Cum-castle?

There are riots in London. People are on the streets. Looting shops. Burning cars. It began with the police shooting and killing someone who happened to have a dark skin.

When I first heard of these riots, I thought they were violent protests against police brutality. But as I read more, I realised that these riots were raids carried out by young men.

My first reaction was of shock. Then rage. Then outright disgust. After calming down. I tried to analyse what it was, that stung me so. Was it the poverty, the blatant lack of direction, the clear absence of education as opposed to literacy? Probably no. Where I come from, such pillaging would fail to surprise anyone. Then why, was I moved so.

I found the answer in my own life. In my own strife. My existence, my condition, is a result of my choices and my actions. I was born into a family where we do not have much, except education and vision. Whatever I am, I have worked for. Hard. And I thought about the victims of the riots. The shop owners. The people who owned the cars which were set ablaze. I wondered if the things that you work so hard for can just be taken away like that. If someone can own a new pair of trainers by just walking into a shop, picking them off the shelf and walking away with them. How I would love to do something like that! But I have chosen the harder way. I have chosen to work for those trainers. To run bare feet before I can wear them. And I wonder if all this means nothing. If all my hardships are in vain. Because there will always be someone who can just walk into my house and take everything I have. Who can own everything I have built with my sweat and blood. Where is the fairness in this?

The answer to this question is that there is no fairness. There are no guarantees in life. The rights which are given to modern man, are a creation of the society. And they are fake. The questions which are never asked are - who gives these rights? Why must a man follow them? For his own safety? What if he refuses to trade his freedom for his safety? Will he then be at war against the whole society? Every right, in fact, is a chain intended to shackle the beast which rages inside each and every human. And these shackles break, at times. And the beast roars. And prowls. And devours. This is real life. Devoid of modern social bondages. Devoid of the beautiful but counter-evolutionary ideas of liberty, fraternity and equality. This is the intended fate of the earth.

Men like me are dancing with the breeze. Are living within these walls of fake reassurances which modern society gives us. Fairness, in fact, is a meaningless notion. It was created for deception. It is the blindfold covering the eyes of Justitia. It is what makes a cripple out of modern man.

I do not support anarchy. I support harmony. I support the right to dream. I support the right to trust, and be trusted. I support a utopia.

Truthahn

" I like my town, with a little drop of poison

Nobody knows, they're lining up to go insane.

I smoked my friends, down to the filter

But I feel much cleaner, after it's rained ... "

A cycling trip the other week. Five days of craziness. Exhaustion. Broken chains. Strained left knee. Ibuprofen. Amazing scenes from rural northern France. Meeting the one and only citizen of an old abandoned mountain village. Forest camping. Wood and fire. Getting drunk. Making new friends. Bœuf bourguignon. Alabama 3 in the dead of the night in a pine-forest. Kim-chi soup. Orphans: Brawlers, bawlers and bastards.

Coming home to rejection. Sleeping through it. Friends.

What next? What now?

I am tired of the fight. I am tired of defending myself. Of saving up for the rainy days. Of stifling. And gasping. And I want out. I want to breathe. At least for a few careless moments. I want to put down the guns and the binoculars. I want to stop looking at the road which lies ahead. I want to pick a flower from the field, now.

But all that said. I am happy. And I am dissatisfied.

" Leave me alone you big ol' Moon,

the light you cast is just a liar... "

----

PS1: little drop of poison, tom waits

PS2: shiny things, tom waits

Alone you stand with nobody near

A new flat. Rearranging stuff. Stocking up the fridge for a nuclear winter. Trying to get a move on in life. At 24, it is indeed alarming.

The next mission is to obtain a guitar and make a few home recordings. There are ideas in my mind. Two days of conversations with you have flooded my head with new shapes - deformed and changing, ready to be poured into a mould, but until then, mating and reposing.

Here is a little something I wrote yesterday, derived from a picture SdS shared with me. I can't put up the picture because of copyright issues.

----------

Snow-walkers

Je pense à toi

In the snow, many feet deep

there are little snowmen

waiting to be born out of a touch

Waiting for their stick arms and bead eyes

Silently biding time

as we walk all over them with our strong winter boots

mildly discussing the possibility of their existence

Giving them hope

and then, being content with little snowballs

which we throw at each other

Eggs. Snow-eggs!

Look how they smear on your jacket

Look, look! And smile

And after the rampage

A coffee?

----------

PS1: Picture showed by SdS

PS2: 'It's alright, ma (I'm only bleeding)', Bob Dylan

don't touch my poodle

sometimes you sit down over a cup of coffee and you wonder, whether the little things which lined up the day were real. you ponder. you scratch your head. and scar your palms. you make faces at the stars. throw bombs at the guillotine. that's how you spend your time over a cup of blue sky and a plate of twinkles. a spoonful of insanity and bonobo.

and then there's people. paranoid. tangled up in their own web. so bad that they misplace words. they fragment memories. and jumble them up into a bitter collage. and in the midst of their dark-room, they hang a picture of you. and break your skull with their dementia. till you are the centre of all evil. and their whole existence detests you.

after rummaging through a lot of fish, the final conclusion - one must learn to strike off. to let go without qualms. to digest guilt. to take small but healthy doses of cruelty. one must learn to harden one's soul. and hand out roundhouse kicks generously. for each roundhouse kick is a cathartic phenomenon. it expunges kilogrammes of useless debris that every human carries. the remains of abandoned solar systems. and planets.

one must walk on. and set up newer and more handsome solar systems. one must kick ass. mercilessly.

Two Way Streets

What we often fail to realise, is the two-way-ness of social human life. We fail to see, that in a social context, thoughts and feelings emanating out of the self are not enough to guarantee the same from others. To feel is not to be felt. To see is not to be seen. And so on.

of forgetting ...

today. someone i'd remember even in my sleep, forgot my name. and instead, called me by what i actually mean to them. it hurts like hell. fuck.

genjo sanzo ...

" ... embrace nothing. walking down the path - if you meet the buddha, kill the buddha. if you meet your father, kill your father. live your life as it is, not bound to anything ... "

finished watching saiyuki a couple of days back. not a very great animé by any stretch of imagination. but indeed, i could not have come across it at a better time. it is loosely based upon the línjì school of buddhism.

-----

there is no buddha outside yourself. if you see him at a distance - know, that it is not the truth. your redeemer and your guide. is you. it is there you must search for him. inside the many folds and layers of your own self.

right now. i see a multitude of buddhas coming towards me. in a neat golden line. like a thousand suns with much promise. and it is precisely at this moment they must be killed. for they are hopes and lights which stem from outside my soul. chains which seek to bind me. to suns which do not burn for me. or from me.

now. at this point. one might wonder if this is all a sad masochistic device, born out of fear. if this does nothing but to alienate the self from the world around it. to build a cocoon. but what one must realise is. for the self to meld with the non-self. for this union to satiate. for peace to follow. the buddha must be pure-born. of the seed of the self. for only then can this union be equal. for only then can the play be pure and unconditional. for only then can the self be saved from being alone.

"you want your freedom? then live ... "

To go home

I am kind of lost. More like. I have lost myself. Somewhere. I must get myself back, I know. But I don't know how. Or if it is even possible. I sure hope it is. I hate floating around like this. Having known the shore once upon a time. I long to walk on the sand. To experience the surety of standing up on my own two feet. Have my lungs filled with air. Again. I am tired of yielding to the currents. I am tired of the smell of the sea. I have started believing the sea is me. And that the mermaids and the dolphins are real. That the land is a hallucination. But there is memory. And there are ghosts. And they will not let me be. They haunt every idle second. Every storm-less night. And somewhere inside the sea of me. There is a tiny piece of land. Floating. Constantly reminding. Of the continent I used to be. If only. A man could gather himself from the sea. If I could. Arrive. Grain by grain. Till the whole shore was me again. And the trees. And the footprints. Were me. For the hundredth time. In this continuing erosion of a million years. I resolve. To go home. But maybe it is already too late. But maybe it is not.

PS: To Go Home - Daniel Johnston

New Day. Huh, what?!

Things are looking up. After a long time, am meeting people. I am able to concentrate on things. Bené is behaving more agreeably. I am able to work, build acquaintances, go out, and generally enjoy the little things life is putting on offer. I think I might be returning to normalcy. Yeah, right?! Might be. Still have panic attacks, extended bouts of insomnia-depression-loneliness and weird asphyxiating-on-my-vomit times. Still space out. But I am pulling through. Have a feeling that pretty soon I will start writing again too. Hell. I'm smiling so loud!

Latest development: A trip to Italy. Found my favourite part of Europe. The first thing which struck me was that everyone is literally dancing when they talk! And everybody is loud. And nobody thinks it ridiculous.

The architecture is lovely. Old, and yet maintained really well. The streets are clean. The traffic is Dilli, especially in smaller cities. Everybody is fond of dandy cars and pedal-flooring. If you take the freeways. You feel like you are blocking the traffic at 140.

O yea. The Last Supper is everything it promises to be. Don't miss it if you're around.

Food. Delicious! And prepared with much love. And not so expensive. The coffee is absolutely the best any place has to offer. So are the pizzas. Most food is fatty though. Nevermind.

Life is relaxed, easy and people love to be on the streets and in parks. At all hours. And not just them young folks. People of all ages!

The company was good. We roamed the streets, as opposed to trying to fit in the same frame as some giant famous monument. We did visit some of them, but they were not the focus. The focus was breathing in a bit of Italia. The aroma is strong, and leaves you wanting more.

evolution

today
i rise
from the depths of you

to leave
for a different ocean

for the ocean
that had cradled me
has chewn me
and spit me
and does not want me
any more

PS: i woke up today. with the ashes still on my eyelids. all around me i could see, the bombed city of us. and i decided, to leave. just like you had, a long time ago ...

merry christmas

my sentiments, exactly ...

emptiness

in dire need of inspiration ...

slow country ...

Huskies are mysterious. They wail. Have sad eyes. And run like arrows. Arctic foxes are super cute. So are wolverines and Arctic Owls. Reindeer are tasty? Evil, tc?? It was weird. Saw reindeer. Fed reindeer. Kissed reindeer. Ate reindeer. Husky sledges are totally awesome. Jack London makes more sense. Skiing. Whee. Died, almost. Arms still aching. Totally suck at skiing, hence, love it. Santa Claus. The feeling that it's all a lot of oysters, but no pearls (Counting Crows). 5 minute lunch. Museum of the Arctic. Weird recordings of birds and Lapland acappella. The Aurora show. Bon fire. Waiting for Borealis. Clouds. Shoes filled with snow. Thawing by the fire. Bus rides. 24 hours. More? Bum numb. Gorillaz, 6 times over. New acquaintances. Old acquaintance. Español. Hola! Puta? Puta puta puta?? Crazy 28 night. Belote, almost. The snoring orchestra. Pride and prejudice and zombies. Fun fun fun!

And still. You won't leave my head. Puta ...

PS: slow country - gorillaz

Sing another song, boys

This could've been our song neh? I remember sending it to you. And you never listening to it. I hope you never do. It'll creep you out! Or make you laugh till your breath chokes.



Tallinn is pretty. And old. Stockholm is crazy. With naked women lying face down in the city square at +8C. Lapland. I have heard you're a cold one. Save an ice embrace for me, my twin. Here I come!

even flow ...

thank you. pearl jam. for keeping me sane and real. if not for you. i would've spilt my brains on these crazy white sheets today. every scream. is an alarm. i am waking up slowly ...

fuck ok

I am tired. Of being happy and sad. I want one, not both.

Everything is dressed in white today. Such a pretty picture!

It hailed on me while I was biking. Was fun, initially. Then it really started pelting down. We took the refuge of a K-Market

What I wouldn't give to play with Jenny right now. Not 179€, I guess

I don't know what I want. Yea. Same old same old. But this time, I have even run out of short term goals/distractions

Somewhere in my heart. There is a fear of tomorrow. I go to bed feeling scared of it every night. I want to go to sleep. Knowing it will be safe to wake up

Fuck. I want to tell someone. I saw snow. For the first time today

Back to the war?

I am surrounded by people. Hence, lonely. Why does it have to come like this to me. Upside down. Everything. Upside down. Or maybe. I am

It was the shape of our love that, twisted me. Cohen

I am fed up. I want to write. But it won't come . I want to sleep. Nopes. Won't come either. Want to talk. No one. Want to cook. No one. Want to read a book. Won't come. Want to jenny. No jenny

There's no shapes in life sometimes. It's all ghosts and smoke. You want a shape. A definite tangibility. And there's nothing then. At those particular moments. Only vagueness. And the saddest thing of all. The vagueness is in direct proportion to your yearning for its lack

Ou est u?

Remember, we had a pact. We agreed not to breach any lines that might be drawn. And then we drew quivers of them accross every surface we could find. We promised there'd be doors that would never be knocked. Never be opened.But you know, I have been secretly breaking the pact. Many times, I have stolen in. I have prodded. I have lifted things, turned them over. But I always replace them exactly. Sometimes I have the feeling you leave the window unfastened on purpose. You deliberately leave your diary on the coffee table. You leave your wardrobe open. And countless hours I have spent in there, like a skeleton. Waiting for you to come home. But you always return way past the decent time for any thief to be caught waiting in a broken-in house.

Anyway. In case you should ever want to break in somewhere too - the key is inside the mailbox. And I never return until all the ghosts have disappeared.

---

Here's a little multilingual gibberish thingie I wrote

Y
Yo
You
Your
Yours
ours
our
ou
u
?

hei tei hei hei ?

In the whole world. You can be a traveller. You can be an observer. A partaker of ceremonies. A spectator of seasons. and lives. You can breathe in the history through arches and bridges. You can smell streets and lakes. You take pictures. You make friends and parties. You experience the air. You eat the flesh. The living heart of a people. The soul of a city. It is a feast. A carnival!

And then. You move on.

All the while. Knowing that your journey is incomplete.

(And you fear. Inside the laughterest of your laughters. Your very core weeps)

That it always will be...

Peut-être

Unreal expectations?
Dilli has put on its best weather in weeks! Rain. Cool breeze. And yet. There's people here who are not charmed. Who carry a desert with them. Nothing less than the sea turning itself upside down would satisfy their parched appetites. Perhaps, this is the secret of so many deserts dragging themselves around these streets nowadays
-----
Reasons can always be found

• To stall
  Because there's always something better to do on the internet! Of course
  
• To end calls
  Because you know what is going to be said next anyway
• To avoid certain conversations
  Like 'unconsciously forgetting' topics, never to take them up again

Let not familiarity breed contempt. Let not familiarity set itself up at all! Twisted thing this - familiarity. So yea. The lesser the better
-----

The little rain comes

and the little rain goes

-----

Questions

• How does one become interesting?
  
• What itch causes scratch-the-keypad-every-five-minutes syndrome?
  
• Why do some people need more communication than others?

-----
I am sorry Mr. Rain. For insulting you so