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.]

Here I am again - a different job, a different life, a different me - and today i'll talk about promiscuity..Yes, you read that right promiscuity. A couple of days ago, I was chatting with a 'good friend' who had the cheek and audacity to call every woman a 'slut', all because his girl of 3 years has been cheating on him. unhuh, a slut. Now see i'm not one of those prim and proper, puritanic suffragettes that scream bloody murder at the thought of a woman being debased, it's just that how can a grown up person, someone who's so highly educated lose all sense of reason and logic in the midst of his hurt? So, a woman who sleeps with a lot of men is a slut, and a man that sleeps with a lot of women is hot. Now that's logic!

God, have you ever taken the time to delve deep into the psychologies? Have you taken the time to delve deep into the psychologies of people? Has it ever occurred to you that there’s a reason why people do what they do? Maybe your little downtrodden girlfriend wasn’t satisfied with you, maybe she never got the sexual gratification that she so deserves, maybe she never got the emotional satisfaction that she probably must have earned in the first place, maybe she just fell out of love.

Since I happen to be a woman I think I am better equipped to explain why women do what they do (a girls gotta do what a girls gotta do). More often than not, women turn from one bed partner to another in search of some kind of satisfaction – whether sexual, emotional or whether they are just looking for attention. It’s like a solving a puzzle, you try each piece with another piece until you get the right pieces to fit in together. Yeah, it’s a bit like that.

[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.]