Face of Death

2009-06-24T14:34:00.000-07:00

Oh, death, the goddess of eternal darkness
Who comes smiling with arms wide to embrace me,
Like a child I am to you, innocent and fearful
Though you know of no human curses
For you are never vindictive, never quick to anger
You grant freedom from the misery and woes of man
To take me to the land that turns on its head to ours
And yet, I remain fearful of your power over me
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Oh, death, glorious in such dark radiance
Justice is a virtue for the weak, as revenge is for fools
Why must you make a soul wait to see your face?
Longing to kiss you, so to part the gift that was taken
Do you not see that time beckons no knowledge in us
Coy and conniving he is, toying with our flesh and mind
Why must you keep us bound in his chains for so long?
Knowing that you are our guardian to what lies beyond
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Oh death, forever benevolent and gracious
Why remain silent, with radiant eyes dulled in wisdom
And I know that blessed are those that die young,
Though you rob those that love, the one of their joy
Why do you not tell them that she has found peace?
And that she waits for those she loves patiently
As we are alive, we are also dead; don the smiling mask
So to lead us to where there is a beginning and no end
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La Mort est certaine, l'heure uncertaine.

This might probably be the last poem I write for the next few months to follow. Though I doubt that there is anyone who'd care, but there is life to catch up to and demons to put down again, though it be a battle lost before it is even decided on.

Wisdom of the Gods

2009-06-24T14:29:00.000-07:00

But I am a blasted tree; the bolt has entered my soul; and I felt then that I should survive to exhibit what I shall soon cease to be - a miserable spectacle of wrecked humanity, pitiable to others and intolerable to myself.

Mary Shelley 1797-1851

It is strange to observe that considering the odds of gambles and coincidence, we might be fools to persist. Nevertheless, once in a while you have to tread the steps which might lead to a self righteous demise whereas the measure of the will might falter and succumb.

To where I’d belong

2009-06-23T14:10:00.000-07:00

Where the winds blew, turned and parried
There I went, far from the course of man
In search of a new land, in search of destiny
Where I’d build a home, free of all woes
And come to terms with this life
Know where I’d belong, know of what I am
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What sort of a man am I? Never came an answer
Knowing that I have no destiny, I have no dreams
For I eat if I hunger, and drink when I thirst
And Bleed if I need to, though be no reason just
As fate seems to elude me, the beast I am
Hanging lonesome like a torn kite on a tree
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There are flowers withering before they blossom
But the blessed moon of harvest has come to rise
The fires of the crude stove burns bright again
Golden light shimmers in a glory of promise
No woes to those sleeping on a content stomach
Though tomorrow may bring drought or raiders
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There is dancing and much merriment to see
The clothes t’were on my back are torn
And there is no-one I know to lend me even a rag
Still I want to see my wife and child dressed gaily
And their smiles in the light of moon is enough
To know I belong here, even as the winds blow far
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Its still crude and I have to edit it a lot. Noted diction errors and unstructured thoughts. Will finish and update later. I'm so lazy now-a-days...

Weeds

2009-06-14T04:30:00.000-07:00

The wanderer walks eying the spire of ambitions
In the distance endless as the want of eternity
He has no money,
He says that even when he thought he could buy pleasure
There was no form or shape in its rustle for a smile
And the heavy paper could not be writ on
Leaving him bare as the road he walks upon
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The roads upon which he walks looms long and far
Never does have a bed to sleep or a pillow to rest his head
He has no house,
He mused that once where he thought he had somewhere to be safe
The walls took to grow upon him and swallow him whole
All he had was stolen or taken save for his soot and solitude
And there was nothing to which he could hold or call his own
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And so walks the wanderer in search for meaning
Trees struggling against the wind, a lake frozen white
He has no lover,
He says that everytime he searched for one where he'd belong
She took to be a silhouette walking upon the hard ice upon water
He slipped, he sank, he drowned, he burnt and he suffocated
Never came her slim white wrists to pull him from the blindness
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And he came to the day where he took his final steps
The footsteps of the gods which he chased never came to sight
He struggles for breath,
No money, a fugitive of love, no house and one without a job
He died as he came, with nothing to have or hold on to
And all that remained of him was the beauty of life itself
Closed eyes still chasing dreams free of hunger, debts or a will
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I was studying philosophy and catching up with the schools of logic. Every word has a function and every sentence has to take a form in sense for the sake of argument. But what of the heart which knows of no reason or the scheme of rhyme and purpose. What be the use of words and its purpose when life in itself for most make for little or no sense.

Eternal Vows

2009-05-21T16:31:00.000-07:00

What is love to you?
She said
A lot more than you know,
Said I
What might it mean to you?
She asked
I wish I could show you
Claimed I
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Is love not everything
Granted to me
Touch of Venus
A sweet dream
To hold you in my arms
Languid bliss in serenity
As long as I like
With my breath
Entwined in your hair
A rose of desire, promising
Parched for long
The dew of morn
Is not a kiss in a vow?
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Do you love me?
She said
Do you really want to know?
Said I
Tell me with all your heart…
She asked
I wish I could show you
Claimed I
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Heavens may come to fall
You are forever
Within my heart
Everything I am
The life to which I belong
Is simply yours to keep
As you are mine
Where we swore by choice
Us in eternity for all of time
My fate and destiny
Is in your shadow
You belong to me
Your love makes me whole
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Is this not pride?
She asked
Do you really think so?
Said I
Tell me then what is it?
She held
It’s better felt than known…
Said I
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All you need is love, and within that moment life itself feels complete.

Nero’s Song

2009-05-15T03:35:00.000-07:00

An ocean of fire
Rampaging flames
Fiddler is dancing
Join these games
Time to be merry
When they scream
Sing the chorus
Toast a falling city
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What is life?
An excuse to live
Drink to get drunk
Fight to survive
Charade on a roof
Worry not the fall
Just a nasty spiff
As paint on a doll
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Pieces and ashes
All that shall be
Rome is burning
The great city
It shall be built
All over again
Man is a brute
Skilled they say
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Live a lifetime
Within a moment
Die if you wish
The soul still lives
Run if you desire
But can you hide?
Lie on the shores
Wade against a tide
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Sol simply drowns
In the sea so blue
Douse the inferno?
Pails are too few
Why tarry about
It is all of no use
Come along here
Dance to my tune…
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If my memory serves right, I wrote this when I was still a kid, sullen with people kicking bits of my own prose in my face. No rhyme schemes, no reason and nothing in the gist... yet it has a slight charm dancing within.

Behind Walls

2009-05-15T03:33:00.000-07:00

What can I make of a heart that is forever true?
For years I've been building walls of ice around it
Can’t you see I’m down on my knees for you?
But those words of a bloody vow are closing in
And I wish but cannot let my soul pass through
Though my heart is calling for another chance
I know that I have always and will need you
Beyond the ledge of reality I’ll keep stumbling
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So dress up, get your feet to run towards me
Chance me those words which I wish to hear
Take another life and thrust to set me free
Lift those obscene fears, cleanse me of dreams
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Fighting the demon poisoning all my life within
Show me a line that divides sanity from the world
Whisper in my ear comforting me that I will win
I might just show you the life I can live to keep
How many eons you now need to simply realize
With one word of yours I’ll leave all this behind
This life which once threatened to tear us apart
Would never come into our world of tomorrow
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Know that no god will come down for us
Neither spirits care nor people would bother
But shouldn’t one do what the person must
Or wait till the consequence starts to matter
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And when the walls comes closing down on me
I’ll still be holding on and breathing your name
Stubborn as I am, biting my tongue till it is raw
Where’re you? You ne’er came! So bitter to say
The heartbeats in life for you could not change
And when that day comes I’d struggle for me breath
A glory of fighting the times, the common good
So now one must cease and give birth to another
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Nothing has, nothing would prevail the age
Dawn has ebbed, with a dusk writ in smoke
Today sacrifice the life of one for obscurity
And ‘morrow comes the sun of a new world
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Just musing over my old journals. Saw this and thought it might be a nice addition to this box I've created for myself. Any theories?

Wisdom of Gods

2009-05-13T08:02:00.000-07:00

Do not be in a hurry to succeed. What would you have to live for afterwards? Better make the horizon your goal; it will always be ahead of you.

William Makepeace Thackeray (1811-1863)

From a child looking up to a GOD. AMEN!!!

Word Play: Drunken Lingo

2009-05-12T13:15:00.001-07:00

I hereby declare that the following words will be a part of my active vocabulary hence forth!

1.Goo goo g'joob

Taken from the song 'I am the walrus' written by John Lennon and popularized by Bono and the secret machines of late. Used in movie across the universe, lyrics hailed by one and all in the world.

To be used as a noun, pro-noun, adjective and a verb

Eg.

Verb
Hey! I drank as much you if not more... how come I wasn't goo goo g'joobed?

If you think I'm gonna write more about this knowing my grammer, just goo goo g'joob with the first thing you see. I suggest a yellow umbrella, a brick and a leotard.

Thought of the Day

2009-05-12T05:43:00.000-07:00

I am not simply a man, but an evolved being reserved in the power of thought and reasoning. I refuse to believe in eternal damnation, the contraries of heaven and hell and every ludicrous galore the cultural and societal text has to say on our day of judgment. I know that the life I am blessed with is simply a test of my salt eying my spirit, my wits and my depth. Nature as I perceive has seen fit to bless me with senses far beyond my mind, lips, nose, ears, eyes and skin; now I vow to make each breath and every ticking moment count.

Serenity, the child of a forlorn sight…

2009-05-10T11:49:00.000-07:00

Serenity, beckoning in the realm of closed eyes, blind and shy
As reality turns to tear away her grace, the child of a forlorn sight
Trembling I stumble to stand, looking at a figment of my mind
Amber eyed, curly locks of silk that dances within the light
Is it loneliness, illusions, perhaps the solitude of a doomed man?
Taken to hide behind the wool of sheets, ink and black sticks
Wavering on the cliff wondering on the depth of existence
Yet crystal clear is her voice, telling me not to take the plunge
Whereas I, lost in my stand tipping upon the edge, beckoning
The grime of shadows in all the sins that I have come to forget
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I see my blood drip on the stead of sand in the hourglass
Closer and closer I begin to lose my grip, knuckles bone white
Thumbscrews piercing the depths of my heart, senses excruciating
And a moment upon her essence, bearing a fragrance of her breath
There I slip from the courteous audacity of the ticking hand itself
Dusty brown and black of haze to break the strain of the conscious
Or club my wits reckoning to break the glass and so to sleep forever
Condemned to claw the air grasping at the mere ghost of a woman
Praying to eight hands of divinity each clutching my kindred crimes
I stand far from reach, a mirror in between and her on the other side
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There is no search of the lands I lost without her hand in mine
And there be no glory in my words if not whispered into her ears
Meager are the days I live cursing the solemn mind not to pass
And I know that the reapers blade edges near upon my throat
Eyes closed but peering at the steps of a nymph-like smiling angel
Toying with a heart forged as the clash of razor edged steel
Broken shards of the sinister arm, a blind man instead of the shield
Losing my sanity as my eyes agonize upon the seven shines of blight
My serenity is within her, and far is the plane upon which she stands
Be it a babbling fool left of me, dreaming of the child of a forlorn sight
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Catch the cobwebs of the closing mage

Fading Depth

2009-05-08T06:10:00.001-07:00

Watching the sun rise to see it drown
Miles and miles of foreseen, running far
Running away from every familiar sound
When did life catch up to my blistered feet?
When did my dreams botch and fade?
Destined to the land of asleep angels and now
Take me to the paradise where I wouldn’t be
Mesmerized on the flesh of misunderstood love
Rejected in my passions of a smirking solitude
Stains of a million hopes broken in its need
I don’t want the vultures to pick on my carcass
When I collapse on my feet, tired from the run
Searching the innocent, oblivious of the meek
Towards the shores of insanity and cigarette burns
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Would you not take me to the darkness of kismet?
For the words I heard was less then what I could hear
And yet in the bleak of penance and silence
I found no wisdom smoking the dust of the sages
Only a day or two, before I lose my mind again and
While I’m out there, there is only one adversary
Compared to the thousand I spend in my wake
Trying to catch the fleeting lights of broken thoughts
Knowing that I wouldn’t be the man you hoped for
Running away from the glory of belonging
To be where I wouldn’t breathe the dirt thrown at me
Cigarette stubs, dregs of tea and disappointments
Of the strangers glaring at me, morose and damning
Till I fade and come to terms to the man I couldn’t be
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Chasing the path of surreal depths

Expression: Loom of Summer

2009-05-01T22:31:00.001-07:00

This blog is showing all the signs of becoming my obsession. I have always known of my ardent interest in creative writing, but lately the flow of thoughts have been connecting deep within the rhythm of my being. No mysteries there, I can gleefully say that it is too hot to venture out in the sun, too tedious to work or to do anything that requires dexterity and active sensory-motor functions, and not to mention too boring to take up chores. Therefore abstraction is the only viable solution I see and here is another one of "dear diary" moments...
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Let us consider the age old cycle on the battle of the sexes whilst we take a dash on the planes of passion. Lately, it seems to be the season of romance and I have noticed a fair share of a few good chumps of mine taking the fall. It is yet another day promising of an Indian summer, the relentless Delhi heat where everyone seems to be ducking into the shelter of a cool shade to hide and spend a moment or two with their muse. Once again, for the abominations:
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Dimension : Battle of Sexes
Factor A : Man
Factor B : Woman
Objective : To understand the functions of the wonderful process of romance
Variable : Summer
Hypothesis : Love is in the air?
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Therefore, here are a few random thoughts of expression, or quotes if you will dedicated to the young and dauntless:
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When we speak of love, we need to understand a few logical aspects of desire and its implications. For a man to fall in love, it takes just sight and the awareness of a single moment, but for a woman it takes the knowledge of the man and the palette of his dreams, aspiration and his perception.
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For a woman to know a man would take between a couple of dates to a few good years to pass, but for a man to know a woman, it is easier to say that even a lifetime would fall short.
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And on the journey of life, a man makes many mistakes, so does a woman. A relationship can never be perfect. You can say love has done well when both the man and woman can cross over the misdeeds, and harbor each other in the goodness of faith, trust and the fulfillment of commitment.
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Blitzkreig

2009-05-01T19:16:00.000-07:00

First of all I would like to mention that lately there is no freedom of thought, expression and individuality. In most cases than naught, the source is a bitch or rather a group/organization of morons running around under the guise of professionalism and the fallacies of the ink and heavy parchment.

Those who know of me, both past and present, and are reading these words know exactly what and who I am speaking of. Nevertheless, it is pitiful to see such caprices of Mother Nature abusing their positions, and proving their lack of subtlety and the faculties of mental processing wasting not only air, matter and space but precious moments in the great parallel of time.

If only a few set of parents had been practical enough to beat some sense into these afore mentioned works of art, instead of condemning them to a life of repressed and anally retentive social deviancy. Would it not be better for such abominations to take a walk off the roof of a building which has at least twenty flights of stairs? You could prove me wrong regarding my opinion by doing so and if you would like, I’d be but happy to point out a few pious works of architecture to do so. But then again, ignorance and idiocy are an indulgence.

I guess it stings when an eloquent tongue comes under poison. And oh, I feel a lot better now, but let us move on to a healthier subject.

Blackbird

2009-04-27T16:59:00.000-07:00

I wait patient, suffer in silence
She refuses to hear the cries
My hearts moans in whispers
Not enough to reach her walls
*
With her I dreamt true
Of glory days in paradise
Till a blackbird came
And sat on the far tree
T’was far yet so near and,
She ran to its raucous call
*
She asks for recollection
I wipe tears before they fall
Said ‘look within your self’
Why, it screams out your name
*
I never knew meself
But you saw the man
The blackbird called
And you threw him oft
Ripped me to the soul
She’d have more to ask
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I love my lady beyond Eden
But she taunts its existence
Yesterday I could but dream
Tho’ you gave me the faith
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It was all magical
A little lad’s fairy tale
The blackbird toyed
Its words twisted it all
‘if have done naught
With dignity, be gone’
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She is deaf to my words
I see me dying within life
One year to build a tower
A minute to burn it down
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The rain got us close
A kiss was left to forge
This blackbird sung
And she turned around
Now without her smile
I remain without breathe
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I ask why the bird over me
She jests to make it leave
Never could see her this hurt
Could I stoop down so deep?
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Saw my world with her
Felt peace in her embrace
The blackbird flew again
Swaying her with illusions
As I fell from her grace
Rotting in the hands of fate
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I wrote this piece when I was still a youth, and I look back now and think what a fool was I. And then I look in the mirror and I see my nemesis. Where once I was a fool, open to life even if it beckoned the world around me to crumble, today I see a man whose eyes have glazed over. Feelings, emotions, a spirit that used to blaze in a reckless fire. Now I feel as if I spent a lifetime staring at a few broken words, knowing that no matter how hard I try, I'd never outgrow the chains that have bounded my hands in submission.

Thought of the Day

2009-04-27T16:57:00.000-07:00

I wish I could write a poem for every day of my life, but then again, what might be the taste of sour grapes against the flavor of wine...

Depth of Illusions

2009-04-20T05:37:00.000-07:00

Languid and cloudy dreams I saw
Reveling with a glory meant for me
Beautiful as not knowing tomorrow
In a virtue of courage and integrity
Pulling against this might of time
Nearing end, how far could I reach
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Holding my breath burning my skin
Ripping me to watch my world fall
Pain is in the tolerance you display
Willing feet to take a step forward
Only to be blind and lose my way
How long do I wait for the ashes
*
To my days and the sleepless night
Call the parade so to hang the man
How far could that destiny escape to?
End a struggle in the Promised Land
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Romeo clasped her hand to the end
Those fingers were pale in his death
Show me to be the last man standing
Happiness wouldn’t be just a word
In the tides of those are now or not
Forever to me seems to ebb too far
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Dreaming with eyes that shall not see
The dice of fate rolling against favor
What you call eternal glory is a farce
Who is the enemy, who be the savior?
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Does this make any sense?

Intuition

2009-04-10T17:58:00.000-07:00

Even before we rose to surreal depths
We knew the other was a simple mistake
And ever since I have forgotten
The days where heaven and hell met
As I lay my dreams in your closed eyes
Lost in the rhyme of shallow breaths
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I know when I am defeated
But what are the spoils of your conquest
The gold in the avarice of Cortez
The spitting fire of your intuitions
A simple gift of a native twisted fate
Braided by the locks of angel wings for you
Have you forgotten I am all that you seek?
For my defeat would unbind all that is true
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Our destinies entwined by the hands of god
Your devotion, my victory, a feminine ruse
But let us get rid of your entire pretense
Stolen kisses of passion that broke off refrain
Plucking words of love that are never spoken
And measure more in time’s weighted grain
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I know the look of victory
But where be the smirk to which I desire
And what of your many ambitions
Guided in reckoning of a woman’s intuition
Spearing through my stead in noble reason
Turn back before you walk away, pure in mind
To evoke the many lives we have waited
And mold the love of us so as to never sever
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In the passions of a tender ruse, bracing against the tide of fate. I dedicate this to you with all that is within me. Perhaps my words say more than what my voice beckons in haste... after all you were there, and you've known me...

Expression

2009-04-06T15:55:00.000-07:00

Life is like a dream that ebbs with the tide, where reality is but the illusive moon that hides behind the clouds. And so only when we sleep we find to have woken and see what shape is given to our reflection in the mirror we face in the eyes of the world.

Day after day is a battle fought, won and lost. Screaming in the face of the society only to find ourselves in tears for the time we lost. The youth and strength we were once proud of is replaced by the manacles of compromise and the promise of the never to come ‘happily ever after’. The choices we made were always wrong and the right ones were those that never seemed to have crossed our mind. So far, so good; is always the answer which is murmured in twisted words every other minute to offer solace to a bleeding heart.

Ours is an age like none other and life is less than what we see. The only gift given to us is to make the minutes ticking away count. Who am I is not the question to the answers we seek, rather it is what can I be?

However, each day that passes by, I watch the expressions of the dawn that lapses into the tawny dusk. Every ‘individual’ I see and come to know seem forever twisting in their worlds which they forever have strived for. There are shades of grey in all of us which invariably or rather involuntarily seeps out from time to time, but what to make of the pools in neglect and shades of misconstrued acts which we believe are the said answers to circumstances? There were those dreams which once fed the aesthetics in us. Now overshadowed in the illusive chaos of reality where the toast to life, our expression ultimate, is lost in the throes of the joining the mass.

At times when the intellect and the thirst for control took over the better of us the conscious in the mist of looming desperation; the words that reckoned belong to manipulation and irrational pretense. Or rather the object forces of overwhelming emotions to make-believe a curious play to sustain our measure in the world.

Far away from the monotony of life and existence, there are the days of the fresh spring air where the very earth smells of the magical effervescence that the rain casts on the soil with its heavy drops. The leaves and the grass are quenched of the thirst and the fiery summer gloom is finally extinguished. There lies the scent to a new beginning! There is the moment when magic can be achieved by the hands of man. Just a voice could be the silent spell that invokes the stormy fervor of ardor within us all creating the afterglow of a serene sanctuary. A moment where we realize we are alive and the joy of life is not really far.

I shall beg grace from the people I drew inspiration from to write this expression of extraordinary events. What I write here did happen and there are only a few instances that differ in the time line and order of veracity. But somewhere I hope you would walk with me again on those blooming days and see the face we left on each other in our vivid memoirs.

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A simple abstract from my manuscript which I wrote many a month ago, philosophizing on certain unembellished thoughts of expression. There is a lot more of course, it leads to a few chapters I had written not long ago.

For more, follow the white rabbit:
http://www.fictionpress.com/s/2656632/1/Heavens_Denied

Simply Quote: Quote of the Hour

2009-04-06T13:24:00.001-07:00

If the world thinks that you're wrong, prove yourself right. If you don't know how, instead of crying, moaning and weeping, find your path. If you cannot find your path, ask of those close to you to help you search. Start with your parents, they'd know a thing or two. If that does not help, get a shrink. If you think that the shrink is a shmuck, try an astrologer or even a fortune teller. And if all fails, I suggest you seek religion...

Simply Quote: Reflection

2009-04-06T10:30:00.000-07:00

This would come to be a section which will recur from time to time, these are the favorite few in my moments where I was stunned at the words which I surprisingly uttered. Mark you, all of these have been taken from real life conversations:
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#10 Its just a night of philosophical grandeur, rum and a lot of blazing words...
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#9 Tyranny, crime, revolution... nothing new to it and its all been done before...
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#8 -its like your favorite football team, or the wrong woman for you! You keep going back to them no matter how disappointed you are...
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#7 'If I ask you to give the art, poetry and the staunch thoughts to be a normal man and live with me; would you?' she said,
'If I were a normal man and half the fool than what I am, would you even have taken notice with just me looks?' asked I
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#6 I chase to where the wind frolics for I am but sure that if I reach there I would be greeted in the arms of a thousand angels.
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#5 It is not that you don't understand me, its just that I don't let you...
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#4 A perfected method for adding drama to your life is to wait until the deadline looms large upon your head...
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#3 You'd be the death of me and yet, I look on to you as does a beggar to an angel which magically appeared afore him.
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#2 When life comes to be but a wilted rose, death would be sweeter than a lover's kiss. And this goes to most. As for me, when I awake most mornings I feel wonderful to be alive. And then in half a moment I realize that today might be the last day I be alive. So I put on my sunday best, groom myself as a king, and steel my nerves to that of a prize fighter. For if death be my curious seductress and chooses me as her paramour for the day, I would most like for her to swoon.
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#1 I prefer poetry, not cheesy one-liners.

Apology

2009-04-03T12:44:00.000-07:00

You are the calm of my days
Like a light in life, alive in every breath
Like the passion of the rain
Mellow in an unforgiving storm
You are every moments delight
*
Whereas I,
I am a cold and cynical man,
Bitter in my ways struggling against odds
Always seeking that I would never find
Pretensions beyond living in lies
But beyond the mask of a happy face
Laughter and a comic gait
Much unlike the rose of your stride
*
I realized, that I am but nothing
Even a stray is loyal, and I am unworthy
I brought you nothing that I promised,
And wrecked only sullen grief
You deserve a lot more, a lot better.
*
Though I know I lie beyond forgiveness
I am sorry for being the biting pebbles on your path
Perhaps the single cloud against your clear horizon
Or worse, the curse that threatened to tear your life.
I hope for the day that I could but tell you
Even if I choked on my words, died
I’d never redeem me act, it’d still be a lot less
My life be yours and yours to take
*
No matter how many hours that goes by
My thoughts gaze the silence in regret
Think of me the shallow fool
Walk away and look back no more
Condemn me for all I have never known
*
And I shall promise you
That without your sunny demeanor
I’d be but the rose that withers
And in my last breath, I would nevertheless say
That all my happiness lies in your simple smile
Blessing me like the child in a gentle caress
No matter how time fades away; where, how or why
I'll be here, begging my forgiveness, from you
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Raw
When most look back on their time they find there is a lot to regret on and a lot smile for. When I looked back on mine, I found no regrets, no memories, no smiles. Strangely, I found a lot to apologize for. I cannot help but wonder, If I were the man I am today, would I still come to do those deeds and someday choke on my arrogance and wish I'd have apologized?

The Beast Awakens

2009-04-02T12:27:00.000-07:00

When the rain washes away the grains
Soon the beast shall wake
To another life stabbed in our pain
Breathing the doubts we kept
See what we lost through all the years
Hiding our wishes in ourselves
We searched for red within the darkness
His venom brought forth blood
In his fangs we shall seek another future
Engrave our lives into the winds
Will we build on the hatred we all saw?
Tearing our very own for a morsel
Or will we show the world a new love?
Where all we see is pure for once
*
In the darkness that this night brings
Soon the beast shall wake
Open his eyes to another frozen heart
Broken and glazed in fear
A soul within the body it belongs not
Take me to paradise, my love
And his rage shall be put to rest again
With his wings you’ll conquer
Every dream that you ever craved for
Will you bring forth destruction?
Placing terror into the heart of this land
Or will you show us salvation?
Taking us all away from the sins created
Showing us the faith you held
*
And as all the tales I ever told ends
Soon the beast shall wake
Open his eyes to a mind full of lament
The will craved never there
A pure voice echoed but was unheard
I just thought of my despair
But his eyes will show a yearn to fulfill
The beast shall take him forth
To lust and create a world so beautiful
Will I bring forth hypocrisy?
Poisoning the young with fools trifle
Or will I show men humanity?
Where jade peace forever shall reign
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Raw
Simply put, the answer to the previous post. Warning: Interpretation varies to readers discretion...

Collision

2009-04-02T11:30:00.000-07:00

Collision

Sometimes I think I’d chase to where the clouds hover by
Where all of our dreams and wishes fly towards paradise
Burdened by such inquisitive hopes is told to be nowhere
Locked behind the doors o’ my heart, the keys are stole’d
There’s so much passion to surrender, all that we can’t do
Whom do I open to; such pleasures are not for this life?
Leaving me another arrogant fool, unworthy of our savior
*
Within yourself, live to for destiny of tomorrow
Where like the path of all slips: sand
Even in love is this life’s bawdy joke, a prankster
Of three words and ill-got deeds
Illusive collisions between two tides off a course
*
Sometimes I dream to make a world be within us forever
In serenity, forever free where our sight is what be reality
A stairway of light to climb the day where the sun rises
But to do anything that we choice is a mere act of fate
The virtue’s we practice are the saga of this day and age
Another conquest, the mediated spice of a million games
A half written poem, an ink stained paper, a false wage
*
Forget what they droned and chalked on the board
All they taught was but fools gold
The toys of faith is the key in the spark of the soul
Of betrayed hope and lost dreams
But would that not seem, what seems to be?
*
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Raw
I found this in the rubble of what I once called a manuscript. I can practically see myself reflecting the confusion of life, emotions and blood that boils within the exterior of social mask. It easier for most to donn that rather than flipping off the endless masses who seem to frown upon every single thought that comes to mind. Insanity borders the path where there is one lesser to you telling you what to do regarding all that matters to you...

Plastic

2009-04-02T07:34:00.000-07:00

You, seem to get ahead as the days go by

Farther and farther in the distance

Whereas I, I am left here where I stood

In the days of our youth, I reminiscence

Even then, you were busy with the scores

And I was trying to even out our woes

Why can’t I let it go?

Shed my skin to be born anew

Blind in deceit that only sees

Your eyes, your smile, your touch

So plastic, suffocating me…

You, dine amongst the finest, philosophical

To the tomorrow of green and all economics

I, stick to a bottle of malt and grass, demented

At days end, I picture you undressing

Brushing another man’s scent off your skin

Tainted and stained in my thoughts and ink

What might be to question?

Sins only add to all that is original

Obsession is another name to feeling

Your hands, your voice, your words

All plastic, choking my existence

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Raw

Bank your gold, little hamster and hope they don't seize it. Forget a healthy diet, and see if can they leech the excess. To six pack abs, stairmaster, treadmills, botox and everything plastic... how do you like me now, mate?