I am currently reading this very ‘trashy’ yet oddly captivating book called ‘Bobbed Hair and Bathtub Gin’. It’s about these four female writers and their tumultuous journey in and out of the writing arena. I was, somewhat ‘questionably’, inspired by this contemporary exhibition of female defiance in contrast to the daintily worded cries of the corseted bosom in, say, a Henry James portrayal of Rebellion. As the Karenin wife or Madam Bovary would drape themselves in curtains while prancing about married men and horny suitors and Daisy Miller or Scarlet o’ Hara would trollop around spilling out shame from behind laced, heart shaped corsets, the feisty writers of this dynamic piece of work would bare it all in four beds in one night with silk and gin!
I personally like bathing at midnight. It feels almost poetic. A day ends and another begins. All in that instant.
Nights glazed in pining for dreams, soaking in a cold bath, I soon forget if its gin or swirling water. The cubicle is dark with only moonlight pouring in. I open the window to allow additional street lights. Cold breeze gently teases my bare body. I look out at stars and night. I sit dripping on the bathroom floor, legs folded, and my knees against my bare shoulders, feeling the rigidity of my collarbone against them. My bare back shivers as the cold door resists my body heat. My painted nails reflect the streetlight as my wet hair curls into my neck. As I rest my cold cheeks on one knee, I gaze at the fresh scar on the other. I gently encircle it with the tip on my fingers. I feel cold and beautiful. The scar looks like the number 8. Or infinity.
It feels bald and reminds me of the membranes inside egg shells.
This scar is my trophy, for a month long life of dreams. A dream, that led me to infinite nights of coquettish philandering with intoxication and absurdity. I wouldn’t know when I was awake or distinguish one night from another. I still think of it fondly. I long for another brush against that infidelity, something to exaggerate my delirium. A Euphoric fiesta of every thing good and everything sinful. An iniquitous blend of strawberry and cream, that so define immorality when together.
Painted lips and powdered nose, I knew I belonged only to that burning elixir. Looking fondly at my beautiful drink in its clear glass, I recite;
“I owe you nothing. And you are nothing to me. Thank you for curing me of my ridiculous obsession with love.” (Moulin Rouge)
Showing posts with label Chronicles of the Psychedelic reality. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Chronicles of the Psychedelic reality. Show all posts
Wednesday, February 10, 2010
Friday, January 22, 2010
The Castle I loved
*(Think of the castle as a burning Cigarette)
I was in love.
I was in love with the magnificent fortress that lay entrenched in the dirty snow atop the steep muddy cliff of ‘PALL MALL’. The cliff itself was branded by the imperial symbol of its sovereign, showing two regal lions pawing the sides and a knight's helmet on top. The inside of the shield read "Per aspera ad Astra” or "Through hardships to the stars". The banner underneath the shield held another Latin phrase, "In hoc signo vinces” or "By this sign shall you conquer".
A fiery orange castle lay gently enclosed within grey fragile dusty rocks of the fortress. It burned poignantly with purpose. Bright golden flames episodically paved way for the pensive yet potent ‘orange’ of dormancy.
As the smoke blew, the incinerating orange allowed itself to be consumed by the grey rocky crust, extinguishing into oblivion, apparently having served its purpose.
The ‘modus operandi’ made the castle even more intimidating.
It called to me with promises of fantasy and fulfillment. Its blistering eye was menacing yet inviting.
I was in love.
It spoke to me, inviting my lips to a sweet release. I closed my eyes and smooth fumes enervated my body. I saw its burning heart crackling ablaze within the magma. As I neared it, pungent smoke filled my lungs. It hit my brain and then my heart. Closing my eyes I felt my brain dissolve into oblivion as my heart fell into a quiet abyss.
I was in love.
It gave me bliss, as I slowly sucked its life away.
The castle aged.
Burning deep and slow it soon fell from its magnificence till it was only but a shack. Its luster was lost along with the passion in its eye. It still burned, though dimly, with purpose. On some starless nights, its embers still glowed, resting yet robust.
As my life passed, I saw the dilapidated castle again. It was small and fading, burnt and thrashed to the ground. As the skies wept and icy waters flooded the gates, its dying embers silently cried themselves into a morbid gray. I heard it fizzle. It was the scream of protest. Of pain and death.
As the castle lay engulfed with its life extinguished, I thought of unconditional love. I thought of commitment and fulfillment and I thought of guilt.
I had killed it slowly, feeding my needs with every breath. Now withered it lay vanquished. A life worthwhile now dismissed.
I was in love.
I was in love with the magnificent fortress that lay entrenched in the dirty snow atop the steep muddy cliff of ‘PALL MALL’. The cliff itself was branded by the imperial symbol of its sovereign, showing two regal lions pawing the sides and a knight's helmet on top. The inside of the shield read "Per aspera ad Astra” or "Through hardships to the stars". The banner underneath the shield held another Latin phrase, "In hoc signo vinces” or "By this sign shall you conquer".
A fiery orange castle lay gently enclosed within grey fragile dusty rocks of the fortress. It burned poignantly with purpose. Bright golden flames episodically paved way for the pensive yet potent ‘orange’ of dormancy.
As the smoke blew, the incinerating orange allowed itself to be consumed by the grey rocky crust, extinguishing into oblivion, apparently having served its purpose.
The ‘modus operandi’ made the castle even more intimidating.
It called to me with promises of fantasy and fulfillment. Its blistering eye was menacing yet inviting.
I was in love.
It spoke to me, inviting my lips to a sweet release. I closed my eyes and smooth fumes enervated my body. I saw its burning heart crackling ablaze within the magma. As I neared it, pungent smoke filled my lungs. It hit my brain and then my heart. Closing my eyes I felt my brain dissolve into oblivion as my heart fell into a quiet abyss.
I was in love.
It gave me bliss, as I slowly sucked its life away.
The castle aged.
Burning deep and slow it soon fell from its magnificence till it was only but a shack. Its luster was lost along with the passion in its eye. It still burned, though dimly, with purpose. On some starless nights, its embers still glowed, resting yet robust.
As my life passed, I saw the dilapidated castle again. It was small and fading, burnt and thrashed to the ground. As the skies wept and icy waters flooded the gates, its dying embers silently cried themselves into a morbid gray. I heard it fizzle. It was the scream of protest. Of pain and death.
As the castle lay engulfed with its life extinguished, I thought of unconditional love. I thought of commitment and fulfillment and I thought of guilt.
I had killed it slowly, feeding my needs with every breath. Now withered it lay vanquished. A life worthwhile now dismissed.
Wednesday, January 20, 2010
Neon butterflies and Gingerbread Windows
Outlined world, the colour bleeding out,
a leg on my arm, many heads on their limbs.
As smooth hair tickles my bald lips,
my cheeks betray their infidelity.
As long and coarse, as grainy and salted,
engraved lines are drawn to deceive.
A whistle announces time; a silence follows the stampede.
It comes to crash, and then to whirl,
shiny polka dots on the ripped expanse.
The draped and dressed window, my horizon,
it outlines my existence, my world in multitudes of two.
It’s symmetry sacrosanct, so sustained.
The reality of the salty flesh dawns,
as gray light chips into my reason,
as the great mist surrounds, I fear to reach out, I close my eyes.
The gray disappears, the black comfort returns,
it flickers till I am strong again.
The stereo eye singing softly, my pupils dilate the limbs around me.
Digging up sand, burying my feet,
Inhaling divinity, residual yet potent,
my eyes burn and lips cry, I reach out for the smoke.
It engulfs me, I swirl I spin, I never breathe.
A big shiny coin, almost transparent,
conically extrapolates reality.
I touch its glass, it holds to linger,
It’s wetness invites my parched insides.
Rolling in a pool of transparent blood,
it smells potent and burns my throat,
My eyes cry, the cry of fire,
My body grieves my losing life.
I look up to a long palm, reaching out to the sky,
white stubby fingers, no opposable thumbs.
It hits a surface as I stand and stumble,
on that palm reality now defines.
I crawl to gravity, on smooth cold ripples,
gray and hard, they never end.
I think of steel and then of the night,
Of yellow yolk covered in gray.
I see limbs; they now have heads,
their shadows obstruct the bleeding lights.
My body grunts as I drag against the wind,
stillness awaits, I no longer breathe divine.
He stands insidious, in an insipid life,
bled out colours, drained unfilled.
Dying embers carpet his authority,
slow and menacing, he commands the night.
I now see his putrid life, his ugly sinister fiery eyes,
I am betrayed, I am defied.
I see him and I am steered in high tide,
tears flood me as I sink.
Thrown by physical manifestations of grief,
my dying life, I no longer search.
As reality unveils, I crawl feebly on embers,
Capturing, that last whiff of psychedelic dream.
Neon butterflies and gingerbread windows,
Outlined and bleeding, I dream my episodic life.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
/*Brief Expl:
(1 : I wake up with people around me...sloshed n asleep...over each other...Someone’s sandy hair is on my face, it has left a mark on my cheeks.
2 : I hear the guard whistle...the sound changes to waves crashing..I don know where I am...I look up n see stars through my eyes..I admire the symmetry of my window, my window is my set of decorated eyes.
3 : I taste my salty lips and try and open my eyes, it seems as though some 1 is chipping their way in..Its not bright...there is grey light around..but its smoky so i close my eyes again and attempt to open them again n again till I finally do...I can hear music and see hands and feet all over...
4 : The room is filled with residual smoke...it is potent enough..I try not to inhale any more
5 : I see the coin shaped base of a shot glass...it takes me some time to figure out the cone shaped glass surrounded by alcohol which burns my throat..i then describe my feet as i stand on them
6 : I crawl down stairs, people brush past me...
7 : 'he' refers to the last 'joint')
*\
a leg on my arm, many heads on their limbs.
As smooth hair tickles my bald lips,
my cheeks betray their infidelity.
As long and coarse, as grainy and salted,
engraved lines are drawn to deceive.
A whistle announces time; a silence follows the stampede.
It comes to crash, and then to whirl,
shiny polka dots on the ripped expanse.
The draped and dressed window, my horizon,
it outlines my existence, my world in multitudes of two.
It’s symmetry sacrosanct, so sustained.
The reality of the salty flesh dawns,
as gray light chips into my reason,
as the great mist surrounds, I fear to reach out, I close my eyes.
The gray disappears, the black comfort returns,
it flickers till I am strong again.
The stereo eye singing softly, my pupils dilate the limbs around me.
Digging up sand, burying my feet,
Inhaling divinity, residual yet potent,
my eyes burn and lips cry, I reach out for the smoke.
It engulfs me, I swirl I spin, I never breathe.
A big shiny coin, almost transparent,
conically extrapolates reality.
I touch its glass, it holds to linger,
It’s wetness invites my parched insides.
Rolling in a pool of transparent blood,
it smells potent and burns my throat,
My eyes cry, the cry of fire,
My body grieves my losing life.
I look up to a long palm, reaching out to the sky,
white stubby fingers, no opposable thumbs.
It hits a surface as I stand and stumble,
on that palm reality now defines.
I crawl to gravity, on smooth cold ripples,
gray and hard, they never end.
I think of steel and then of the night,
Of yellow yolk covered in gray.
I see limbs; they now have heads,
their shadows obstruct the bleeding lights.
My body grunts as I drag against the wind,
stillness awaits, I no longer breathe divine.
He stands insidious, in an insipid life,
bled out colours, drained unfilled.
Dying embers carpet his authority,
slow and menacing, he commands the night.
I now see his putrid life, his ugly sinister fiery eyes,
I am betrayed, I am defied.
I see him and I am steered in high tide,
tears flood me as I sink.
Thrown by physical manifestations of grief,
my dying life, I no longer search.
As reality unveils, I crawl feebly on embers,
Capturing, that last whiff of psychedelic dream.
Neon butterflies and gingerbread windows,
Outlined and bleeding, I dream my episodic life.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
/*Brief Expl:
(1 : I wake up with people around me...sloshed n asleep...over each other...Someone’s sandy hair is on my face, it has left a mark on my cheeks.
2 : I hear the guard whistle...the sound changes to waves crashing..I don know where I am...I look up n see stars through my eyes..I admire the symmetry of my window, my window is my set of decorated eyes.
3 : I taste my salty lips and try and open my eyes, it seems as though some 1 is chipping their way in..Its not bright...there is grey light around..but its smoky so i close my eyes again and attempt to open them again n again till I finally do...I can hear music and see hands and feet all over...
4 : The room is filled with residual smoke...it is potent enough..I try not to inhale any more
5 : I see the coin shaped base of a shot glass...it takes me some time to figure out the cone shaped glass surrounded by alcohol which burns my throat..i then describe my feet as i stand on them
6 : I crawl down stairs, people brush past me...
7 : 'he' refers to the last 'joint')
*\
Thursday, November 05, 2009
Chronicles of the Psychedelic Reality VOL 1: My MUSINGS ON GRASS Chapter 3
Its night, but the sky has a mind of its own…
It isn’t black with stars, today it is blue, gray white with ripples like an ocean!
I want to see it and take it in…
Suddenly it seems painted and static…
Now I am falling to it...but now I am stuck mid way, hanging…almost able to touch it…I can almost feel the canvas, the oil colors, uneven surface...its rough but smooth...its like i am touching plaster of Paris...it isn't wet..i can taste the colors...the blues are cold...i can feel my cold breath...i want to breath with my mouth for sometime...the clouds are moving now, it seems someone dropped water on the painting and its trickling down…but its slow…very slow, maybe their gravity is lower than ours…
Now it looks like a sea..I can see a ship sinking in a whirlpool..
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
The sky has changed now...My sky is punctured…I seem wrapped in silver foil with a tiny opening…or am I in a pressure cooker?
Is god a cook? That’s demeaning; he should be more than jus one talent.
Has he been feeding us with food and knowledge just to make us juicy enough for dinner?
Alien abductions are god’s way of checking if the food is done!! Pick up one person, lick and put back…those who are done comprise of the unexplained disappearances!
Our days are spent in his microwave and our nights in his fridge and the rest of the time on the table…probably thawing!
Earthquakes are his moving us and rains are condensing water droplets on the cooker lid! (at least humans got the condensation part right!)
God doesn’t buy new food…quite the miser.
Or maybe we are in an egg…some one punctured a tiny hole in us and broke the sides... we are still fetal but can see outside through the hole…the clouds are the cell fluid (was it cytoplasm?), protecting us. Everyday some one comes to check inside the egg with a torch and moves the torch around from our east to west. Maybe they don’t have randomness in their world.
The clouds are covering the moon now…are we healing?
It isn’t black with stars, today it is blue, gray white with ripples like an ocean!
I want to see it and take it in…
Suddenly it seems painted and static…
Now I am falling to it...but now I am stuck mid way, hanging…almost able to touch it…I can almost feel the canvas, the oil colors, uneven surface...its rough but smooth...its like i am touching plaster of Paris...it isn't wet..i can taste the colors...the blues are cold...i can feel my cold breath...i want to breath with my mouth for sometime...the clouds are moving now, it seems someone dropped water on the painting and its trickling down…but its slow…very slow, maybe their gravity is lower than ours…
Now it looks like a sea..I can see a ship sinking in a whirlpool..
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
The sky has changed now...My sky is punctured…I seem wrapped in silver foil with a tiny opening…or am I in a pressure cooker?
Is god a cook? That’s demeaning; he should be more than jus one talent.
Has he been feeding us with food and knowledge just to make us juicy enough for dinner?
Alien abductions are god’s way of checking if the food is done!! Pick up one person, lick and put back…those who are done comprise of the unexplained disappearances!
Our days are spent in his microwave and our nights in his fridge and the rest of the time on the table…probably thawing!
Earthquakes are his moving us and rains are condensing water droplets on the cooker lid! (at least humans got the condensation part right!)
God doesn’t buy new food…quite the miser.
Or maybe we are in an egg…some one punctured a tiny hole in us and broke the sides... we are still fetal but can see outside through the hole…the clouds are the cell fluid (was it cytoplasm?), protecting us. Everyday some one comes to check inside the egg with a torch and moves the torch around from our east to west. Maybe they don’t have randomness in their world.
The clouds are covering the moon now…are we healing?
Tuesday, November 03, 2009
Chronicles of the Psychedelic Reality VOL 1: My MUSINGS ON GRASS Chapter 2
My reality, déjà vu and schizophrenia
Mental reality is faster than its physical counterpart.
I have traveled and lived all the physical potential I might have in this world. Visiting choices in my mind, I have experienced them indefinitely. Whatever my world has shown me, I have used to create multiple lives for my self, with infinite possibilities.
My physical body though, can only follow one reality.
At any present moment I send my mind in all directions to explore the infinite. But, as my body and mind are connected, my body is compelled to choose one of these directions to follow. It makes its choice on the basis of its environment and treads the most appealing path.
My body needs to meet up with my mind in some space to impart the necessary impulse for the mind to take off again. When my two realities (mental n physical) meet, they create an unimaginable yet veritable phenomenon. That’s déjà vu.
They are usually very mild and I don’t feel them in my life often, but some times when my reality (mental and physical) comes dangerously close to another mental possibility that did not take place, my reality is shaken and then the déjà vu is strongly felt!
Contrary to what I used to believe, my mind and body are co related. The mind is dependent on the body to follow and give life to possibility and create reality, while my body needs my mind to rush ahead and explore my choices and their implications.
If some day, my body decides that it doesn’t want to follow any mental possibility and refuses to move, my physical reality will come in contact with mental realities of other worlds around me and be crushed, making me believe in events that haven’t and will not exist.…
That is what people will call ‘schizophrenia’!
Mental reality is faster than its physical counterpart.
I have traveled and lived all the physical potential I might have in this world. Visiting choices in my mind, I have experienced them indefinitely. Whatever my world has shown me, I have used to create multiple lives for my self, with infinite possibilities.
My physical body though, can only follow one reality.
At any present moment I send my mind in all directions to explore the infinite. But, as my body and mind are connected, my body is compelled to choose one of these directions to follow. It makes its choice on the basis of its environment and treads the most appealing path.
My body needs to meet up with my mind in some space to impart the necessary impulse for the mind to take off again. When my two realities (mental n physical) meet, they create an unimaginable yet veritable phenomenon. That’s déjà vu.
They are usually very mild and I don’t feel them in my life often, but some times when my reality (mental and physical) comes dangerously close to another mental possibility that did not take place, my reality is shaken and then the déjà vu is strongly felt!
Contrary to what I used to believe, my mind and body are co related. The mind is dependent on the body to follow and give life to possibility and create reality, while my body needs my mind to rush ahead and explore my choices and their implications.
If some day, my body decides that it doesn’t want to follow any mental possibility and refuses to move, my physical reality will come in contact with mental realities of other worlds around me and be crushed, making me believe in events that haven’t and will not exist.…
That is what people will call ‘schizophrenia’!
Monday, November 02, 2009
Chronicles of the Psychedelic Reality VOL 1: MUSINGS ON GRASS Chapter 1
God, the Physicist
Consider a tree. Assume that the system of leaves, twigs and trunk isn’t what it appears to be. Maybe god wanted to save space and energy, so he made reality on both sides of the ground. The system of leaves and branches for us is their underground system of roots and our sky is their soil! They breathe dust and worship the core. They bathe in hot lava rivers and sleep in bright yellow nights. They are not people but they aren’t any less either.
When people die in our world, we bury them or their ashes are washed away, their bodies disintegrating into the ground mixed with our crust slowly pass over to the other side and are recreated in the world beneath our feet. Similarly, energies that are extinguished there are ‘born’ here in our world.
Death seemed like gods blunder to me. The energy of our life and soul never appeared recreated. Our infinite essence vanished with the limitations of our body.
But I guess god defines our ‘surrounding’ differently. It’s a balance between this world and the one beneath. Energies are conserved when both are taken into consideration.
And hence we finally explain what we assumed to be creation’s biggest paradox
Consider a tree. Assume that the system of leaves, twigs and trunk isn’t what it appears to be. Maybe god wanted to save space and energy, so he made reality on both sides of the ground. The system of leaves and branches for us is their underground system of roots and our sky is their soil! They breathe dust and worship the core. They bathe in hot lava rivers and sleep in bright yellow nights. They are not people but they aren’t any less either.
When people die in our world, we bury them or their ashes are washed away, their bodies disintegrating into the ground mixed with our crust slowly pass over to the other side and are recreated in the world beneath our feet. Similarly, energies that are extinguished there are ‘born’ here in our world.
Death seemed like gods blunder to me. The energy of our life and soul never appeared recreated. Our infinite essence vanished with the limitations of our body.
But I guess god defines our ‘surrounding’ differently. It’s a balance between this world and the one beneath. Energies are conserved when both are taken into consideration.
And hence we finally explain what we assumed to be creation’s biggest paradox
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