the Yogi and the Schizoid

the Yogi and the Schizoid are connected by madness.
While the yogi is the master of his madness, the schizoid is its slave.

When?

When will it take me?
and drench me to quench the thirst?
Till there is a 'me' in the thist,
the thirst could never be quenched.
thirst is fake.

and so i want to take a knife and
stab myself in my throat
but out of my fantasy
i create my thirst
and look out for oceans and seas to drink

and thru the fantasy i create a voice
which forces my stabbed throat to speak
and when the throat refuses to open up
the mind does
and when the voice becomes unbearable
i bang my head on a rock
thinking the voice comes from the head
i bleed might bad
but still the sound keeps coming..
from where?
and when wil it stop?
when?

An arrow into the air

"I shot an arrow into the air,
It fell to earth, I knew not where;
For, so swiftly it flew, the sight
Could not follow it in its flight.

I breathed a song into the air,
It fell to earth, I knew not where;
For who has sight so keen and strong,
That it can follow the flight of song?

Long, long afterward, in an oak
I found the arrow, still unbroke;
And the song, from beginning to end,
I found again in the heart of a friend."

--- Longfellow

 

 

The Duo

I loved this article. made a nice read.. it's a great sunday.. life is gud.

good steak..

"Cloquet hated reality but realized it was still the only place to get a good steak."
-- Woody Allen

36 chowringhee lane

 

i had a stupid thought today(as most of mine turn out to be, nowadays)..
why not cut the tongue? so tht i culd move out of tht dichotomy.. and could keep quiet for ever..
but.. cuttin the tongue makes u mute but not silent.. they r different.. yea, they are..
it shld evolve.. and thn, u will arrive..
and am bloggin abt this shows tht am not yet! and now am thinkin of a suitable title to this post! sigh!
am nothin but this attention seekin whore!

is death a choice? but pretending to be dead definitely is. its kinda kool.
so, i hearby declare tht i am dead or rather, hereby i declare am Dead already and so this dead man's declaration is therefore invalid.. but your highness, i plea to reconsider your decision and accept this declaration as either legal or valid or both.

so i can write filthy stuff abt some b-skool and no one can sue me.. can quit givin a notice period of 12 minutes and 32 seconds.. need not repay my mortgage.. could escape frm all the reductionists who tag me with freudian symbols.. need not hcnge my orkut profile or foto evry 3 days.. need not upate the currently readin booklist..and me not scrappin back might not be considered as an act of chutzpah or disrespect to err frenship.. it would be far far simpler.. if each one pretends to be dead already.

chutia.. am drudging into pointless posts for the past few days..

no choice

am tired and i want to sleep.. sleep a sleep with such overfilling fullness..

why does the mind keep talkin? why can't it shut itself?yea, shuttin down happens in blotches..for a few hours or days.. but i tread back to old ways..and once into it, how badly i want to move outta it? how badly i want to move out of a conversation.. but why initiate it in the first place.. why? why this dichotomy? whn i keep quiet for sometime, i dunno wht to do with all the overflowin, screamin energy..so i initiate a talk.. a frivulous one, that. and whn i do, it keeps tellin me to shuddup..to shut the fuk up and go back.. but once into it, it takes time to go back...why shld i keep reminding me of myself? why cant't tht i stretch across into the zonals of awareness without the need for constant tickling..wht shld i do? wht the hell shld i do?

no choice.. till the fruit is ripe enough.. no choice.

Mouni

this body is a vessel..full of untapped energy..
the more i go in, the more i realise its overbearing presence..
which could be tapped thru silence..
and so i tried silence..
but it is no ordinary skill which could be acquired..
i tried supressing my thoughts..
but silence is no supression of thoughts..
i tried to be still..
but silence is no being still... its so fast tht it looks still..
but slowly i felt tht energy swerving up and down inside..
its increasin vigour ..each passing day..
until one day, whn there was so much enrgy..
tht i dunno wht to do with all of it..
it was too much for me to hold onto..
and so.. i strted releasin it.. wastin it..
indulge in mindless talking.. futile debates..
talk talk...
talk talk fukin talk...
till ur fukin throat dries..
immerse urself in all the pettiness, in its most magnificient form..
hold onto to something.. be its patron saint.. distort ur perceptions.. delude urself..
and in the process, try n justify ur existence, which is otherwise meaningless..

'Why, Mr.Anderson? Why? Why do you persist?'
'Bcos I choose to!'

Choice.

"Choose life..Choose gud health, low cholesterol and dental insurance..choose your friends.. choose fixed interest mortgage repayment..Choose sitting on that couch watching mind-numbing, spirit-crushing game shows, stuffing fucking junk food into your mouth. Choose rotting away at the end of it all, pishing your last in a miserable home......"
Ah..

talk.. till there is no one to listen..
talk..till there is no one to listen to...
and at last, whn ur decayed and desolated..
and whn the heats of loneliness hits you like the mid-May Sun..
Masturbate.
masturbate till it bleeds..
till ur feet aches.. till the calf cramps.. till you could feel the nerves crushing down..
till you could jerk off without imageries..
till you could do it with nothin on head..
till its empty
till it fades to black
or dissolves to white
till there is nothing..
till there is no I.

and at last, whn ur sapped of the last tiny tinges of enrgy left..
try and evlove the silence in you..
and tap them once again..
but this time, you would knw wht to do with it.
Amen.

 

What Is

What is bliss?
Is it a state?
or its absence?

Rouvdram

 

 

 

where is the vodka?