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...
Showing posts with label Abstract. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Abstract. Show all posts
Saturday, July 24, 2010
Thursday, August 20, 2009
Fenrisulfr : An Excerpt
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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Raw
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.
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:
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Raw
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.
Tuesday, August 18, 2009
Ballad of the Fallen Angels...
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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RAW
An falling attempt in making something out of the mumbles of a drunken fool… this is as far as I could go...
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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RAW
An falling attempt in making something out of the mumbles of a drunken fool… this is as far as I could go...
Wednesday, June 24, 2009
Wisdom of the Gods
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.
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.
Sunday, June 14, 2009
Weeds
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
*
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
*
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
*
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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Raw
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.
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
*
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
*
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
*
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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*
Raw
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.
Monday, April 27, 2009
Thought of the Day
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...
Monday, April 6, 2009
Expression
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.
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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?
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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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Raw
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.
http://www.fictionpress.com/s/2656632/1/Heavens_Denied
Simply Quote: Quote of the Hour
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
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.
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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...
*
#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...
*
#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
*
#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.
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