And entry from the past

I asked myself several times today, "What on earth are you doing?"
Time and again, I got the same response, "Something I've never done before"
"Happy Birthday, then" I said.

Kiling Life part 2 - An Adventure of a Deathtime

Consider the possibility that death wasn’t momentary – maybe it is as long as life. Wouldn’t you give death a chance – the benefit of doubt?

Your partner in this adventure of a deathtime is life. The love of your life – life itself. What do you cherish more than your life – what is more precious?

There was once a warrior of light – a divine child who fought for peace since his childhood. His purpose, as told by the league of retarded prophets, was to bring peace to the lives of people around him.

These retarded prophets had never seen peace for themselves, never brought peace to anyone. They were all a rambling liability upon his miniscule soul. Nonetheless, he fought. He fought till his heart pumped tar into his veins. Insides were hollow – carved out of acid that he drank in order to save anyone, and everyone.

Then came a day when he met his saviour. He found lurking around in the night his only companion – his life. This was not an oppurtunity of a lifetime. It was an adventure of a deathtime. You have to consider the possibility that death is not momentary.

This was a profound moment in this dumb predicament. The next few battles they fought together. Furious and unsure as he was, he would never let life get in the way of the inevitable.

Once you know what has to be done, it is only a matter of when. Your life is your cradle of insanity.

It was soon evident that his glory was no longer his. Life was innocently deceptive. The warrior was beginning to lose his identity as the saviour. Instead, his life was given all the admiration – whatever was left of it. “After all, he is a result of his life”, they said.

Anything worth dying for must be worth living for. In the moment of desperation, the reverse holds true for everything. This is not madness. This is something more acute and less simple.

The warrior decided to kill his life for good. This has already happened. You are one of the retarded prophets. You must know this by now.

In their last battle together, the world came to fall. They were ambushed and pulled apart.

Trapped and powerless, he was indeed about to die. It is true what they say – that your life flashes in front of you when you’re about to die. It was about time. With all her stolen glory, his life shone and the area was clear of demons for escape. It’s not long before they come back. Go, now.

As we speak, the retarded prophets have noticed a shift in the divine starline. Waiting desperately to shrink, succumb and disappear as a black hole, he has not lost his will to live.

There has been a glitch in time. He has not lost his will to live. But his life is dead.

He cannot die for he’s a warrior by birth – a divine child with an unprecedented purpose. So he cannot die, neither can he live, for his life is dead. And with his glory lost, the dead cannot be resurrected.

In between this strange phenomenon of life and death, there exists this stranger predicament. Here, you’re alive and desperate to live, but for some distant and unknowable reason your life is dead.

You’ll forever be haunted by the idea that once you wanted your life dead. This is beyond madness, and hence beyond cure.

Killing Life

Resilience is killing me. What this wonderful ability, simultaneously a hideous curse does to you is that it makes you forget what is imminent – what is of importance. 

You look at the person next to you. He has lost nothing, ever. And that stupid bastard continues to enjoy shit that you resent.

This feeling is deeper than envy. I don’t want what you have. That’d be ridiculous. I want something that you can never have. This is a whole new level of evil. 

Then suddenly this feeling is gone. Enlightenment dawns. You know that nothing matters. Peace is the ultimate way out. But even that doesn’t matter.

Life pulls you in two different directions. You stretch and you stretch. Until you snap.

Resilience pulls you back in shape. Good. 

Shit. 

You know what happens when this happens. You’re making suicide attempts in the morning and vacation plans in the same evening. 

You’re struck with insomnia. You’re too tired to fall asleep. Even if you do, you continue to wake up in random intervals. And did I mention, 24 is a wonderful age to start having nightmares.

You discover a new feeling then. You discover a whole new level of death.

It’s not despair but hopelessness that pushes a man to the edge of life to deliverance. At least this is what you used to think. But now you understand – there is something more to life; and hence a lot more to death. 

The cause of suicidal attempt is even less simple than hopelessness. It is in fact a hopeful envy.

Man proceeds with the attempt not when he sees nothing in future; not when he’s convinced of the impossibilities. It is possible to survive nothingness. What you cannot survive is being chained to yourself when everything just passes you by. When there are possibilities, just not for you. 

You’re reminded of that retard with his foot in his mouth, who thinks he has suffered. You despise his innocence and loathe his ignorance. If this feeling were to last, you’d make something of your life. If nothing else, you’d make death of your life.

But resilience gets to you. It’s killing your soul, taking its own time and pleasure. You’ll soon be dead inside. More dead than you already are. You’ll reach this deeper level of death.

Here, you’ll be making suicide attempts in the afternoon, and vacation plans in the evening. Here, you’ll go to sleep, whatever is left of it. 

The next morning when you wake up, you’ll take a perfect vacation. No one will find you here.

Drive (Incomplete)

Certain innocence does cling

And troubles my spirit

Which the mind, trembling

Knows in its vanity

As weakness - perhaps insanity

In time, the tyrant be slain

And the wars fall asleep

The Loyal warrior, though uncertain

The child grew up too soon

Yet incomplete continues to swoon

Still, anger drives the mind thus

In spurts and bouts and episodes

As to the stranded ship does

A restless storm stubbornly savage

In its blind rage, an irrevocable damage

And here lies the warrior’s misery

Not in his pride or despondency

But in resilience’s trickery

For that insane innocence

Clings, and troubles his prudence

And something, I wish

More than anger, anything at all

Could drive this withering squish

..

Song for the lost insanity

“Everywhere this bewildering urge for life, fruitfulness, creation-and only I, although like the humblest grass of the fields one of God's creatures, may not take part in this festival of resurrection, at any rate not except as a spectator with grief and envy” – Hugo Wolf

This journey has turned pathless and in sane

The roads no longer exist.

We jump through, and in between

Scrambled destinations that persist-

Destiny and its nations!

We jump aimless from beginning to ends,

From ends to ends

In search of the star that in kinship sends

Her dreams across the raging seas

Waging war against the men of creed!

The dream, she says is of a journey together

Of an endless road and everchanging weather

The untiring and stimulating ride of a litetime,

Increasingly audacious and insane,

And increasingly fine!

But day follows night and night follows day

And I jump through places in a tasteless dismay

And jump through places that are no longer there

Fall through the cracks – fallen for the winds to sway

And carry the light of whatever remains!

The remains of whatever remains –

That was once a road filled with lovers

And friends of hope -

They would lend and borrow

Stories of despair and abandon

And rise and dance to the world’s indifference!

They knew that the journey had no end

Knew that the apathy would not end

But now, oh dear, now! Oh lord – How lost!

How sanely lost they are –

Cursing the end of journey and themselves

Longing for insanity again!

They and us – we all know

That this river goes two ways

This way and that way – sadness or madness!

They are escapes - illusions of freedom

From one another.

Tell me, dearest, what escape is madness off sadness

Or sadness off madness

For man nurses man for both!

We rose and fell everyday

The rise be sweet and fall sweeter, we’d pray

Much like the day itself

Passed though the event horizon time and again

Oh! The point of no return, sweetest to say!

The point of no return would return

Time and again

To claim the light, and yet would remain

Resigned from it in utter dismay

Oh! The lost insanity gave us a way away!

Cure me of this sanity – of this completeness

Of my incomprehension of the invisible.

Inspire me again to imagine that can never be,

And fight for love and peace,

And burn for warmth and dream for serenity!

Rise, Oh bright star, rise again

The night is upon us –

Rise and sing the good old song,

Take me back to insanity -

Take us back to the world we belong.