If

If I told you it was yours,
would you make me keep it?
would you force me to keep it?

Would you believe me,
would you trust me,
if I told you it was yours?

If I told you it was yours,
would you love me?
would you console me?

Would you hold me?
Tell me that all will be okay?
It is you I need the most.

If I told you it was yours,
would you accept it?
would you at least try to be by my side?

I am scared.
I am hoping it isn't what I think it is.
I wish you loved me. I wish we were in love.
But that's okay I guess, accidents happen sometimes.

I will deal with this on my own.
I will deal with this on my own.
It is my cross to bear.
You will never even know.

Rain Fall Down

You can never win if your heart is not pure.
Stop playing victim in situations you aren't.
You're the villain, you stupid boy.
You're the villain of your stories.


I know when someone else makes love to you, you'll be thinking of me.
My body.
My heart.
My head.
My sex.
Your hands on my back.
My hand on your dick.
Etc.
Etc.
Etc.

You can woo all the people in the world.
But they'll never love you like I did.
You can put your dick in her face
Her hands
Her vagina
And yet she can never be me.


It's just a matter of a good fuck.
You won't get it though.
I dare you, I double dare you.

I will haunt you for as long as I live
Eat away at your conscience
Reminding you of your ugliness every time you touch someone else.
I dare you to get my sex out of your head.
I double dare you.

And as for me, I'm trying to be an adult.
You know I don't kiss and tell.
I have my flaws, but I am invincible.
I have been through your hell.

Newfound Singlehood:Observations

1.  The ratio of man:woman at social gatherings is terrible. Even if you don't want it, you will find yourself chatting with more men than women.
2. At what point does a conversation become flirting? I am so terrible at flirting. I have the charm of a cockroach. It's sad and hilarious at the same time.
3. It is now very clear that I only pique the interest of 30 somethings and about-to-be 30 somethings. For me, it is scary because I still identify as a girl and not yet a woman. Like a game, I try and pick their brains, try to figure them out. It's exhausting though, they're tougher nuts to crack.
4. My options are endless but why can't I find a person I actually like and want to be with? I'm not compromising anymore, if you want me then you'll have to woo me, seduce me, possibly make me fall in love.
5. Nobody tells you how lonely it gets from time to time. You don't want to spend so much time choosing from available options, ultimately I'd like to hit it off with that one special person and be with them and only them. I wish I could function like a guy in these matters, I'd just fuck and forget. It's a lot more convenient that way.
6. I am totally crushing on a douchebag at the moment. Why, heart, why do you do this to me every time?
7. All these months of being single has made me realise that human beings are conceited, full of themselves and most of them are damaged beyond repair. I almost regret sticking my tongue down this one guy's throat who will just not stop talking about his ex girlfriends and lovers. OH MY GOD, IT IS THE WORST THING, to have to patiently listen to people go on and on and on about their sexual/romantic history. Why do grown-ass men do this!
8. Women are wicked. Stay away from them. DO NOT fall in love with another woman. DO NOT. Just don't, no good will come of it.

My Head, My Rules

I have been working out religiously these last few weeks and even if it doesn't show just yet, I feel so incredibly good about my body these days. Truth be told, I had let myself go and I think I reached my melting point when I'd see how ugly I was starting to become. Fat in all the wrong places, so unfit, so inflexible. But I have sworn to myself that I will not let my body go there again, it's a scary place and sometimes there's no coming back when you get there. I'm young and I refuse to let my youth go to waste like this. Shit happens but you've got to pick yourself up and get back on the road again.

I am excited to let someone see me naked, see how lean I've become. I want someone to enjoy my body, pleasure it. I don't know who and I don't know when just yet but I am looking forward to it, yes.

I make all these rules as I grow. The latest one being to not let people fall in love with me. People fall in love very easily and that kills me sometimes because I can't seem to reciprocate. This is exactly why I hate dating boys. They're much too naive, too young. They fall in love at the drop of a hat, just like I fall for older guys. It's a perpetual love triangle.
I may be a brat but I have a heart, I don't want people to undergo unnecessary misery because of me. I have been in similar situations where I've been strung along and trust me, it's not a good feeling. I hate it when people charm your pants off and then leave you stranded. I hate it. I don't want to be that person to someone else. I refuse to be a villain. I refuse to be the bad guy just for kicks.

But anyway, coming back to my body. I feel good. I feel great. The more I work out, the more I start loving my body and subsequently myself. It's the greatest romance I think-to love yourself.
I have battled body issues for a long time, since the rape to be precise and these days I don't feel inhibited or conscious to let people see me naked anymore. I give myself a pat on the back for that. Sure I still have body issues, but there are other things, bigger things in my life that I worry about these days.

It's not really a milestone, although it is something.

Seasons Change

It's hard to wake up in the morning when you have depression. It's hard to focus on things, do something constructive.
There's a voice that tells me that it's not worth it, I'm not good enough and that I am going to waste away-nameless, faceless, without having done anything commendable with my life. Sometimes it's hard to shake that voice off and prove it wrong. So I stay in bed. I keep my eyes closed. I dream of a different life, a happier one.


Living with depression has taught me to be strong, but it becomes so incredibly tiring after a point of time. Years have passed, years will pass, but my depression does not go away. It has crawled so deep into my skin that I am afraid of letting it go. What if I lose my strength if my depression goes away?

I wait patiently for the mania to strike, I crave for it like an addict. I am ready to spend an infinite amount of time in pain for that one moment of euphoria. I am the worst kind of addict there is. Sometimes I wish my parents had in fact checked me into a rehab, instead of just contemplating. Maybe I would have turned out different then.

I am a little bit crazy.
But my soul is clean.
I wish someone would atleast try to get to know me.
Unfortunately, people fall in love too easily.

Stone Cold

You're sober as a child, it feels strange. You're in highschool, almost. When did intoxicants take over your life, your sex life to be more precise? It's awkward, it's highly awkward. You make all the wrong moves, he pushes all the wrong buttons. It's a mess. But something tells you to keep going, maybe it won't be that bad, you just need to calm your nerves. You feel a strange sense of pressure, you assume he does too. He kisses you and this time you remember. You remember the details. You kiss him with grace, you're not a drunken mess this time. You're finally in control of your body as is he.
Your brain takes photographs of his body. He's tall, you stand on your toes to reach his face.You enjoy the challenge. He's also older than anyone you've ever been with. It's strange and yet quite comfortable.
Little by little, your inhibitions drop. Your body may be flawed, but your body is all you have to offer to him.
You kiss him, see what works and what doesn't. He's very different from the last person you were with. He enjoys your body, but doesn't tear it apart like a wolf. He grabs you and you want it as much as he does.
You like it.
You crave for more.
So wet, as he slips his fingers into you.
You can't believe you're doing this, but it feels good. Now you can't seem to stop, you want him inside you, to fuck the shit out of you.
The feeling is good,
So good.
You had almost forgotten how good it felt.

Shame

I thought about the Monster today, after a long time. I remembered that sinking feeling in my stomach. I'd wait for hours and hours for him to call, but he never did. I called him, always. But why did he string me along?
Why would a teenager, an adult ever be interested in a 12 year old girl?
His perversion haunts me till date.
Why would he stick his dick inside me knowing fully well that I was in love with him and that I knew nothing about sex?

But the older I grow, the more I find the Monster in every man I meet. They all turn out to be the same, the way they look at me, the way they touch me, the way they abandon me.

Are all men monsters?
Will I ever find a man who will treat me right, not abandon me?

I'm so sick of falling in love. I take one step forward and retract immediately. Out of shame, out of so much gut-wrenching shame. I'm never good enough. Nobody wants someone with as much baggage as me. I feel sick. Sometimes I feel like killing myself. That feeling's been growing every day.
I have a friend or two who distract me, keep me company. But they can't be with me at all times, can they? They have their own lives and their own set of problems to take care of.

I spend hours trying to figure out what will stop men from abandoning me. I think that is what hurts the most, when they abandon you after they're done taking what they want from you. It feels like my life is stuck at the same juncture, no matter how hard I try, I can't seem to break away from it. Everything is a loop. Everything is a loop.

Sometimes I wonder why I wasn't raped violently and killed after. It would have been so much easier. Living is so hard. Living alone is so hard. Living alone with so much shame, so much pain. I try to be so strong all the time, but I'm 23 and I can't do this anymore. I can't figure out how to stop this sinking feeling in my stomach and make it go away. I don't know how to make the choking go away.
At the end of the day, when I take a look in the mirror, I can't figure out why men do what they do. I have flaws, many many flaws, but are they the reason I'm abandoned?

I was born the way I am. I did not chose my body. Is it my fault I look the way I do? Is it my fault I get abandoned? Perhaps. Maybe I deserved to get raped. Maybe I will get raped again someday. Worse, maybe I will keep getting my heart broken by men I fall in love with and place my trust in. That's what ugly people get perhaps. I always figured that a good heart and a good soul was all you needed to get people to like you. But this world is cruel, it doesn't work that way. I'm not cut out for this world, it only brings me endless melancholy. I am an outcaste and always will be. I'd much rather die than live each day as a dead man, like this.

I want to die soon. I can't live with this pain anymore, it's killing me from the inside.

Death, come to me, I wait for you. Please.

I am not a believer and yet I pray every day now. I don't pray for a better life. I don't pray for the pain to go away, the shame to fade. I only pray for death. I want to die. I can't be strong anymore. I've been fighting this feeling over a decade now and it will never really go away. The last person I was with brought it all back. I can't deal with this heartache anymore. I hope the universe will be kind and listen to my prayers someday. I don't mind a long and painful death, I will be happy knowing that it will end one day.
I just want to die.
Only my death will bring me salvation.

Alternative Career Options

1. Drug dealer, scene sorter.
2. Pimp.
3. Whore.
4. Model  Don't fulfill basic height/vital stat requirements
5. Actor  Cannot act to save life.
6. Writer for tabloids, the page 3 etc etc
7. Professional alcoholic.
8. Full time homemaker.
9. Private tutor  Don't have patience, can't stand most children.
10. Tollywood extra.

It's A Man's World

"I'm with the band" is as good as it gets for some girls. They spend their time trying to somehow fit into the circle, where I'm assuming the ultimate coolios are the guys in the band. Life's never been like that for me. I've never been a groupie for someone else. I am the band, bitch.

It felt strange to be back at Someplace Else after all this time, as though we were finishing what we'd started three years back on the exact same stage. I was possessed. It was unreal.
I have been told so many times by so many people that I'm just another pretty face, that my band will not last. I can't sing. I have mediocre talent. Last night was a slap in the face for those people. The satisfaction in proving your haters wrong and giving them absolutely no reason to criticize you can be such a high.

I'm not an arrogant prick who can't stand criticism, don't get me wrong. I welcome constructive criticism because it helps me grow. I was once told that I sing awfully live and that I should quit. I did not let that break me, I've spent the last year trying to work on better singing and that remains my priority in every gig. I'm fortunate because I've had help coming my way from some of the best there is, those who try to tweak me to become better, to realise my potential.

When the lights are on, the stage is set, everything happens in a flash. I'm in a trance. It doesn't matter who is in the audience, it's me and three people who are extensions of my soul versus the entire world. I love being in a band because it's like a brotherhood, but only better.

The relationship between bandmates is strange, quite undescribeable. I love them so much that it hurts and yet sometimes I want to punch them in the face. They've seen me during my best and my worst. They are my friends, siblings, parents, colleagues all rolled into one.

I could always go solo, play my music through a laptop and a few instruments. But where is the fun in that? Everybody can do that. Would the Beatles be The Beatles if the four of them tried to make it work by going solo?

But being in a band is not always rainbows and butterflies, it teaches you to be tolerant of those with beliefs different from yours, it also teaches you to put others before yourself sometimes. It's a lot of hard work to spend all your time with people who are completely different from you, things get tense sometimes, everybody reaches their boiling points, but the good thing is that in such situations, one person always becomes the peace-maker, the mediator.
I would much rather die than give up on my band. We may not make money, we may not be famous. However, every time we hit the stage, I feel protected, I feel at one with the three and at the end of the day, we feel the exact same things-the reason I play music in the first place.


The biggest compliment I received last night was probably from M who in his drunken stupor said that I have balls of steel. Songwriters need to have some balls, they need to have an opinion, it can't be about love songs and romances all the time. Even if it is, then you really need to feel what you say, fucking someone and writing a song about them is cheating, it's being lazy. Also we're living in an era where romance is essentially dead, this is not the 60s and the 70s. The acid we drop is not pure. The ecstasy we abuse is to get us to fuck, not make love. Despite what others may think of it, I enjoy industrial rock, it is dirty like the crack the world is on. It is grotesque and it is on you to find the beauty in it.
M once said something very profound on the lines of musicians either playing with their cocks or their assholes, which I find to be quite true. But maybe instead of cock and asshole, I'd say heart/mind and body. I don't want to be the latter. It's okay if I can't sing like Freddie Mercury, I can however, be the best damn Suyasha there is. So many people start playing music for such wrong reasons, the most obvious one being to get laid. Or to be famous and make money. But what they don't realise is that if you have nothing to say, you're not going to be able to achieve any of those things.
Women, or rather girls, in particular are even worse at these things. So many girls I know start singing (because hello, just about anybody can sing, it's the easiest thing to do in a band!) because they want to be a famous model or an actress. They obviously can't hold on to the spotlight and when the audience is bored of what they see, they move on to other things. If there's anything I'd hate to be, that would be to be a fad and nothing more. I don't want to be known for the way I look and the way I sing, I want to be known for what I have to say.

Live music is a time-bomb and not every woman has the strength of Aunty J. I desperately want to be as strong, wise and elegant as she is when I'm her age. I've seen too many skanks around and I know, I just know, that twenty years down the line, none of them will remain. They will get married to rich men and have their babies, that will be their career. I'm not envious of those around me because some may have more popularity, more money than I do. But I'm not here for those things, I am here because this is the only thing I can do, I don't have a choice. Music is my life.

So going back to the whole "I'm with the band" sentence, sometimes girls need to find their own scene and not become the hellwoman from This Is Spinal Tap. It's frankly quite embarrassing because no one takes groupies seriously, they're just fuck and throw. If I were to meet Kurt Cobain in a hypothetical situation, I still wouldn't be his groupie, I'd just be a musician talking to another, perhaps a more experienced one.



PS-If you think about it, Kurt Cobain ultimately fell for a musician (whether you like her or not is not the point!), not one of this groupies. There's your example. 

Mondo Noi

Some people feel it in their hearts.
They express through words, through actions.
Us musicians are blessed, we express through song.

I sat with with my favourite boys yesterday to randomly jam on a song S had made during his last few months in hibernation. We ended up recording a scratch version of it with just guitars, bass, some keyboards and vocals. I have listened to it about 100 times since last night and the more I listen to it, the more deeply I fall in love with it.
It's beautiful what collective heartbreak and frustration can lead to, you just need to channelise your energy into the right thing.

The plan is to just sit and write and record, without any expectations or pressure.
Our lives may be B-grade.
Our city might be B-grade.
But our dreams, our feelings are real.

"নিয়ম মেনে চলে
কখনো হারিয়ে গেলে
ক্ষতি কোথায়ে
ক্ষতি কোথায়ে 

সকাল- বিকেল গেলো
নিজেকে লাগে ভালো
মন্দ নই!
আমি মন্দ নই! "

I swear to god I will cry when I track this song when/if we record this properly. The last time I had this feeling was when we were heading back home from the studio after tracking 'Raju Banega Gentleman'. We had perfect takes for the song because we were all feeling it in our hearts. We were driving back home listening to the version we'd tracked and all of us just fell silent, beaming with pride. Not because it was the best song or whatever, we had all been honest and that made all the difference.

Honesty.

Loyalty.

Hardwork.

Humility.

My B-grade city and my B-grade life may be the cause of immense ridicule, but my ideals are stronger than anything you will ever see.

For What?

That harmless interest in a beautiful girl,

claiming poems and paintings that are not yours as your own,

that phone-call to someone else at 3am when you could just be,

the nips and the tucks.

The lies and the deceit.

For what?

I am arrogant, I am obstinate, I am heartless.

But I'm not a liar, my emotions are not counterfeit like yours.

I mean it when I say that I love you.

You don't.

You break my heart.

For what?

He protects me all the time,

He protects me from myself.

His heart breaks to see me so broken.

And no matter how hard I try,

I cannot seem to love him like I loved you.

I feel rage, so much rage for not being able to love him back.

Everything would be so simple if I loved him and not you.

He coaxes me out of my depression.

You abandon me like everybody else.

A trophy girlfriend on your mantlepiece

Nothing more, never could have been.

If it were up to you, you'd lock me in a cage

As you went hunting for new meat everyday.

And I'd probably wait for you to love me one day.

But my wait would only be in vain.

I am now the victim of the cruel game you played.

I'm damaged beyond repair.

You shamed me, you degraded me.

You broke me down.

But for what?

Can you ever erase me from your head?

Even if you do, can you ever live in peace knowing you did what you did?

Or are you going to let some girl suck your dick and your sorrows away?

Is that how you play your game?

Running away when you're defeated.

Running far, far away.

You could have been happy.

You could have with me.

I would have tried my best to satisfy you

Maybe I'd even be successful in taming your roving eye someday.

But you threw it all away.

For what? 

Rain Fell Down

I was walking down the road with a friend, smoking a joint when a cute little thing wagging its tail came to me running, begging me to stroke it. "How did the dog understand that you'd pet it?" My friend was amused. You see animals, especially dogs, can sense love based off the vibes that people or other animals around them give.
We are the only creatures who need to verbally tell one another that we love each other, that we'd die for each other. Our love is an elaborate lie. It is to camouflage sex. That's all that there is to it.

Sometimes men use love to get sex and women use sex to get love. But where do I stand on this? I crave for intimacy, but never love because it is so painful and it always ends badly.

Love can be what a parent feels for their child perhaps? My father came back home after years and having him around changes the energy of the house. I'm starting to understand that a child needs both feminine as well as masculine energy around them as they grow up, a disbalance causes improper emotional development-much like my case.

Love can also be a simple text message from your best friend checking up on you from time to time, to see that you have not killed yourself it. It is that feeling when someone won't judge you and will always want the best for you, who you can be your true self with.
My college experience wasn't typical because I was out playing gigs and consequently skipping class. It was in the second year that I connected with M, my soul sister. We had the same affection for the villains of history and were equally compassionate about picking out the faults of our education system. We took a trip to Shantiniketan, the 4 musketeers, and it was during that trip that I realised what a beautiful phase my college-life was. The year after, after the end of our third and final year, we took a trip to the sea. On the last day of our vacation, the four of us sat on the beach soaked in water and just stared into the vastness that was the sea. None of us spoke a word and yet it was such a beautiful moment. It was at that moment when I knew I loved M and our friendship and I would never let go, no matter what.
Since the end of college, we've tried our best to stay in touch. The strange thing about love is that you don't have to constantly talk to the person or meet the person you care about. We meet everytime we are in the same city and even though there are long periods of not being in touch, I feel completely at ease with her when we are together. What is love but a deep-rooted friendship? It is the sense of trust, the comfort in knowing that you can bare your heart to someone and they'll not break it.


I was stoned and walking around town yesterday and it felt like it was going to rain. It did. All night long. It was poetic, beautiful.
As the first drops of rain touched the parched ground, I realised that I was surrounded by love in all shapes and forms. I wanted a sign and the universe had finally given me one.
A broken heart mends eventually, all it takes is a little bit of time...

Coping With Clinical Depression

Nobody goes out of their way to be nice
how many appreciate the beauty of a flower?
it wilts just as quickly as it blossoms
-fading away into oblivion.
Much like me.
So much like me.

In my fortress of solitude that I have built for myself,
I live and I die everyday,
hoping that the heaviness will lift one morning
and the pain will be gone
but nothing changes and everyday is just the same.

It won't be long before I stop dreaming
And face my reality
I came here alone and I shall die alone
Faceless, nameless.

"why can't you be happy?"
"why can't you stop being so depressed all the time?"
they don't know, they wouldn't understand.

I wish I could write love songs for somebody on Valentine's Day, serenade them. But nobody wants me when I don't offer them my body. That's okay I guess, I've never been a priority, some people aren't meant for those things. So I crawl into my shell, I am safe, I am comfortable. I don't need the outside world.

I remember a particular Valentine's Day when I smoked pot for the first time with the dadas from my neighbourhood. My date cancelled on the very last minute and I was terribly heartbroken. This was when I was young and quite stupid. I may know how to roll a joint now but many lightyears ago, the way we smoked weed was by painstakingly stuffing it into a cigarette. Or a chillum. I watched the guys meticulously roll a couple of joints. There was alcohol too, but I wasn't a drinker back then. One of them, my favourite, even got me a tube of dendrite and a polythene bag since he sensed my sadness. The weed made me so lightheaded, so dizzy and it was nothing like my dendrite high. It was fascinating. But I swore to myself that I would never get addicted to it, glue would always be my drug of choice.

I don't remember much from that day, except for feeling very happy not to have spent it alone. It was nice to hang out with a bunch of college boys who treated me as their cool, younger sister. I wonder where they are nowadays. Working perhaps, some maybe even married. It's strange that I've seen 23 Valentine's Days so far and the only one I can recollect at the moment, is one which included no romantic activity with a partner.

Since Shoshibabu's passing, I've been so incredibly lonely that I can physically feel the pain sometimes, like a permanent knot in my stomach, an ulcer, a cyst.
You don't choose your pets, they choose you. If it's meant to be then they'll come to you.

I'm planning to adopt dogs again, after all these years. I grew up with a dog, Ticklie, who was not a pet but a member of the family. She was the cutest thing. My mother tells me that when I was an infant, she would guard my cot and growl at anybody who came too close to it.

I remember my grandfather telling me that Ticklie was resting and would be resting for a long time because she was tired and her body wanted some rest. I knew that she was gone, not just asleep. "Do pets go to heaven when they die?" I asked my grandfather. "Yes, they are god's favourite children" my grandfather told me. And I believed him.
I still do believe that animals go to heaven when they die, unlike the humans who outlive them and are made to rott, here on earth. What is this world but an everyday hell?

It's strange how no human being has been able to love me like my pets have. Unconditional love doesn't exist in humans. That saddens me. We need a day to express love for someone we love/we need a day to remind ourselves that no one loves us.

I've decided to spend this Valentine's Day binge watching a few movies and eating pizza in bed. I figure I don't have to shave my legs and watch my weight since I have nobody who wants me, really wants me.
Everybody likes the person they see on stage, they bow down to her. But off-stage, nobody really cares, all they ever want is to get into that cool chick's pants. 

I would do anything to go back in time, coming back home from school after a particularly bad day and going off to sleep-that was how I'd cope. I'd wake up to find myself hugging my cat who had mysteriously snuggled under the blanket with me.
Simple times. Simple joys.

My pets have always protected me, shielded me from my depression and now that I am all alone, I realise that they weren't mere pets, they were my angels who watched over me and took care of me. They wanted nothing in return, their love was selfless and uncoditonal.
It also made me realise that I am incapable of being loved by a human being and I am incapable of loving them back. I do not understand the concept of love, as perceived by humans.

But that's okay I guess. I tell myself that I can live without human company, affection. I'm more inclined towards looking for a pair of dogs (or cats) to share my home with, to give my love to. My Prince Charming will only poison my soul once hes sticks his dick inside me. Disney movies are not real. The reality of love is that it is just an elaborate porno about two humans choosing to mate to ensure the continuation of their species. All other things are just lies.

I'm 23 and all alone on the day of love. If I don't learn my lesson now then I probably deserve what I'm getting.

Dawn breaks, 

another day,

hope leaves this body,

cell by cell.

Today I am 50 percent melancholic

and 50 percent sure that I want to kill myself.

Tomorrow, the equation might change.

I'm a coward who puts on a brave face.

That's what I am.

I don't have the courage to die today.

But tomorrow might be a different day.

The equation might change.

I've been missing.

I've been missing.

I'm a 100 percent sure that nobody's looking for me.

But what they don't know is that the disappearing act is for real this time.

It was never meant to be.

I was never meant to exist.

A worthless, mediocre life that ultimately amounted to nothing.

But tomorrow will be a different day.

Tomorrow I will be gone. 

As Above, As Below

I turn twenty fuckin four this year, would you believe it! I made a bucket list of all the things to do before 30 and even though I've crossed a lot of things off that list, I doubt I'll be able to complete it. It's the second month of the year and I hate 2015 already. I feel like life is stabbing me in the chest every goddamn day of this year. Everything is falling apart. I am falling apart.

I've never believed in god. I can't believe in something I can't see, touch, feel. I believe in the universe, but does an entity that we've christened "god" exist? I don't know. I don't believe yet.

This year, I want to find myself more than anything else. I want to understand myself, slay my demons and let go of my tendency to be dependent on others' love. I need to find my peace. I need to find my light.

A ship lost at sea, my mind's been adrift for too long now. What the fuck am I doing wasting my time trying to write that one song which will change me forever?
I've been trying so hard to bring out my monster, give it a voice and make it sing. All my new material is grotesque, intimidating. But this process is taking a toll on me. I cannot separate my art from my life and I can feel it slowly taking control over my entire life.

I want to sing better, I've been practising hard.
I want to play better guitar, I've been practising hard.
I want to write better music, I've been trying hard.
I want to be happy, how do I do that?


Ideas they come and go, sometime I hold on to them, milk them into a song. But only in vain. Anything I try to write is shit. Absolute shit.

All I want to do is find myself, maybe then I'll be able to write a decent song.

Consensual

what causes one to be cruel, so cruel?
what makes one act like a savage, a beast?
centuries of evolution and yet you cannot think beyond yourself.
living in perpetual gloom.
and memories of days bygone.

I open my eyes and I'm a nymph at 12. I figure I'm Lolita, I can handle it all. But I'm not Lolita. I don't know what a man's genitals look like.
"Touch it", he places my hand over his dick.
It looks like a worm, a snake, a deformity.
I can see it grow slowly and steadily.
I am scared. It intimidates me.
He places his dick in my mouth. It tastes sour, like death. My death.

I'm in my training bra, didn't anticipate we'd come this far. All I wanted was a kiss, nothing more. I didn't know there was a world beyond a kiss. He squeezes my nipples, for I do not have a breast he can hold on to. It feels strange to let someone see me naked for the first time.
I'm embarrassed of the hair around my vagina.
I'm embarrassed and petrified as he slides his fingers around and then into it.
It hurts.
It hurts a lot more than I can imagine.
Just one finger.


Is this what adults do for recreation?
Is this what grownups always fantasize about?

I see him looking at me as he makes me suck his dick.
I understand that he feels a great deal of pleasure.
I am sexslave. I'm his sexslave for the evening.

"Are you scared?" "No"
I lie. I'm not a convincing liar but he needs to hear what he wants to hear.

It is the month of December but somehow I do not feel cold. Only scared. Broken.

How did I get to this part of my nightmare?
He was stronger than I imagined.
I had nothing on but a pair of earrings.
He was dressed, except for the dick sticking out of his pants.
(Or did he take his shirt off? I can't quite remember)

Degradation.
Humiliation.
But a severe breach of trust, more than anything else.

I lay there like a nymphsexdoll. He couldn't get his dick to go into my vagina on the first try. He told me that it would hurt and reassured me that "I" would feel good. I did not believe him, not a word he said. But I was too lost to respond, let alone fight back.

I shut my eyes and felt pain. Nothing but pain.
It was nothing like I had imagined it to be.
He grunted and pushed hard and I prayed for the ordeal to end.
I wouldn't let him see me cry.
I wouldn't give him the pleasure.

It's been over a decade since the incident. I've been called a "sex goddess" by a few men I have slept with. I have seen the pleasure in their eyes as they orgasm. Sex with me is a high, I've been told. But nobody knows that they're fucking a dead person.
I die the moment they enter me. Nobody has been able to make me feel alive.

What's the best sex I've had so far in life?
I haven't had any good sex.
Nobody has loved me the way I deserve to be loved.
I have merely given my body to those seeking pleasure.

I'm quite mad.
But that's okay, I like to believe that I'm saving myself for the right person when they come along.

And one day when you see my face in the pages of a magazine, you will realise that the scars you left on my body have long faded...

what's the baddest, nastiest thing you could do to me...in bed?

Even More Resolutions

6. STOP READING THE DAMN TABLOIDS.
I have been reading the newspaper religiously for every day since class V and it's time that I stopped reading the supplementaries on entertainment that come with it instead of reading them after I've read the main paper. I can do without learning about random garbage at the start of my day. Also, Calcutta has some really ugly people who seem to feature almost every goddamn day, I could definitely do without my morning sickness that their dumbandovermadeup faces induce.

7.  EXERCISE!!!
My greatest fear is to wake up one day realising that I have a paunch and that it makes my navel piercing look like that of a cheap hooker's.

resolutions twentyfifteen

1. DON'T HAVE SEX!
I'm getting too old to be fucking someone who ultimately doesn't care about my existence. Sex is special and like any good drug, if you go overboard, you end up ruining your life as well as the trip. I wish I could go back in time and explain this to my younger and naive self. But I guess it's better late than never.

2. WRITE! WRITE! WRITE!
It doesn't matter if it's good or rubbish. I need to cut myself some slack and just write. I desperately need to get rid of this writers' block.

3. READ MORE.
Self-explanatory, this one. The last book I picked up and subsequently abandoned was Murakami's Colorless Tsukuru Tazaki. I feel terribly guilty,

4. DON'T DO DRUGS UNLESS IT'S A SPECIAL MOMENT.
It loses it's charm when you do it too often. Don't.

5. DRINK LIKE A 30-YEAR OLD.
Go easy, go slow. It's about time I started to drink in moderation. Early morning rum and a joint needs to stop. The party ended a while back.