Morbidium

[Note to the general audience - The images that I have posted are not my own works. These have just been randomly selected to suit my poems. The photographer, Christine von Diepenbroek should be noted for this picture.]



Hey mister, my joints are hurting; I know I am getting old
Would you sit down a while with me? I hope I’m not being bold
I know I am aged and I know that you are young
I know my time is running out; the breath is limited in my lungs
Forgive me for taking away so much of your precious time
I wish to talk with someone; someone in their prime.
Let me tell you a story; a story of a time long gone
A story that will grieve you greatly; a sad story I must warn.

I had myself a daughter; a daughter had I
Blessed was she with the gift of the hidden third eye
She saw into the future; she saw into the past
But her own future she could never forecast
One cold stormy evening, she returned home
Her clothes were all soaked in blood and at her mouth foam
“Dear Father I know not how
But I am covered in blood and there is spittle in my mouth!
I was coming home from the marketplace
Humming a song and minding my own business
When out of the blue
I saw an apparition of you!”

Startled and frightened, I hastened to her side
Trying to calm my beloved daughter, for she looked a bloody fright!
But refusing to accept my soothing hand; she tossed it aside
And in a fit of frenzied desperation, she put up a fight!

“Dear Daughter! Dear Daughter! What has gotten into you?
I fear for your health, do you think it could be the flu?
But what is all this blood and what is all this foam?
Have you been bitten by a rabid cur on the way back home?”

“Dear Father, listen to what I have to say
I fear my time is nearing its end so I beg you, I pray!
I saw an apparition of you today
And it was standing right there in my way
It opened its mouth as if to speak
But into its eyes I managed to peek.
The sorrow, the depth, the isolation, the grief!
The iris’ that were the colour of a burning leaf.
It looked into my eyes for a minute
And smiled a smile to scare any spirit
And in a tone that turned me to stone
It told me that I would die today alone!”

And try as I may to calm my little daughter
I could not soothe her nerves; I’m afraid I was a bad father
And so to rid her of her delusions
I mixed a pinch or two of sedative in her meal; in tiny portions
And sent her off into deep slumber
So I could sit in the den just to ponder.

In the morning, at the crack of dawn
I woke to find my daughter gone
I searched and I searched but to no avail
Life without my daughter; it seems so pale!

A fortnight went by with no news of her
And then one Sunday morning I was woken by my neighbour
He said he had some news of my daughter
They found her body drowned deep in water
I wept and I wept but what’s the use of having tears?
They couldn’t in any way bring her near!
My life from that moment was lonely and still
And as the years passed I took to the pill.

Then one stormy august night
I woke up in a sweaty fright
I saw myself standing with my daughter
I saw myself holding her head under the water
I saw her gasping and begging for mercy
I saw above all my eyes gleaming with glee and fury

I told myself that ‘twas just a dream
But somehow I knew there was more to it than what it seems
Alas dear friend! I tried hard to look into the matter
To find out if it was I who murdered my daughter
And as the days passed by the dreams became more frequent and absurd
And from that day on my sanity was punctured

I visited a doctor, I visited two
They said there was nothing that they could do
My heart it seems was gripped by depression
And in turn ‘twas contracting my mind with these delusions
They said that it was but a natural outcome
Of a father grieving for his daughter long gone
They said that I had taken the guilt upon myself
For not dealing with my daughter; for not giving her more help

For a while I listened to what they had to say
But as the dreams became more absurd with the passing of the day
I found myself not willing to eat or to sleep
I found myself getting more immersed in a trance so deep
That at times I knew not where I was or where I’m going to be
You know not how bad it feels to be me.

No doctors could help me; no therapy could ease my mind
Not a single reasonable solution to this problem I could find
My life deteriorated rapidly, going from bad to worse
Living this life now seems like a curse
And then a day came when I got up at night
I saw another vision to give me a bigger fright
I saw myself walking alone on a road
And with my right hand I dragged a heavy load
And in my left hand, there gleamed a bloody knife
With droplets of blood dripping; I now know I had killed my wife

I got up with a start, shaking from head to toe
These dreams I could not disclose to anyone; neither friend nor foe
I now realize that those dreams were connected
They formed a part of me that was left untouched and uninterrupted
Flashbacks of my life came racing back to me
Of times when I saw my mother being beaten up by my daddy
Of all the times when it seemed to me
Like my life had paused and erased a part of my memory
Of not knowing what I did or where I was an hour back
Of knowing that there was a part of me that the others had and that I lacked

Crying and weeping I ran into the night
All those images of the murders I had to fight
I had killed my daughter; I had killed my wife
How helpless they must have been, they didn’t deserve that kind of life
And to the river I ran to drown myself in the cold water
But when I reached the banks; my energy sapped, I began to totter
And like a mad man I spoke to myself that night
“You don’t deserve to die
You deserve to live and you deserve to suffer
You deserve to drown in your guilt you cold blooded murderer!”

And so in the black of the night did I surrender
I gave myself up to the nearest police officer
But in a fit of hysteria he sent me away
Thinking me to be a mad man with too much to drink today
“Multiple personality disorder!” laughingly said he
“I think my wife has it, there’s always a change in her personality!”
And with that I was dismissed
What good did it do me to have confessed?

And with that I stomped dejectedly back home
Waiting for all the deaths and the murders that were yet to come
I killed my wife; I killed my daughter
Do you think I would stop to kill another?
I know I am laughing, I know you are scared
But sit with me awhile mister and the whole truth shall be bared…

[At the Greenhorn Mental Asylum, the faint sounds of the ambulance could be heard wafting on the wind. The birds chirped, the butterflies fluttered, the patients muttered and everything was peaceful again. Another visitor was murdered, another life stamped out. But no one really cares at Greenhorn. Life must go on.]

Conversations with the Devil

These tears they fall down on my face
I cry without an ounce of grace
For I am human and I feel the hurt inside
And when the hurt draws nearer, there’s nothing to hide
No more masks to hide behind
No more faces to fool the blind
I’m crying and I’m crying and I know not why
It feels like these tears will drown me till I die

These tears they fall down on my breasts
My nipples they pucker; it feels like a caress
I know not why I am crying here alone
I begin to laugh as I sit on this cold floor of stone
“Why do I cry when I know nothing will come off it?
Why do I have to deal with this never-ending shit?”
As I cry and I laugh it begins to dawn on me
That in this body I can never be free.
As long as I have thoughts
I’ll be tortured a lot.

These tears they settle inside of my naval
I laugh and cry as though possessed by the devil
The hurt is choking me from within
I try to tell myself but I just don’t listen
The dam has broken at last it seems
Years of torture and grief revealed
But why the laughter escorting the tears?
For my mental sanity I do fear; I do fear

These tears at last they dry up inside of me
At last everything is perfectly clear for me to see
I’ve been crying all this while out of pity for myself
I have no friends and I need some help
No one to listen to my words of woe
No affectionate responses to help me grow
I’m alone in this world and it hurts to realize
That laughter is precious and love a prize

At this juncture the door opens wide
I can’t distinguish the figure in the sudden burst of light
A voice as cold as a stalagmite booms from without
“What’s the matter child? I can see your upset without a doubt.
Is there something I can do to help you?
Or is there something you’d like to do but can’t do?
Talk to me little one
For I am the only friend you have under the sun.”

At these kind words, I got up and wept
At last I know what it feels like to have a friend; to be blessed
“I have no friends’ good sir and for this reason I am upset.
But now that I have you there’s no more reason to fret.
I have but only one request of you.
I’m sure you wouldn’t mind doing it too.
It is but a small request
Could you please step into the room at my behest?”

At this the cold voice laughed aloud
A sound to break any spirit no doubt
A sound of impending doom and misery
A sound that still lies embedded in my memory.
I now regret making that small request
But its too late now, he has already listened to my behest
And into the room the stranger in the light stepped
If you had been there I’m sure you would have wept.

I cannot describe the sight that stood before me
I cannot believe there exists anything so ghastly
Frozen with fear and ever increasing doubt
There was a smile still plastered on my mouth
Taking this as a sign of acceptance
The stranger held my hand and kissed it with derision.
“Little one, little one, I know what it’s like to be lonely.
They call me the devil; they say that I’m ghostly.
Not a girl or a boy is willing to talk to me
Can you imagine how it must feel to be so lonely?”

At that he held my hand in a tight brace
And led me to the fireplace
“Sit dear one let us have a conversation
A conversation about love and friendship and absolute desolation.
Growing up as a child I was meek and mild
My father seeing this would be swept up in a fury so wild
‘Son, have you no respect for all of your kind?
Allow me to be your one and only guide.’
Hereafter I was taught and I was brainwashed
To do all things that would lead to absolute chaos
I have raped, I have murdered, I have plundered and caused suffering
This guilt that I’m dealing with does not abate; but I’m still struggling.”
At this the stranger broke down in tears
Crying unashamedly; he relieved me of my fears.

When the last traces of doubt and fear fled away from me
I reached out to embrace the devil, all the while consoling him soothingly.
Crooning and murmuring, my heart went out to him
And in an attempt to mollify him, I spoke on a whim.
“Dear Sir, fear not, now that you have confessed
You are already forgiven; you are ready for progress.
Is there anything that I can do for you?
Is there anyway that I can take away your blues?”

It was then that the devil stopped crying
It was then that he turned and looked me in the eyes.
“Yes there is in fact something you can do for me.
It will only take away nine months of your life you see.
I want you to bear me a child
And this is the reason why I have come to you tonight.”

These tears they now keep flowing down my face
These tears they now keep flowing down my breasts
These tears they will never settle in my naval
For I am now carrying the child of the devil…

[Note to the general audience - The sketches that I have posted are not my own works of art. These have just been randomly selected to suit my poems. The artists remain unknown to me. To whomsoever they may be - I salute you!]

Don't love me baby, I'm cheating on you

Don’t love me baby, I’m cheating on you
I know it’s sad but it is the melancholy truth
Why must we go on like this?
Pretending like we are both living in a state of bliss
When in fact it is just one soul linked to mine
But mine is tainted with mud and brine
I cannot forgive myself for what I am about to do
For what I am about to lose; for what will happen to you.

In my own way I know I am not wrong
It’s just that my heart has begun to sing a different song
You held me in your hands the night before last
As I looked in your eyes, the thought in my mind flashed
Am I worth all this love; am I worth all this effort?
Am I worth all of this or is there something out there better?
No, pay careful attention to these words of mine
Take them as a warning or take them as a sign

My feelings for you I know they haven’t changed
But try as I may I know my feelings are deranged
I made this decision for good, better, best
But now I realize it doesn’t lie in your interest
How selfish I have been; how self-centred and obsessed
I captivated your heart, your mind, and left you possessed
But now I aim on leaving you bereft and subdued
Lost and defeated and hurt and bruised.

The time for us is slowly fading out
I’ll be gone before you know it; in the silence of dawn
I plan not on bidding you my last farewell
I plan on just leaving; I’m going to rot in hell.

Don’t love me baby, I’m cheating on you
I hope you can find a happier path to pursue.

[Note to the general audience - The sketches that I have posted are not my own works of art. These have just been randomly selected to suit my poems. The artists remain unknown to me. To whomsoever they may be - I salute you!]

Baby Ismail

Waking up in the middle of the night
I had visions of a dream that filled me with fright
I saw void-like demonic eyes
That pulled me into them, ‘twasnt nice.

Gasping and sweating, I tried to summon god
But in that instant I felt something in my sheets; hard as a rod!
Oh merciful screams! How they were wrenched out of me!
And try as I may to move, I couldn’t feel my feet!

Pulling my sheets aside
Was I in for a sight!
Gone were my legs and feet
And in their place was a baby fast asleep.

Terror, fright and something akin to motherly instinct
Were the feelings invoked within me, emotions that I thought were long lost and extinct.
And right there before my eyes
The baby rose; oh what a surprise!
Yellow eyes and a ghastly smile
That was my baby; my baby Ismail.

Oh how was I to abandon him?
As vile as he may seem, I couldn’t toss him out on a mere whim!
A baby still was he
So from that day on stayed he with me.
As for my legs and feet
Apparently, he couldn’t find anything else to eat.

A regular carnivore was my Ismail
And I kept this a secret for a short while
But soon the neighbours started complaining
When their cats and dogs ran away from him wailing.
Babies went missing
And kittens ran past hissing.
Oh baby Ismail!
Why must you be so vile?

And then one night, without my knowledge
The neighbours decided to drug my porridge.
And into deep slumber they sent me away
To capture my Ismail, to deny him from seeing the light of day.

And in the morning when I finally awoke.
Not a sound did I hear; not a person spoke.
As I stepped out of my hut
The sight that was there before me, eviscerated me with a thud!
Blood and brains and intestines galore.
Of all kinds of people – from the rich to the poor.
All the people I grew up with, before me they lay
Slain by my Ismail, who crawled amidst them – healthy and gay!

Crying and sobbing I ran from that scene
But at last I had to stop, and against a pole I did lean.
God sent me the devil, the devil it seems.
What wrong have I done? Other than filch nickels and beans!
Sadly I returned home, to my humble quarters.
As I make my entry, he hears me and gladly totters.

I can’t slay thee oh son of Satan!
So calmly I smile at thee and say, “hush baby no more waitin’”
More blood loss, more damage, more destruction will come.
But I’ll stand by thee baby for I am your mum.

[Note to the general audience - The paintings that I have posted are not my own works of art. These have just been randomly selected to suit my poems. The artists remain unknown to me. To whomsoever they may be - I salute you!]

How many times have I told you that I love you. How many times! You lied to me. You said you loved me. Do those words not mean anything to you? [Thump Thump] All those times that we talked late into the nights about our futures together, all those times we made love like we would never leave each other, every time I’d look at you when you were sleeping; dreaming about being with you till the end of time, all those times we went walking together holding hands..[Thump Thump] We had such a beautiful thing going on Julia. I really love you Julia, I really do. [Thump Thump]
___________________________________________________

I see her with him. Has she forgotten me? Are they sleeping together? Oh. She’s laughing. She’s laughing more with him than she did with me. I hate the stupid sod. I want to just slap that petty fucking smile off his face. The bastard must be fantasizing about her at night. Maybe I should go and ruin it for them, you know, say something like “Hi baby (kiss her) who’s this?” hahahahahah…

I first met her at the fair. I don’t know how but there was just something about her. Amidst those thousands of sickly sweet happy clown-like faces, just her face caught my attention. There’s nothing extraordinary about her. She was sitting there, glum and sullen, absent-mindedly pulling at her candy floss. At first glance, I saw a young girl, perhaps 20-21, thin, average height, short hair (like she’s cut it on her own), doped eyes, bags under her eyes, a bluish mark on her upper cheek (like a shiner fading away just to leave its memory behind). I go up to her but at the last minute I chicken out. So I sit down next to her.

“You got a smoke?” She’s talking to me. I’m shuffling around through my pockets, desperately searching for a smoke (where are those thin fucks when you need them the most???). “Nah it’s cool if you don’t have any on you, I’m off will buy myself a couple” All the while I haven’t said a word. She gets up. I look at her. She turns. “My name’s Julia” I smile. She smiles (a faint wisp of a smile) and then she’s gone.
___________________________________________________

She’s holding his hand. I’m gonna kill that fat fuck if it’s the last thing I do. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck now I’m getting all moody and shit. I mean if she doesn’t want to be with me how can I force her to? Right? That would just be like emotional rape or some shit like that? Right? But fuck I can’t see her with him. I want to beat his ugly smiling face into pulp. Hmmm.

She’s lying down beside me. I touch her thin body. She’s always been too thin. But I love her body. Every time I look at her, I just want to make love to her. She’s the most beautiful when she’s sitting next to me, naked, looking out the window with a cigarette in her hand, smoking, dreaming. “I love you Johnny, I can never love anyone else. I don’t know if you’ll ever believe me but I really really love you” And I loved her too. I still do. But I loved her so so so much. It hurts to think of it. Love can kill. Love can pain you even when you are the happiest. Bittersweet love. Fucking betraying love.

I was the happiest with her. Even in my sadness, I was the happiest with her. I never had anyone in my life. Only her. Julia. She once told me that I’m getting obsessed with her. But it was never obsession. It was never something as cheap as that. I’d dream about her, I’d wait to see her at the end of the day. I’d work harder for her, I’d buy her gifts just to see her smile, and I’d do anything for her.

She’s lying down beside me playing with my hair. “Johnny, how long do you think this will last? I want it to last forever Johnny. I’d do anything to be with you. Promise me you won’t ever leave me and go”
___________________________________________________

I don’t know what happened. Everything went blank and now I’m shaking. Where am I? Holy shit it’s the basement. What have I done? Jesus fucking Christ what have I done?
___________________________________________________

Hmmm. I killed the stupid bastard and I’m cool with that. But fuck why did I have to kill her too. Stupid me. Not going to happen again. Have to start taking my happy pills. This has happened too many times before. Lock the doors, draw the curtains – its time to bury flesh under the floorboards. Hahahaha. Fuck Johnny, you’re gonna have to skip town again you stupid bitch. Shhh stop talking to yourself. Fucking voices in my head.

[Thump Thump Thump]. Digging stops.

Pumpkin Pie

I fear I write in a singular style
So to break free I must push myself; go another mile.
This is a story of love I write
It has nothing to do with sex, drugs or plight.
A truer love story never will you behold
Between a girl and a pumpkin; I fear I’m being bold.

“Oh dear one, how can we go on this way?
To bide our time is what you always say!
But to be wed to you is my only wish
Lest you end up being my mother’s favourite dessert dish!”

“Oh fair maiden, with you there to protect me
I shall be safe and sound and make a grand entry
Into your beautiful house
As a son-in-law and spouse”

As the days passed by and the years skipped on
The girl grew weary and said to him one morn:

“Oh dear one, I heard talk over dinner
They need a pumpkin, with Halloween just around the corner!
And with you being the only pumpkin in the house
They have no choice but to carve you inside out.
This time I cannot save you dear one
By day break they will come for you and you shall be gone.”

So heartbroken was the pumpkin
I have no words to describe him
Enraged with his fate
So filled was he with hate

So come Halloween day
When everyone was trick or treatin’ and gay
And in the girls great manor
Was held an extravagant dinner
A seven course meal
Chicken, ham, pork and veal
A three-tiered cake for dessert
And a pumpkin (the pumpkin) carved with a pair of thick scissors.

As the guests waited for a slice of the cake
The lights dimmed out and the floor began to shake.
And in a voice that boomed like thunder
Spoke the pumpkin to rip hearts asunder

“Oh fair maiden, thou hast forsaken me!
I have now returned to exact my revenge; this you shall see!
Before the night is over you shall all be dead
And your bodies turned into statues made of concrete and lead!
In death you shall experience the most excruciating pain
All attempts to mollify me shall pass through in vain”

With a cackle and a hoot the pumpkin set himself on fire
His job was done; there was nothing left for him to desire.
In terror the guests made haste to get out
Just to find the doors locked with a padlock so stout
At the turn of the hour, as the clock struck twelve
The house shook with the screams of the guests and the tolling of the bell.

Come morning, in the manor, where silence prevailed.
One can still hear the silent cries of the young maiden; of pain unveiled…

[Note to the general audience - The images that I have posted are not my own. These have just been randomly selected to suit my poems.]

Dear Diary,

Dear Diary,

My daughter has a hidden life. The other day I saw her on the road, wearing this skimpy outfit, accepting money from a strange man. When I confronted her about it she gave me a weird look and walked out of the room.

Dear Diary,

My mother has a hidden life. The other day I met daddy on the road and he gave me some money to buy myself jeans. When I went back home, ma asked me who that man was. How can she not know her own husband?

[Note to the general audience - The images that I have posted are not my own. These have just been randomly selected to suit my posts.]

The Melancholy Life of Winona Spyder

I write you a love letter. Every word that I write to you is like a needle embroidering my heart for the better.
I spill tears over my words. You know not how much my love for you burns; it hurts.
You came into my life at a time when I was in pain. At a time when looking at me was like looking at the Grim Reaper through the rain.
I beg you not to leave me dearest. It is with you that I see my life the way it ought to be; the clearest.

I spoke of you to my mother yesterday. You will not believe all that she had to say:
“Dearest Winona, you have not a thought for your mother. You sit about all day brooding about another!”
“You help me not in the kitchens. You waste your time playing with those heathens.”
“You have grieved me today child. What have I done to make you run amuck and so wild?”
“You will never be with him of that I am sure. Not only is he dumb and daft but he is also rather poor.”

Oh Charlie how her words shamed me to pieces. I had to slit her throat, cut her up and feed her to my nieces.
Charlie say you will be with me. Or else you will also end up like my mother, a part of history.
No say not you that I am threatening you. That I cannot do for I am hardly a Jew*.
I have had many hopes and dreams for our future together. So what if you happen to be my estranged brother?

This love letter I write for you dear Charlie. I have never loved like this before and I am waiting for the day when you will hold me.
These words they come straight from my heart. At first I did not know how to start.
But now these words they flow like a river. A ‘no’ from you will be in my heart a thorny sliver.
I wait for the day when you come to take me away. My feelings are so intense I think I shall soon swoon and sway.

This picture of you that I hold in my hands. It is adorned carefully by loving hands with beautiful garlands.
They say you died many years before. But I believe not in what they have to say for at the drop of a hat they could ruin my reputation; turn me into a whore.
Oh Charlie. Please come back to me.
I wait for you in the tower room. I wait for your light, but the darkness still seems to loom.
I don’t think I can last much longer. I am getting older, and not younger.

Steal away my pain my love. Make me not come to you with a handgun and a glove…


* Jews are still referred to as cunning, conniving, thieving, blackmailing scoundrels in some parts of the world.

[Note to the general audience - The images that I have posted are not my own. These have just been randomly selected to suit my poems.]

Farah

I keep my feelings bottled up. I keep them to myself so I can go and explore them, experience them, gloat over them at a later period. My name is Farah. I have a problem. No one knows that I have a problem but I do. I was born in the year 1916 but have never really experienced what it is like to live with a family. My father was a bastard and my mother, well I don’t know who she was. My father died when I was 6 and I don’t know why.

The only thing that kept me going all my life was my little brother Farooq. He died. And, then I cried. And the tears never stopped streaming down. My whole life has been tear-filled. All my thoughts tear-filled. My hatred tear-filled. My joy tear-filled. I have rashes on my face from the constant flow of tears. All of this is of course in my head.

I tried to fall in love, not once but thrice. It didn’t work. Some say I am insane, some say I am weird and one said I wasn’t easy enough. All three are dead and I don’t know why. A detective came to question me the other day. Something to do with me being the common factor in all the death cases. He died the next day. May his good soul Rest In Peace.

I pretend to live in a world where I am exceptionally beautiful and I am exceptionally intelligent. I pretend to live in a world where I get all the attention. I pretend to be Marilyn Monroe (with brains). But in reality I am nothing. Just a tiny dot on the face of this earth. All my life has been a blur to me. I am now awaiting my death. Maybe in death my life will be more eventful. I once watched this movie that depicted death in colour and I thought to myself that is where I want to be.

Yesterday, I met a guy. Before the end of this year I know I will be married to him. Today, in the morning when I was browsing through the morning papers I saw an ad. I’m not ready yet to tell you what the ad was all about but you will know in due course.

I try to think back into my past but nothing seems of importance to me. So when I converse with strangers I create a fictional past. I tell them about my father being a Mughal emperor and having three wives and 60 concubines. They all seem to look at me in a weird way and they all move on. I have no friends and I don’t think I want any. I had one friend back in school. I can’t seem to remember her name. She died. And, I don’t know why.

My life has been a whirlwind of fake dreams and emotions. From one foster family to another, I moved all over the country. Each one betraying me, each one humiliating me. I had a father who brought me up for a short period as his sex slave. And then he died on top of me one day. I don’t know why.

I was in the news a couple of months back but I didn’t really care. I have better things to do. I have to go home and toast the bread and ‘butter my slice, anticlockwise’. I like music. It soothes my nerves. Makes me think of peaceful things like bells and crows, cemeteries and amputated toes. I write a lot these days. I know not what I write about but writing continuously is what I find myself doing after a long and stressful day.

My name is Farah. I have a problem. No one knows that I have a problem but I do. My problem is that I am not meant to be in this world. I am neither good nor evil. I am just me. I may do things that upset people, incite them, anger them or move them to tears but I mean no harm, as I don’t know what harm is. I am neither good nor bad for I believe these two words are man made. I believe that what I may deem as a good deed, others may look upon as bad. What difference does it make anyway? All I want is to find my way out of here…to a place far away from here…where I can rest my weary bones…

[Note to the general audience - The images that I have posted are not my own. These have just been randomly selected to suit my posts.]

Vincent

Vincent Malloy is seven years old,
He’s always polite and does what he’s told.

For a boy his age he’s considerate and nice,
But he wants to be just like Vincent Price.

He doesn’t mind living with his sister, dog and cat,
Though he’d rather share a home with spiders and bats.

There he could reflect on the horrors he’s invented,
And wander dark hallways alone and tormented.

Vincent is nice when his aunt comes to see him,
But imagines dipping her in wax for his wax museum.

He likes to experiment on his dog Abacrombie,
In the hopes of creating a horrible zombie.

So he and his horrible zombie dog,
Could go searching for victims in the London fog.

His thoughts aren’t only of ghoulish crime,
He likes to paint and read to pass the time.

While other kids read books like Go Jane Go,
Vincent’s favorite author is Edgar Allen Poe.

One night while reading a gruesome tale,
He read a passage that made him turn pale.

Such horrible news he could not survive,
For his beautiful wife had been buried alive.

He dug out her grave to make sure she was dead,
Unaware that her grave was his mother’s flower bed.

His mother sent Vincent off to his room,
He knew he’d been banished to the tower of doom.

Where he was sentenced to spend the rest of his life,
Alone with a portrait of his beautiful wife.

While alone and insane, encased in his tomb,
Vincent’s mother suddenly burst into the room.

“If you want to you can go outside and play.
It’s sunny outside and a beautiful day.”

Vincent tried to talk, but he just couldn’t speak,
The years of isolation had made him quite weak.

So he took out some paper, and scrawled with a pen,
“I am possessed by this house, and can never leave it again.”

His mother said, “You’re not possessed, and you’re not almost dead.
These games that you play are all in your head.

You’re not Vincent Price, you’re Vincent Malloy.
You’re not tormented, you’re just a young boy.”

“You’re seven years old, and you’re my son,
I want you to get outside and have some real fun.”

Her anger now spent, she walked out through the hall,
While Vincent backed slowly against the wall.

The room started to sway, to shiver and creak.
His horrid insanity had reached its peak.

He saw Abacrombie his zombie slave,
And heard his wife call from beyond the grave.

She spoke from her coffin, and made ghoulish demands.
While through cracking walls reached skeleton hands.

Every horror in his life that had crept through his dreams,
Swept his mad laugh to terrified screams.
To escape the madness, he reached for the door,

So he and his horrible zombie dog,
But fell limp and lifeless down on the floor.

His voice was soft and very slow,
As he quoted The Raven from Edgar Allen Poe,

“And my soul from out that shadow floating on the floor,
Shall be lifted –Nevermore!”

- Tim Burton

Booger Talk

1. Where did I go wrong? I lost a friend...
2. I get these sordid images of a pebble flying up from the road and slicing my eye into two, making half my eyeball pop out and fall with a wasted "plop" onto my cupped hands - everytime I sit behind someone on the bike!
3. I dream of death and fear and running away - where's the happiness in my life?
4. I know I'm very happy but I don't seem to feel it.
5. Drinking (water)(haha) makes me feel complete.
6. I sit here pretending to be deep in thought when I'm just actually forcing myself to think about something, ANYTHING!
7. I'm wet and cold. (That's also my nature).
8. I love my iPod.
9. It's not a habit it's cool, I feel alive. If you don't have it, you're on the other side..I'm not an addict baby...that's a lie.
10.Men piss me off. Men make me feel better about myself. I like men. But men piss me off.
11. From where I sit, it takes exactly 22 steps (small steps) to reach the cafetaria.
12. Fredrick was a young boy with a weird affliction called waxanges disease. He would bleed through the eyes and cry from his mouth.
13. The beautiful people..
14. If I were a spy, I'd be sitting at adlabs chewing on those beautiful nachos watching Dark Knight. That's why I'm not a spy.
15. Cry bitch cry!
16. I love wood furniture.
17. I want to throw up when I hear lame ass teeny boppers cackling away over some perverted sex joke that they just cracked, and that's probably from the 18th century.
18. Is it true that all of us have a heart each?
19. Is it true that we have feelings?
20. I want to chew on my nails all my life and then crush them to powder and sell them as cocaine to some ignorant little bastard with a runny nose.

[Note to the general audience - The images that I have posted are not my own. These have just been randomly selected to suit my posts.]

What have you done to God?

There's an everlasting God.
There's an everlasting fight for which God is the right God.
Would you even know if he walked beside you?
Would you worship him then?
What if he asked you for some money?
Would you fall at his feet worshipping him with bundles of notes?
Would you even care if he had to die bleeding?
Or would you edge away from him, careful not to let the blood spill onto your clothes?

What if he lived with you in your home?
What if he was your father?
The man you ignore...the man you ridicule...the man you ostracize
What if you hated him?
What if you were waiting for him to die so you can inherit the property?

What if you've hurt him every day of your life?
The same God that you pray to at night...
The same God that you ask for forgiveness...
The same God that you love..

Think about it...

[Note to the general audience - The images that I have posted are not my own. These have just been randomly selected to suit my posts.]

Note for the Day

For all the wanted as well as unwanted people who are reading my blog: "If you don't like the contents of my blog, then DON'T read my blog".

[Note to the general audience - The images that I have posted are not my own. These have just been randomly selected to suit my posts.]

Yes, Today is one of those hateful days...

Was speaking to someone who I barely know today and she made me realize that whether you are 17, 23 or 37, you're still the same, with regards to love.

Everyone wants the attention. Everyone wants the pampering. Everyone wants to feel desirable. Everyone wants the intimacy. Everyone wants the communication. And, everyone wants the security.

But does anyone actually want love? Do people actually love their lovers for what they are or is it because he/she just makes us feel special. Or perhaps we just love the person we become when we are supposedly in love. Or maybe we love to be in love. Or maybe there is love....who will ever know?

See, this is what I like about life. It's a set of unanswered questions. How boring would it be if we had the answer to everything? Even when you're on your deathbed, you'll still not be sure whether love exists or not.

We love the music (because it makes US feel different). We love the reading (because it takes US on a different trip). We love the dancing (because it makes US feel good and energetic). We love the meeting friends (because we can kill time and laugh). We love the drinks (because it makes US forget). We love our family (because they brought US up). We love the food (because it makes US feel good). It's always us, us, us...beautiful ain't it? Selfish assholes.

"Hello I'm asshole natasha and I want to fall in love because I dont want to be lonely any more". "Hello I'm asshole number 2 and I want to fall in love because I've heard that love is so beautiful and I also want to feel it". Fucking assholes.
"Hello I'm asshole number 3 and I'm so bored with my pathetic little meaningless and fucked up life so now I'm just looking for that love to spice up my life". Fucking assholes.

We got reality shows where stupid bitches participate to find the husbands of their dreams, matchmaking shows, shows where stupid fathers fall for their daughters, shows where dogs make love to their owners, shows where birds fall for beautiful women and follow them from country to country all in the name of love. Fucking assholes.

We got books where a handsome man meets a beautiful woman and they hate each other in the beginning only to fall for each other after the handsome man saves the woman's tight little arse from caving in when a maple tree falls on her. How sweet!

We got sickly sweet songs about love too! "I wanted you to know that I love the way you laugh, I wanna hold you high and steal your pain away" (not to mention that he's probably going to be the one to give her all that pain in the first place and that in the years to come if she laughs too much, he'll probably get irritated with that as well!)awwww..."it must have been love but it's over now" (sob sob it's over!!! what do I do now?? who do I hang with and while away my time with???) ...awwww...fucking assholes..yeah thats all there is to it...fucking assholes taking over an asshole world...

"So if you want to love me
then darlin' don't refrain"
(but don't expect me to do the same)

Things I like (Part III)

[Note to the general audience - The images that I have posted are not my own. These have just been randomly selected to suit my posts.]

Things I like (Part II)

[Note to the general audience - The images that I have posted are not my own. These have just been randomly selected to suit my posts.]

Things I like (Part I)

[Note to the general audience - The images that I have posted are not my own. These have just been randomly selected to suit my posts.]

Natasha's one liners (#1)

You know your lonely when you're so used to being alone that its scary being with someone.

[Note to the general audience - The images that I have posted are not my own. These have just been randomly selected to suit my posts.]

Another wisdom-packed conversation (seriously, why do these people encourage me?)

nayakpooja83: oh my poor cupcake
me: purrrr purrrr
nayakpooja83: (oh god, started again)
me: purrr purrr
nayakpooja83: here kitty
me: meeeoww?
nayakpooja83: lil kittchen
me: purrr purrr
nayakpooja83: baby pooooccchhhy cat
me: pppppuuuurrrrraaaaaaaooooo
ppuuurrrr

[Note to the general audience - The images that I have posted are not my own. These have just been randomly selected to suit my posts.]

This is my idea of useful Information...

In the 23 years of my life, I have reached this conclusion:

1. There are different types of smokers.
2. Smokers comprise of the following:

a. The type's that flick the ash every two seconds.
b. The type's that don't ash at all and get some kind of perverse pleasure in ensuring that the ash doesn't break off and fall.
c. The one's that like to smoke with a flair, right out of a bond movie.
d. The one's that let out the smoke from the corners of their mouth.
e. The kinds that let out the smoke from their nostrils.
f. The one's that always have their thumb placed on the butt of the cigarette.
g. The one's that like to impress everyone with their ring blowing antics.
h. The type that places the cigarette inside a nostril, inhales and blows out smoke from their mouth.(bravo!)
i. The one's that make a small little 'poof' noise when blowing smoke out.
j. The kinds that like to talk with a cigarette plastered between their lips.

I'm guessing there are many other kinds but since I have never been the smartest and am still not the smartest, I probably must have missed out on many other styles. As and when I come across a unique smoking style I shall add it in the list above. If you do know of any other kinds of smokers, please feel free to leave a comment and you can be rest assured your information will be of great help to me (I might even include your name in this Nobel Prize winning blog of mine). Till then Auf Wiedersehen!

[Note to the general audience - The images that I have posted are not my own. These have just been randomly selected to suit my posts.]

Promote Fiction

Did you actually take the time out to read all the shit that I have written in my other blog posts?? Most of what I write is only fictitious bullshit. I mean who gives a shit about writing down whatever is happening in my daily life, whether I'm happy or sad, what I see, what I learn, what I feel...blah blah blah. Everyone's got messed up lives so why should my life make any difference to some poor, bored soul who's happened to stumble across this hellhole of a page of mine? Why on earth do we think it necessary to write about these silly little things (ooh my mother yelled at me this morning, ohhh I'm so lonely, aaah why did he leave me and go?) when there's so much more going on out there? I'm not reading a person's blog to see what goes on in their miserable little lives, I'm reading a blog to find out what goes on in a person's mind.

If I wanted to write about my life and what I feel and what I think, I'd just write a book, find myself an agent, get it published and voila we've got ourselves the next bestseller!! It doesn't work that way you see, no one really cares about what's happening to you and what your going through and what your thinking, not even those bored housewives. Even the few people who do read your petty little lamentations, do so because they are putting themselves in your place. They don't care about whats happening to you, they care about whats happening to them, if they were you, and if you were them, if that makes any sense to you.

I mean we all are lonely, we all are sad, we all are happy, we all are glad. So writing a blog on how lonely or depressed you are isn't going to change the fact that you are in fact just that - lonely and depressed. So cut it out. Bring out the demon in you. Don't let go, you got the psycho in you! Oh me Oh my! yes I'm fine! All I'm trying to do is promote fiction!

[Note to the general audience - The images that I have posted are not my own. These have just been randomly selected to suit my posts.]

A conversation between two people with very weak minds..

[16:14] Saneth Kumar: but don u think the bible is a little too much?
[16:14] Saneth Kumar: whats with the Garden Of Eden n Adam eating Eve's cherry
[16:14] Saneth Kumar: oops.. I mean...
[16:14] Saneth Kumar: Adam eating the forbidden tree
[16:15] natasha.bantwal: forbidden fruit
[16:15] Saneth Kumar: why the fuck did god put a fucking forbidden tree in his own garden??
[16:15] Saneth Kumar: are u sure??
[16:15] Saneth Kumar: I think there was a tree full of forbidden fruits
[16:16] Saneth Kumar: eating out of the forbidden tree
[16:16] Saneth Kumar: I'm pretty sure... they were eating out of something or someone else.. and god had a problem
[16:17] natasha.bantwal: no Eve ate the forbidden fruit
[16:17] natasha.bantwal: the apple
[16:17] natasha.bantwal: that the snake offered her
[16:17] Saneth Kumar: I know its an apple
[16:17] Saneth Kumar: but inside the garden only na?
[16:17] natasha.bantwal: yup
[16:18] Saneth Kumar: I'm pretty sure the snake found it in the garden.. coz snakes are not capable of cultivating food
[16:18] Saneth Kumar: so my question is... why did god put forbidden fruits in the garden??
[16:19] Saneth Kumar: even if the snake managed to get the fruit from outside...(from the forbidden garden probably)
[16:19] natasha.bantwal: yeah the snake found it
[16:20] natasha.bantwal: or maybe the snake was a peddler
[16:20] Saneth Kumar: so basically.. god put it in the garden..
[16:20] Saneth Kumar: well.. maybe
[16:20] natasha.bantwal: he wanted to test our obedience capacity
[16:21] natasha.bantwal: or maybe god is the devil himself
[16:21] natasha.bantwal: and devil is god
[16:21] natasha.bantwal: and they are both one entity
[16:21] natasha.bantwal: like our good conscience
[16:21] natasha.bantwal: and our bad conscience
[16:22] Saneth Kumar: yeah
[16:22] Saneth Kumar: wow from sex to philosophy
[16:22] Saneth Kumar: some bro sis duo we are!
[16:23] natasha.bantwal: hehehehehhehe
[16:23] natasha.bantwal: dude but that made sense!
[16:23] natasha.bantwal: god and the devil are one!
[16:23] Saneth Kumar: yeah I'm pretty sure..
[16:23] Saneth Kumar: god is like us only
[16:23] Saneth Kumar: some idiot sitting up there.
[16:23] Saneth Kumar: I mean c'mon man...
[16:24] Saneth Kumar: if he was soo powerful... don't you think he'd stop all the shit happening today??
[16:24] natasha.bantwal: exactly!
[16:24] Saneth Kumar: don't you think he'd stop all the senseless violence that happens in his name!!
[16:24] natasha.bantwal: or maybe he put it there on purpose to teach us a lesson
[16:24] natasha.bantwal: I don't think god can control us
[16:24] natasha.bantwal: he just teaches us
[16:25] Saneth Kumar: well.. then its stupid to call him the all knowing benevolent all powerful GOD!!
[16:25] Saneth Kumar: what has he taught us?
[16:25] natasha.bantwal: exactly why I prefer to be an atheist!
[16:26] Saneth Kumar: u know..
[16:26] Saneth Kumar: have u read about satanism?
[16:26] natasha.bantwal: a little
[16:26] natasha.bantwal: I just know a brief bit
[16:26] Saneth Kumar: I found out that satanism isn't about worshiping the Satan
[16:26] Saneth Kumar: the Satan is US!
[16:27] Saneth Kumar: we worship ourselves...
[16:27] Saneth Kumar: n we do what we feel like
[16:27] Saneth Kumar: no abstinence
[16:27] Saneth Kumar: do as we please.... as long as we dont hurt anyone while we're at it
[16:27] natasha.bantwal: I thought by US u meant the united states
[16:28] Saneth Kumar: hahaha
[16:28] Saneth Kumar: no
[16:28] Saneth Kumar: yourself I mean
[16:28] natasha.bantwal: yeah well I wouldn't have to read about it to know that I'm Satan
[16:28] natasha.bantwal: spell my name backwards
[16:28] natasha.bantwal: natasha
[16:29] natasha.bantwal: ah Satan
[16:29] Saneth Kumar: wow..
[16:29] Saneth Kumar: never looked at it like that
[16:29] Saneth Kumar: MY LORD!
[16:29] Saneth Kumar: your wish..
[16:29] Saneth Kumar: is my command..
[16:29] Saneth Kumar: Ah Satan
[16:29] Saneth Kumar: !!
[16:29] natasha.bantwal: ooh that feels good!!
[16:29] natasha.bantwal: what if I ruled the world one day?
[16:30] natasha.bantwal: can u imagine what a pleasure haven it would be?
[16:30] natasha.bantwal: there would be no wars
[16:30] natasha.bantwal: I'd grow trees
[16:30] Saneth Kumar: I swear!
[16:30] natasha.bantwal: plenty of food
[16:30] natasha.bantwal: lots of love making
[16:30] Saneth Kumar: and I as your loving bro would get all the pussy in the world!!
[16:30] natasha.bantwal: exactly
[16:30] natasha.bantwal: anything u wanted
[16:30] Saneth Kumar: there'd b sooo soo much love
[16:30] natasha.bantwal: anyone u wanted would be yours
[16:31] Saneth Kumar: aww thanx
[16:31] Saneth Kumar: I'm not greedy
[16:31] natasha.bantwal: and I'd talk in Shakespearean tones
[16:31] Saneth Kumar: just 2 would do
[16:31] natasha.bantwal: and wear robes of black with red sashes
[16:31] Saneth Kumar: erm..
[16:31] Saneth Kumar: o..k..
[16:31] natasha.bantwal: and wear my hair band with the red horns
[16:31] natasha.bantwal: not the pussy cat ones
[16:31] Saneth Kumar: I dunno why thats necessary....
[16:32] natasha.bantwal: wouldn't do to have the people calling Satan a pussy would it?
[16:32] natasha.bantwal: its all about the garb my underestimated minion!!!!
[16:32] natasha.bantwal: have you never heard of the proverb "clothes maketh the man"????
[16:32] Saneth Kumar: oh rite..
[16:33] Saneth Kumar: well.. dont expect me to dress like a pansy just cuz I'm your bro
[16:33] natasha.bantwal: erm
[16:33] natasha.bantwal: well there's a hitch there
[16:33] natasha.bantwal: see u know how I love to take your arse?
[16:33] Saneth Kumar: so?
[16:33] Saneth Kumar: u want me to dress like a jester?
[16:33] natasha.bantwal: so
[16:34] natasha.bantwal: I was thinking of appointing you as court jester
[16:34] natasha.bantwal: ooh you read Satan's thoughts!!!!
[16:34] Saneth Kumar: how am I supposed to attract women dressed like that
[16:34] Saneth Kumar: ??
[16:34] Saneth Kumar: erm.. we're in 2008 baby... I don think we need them court jesters
[16:35] natasha.bantwal: but if I had to rule the world
[16:35] natasha.bantwal: you'd be a court jester alright!!!
[16:35] natasha.bantwal: and trust me them jesters get more action than you right now!(cuz your getting none at all)
[16:35] Saneth Kumar: aww
[16:35] Saneth Kumar: orgy's n all
[16:36] natasha.bantwal: exactly
[16:36] natasha.bantwal: its like Doink the clown
[16:36] natasha.bantwal: he's probably mounting a rump right now
[16:36] Saneth Kumar: ermm... yeah I'm sure
[16:37] natasha.bantwal: and we'll have our gladiators
[16:37] natasha.bantwal: or would you rather like to be a gladiator?
[16:37] Saneth Kumar: well its more macho... but I'm pretty sure I'd get eaten up by them lions in my first fight
[16:38] Saneth Kumar: so.. I guess.. jester is better
[16:38] Saneth Kumar: wait a minute
[16:38] Saneth Kumar: would you set the lions on my ass??
[16:39] natasha.bantwal: thats what Satan would do eh?
[16:39] Saneth Kumar: but I'm the Satan's bro!!
[16:39] Saneth Kumar: wtf?
[16:39] natasha.bantwal: oh yeah i got carried away...

[Note to the general audience - The images that I have posted are not my own. These have just been randomly selected to suit my posts.]

THANK YOU!

Thank you warm beds
Thank you Mimi
Thank you thank you long showers

Thank you issey miyake
Thank you father for ruffling my hair
Thank you thank you disgusting morning milk

Thank you walking with music
Thank you nice rickshaw guys
Thank you thank you early morning smiles

Thank you every morning traffic
Thank you waving school children
Thank you thank you music

Thank you air conditioned rooms
Thank you sweet old man
Thank you thank you meebo

Thank you window by my desk
Thank you clear blue sky
Thank you thank you buttermilk

Thank you telephone calls
Thank you rui
Thank you thank you friends and brothers and sisters

Thank you situations
Thank you complexities
Thank you thank you alcohol!

Thank you cigarette breaks
Thank you lunch breaks
Thank you thank you all kinds of breaks!

Thank you individual thoughts
Thank you personal flaws
Thank you thank you tears

Thank you concerned friends
Thank you lost souls
Thank you thank you the child in you

Thank you Indo-Aussie chicks
Thank you bespectacled friends
Thank you thank you shopping sprees with 'you'

Thank you guitarists
Thank you heroin addicts
Thank you thank you big mouths!

Thank you bizarre conversations
Thank you sexual connotations
Thank you thank you mood swings

Thank you desperation
Thank you frustration
Thank you thank you voiced opinions

Thank you evening times
Thank you white lies
Thank you thank you emotions

Thank you crude jokes
Thank you laughing faces
Thank you thank you depression

Thank you togetherness
Thank you happiness
Thank you thank you aloofness

Thank you calamities
Thank you paranoia
Thank you thank you phobias

Thank you dream world
Thank you physical pain
Thank you thank you dancing!

Thank you late nights
Thank you big fights
Thank you thank you family.

(I could just go on and on and yet we say life is a bitch)

[Note to the general audience - The images that I have posted are not my own. These have just been randomly selected to suit my posts.]

TORTURE!

FFFUUUCCCKKK!!!!!!

[Note to the general audience - The images that I have posted are not my own. These have just been randomly selected to suit my posts.]

mad rantings and ravings of a non-believer...

If God turned His back on us for a Day.....

If God turned His back on us for a day, the little child who so wished for that toy truck, wouldn't get his toy truck and would grow up to be a bitter, world-hating freak of nature with a hatchet in his closet and a dead body under the floorboards of his pantry...

If God turned His back on us for a day, the teenage beauty queen wouldn't get the love of her life and would turn out to be a promiscuous alcoholic with bitter dreams wrapped in a bag of acidic man-hating thoughts...

If God turned His back on us for a day, the honest, self-sacrificing parents would give birth to aboriginal monsters with high libidos and murderous tempers, always on the run from the law, always on the run from themselves...

If God turned His back on us for a day, I'd probably be dead and so would you, or worse still, we'd be alive and using whatever means we have to get what we want, what we really want, even if murder would bring it to us....

If we turned our backs on God for a day.....

If we turned our backs on God for a day, the little boy with the big dreams of getting that toy truck for Christmas wouldn't expect God to give it to him, he'd probably take up a summer job and save his money for that truck and buy it all by himself...

If we turned our backs on God for a day, that teenage beauty queen wouldn't be left embittered by the lost love that she never did manage to ensnare and would probably move on in life and go on to concentrate on her career and make a name in Wall Street...

If we turned our backs on God for a day, those honest, self-sacrificing parents would give birth to honest, self-sacrificing, independent children with degrees in medicine and an ambitious gleam in their eye to make it big in the world of scientific research...

If we turned our backs on God for a day, we'd still be alive, just as alive as we are now, writing our memoirs, finding another belief to help discipline us, to help set us on the right path, the path to re-destruction..

[Note to the general audience - The images that I have posted are not my own. These have just been randomly selected to suit my posts.]

Sweet Dracule

[Dig through the ditches and
Burn through the witches and
Slam in the back of my
Dragula]

As I lay on my bed one cold, damp and disgustingly chilly winter night, Dracula came to me. As I lay on my bed and dreamt of DNA strands spiraling towards me through dark, abysmal and void like galaxies, slowly edging closer towards me, he came through my windows and stood staring at my naked, twisted body lying in dream-filled slumber. I felt His touch.

[Dead I am the one, exterminating son
Slipping through the trees, strangling the breeze
Dead I am the sky, watching angels cry
While they slowly turn, conquering the worm]

As I lay naked and sweating on a cold and chilly winter night, I felt Dracula close beside me. I felt his fingers caressing the whole length of my body - a prelude to a sacred sexual act that would not comprise of sex at all. A sexual act that was so pure and chaste in its intention that no censor board in the world would deem it necessary to cut this scene out, had it been a movie. But this was no movie.

[Dead I am the pool, spreading from the fool
We get what you need, no air as you bleed
Dead I am the rat, feast upon the cat
Tender is the fur, dying as you purrrr]

As I lay naked and frozen with fear and some unknown form of longing, Dracula spoke to me. He spoke to me of times when women gave themselves unto him willingly,when people had no fear of him as a blood-sucking, evil lord, when people thought of him as a life saver. He spoke in such soothing tones that I slowly felt the fear ebb away from me.

[Do it baby, do it baby
Do it baby, do it baby
Burn like an animal]

As I began to respond to his fantastically sensual touch, I felt Dracula dip his head ever so lower, heading for my neck, all the while speaking in soothing tones of times long gone by when people thought of him as the lord of death. Of times when death was equivalent to glory and life. Of times when people welcomed him into their homes.

[Dead I am the life, dig into the skin
Knuckle crack the bone, 21 to win
Dead I am the dog, hound of hell you cry
Devil on your back, I can never die]

As I felt Dracula suck into my neck, I began to experience sensations equivalent to no other orgasm I felt before, sweeping over me, coming up in waves - wave after wave after wave. Feelings to make me lose my mind, feelings that made me want to give into the blackness or into the blinding whiteness that erupted all around me. No I was not
experiencing an orgasm, I was experiencing something that I would like to call an out-of-body experience.

[Dig through the ditches and
Burn through the witches and
Slam in the back of my
Dragula]

When I woke up in the morning, I was the same..or so I would have liked to believe.
I walked towards the mirror as a sleepwalker walks the night and what I saw before me was something cold and pale and beautiful, something I had never seen in myself before. When I tilted my head slightly to the right, I saw the small yet deep puncture hole left by Him with the dried blood leaking out in clots and clusters. What I felt I cannot explain in mere words,but the closest I can get to describing what I felt on that cold and chilly winter day, the day after Dracula visited me, was - Freedom.

[Dig through the ditches and
Burn through the witches and
Slam in the back of my
Dragula]

[Note to the general audience - The images that I have posted are not my own. These have just been randomly selected to suit my posts.]

When you lose your battle against life...

- and into the wilderness she ran by night and in the shadows she slept by day.

This is a story of a little girl who has no idea whatsoever of how little she is in a world thats so prodigiously corrupt. It's not a story as such, it's more like an afterthought...or perhaps just a thought.
It's a 'sample story' of a girl who's witnessed things that could make a person or probably break a person.

When I say make a person I mean she has experienced those things that are so traumatically powerful that it could make a person renounce all worldly delights and enter that unknown path of spirituality or perhaps the unknown.

When I say break a person I mean she has witnessed events that could make her a cynical, absurd and bone-chillingly horrendous person.

The story is all about choosing in which direction you want to go: this way or that way.

This little girl was born into a family of high moral values, noble deeds and great academic qualifications. This little girl couldn't ask for more out of life. She had everything that most little girls want - she had loving parents, amazing siblings, a richly extravagant lifestyle, a perfectly good set of friends, all the dolls that she desired (so she could cut their heads off and fill them up with 'daal') and all the books that she could care to read.

We skip to a few years later and we see this little girl again - shabbily dressed, going against her parents wishes every step of the way (a rebel without an apparent cause), going out for late night parties, missing from home on certain occasions, getting into drunken fights with people she wouldn't even care to look at had she been sober, dappling in drugs and other unwarranted, illegal substances, switching from one 'manly' waste head to the next, and in short doing things that she wouldn't recommend other people to do.

What went wrong? How could someone with such a brilliant future become something so outrageously disrespectful to all the norms of society, an outcast, an ingrate?

Let's rewind back to the years when she was growing up. The little girl tells me that she saw things and did things that she would never even wish her greatest of all enemies to experience - something that raped her off her innocence and soul. The little girl - the little misunderstood girl - grew up becoming a little girl who hated the world, who hated the corruption and injustice of the world. And all the love and good things in life couldn't take this hate away from her.

Why little girl? Why did you have to surrender to the 'blackness' when this is the exact same war we wage against life in our everyday lives? Why little girl did you let life steal away from you that most beautiful and important of all our traits - our innocence? Why little girl couldn't you have fought on and said 'to hell with it' like you say for most other things today? Why little girl have you not even given me a chance to be who I want to be? For I am the little girl, and the little girl is me.

But the little girl just sits back,looks me in the eye and says, "it's too late".

[Note to the general audience - The sketches that I have posted are not my own works of art. These have just been randomly selected to suit my posts. The authors remain unknown to me. To whomsoever they may be - I salute you!]

The three big questions of life (my life at least)

How can you even feel comfortable in a place like this? There's nothing comforting about it. Its' grey walls, Velcro lined with fur or some such cheap imitation, glassed in by windows on one whole side but can't look out, glass cubicles to bring back images of cold, unwelcoming incubators, all around phone's ringing, lines buzzing, people talking, women squabbling - how can you even feel comfortable in a place like this?

Brings back to me images of a time when I would stroll nonchalantly through dusty corridors, smile at watchmen and make small-talk, get up and walk around like I belonged to the place and the place belonged to me. Alas, those times have long gone and it's time I wake up and get used to living in this mini-HR hell hole! See I have no complaints about the job I do and what is expected of me, none whatsoever. It's the place. It isn't welcoming. Each day that I walk in to work I feel like a stranger visiting my neighbors friends grandmom at the local old age home.

So that brings me to the purpose behind this post. People need to make offices friendlier, more comforting and less hostile. Some of you will scream bloody murder that 'you come to an office for one reason and one reason only and that is to work'! And I agree that is just what it is all about - it's all about working and work does not necessarily have to be fun. Thats why its called work I suppose. But then wouldn't it help to have offices that are friendlier, more comforting and less hostile?

As menial and stupid a complaint as it may seem to be, I'm now living a life wherein all I do is go to work and go back home. So, if spending the major part of my day at my office is going to be the way of life, I can't help but complain about my working environment....

Try to understand people I'm bored here, I got nothing better to do. At this point I have even contemplated buying myself one of those snazzy jazzy mini revolver thingies to blow my brains out - just for kicks - just to break out of this monotonous cycle. God when I look back at my life and I see all that I've done (all the fun things, all the not- altogether-smart things, all the crazy things, all the dangerous things) and then I look at myself as I am today, all I can say is "what the hell happened along the way?" I'm not cut out for this way of life, neither was I cut out for that way of life - then what way of life am I cut out for?? I sit here counting the hours and minutes left for me to go home and when I get back home I sit there counting the hours and minutes to leave home. So, I'm neither here nor there - then where the hell am I???

I struggle with making sense of things that already make sense to most others, I struggle with making sense of things that don't make sense to others - but for what joy? since I'm neither here nor there. I wonder if other people feel these things. I'm sure they do but don't think it important enough to ponder over. See thats one of my quirks, I take all the inane, non sensical bits and pieces of life and strew it all out in front of me and try to assemble it to resemble something that I'm not quite sure I want or understand.

And then I take the other more apparently important issues, the major priorities, the essential emotions, the most valid of all thoughts, and leave them scattered in bits and pieces lying somewhere in the darkest, deepest recesses of my mind, trapped and locked away behind a door that I won't open because I don't care to open it anymore. In short, it's the small matters that matter the most to me and the big things I conveniently avoid or just laugh off. What kind of a weird, fucked up person am I?????

That leaves me to the last bit of this childish, immature, odious drivel that I choose to call my blog post. I know people all tend to be two-faced, maybe not as abhorrent as in the strict sense of the word, but yes we are all like chameleons I would like to think. We change our colors with every changing situation, concept, individual and mood that we presently find ourselves stuck with. But then can it be natural to say one thing at one moment and then say the complete opposite in the very next instant? I supposedly preach about things like living life to the fullest, doing all the things that you want to do and then in the next instant and with the next someone I'm ranting and raving about how we got to do the same old things to survive in a world thats more monotonous than the very word 'monotony' itself. I mean if there is something called as three faced I think I'd be the only one nominated for that oh so wonderful title. That brings me to my last question - who the fucking hell am I??

Alas, if I could answer these three questions:
1.Where the hell am I? (where am I?)
2.What kind of a weird, fucked up person am I? (what am I?)
3.Who the fucking hell am I? (who am I?)

in a manner that makes some semblance of sense to me, I'd probably be a happier person. But alas......

[Note to the general audience - The images that I have posted are not my own. These have just been randomly selected to suit my posts.]