Climbing up the Loft

No it isn't the one that sells things like pajamas, workout clothes, casual wear or professional wear. Neither was it a rood loft(display gallery) above the rood screen choir or organ loft reserved for church singers and musicians.as In churches.This one is just an architectural - upper space within a building, principally for storage where "I was to go & get lost myself into".

I often would think if at all it would be a wonderful idea, to make it a fully ventilated & completely light-filled one. It could function as an additional bedroom or a hide out place for myself. But the only thing, I hadn't made it so far, was because of the climbing nuances, that would have exerted me in a fit of fright & exertion.

I was no Tomb Raider, Lara Croft! Seems like some people are infected with irony the moment they open their eyes.

“The harder you fall, the heavier your heart; the heavier your heart, the stronger you climb; the stronger you climb, the higher your pedestal.” - Criss Jam

I was to climb up this ‪loft‬, fingers crossed, with the half alive,ruined corroded ladder, piece of solid junk. days passe, had been a while, avoiding, trying to bunk. Carried it up on my shoulders, all the way from the spider webbed & dried accumulated piles of leaves laden garage. 

Tell me about it. huh. no no, no way I was mesmerized by the exclusionary, wishful, willful mirage. After several attempts of thoughtfulness and placement of the steady, well grounded thee, me, In countless numbers ,those chants ran down to thy fright flee. I climbed up. & looked down, scared, eventually happy, I dared. 

“Venturing is the saying of high dreaming, going down from a climb is like climbing. But when going down, we see who is beneath us. And when going up we concretized on who is above.” - Alan Maiccon

The only thing that, bothered me was, how would I be back on thee. Humpty Dumpty did not wanted to fall, whatever the call be. sigh!. Trunks... more of them and all. The low ceiling could not keep me raised up straight, neither space ,where myself I could place. Not ventilated on the other end, through the glassed grilled fitting, I stood there bend. I could not do it all alone, and would take up a while. I only picked up, what I could, & glanced all thee that lied. Maybe soon enough, would take stairs ,way up to the heaven's grind, until then, may I be sound and in gracious mind.

“Getting to the top is optional. Getting down is mandatory.” - Ed Viesturs

Self appreciated. It was time for a self appraisal, praising thy for, all well, that ended well. still wondered, where did the whole idea came from, and what ranged the bell? I guess, I do everything I think possible or acceptable to escape from this trap. no matter how crap. Well yes yes, you got me right, we all do, what we ought to, and eventually get out from the darker trajectories out to see the light.

"eyes closed" - Anonymous

The Emptied Nothingness

There is a crack in everything. That's how the light gets in. ? Leonard Cohen

This egg looked at me, as I scrubbed, skimmed, un-layered it naked(peeling off the shell). After few minutes of struggling, it strangled me ‘yes yes, I am all boiled well' as if it said to me, ascertaining me for a ‘ready, steady & go’ diet to the core. Examining it while I gulped & swallowed. & while I ate, I kept imagining new innovative ideas to embellish the boiled salted egg, I was no fucking chef' & an egg was an egg, and it would remain one, not turning out into a chicken. crap! this was utter nonsense(hillarious). Followed by insanely playing merry go around with the spoon, in the cup full of tea in circles, letting thy sugar melt & settle down, I could have keep going on and on. ‘The sugar on the other hand, screamed, I am stirred pretty well by now & shaken to the core, enough, please stop it.’The spoonful of tea that had jumped & poured out, was a sign. Now that was a nuance to wipe. Sigh. I licked it. I was just being witty & skillful.

There was just about everything & anything that seemed to irritate me now. There was this chaos of dilemma for good or worst, that had my heart and mind hosting it, leaving me ponder later on. Scooping away every bit of my thoughtfulness at stake, out of no where.

"Listen to me, your body is not a temple. Temples can be destroyed and desecrated. Your body is a forest - thick canopies of maple trees and sweet scented wild-flowers sprouting in the under-wood. You will grow back, over and over, no matter how badly you are devastated"

So, it did rained almost whole night a day before. restless me, in between those long hour naps, to the not so sound sleepy ones. I just had nothing to do. I wanted to sleep, but I had enough of it already, but I wanted to sleep again, but It did not happened, so I decided to do nothing about it, and just let it go. I just did not had nothing to do and did not wanted to either. I just wanted ample good sleep. I was just tired of doing everything as much was as tired of sleeping. I just wanted to figure it out for once, how did it felt being empty, doing nothing, and still trying to reconcile with everything that could possibly surround you whole day long & how could one or ones body adapt to ones own self or nothingness. I decided to go back to bed, and tried sleeping again.

You know what, you got a beautiful house, I would love to gift it to my mother' she said, coming closer, standing there next to the door of my bathroom’s entrance, where she found me cleaning my green bath tub. "what stuck me was, now that she would see me in shabby & odd position doing things in real, of what I had already updated status over fb sometime back" ?- ah, just a dream, (for a little fractions), I might have fell into a sound sleep for minutes.

There could be no more sleep. ascertained with the fact, everything else seemed endless and empty, I looked at the walls, gazed sky, there was no moment, everything seemed so dead in and around me. There was this haunted nostalgia, that recycled & repeated itself. It was like a copy paste viciousness, that came from no where and brought all those thoughts, that had absolutely no relevance with anything at the moment. I had absolutely nothing afresh, I could think right now about or look on to. My body was telling me, you just cant sleep no more, but my mind was willing to do just the opposite. I felt I had nothing left anymore to find solitude with, and there was no curiosity left within to get myself lured to anything that could kill my time. I had absolutely nothing at my disposal & I just wandered thinking if there might just be a life other then eating, sleeping, bathing. It seemed everything else was passe, and there was this stillness, though not so calm, that had brought me closer to this nothingness, the emptied self, drained out, wanting to just rest in peace for a while.

Forget the chores, that could amuse you, or wit full agendas that you promised yourself to put in some effort on to, tasks that, you would sit for hours. making the most of your day, those made you kill all the time. This seasonal change with utter heat and no drizzles at all, had me so engrossed into peculiar of things lately & I was not willing to put in any efforts to take out time to water my plants either, which seem to be losing there green leaf life. When I look at them, they and me seem to be so much alike (twins from another mother, I tell you.) We had one thing common & that was we were thirsty. 

I could hear my self talking to me. I never realized what happened to the cover, that left the pillow uncovered, while I slept. One edge of the bed, that I would mesh & cuddle myself in, and try to sleep, and wake up on the other side of the edge. I would abruptly get up on hearing the birds chirping, or would wake up with a disturbed craving for a bath, or something to eat, or drink & then back to sleep. I was marching(no sleep walking). My mind ordered me on these regular intervals. to get up, sleep, feed myself up, clean myself up and do all that, as if it was a high rank military official who wanted me to be disciplined. I just scolded these noise makers(squirrels), making all those weird funny, loud ones, at wee hours. Let me go and feed them up with something, I said to myself, but this sleep overtook me, and we decided to cuddle on the bed, among pillows, and follow the routine.

I had been in an over pursued attempt, trying harder to make it all work so real bad, that I had lost it completely. There have been other traits that followed along with it though, that more or less harnessed the blast furnace even more.

My system lost few drivers, and it needed an intelligent update, a real bad one, real soon.

"Humans are low energy batteries. Don’t touch them if you don’t like the itchy feeling".


There is so much to be done, and very less time to get it all sorted, despite, though, if, but, and why, how juggle up my thoughtfulness every now & then in emotional, mental and  physical ways. - Anonymous 

This Tiny Pang of Regret

Tell me,isn’t it ‪tragic‬? to ‪open yourself up like a museum‬, to turn yourself inside out, only to have everything stolen under the night.

I’ve got this tiny pang of regret when I think of how much I have probably missed out on in the last few years because I was too scared to take a risk, or too shy to speak up, or too worried to be bold.

You think that you are an iconoclast, but you’re not. You just move, or replace what you cannot have. If you fail at something, you retreat into something else. Nothing changes you.

I left you because I knew I could never change you. You would stand in the room so still sometimes, as if the greatest betrayal of yourself would be to reveal one more inch of your character.

I also believe that introversion is my greatest strength. I have such a strong inner life that I’m never bored and only occasionally lonely. No matter what mayhem is happening around me, I know I can always turn inward.

Once I had started my solitude, I realized anew that it was easy for me to become accustomed to this state and that the most effortless existence for me was in fact in one in which I was not obliged to speak to anyone. My fretful attitude to life left me. Each dead day had its charm.

I’ll never know, and neither will you, of the life you don’t choose. We’ll only know that whatever that sister life was, it was important and beautiful and not ours. It was the ghost ship that didn’t carry us. There’s nothing to do but salute it from the shore.

Millions of people have decided not to be sensitive. They have grown thick skins around themselves just to avoid being hurt by anybody. But it is at great cost. Nobody can hurt them, but nobody can make them happy either.

I am thankful for my struggle because without it, I wouldn’t have stumbled upon my strength.

I am besieged by such strange thoughts, such dark sensations, such obscure questions, which still crowd my mind - and somehow I have neither the strength nor the desire to resolve them. It is not for me to resolve all this!

So you're always honest," I said. "Aren't you?" "No," I told him. "I'm not." "Well, that's good to know, I guess.""I'm not saying I'm a liar," I told him. He raised his eyebrows. "That's not how I meant it, anyways." "How'd you mean it, then?" "I just...I don't always say what I feel." "Why not?" "Because the truth sometimes hurts," I said. "Yeah," he said. "So do lies, though.”

- Anonymous

The 3 Questions

My mother tells me, that when I meet someone I like, I have to ask them three questions: 1. what are you afraid of? 2. do you like dogs? 3. what do you do when it rains? Of those three, she says the first one is the most important.

“They gotta be scared of something, baby. Everybody is. If they aren’t afraid of anything, then they don’t believe in anything, either.”

I met you on a Sunday, right after church. one look and my heart fell into my stomach like a trap door. On our second date, I asked you what you were afraid of. “Spiders, mostly. being alone. little children, like, the ones who just learned how to push a kid over on the playground. oh and space. holy shit, space.” I asked you if you liked dogs.I have three.” I asked you what you do when it rains.“Sleep, mostly. sometimes I sit at the window and watch the rain droplets race. I make a shelter out of plastic in my backyard for all the stray animals; leave them food and a place to sleep.”. He smiled like he knew. Like his mom told him the same thing.

“How about you?”

Me? I’m scared of everything. Of the hole in the o-zone layer, Of the lady next door who never smiles at her dog, and especially of all the secrets the government must be breaking it’s back trying to keep from us. I love dogs so much, you have no idea. I sleep when it rains. I want to tell everyone I love them. I want to find every stray animal and bring them home. I want to wake up in your hair and make you shitty coffee and kiss your neck and draw silly stick figures of us.I never want to ask anyone else these questions ever again. - Anonymous

The Morning Crow

"The cock shall not crow, till thou hast denied me thrice."

There’s this brief moment of silence, when you wake up, having this emptied blissfully nothingness of sorts - all layered up in fragments of disclosed closures.

Out & away from these strangled discomforts, as I (a stranded soul) stood there outside the corridors of my house, looking onto the road(street) int the post wee hours of an early morning, trying to deep breathe in the freshness of the morning moistened misty fog(shades of grey). These humidly moist laden layered winds started hitting my face and unnoticeable set of clouds passed by as I gazed up to this smudged sky. Closing my eyelids with a sigh of relief, deeper into a wishful thinking, leaning down into the enclosures of my very existence of happy & grief. Thy lied-within, innermost dwellings that must have definitely had many a stories to tell surrounding itself with everything else that unfolded in its own series of story-telling. 

Resisting in refusal & denials to the unspoken yet cautiously paused and mum by the already forgotten night, stepping onto the morning still afresh and new, to all that' that was passe memoirs of a night before & everything else, which was much spoken never spoken of, seen-unseen passages of time, that had lost somewhere in the glorified sunshine peaking its way out from those golden outlined clouded skyline. One more day that made me a day older, and a day wiser,that had by now already caught my attention & attentively hinting me to take this break away from the daily chores of nuances that shall hit me soon or later. There we things that needed to be addressed & I needed to get over with, by the passing time of the day.

There came this crow, struggling with a yellow coloured piece of paper, that was lying on the road, which had something stuck on to it, assuming it to be a rat most probably, I vigilantly kept watching the crow attending to his activity in viciousness in its attempts, trying to get this thing off with his beak. He grounded himself on to the sheet holding on to it with one of his legs, while one of his leg seem to have stuck on to the sheet of paper too. The sheet went left and right as the crow moved & he was caught in a double whammy of sorts by now - to get his leg of the sheet, & then to get of its prey off the sheet. I stood there noticing his chore 'playful-wilderness' to break a leg. Meanwhile there was a group of several other crows that came down following the sight. By now, the poor crow had somehow got one of his wings stuck to the sheet as well and no matter how hard he tried letting it off him, he just could not. The paper wont leave him, glued along to the flights he took. Somehow he managed to take this short raised flight with him still stuck to the sheet, entering into this balcony of a next door neighbor & off the road. the rest of the crows followed him,and he was surrounded by an irony of kinds.

Everything was hidden behind those parked vehicles and shrubs, plants & trees so that was the last time I had seen him and not sure if he got the paper off him (rescued) or not & whether did he managed to have a good meal(breakfast)? or was it the other crows who made there way to it. I don't know what happened to this little fellow.

"People once believed, that when someone dies, a crow carries their soul to the land of the dead. But sometimes, something so bad happens, that a terrible sadness is carried with it and the soul can't rest. Then sometimes, just sometimes the crow could bring that soul back to put the wrong things right."

Reminding me of this story about the crow ,who was thirsty and made his way to quench his thirst by putting pebbles in that pot, letting water rise, so his beak could apparently reach inside the pot and he could no longer be thirsty. 

Pretty much with a positive thought provoking folklore & the scene that I had just witnessed, I by now had gathered in me the strength & forces in spirit, positive vibes instilled with wit and efforts that eventually made it to the possible outcomes no matter what. 

"thee was like the cock who thought the sun had risen to hear thy crow"

I came back in, with a bunch of flowers that I had picked from the balcony, which were fallen down on the outskirts - placing them flowing on the glass bowl full of water, kept near the window, to my room, that had by now a ray of thick sunlight falling on to it.

Strangely I felt everything finally was making sense out of senseless nuances of a morning parody, that came into being by now so far.The crow, the wind ,clouds, flowers and the sunlight & everything else that came following me this morning, as much as I followed my footsteps leaving behind few memories of footprints & as the day passes, I make sure to have mornings which were one of this kinds & which lasted pretty good.

"Victims, aren't we all"- Eric Draven

Oh, something is there, waiting for me. Perhaps someday the revelation will burst upon me and I will see the other side of this monumental grotesque joke. And then I’ll laugh. And then I’ll know what life is. - Anonymous.

Come of Age - My Escort & my Cage

You look great, are you on a diet? No, no, no, I am not a fat little boy, and I know I’ve gained some weight. But you see, I happen to like pinching the rolls on my abdomen,

Fate. As a child, that word was often my only companion. It whispered to me from dark corners during lonely nights. It was the song of the birds in spring and the call of the wind through bare branches on a cold winter afternoon. Fate. Both my anguish and my solace. My escort and my cage.

Yesterday, mom put me to bed. She told me a story, a new one, she said. Her beautiful story was a tasty bait.Yesterday, i was only eight. I woke up with throbs in my head,My pink curtains were so white, instead. But, my dolls still stared the same.They never told me whom to blame. Was it mom who wished I grow? I saw her dandelions fly, as she used to blow. Or perhaps i have slept for too long.As she sang me my favorite song! My hair's now longer, my nails are French. I saw the differences on every inch. But, as well as i can recall,. I've never wished for this, not at all!

I still get very high and very low in life. Daily. But I’ve finally accepted the fact that sensitive is just how I was made, that I don’t have to hide it and I don’t have to fix it. I’m not broken. I must learn to love the fool in me - the one who feels too much, talks too much, takes too many chances, wins sometimes and loses often, lacks self-control, loves and hates, hurts and gets hurt, promises and breaks promises, laughs and cries.

Lately I had this lucid dream that the phone rang and it was my deceased mother. I knew it was a dream but I thought it was really her and that she could contact me in the dream state. I was frightened to talk to her but I didn't want to let that show and hurt her feelings, so I tried to act cheerful and make banal conversation. I said "Hi, how are you?" She said, "I'm ‪ pregnant‬." I thought she must have gone insane and think she's alive and young again, but to humor her I asked, "Are you going to have a boy or a girl?" She said, "I am going to be a girl." I felt more and more uncomfortable and said, "I've got to go now; I'll talk to you later," and hung up. As soon as I woke up, the dream sounded like a reincarnation statement but during the dream it just sounded crazy and threatening somehow.

The day dawns, with scent of must and rain, Of opened soil, dark trees, dry bedroom air. Under the fading lamp, half dressed -- my brain Idling on some compulsive fantasy -- I towel my shaven jaw and stop, and stare, Riveted by a dark exhausted eye, A dry down-turning mouth. It seems again that it is time to learn, In this untiring, crumbling place of growth To which, for the time being, I return.Now plainly in the mirror of my soul I read that I have looked my last on youth And little more. Below my window the wakening trees, Hacked clean for better bearing, stand defaced Suffering their brute necessities; And how should the flesh not quail, that span for span Is mutilated more? In slow distaste I fold my towel with what grace I can, Not young, and not renewable, but man.

There will be a few times in your life when all your instincts will tell you to do something, something that defies logic, upsets your plans, and may seem crazy to others. When that happens, you do it. Listen to your instincts and ignore everything else. Ignore logic, ignore the odds, ignore the complications, and just go for it. ―Judith McNaugh

All I know if someone did asked me" Hello, how are you"? I would reply - I am doing well, thank you, I breathe fire, but do not worry, I am dragon and I am invincible - Anonymous.

Utterly, Buttery & Delicious

Live a balanced life. Learn some and think some, and draw and paint and sing and dance and play and work every day some. - Robert Fulghum

Scratching myself (head-down-bum-up) - almost everywhere now & then, makes me feel so prehistoric. Despite a well shampooed bubble bath, a soap here & there - now! don't ask me all where? The frustration is that scratching the itch only makes matters worse. This summer is a witch - turning me into a butt-head chimpanzee struggling to reach out places (an itch you cant quite scratch). Its been a  quadrennium or even more, I’ve adapted myself to the essential necessary. Believe me I ain't a xerophyte, I need ample amount of water too. I always wanted a swimming pool or a big tub, where in I could bathe. I had one long back, but as my size grew, the more it got difficult to fit myself in & the amount of water it took to actually fill that thing up made me gave up the very idea of having one. I always wanted to dug & puddle a small pond inside the interiors of my house all by myself or having someone inside with to cuddle. There were some who could stay underwater & there were most of them who didn't knew how to swim & were possibly afraid of getting drown, but absolutely enjoy & love splash of water.

The other day, I laid on the bed stark naked, exposed to the showers(drizzle)of the water cooler - completely letting it pamper me & have a piece of me (bathing & conditioning) I was caught in a fanciful solitude in between the two fascinated ones. While, the left side of me, enjoyed being infused & fed with deliciously mouth watering musk melon & papaya & listened to music, right side enjoyed being(amused) blown away by the moist yielding winds(droplets) that would  almost dry in fractions of time, toweling up the heat. I made sure, there wasn't any part of my flesh, left untouched. I just didn't wanted my musings to get affected by this petrifying annoyance(heat).

Chimpanzees don't talk at all, they just make noises. what if they ever started conversing - I always wonder: what would they talk about?

I’ll tell you about this few steps away neighbor, who I have known for sometime, specifically through our childhood days, (when we used to interact and spend time together). Seeing her lately taking a stroll on the street after a real long time, with her petted four-legged breed. It was nice to hear, what's up from her, but then the conversation went no further after I said nothing much, you say, going on. and there it ended, before it even started. But the act of being noticed & acknowledged & initiating a conversation was a kind gesture. I decided to catch hold of her next time, hopefully soon to exchange numbers and stay connected. I noticed her again, but by the time, (that got wasted in dressing myself up) I went out, she had already gone. 

There are often these four-legged ones, who pass by, with there two-legged breeders, who just wont communicate. At times, when without any specific agenda you felt like you needed to converse with a person irrespective of any apprehensions whatsoever - The end result might vary, it either could be a harmonious or an unfriendly one. There is always this curiosity or a craving for doing things that you want to. We all fall prey to things & people that attract & appeal us - getting our attention. Please don't mistake me for being a Don Juan, I am just a friendly orangutan.

I am too down to earth when it comes to dressing up, specially when I am at home. I believe being in a petite state & wearing just about anything would do. I might have an unkempt hairdo, that's probably because I’ve just been out of the bed or possibly didn't got time to trim those prominently visible facial hair - tucked in an untidy, old loose fitting cloth that you would often find me in. I tell you, this heat has been doing no good to me & neither does the extreme cold. As much of a social obligation wearing clothes has become, there could be justified reasons either way for wearing some or wearing none. Could we just do away with the drapes & be kids(in birthday suit) dressed in diapers or nothing at all - all day long like prehistoric apes.

Besides being capable of embarrassment & so vain - even caring for the opinion of those we don't care for, there is so much that a little head is capable of doing, often considered as the heaviest weighing part of the human body. Although the largest & heaviest brain belongs to the sperm whale. I couldn't simply sit all by myself all day long in solitude & meditate. Its not like too much of meditating would make me an asexual cenobite or something but then. I wasn't meant to only remorse over the bitterly - avoiding the sweetness of utterly buttery delicious or cheesy? It was my choice to befriend or avoid handful of tasks - difficult or easy. 

"When old words die out on the tongue, new melodies break forth from the heart - Honor grows from qualms. It is the beginning of moral consciousness."

Let me hear, see or say no evil - if now that makes me a cogent capuchin (most intelligent new world monkey), I am willing to take the risk. I would rather breed than to greed(commit acts of debauchery),leading to the abolishment of ugsome deeds of beguiling behoove.  
  .
I shall praxis thy and abjure by - It is utterly simple. - Anonymous