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

..