"There are years that ask questions and years that answer. All endings are also beginnings. We just don’t know it at the time. You have to die a few times before you can really live"
I feel I have lived & died a trillion times already doing the answering & questioning & my head and heart now is one stale recycled bin, where there is no "empty trash" option to click onto. Nevertheless there at times when some things smell nice out of the whole stale lot.
I could sit and demonstrate all kind of stories, but they were not of any worth, until I wrote mine & even didn't bothered to mind at all if anyone was not hearing me out or reading a bit of me & If I did not happen to get an audience for my story telling effort, I would simply become a muse listening to my own stories. I was a good listener indeed, and not everyone poses such genius.
Being busy, acquainted with my effort to have this self realization trying to console the turmoil tantrums & getting nostalgic by the memoirs of utmost happiness through words of an insight wisdom & brilliance out of my experiences of life, that I would chase and get hold of & get going with my story telling endeavor - filling in all those unedited passages of time frames in paused gaps of revised editions of the pathways that were afresh or long forgotten. I could straight away go back to every moment good or bad that I ever belonged to & it was like travelling though a time machine & as much willingly everything would carry me through, I would repent to the sad ones & admire the ones that lasted good. The not so well composed prose - collated vocabulary, that I tried refining every time I scribbled something to sound more convincing then ever. I was just learning from my own flaws & I was getting better day by day maybe for good or worse.
There is this greed to be filled with harmony & peace, and to acquaint thyself with all the materialistic & the minimalist. One could rather choose, but at times the choice is not an option made that easily available to "barter a deal". Normal is an ideal. But it’s not reality. Reality is brutal, it’s beautiful, it’s every shade between black and white, and it’s magical. Yes, magical! because every now and then, it turns nothing into something & then you see everything turning just the opposite in fractions of seconds. Its like paragliding without knowing how to. I sit down, stand, lay down, getting hampered and trying to hamper thee back, shooing away these thoughts that haunt me, and bring about just a giggle or a tear being pampered or doing the pampering.
Its the state of black blank & dark saddened stoned state of existence that prevails out of no where, & everywhere and everything just falls apart for that very moment, even at all if you wish to hold on to thee white chalk & in your effort wanting to scribble, you could come up with with nothing at all to put down there, despite of a Pandora of thoughts that were struggling to burst out of you. No matter how hard you tried to hit onto the lateral & not so lateral thinking process, struggling to keep your head straight but dropping dead like Fred every time & enacting like one living dead. There are times when you would just go about painting colourful pictures & no matter at all if it was a masterpiece or just a piece of trash, it made you do something that you felt was necessary & you loved doing what you did.
There is a kind of crying, I have experienced, and it is not just crying about something terrible that has happened, but a crying for all of the terrible things that have happened, a crying that cannot be diluted by a brave deed or a kind word, but only by someone holding you as your shoulders shake and your tears run down your face, giving you all the assurances that everything would be all right no matter what. At least if not everyday, once a week, I could fall into a fit of giggles and laugh rolling out load, holding my tummy, falling of the bed. (they said' there was something called happy tears), I so wish!
"First day of the year", is very much the same as the last day of the year, but then there is something about it that touches you to the core. As life gives you a flash back to the tiny of the ugliest or pretty petite and by and large few random good ones, travelling unwillingly to this whole thought process of past & a intuitively worried presumed future' down a memory lane through & through this very unsettled state of mind - a brainy & heartfelt episodes of ones living.
"Fairy tales are more than true: not because they tell us that dragons exist, but because they tell us that dragons can be beaten." - My story seems to be no less of a fairy tale, I tell you, but I guess fairies have fled away much long back & I have been busy slaying the dragons lately. I wish my guardian angel comes and saves me from thee and slaughter these creatures who torment me away every day. I win , I loose, I get high, I get low, I get defeated, other days I am just average normal being, a less average, a below average, above average, & averagely I live life likewise everyday, and everyday is not the same. I would seldom close my eyes & would believe to have shut my brain too for all those fractions that I was in pace with the darkness lying underneath, that would hide away all the unnecessary odds, & there would be no thinking at all - no brainstorming.
"if only I could say life is good, good is nice".
My body is the most revolting thing I own. I know this. I have got it bruised a million times emotionally & physically, thinking of it as beautiful & ugly. Good riddance. Beautiful or ugly cannot contain what this body represents inside out. I am still here. In this body. After countless times of trying to leave it. A fight with myself-struggling to pacify with a hopeful fistful hollow anxieties & dreams that have made me a wanderer, making me wonder now & then, although that isn't that wonderful, but at the same time not that bad at all either.
I could utilize my time & energy - heading to a hell lot of other things, that I possibly could, If I could only settle down on to thee(my life). Its 3 am' I have already made it to the first day of the year, I am so glad to be alive & up! - Anonymous
I feel I have lived & died a trillion times already doing the answering & questioning & my head and heart now is one stale recycled bin, where there is no "empty trash" option to click onto. Nevertheless there at times when some things smell nice out of the whole stale lot.
I could sit and demonstrate all kind of stories, but they were not of any worth, until I wrote mine & even didn't bothered to mind at all if anyone was not hearing me out or reading a bit of me & If I did not happen to get an audience for my story telling effort, I would simply become a muse listening to my own stories. I was a good listener indeed, and not everyone poses such genius.
Being busy, acquainted with my effort to have this self realization trying to console the turmoil tantrums & getting nostalgic by the memoirs of utmost happiness through words of an insight wisdom & brilliance out of my experiences of life, that I would chase and get hold of & get going with my story telling endeavor - filling in all those unedited passages of time frames in paused gaps of revised editions of the pathways that were afresh or long forgotten. I could straight away go back to every moment good or bad that I ever belonged to & it was like travelling though a time machine & as much willingly everything would carry me through, I would repent to the sad ones & admire the ones that lasted good. The not so well composed prose - collated vocabulary, that I tried refining every time I scribbled something to sound more convincing then ever. I was just learning from my own flaws & I was getting better day by day maybe for good or worse.
There is this greed to be filled with harmony & peace, and to acquaint thyself with all the materialistic & the minimalist. One could rather choose, but at times the choice is not an option made that easily available to "barter a deal". Normal is an ideal. But it’s not reality. Reality is brutal, it’s beautiful, it’s every shade between black and white, and it’s magical. Yes, magical! because every now and then, it turns nothing into something & then you see everything turning just the opposite in fractions of seconds. Its like paragliding without knowing how to. I sit down, stand, lay down, getting hampered and trying to hamper thee back, shooing away these thoughts that haunt me, and bring about just a giggle or a tear being pampered or doing the pampering.
Its the state of black blank & dark saddened stoned state of existence that prevails out of no where, & everywhere and everything just falls apart for that very moment, even at all if you wish to hold on to thee white chalk & in your effort wanting to scribble, you could come up with with nothing at all to put down there, despite of a Pandora of thoughts that were struggling to burst out of you. No matter how hard you tried to hit onto the lateral & not so lateral thinking process, struggling to keep your head straight but dropping dead like Fred every time & enacting like one living dead. There are times when you would just go about painting colourful pictures & no matter at all if it was a masterpiece or just a piece of trash, it made you do something that you felt was necessary & you loved doing what you did.
There is a kind of crying, I have experienced, and it is not just crying about something terrible that has happened, but a crying for all of the terrible things that have happened, a crying that cannot be diluted by a brave deed or a kind word, but only by someone holding you as your shoulders shake and your tears run down your face, giving you all the assurances that everything would be all right no matter what. At least if not everyday, once a week, I could fall into a fit of giggles and laugh rolling out load, holding my tummy, falling of the bed. (they said' there was something called happy tears), I so wish!
"First day of the year", is very much the same as the last day of the year, but then there is something about it that touches you to the core. As life gives you a flash back to the tiny of the ugliest or pretty petite and by and large few random good ones, travelling unwillingly to this whole thought process of past & a intuitively worried presumed future' down a memory lane through & through this very unsettled state of mind - a brainy & heartfelt episodes of ones living.
"Fairy tales are more than true: not because they tell us that dragons exist, but because they tell us that dragons can be beaten." - My story seems to be no less of a fairy tale, I tell you, but I guess fairies have fled away much long back & I have been busy slaying the dragons lately. I wish my guardian angel comes and saves me from thee and slaughter these creatures who torment me away every day. I win , I loose, I get high, I get low, I get defeated, other days I am just average normal being, a less average, a below average, above average, & averagely I live life likewise everyday, and everyday is not the same. I would seldom close my eyes & would believe to have shut my brain too for all those fractions that I was in pace with the darkness lying underneath, that would hide away all the unnecessary odds, & there would be no thinking at all - no brainstorming.
"if only I could say life is good, good is nice".
My body is the most revolting thing I own. I know this. I have got it bruised a million times emotionally & physically, thinking of it as beautiful & ugly. Good riddance. Beautiful or ugly cannot contain what this body represents inside out. I am still here. In this body. After countless times of trying to leave it. A fight with myself-struggling to pacify with a hopeful fistful hollow anxieties & dreams that have made me a wanderer, making me wonder now & then, although that isn't that wonderful, but at the same time not that bad at all either.
I could utilize my time & energy - heading to a hell lot of other things, that I possibly could, If I could only settle down on to thee(my life). Its 3 am' I have already made it to the first day of the year, I am so glad to be alive & up! - Anonymous