Sometimes I think about the futility of life as a whole. Not one person I know around me is happy, satisfied. The more I study spirituality, the more I realise that human beings aspire to become like animals, taking care of only their basic needs. It is only then one can achieve true freedom, salvation.
Have you ever observed birds? Or fish? The live and they die, being of no real consequence when in reality they help perpetuate the universe. All species, except for man, live with their universe. Man lives on earth, dominates it. But what is man but a virus, perhaps the most destructive species this earth has ever seen.
I hear my father, the best damn family man one can be, talk over the phone at wee hours of the night. He is discussing movies and film stars with his girlfriend. I can't blame him or hate him for what he does and how badly he covers the tracks of his affair, I understand him. But yet I feel so incredibly angry thinking of the impact his actions have had on me. I have never grown up in an atmosphere where I can imagine what a normal relationship feels like. My parents share a strange dynamic now that they're living together in the same house and in the same city again after all these years. I can't feel the love between them and it kills me. How can two people who were so madly in love at one point of time in their young lives be so indifferent to each other?
Turns out that my father does not have cancer, but his lungs are starting to betray him slowly. It runs in the family apparently, as does cancer. But the thought of losing my father one day, eventually, does not scare me. It does not break me. Over the years, I have grown used to losses. I feel the pain, but it no longer cripples me.
Death has never scared me. I am not scared of dying tomorrow, I am however terrified of waking up one day when I'm 90 to realise that my limbs, my organs don't function properly anymore.
But anyway, I've regressed far too much to write down what I originally intended to. I blame the damn pot.
I don't know why but I feel like I've been losing myself lately and this time to tackle my depression, I've been studying. I've reading reading reading. Loners like me find a strange kind of comfort in the words of other people.
I've been stocking up on Bengali literature. I've been forcing myself to write in my mother tongue. It brings me at peace with myself somehow. My words come out like a child who is slowly learning to talk. The simplicity of it brings me a strange kind of comfort.
মাঝে মাঝে হারিয়ে গেলে, ক্ষতি কোথায়ে?
I'm your average part-time God and full-time joker.
Wednesday, February 25, 2015
Tuesday, February 24, 2015
Alternative Career Options
- Drug dealer, scene sorter.
- Pimp.
- Whore.
ModelDon't fulfill basic height/vital stat requirementsActorCannot act to save life.- Writer for tabloids, the page 3 etc etc
- Professional alcoholic.
- Full time homemaker.
Private tutorDon't have patience, can't stand most children.- Tollywood extra.
Babe,
(You just pictured me seductively moan "babe" into your ear, didn't you, you cheap fuck? ) I miss you. I miss how we'd kiss, how you'd hold my hand and guide me from time to time. I miss you and the way you'd hold me, hug me and console me. I miss the way you'd run your fingers through my hair and down my back, I miss how you'd squeeze my butt, my breasts and run your nails down my body. You'd finger me. You'd fuck me and you'd make me cry out for more. You were everything I wanted but I guess I was never good enough for you.
You never loved me the way I should have been loved. 'Why are you so hot' you exclaimed when you were busy sticking your dick inside me, onetime. That was always it for you. I was a hot, modern yogic piece of meat for you, never more. You never tried to understand me. You blamed the ex-lovers for getting in the way, but never blamed yourself. My ex-lovers were never throwing themselves at juvenile sluts, you were. My ex-lovers were never lying to me, you were. My ex-lovers were never abandoning me, you were. My ex-lovers were gone from the frame, Only you were around, but it is so much easier to blame someone else that yourself, isn't it?
I think about the sex we had from time to time and I pray that it wasn't the greatest I'll ever experience, I pray that it will be better for me someday. I pray for average sex with someone who'll love me with their heart over great sex with someone who will ultimately leave me feeling like a whore. I want to close my eyes and make love with someone, someday. I know I will, because you sure can fuck me hard and fuck me fast, but you've never been able to bare yourself and make love to me. It takes some amount of sensitivity and genuineness-qualities which you clearly don't possess.
Pay someone a thousand rupees and they'd probably do the same as I did. I was your cheap cheap cheap fucking whore, nothing more. Pay a whore a thousand rupees or slightly more and she'd swallow your semen and tell you how much she loves you as well. There is no real difference, is there? It's all just the same, girl A girl B girl X girl Y...it's all just the same. Scope them out on facebook, flirt your balls off, dream of fucking them someday somewhere. The cycle is endless. Two birds in the bush are quite obviously better than the one in hand, ain't it?
Pay a whore some money and she'd dress up all nice for you, be lady you can show off to your friends. There is no difference. They won't let you kiss them on the mouth though, But I wouldn't know, the lovers of my past have been completely satisfied with me, they've never had to look around as much as you've had to. they've never had to visit the rendipotti in Calcutta or elsewhere because despite my frail frame, I've been more than enough woman for them. You're the only asshole who I was obviously not enough for. I guess maybe if I was younger, sluttier, and had bigger boobs, maybe then I'd have your undivided attention. But what to do, I can't and I won't let someone like you make me feel inferior. If I had to take revenge then I'd talk about the size and girth of your fucking dick, your manhood. But I won't go there. I am not the peasant that you are. I am royalty, bitch.
People are obstinate, people don't change. Perhaps sometimes they get better at covering their tracks when they lie. But they never change. Anything you hear on the contrary, are just lies.
The older I grow, the more I realise that I want to settle down with someone, marry them and have their babies. I want to be in an average mediocre relationship with someone loyal, faithful and loving. I don't want adventures and grand plans. I just want someone who'll love me and complete me. I want someone who'll treat me right and be there for me when I need them the most.
The sex with you was probably the only thing I remember fondly, but then again, you never really understood and valued me. Because if you had then you'd never let me go. You'd never treat me the way you did. I was your hooker, I was never your lover. Dignity, look up the word on a dictionary, I don't think you know what it means. My ego has never swallowed me whole and every time you treated me like dirt at public places, I took it with a pinch of salt figuring that you're perhaps too naive, you're one of those asshole chauvinists who will perhaps change someday as they grow older.
It's strange how the more I let you treat me badly, the more you went ahead and did indeed. A showpiece, a prize, that's all I amounted to for you. But you forgot, you poor boy, was that everything has a repercussion. If you were to ever father a girl child some day, I pray that nobody ever treats her the way you treated me. Seriously, can you imagine the rage and the humiliation you'd feel? It's cool to treat women like your sextoys, isn't it? Wait till you have a daughter of your own, you cunt. Or would you be okay with someone treating her like a prostitute as well?
It's okay I guess. You're old enough to understand that we belong to two very different spheres. We want something completely different out of our lives. You want hot chicks, a whole bunch of them to adore you, you want to be rich and famous, I just want to settle down with a man and a dog (two actually) somewhere and write my music. Our priorities in life are very different.
You hurt me and I will eventually forgive you, with time. But I will never forgive myself for falling for a fraud. I always fall for a fraud. I guess that's my weak point, thank you for tapping into it. You're not much different from the guy who raped me. I feel stupid thinking that somebody would love me for my soul and the kind of person that I am. I guess the perils of having a moderately fuckable body is that guys will always only want to fuck you and dump you after that.
I don't know why that is though. Am I that ugly? Or does nobody want to love me because I'm tainted, because I've been raped? It's like everyone wants to stick their dick in me but nobody wants to stick around. I guess there are a few drawbacks of being raped during your adolescence, everybody assumes that you're a piece of shit and that you do deserve to be treated like one. Sometimes I feel like I should douse myself in kerosene and set myself on fire, just die. Perhaps nobody will love me. Everybody just wants to have a go at me, fuck me and then abandon me.
I guess not every girl has a happy ending. Some people, like me, unfortunately become the victims of the cruel game called life. I don't blame you, you had your go-duping me from time to time. I hope you had a good time. I hope I was able to "love you long time." The gifts make sense now. I'm not a cheap hooker, I'm one of those classy ones, you give me gifts and I give blowjobs etc etc.
I sometimes wonder if you think of me too. I wonder if you remember the time at your place when I trusted you to make love to me. Wait, who am I kidding. Your memory is probably too jammed from the fucking drugs and the superficial lifestyle. How could you remember, if you had any respect and valued sentiments, you wouldn't let me go so far away/
Someone told me that you've been writing about me, that you put up a naked picture of me. You know what, I won't give you the pleasure by even reading what you have to say to the whole wide world. I give a flying fuck. Try as hard as you can, pull of all your unimaginative and incredibly mediocre stunts, I'm gone. I'm really really gone. You're just a waste of time in my 23 years of existence, nothing more. If I can get over the person who I loved for the first time in life who raped me, then getting over you should be a piece of cake. I'm done waiting for a sign. I'm done waiting for you.
Infact, why the fuck am I even typing this out. I'd rather write a note for my dead soulmate who'll at least acknowledge my presence. You're not even a man. You're just an infant who threw away the best he could have imagined, the one who threw away the best he could have got.
Sincerely, without any love
S.
(You just pictured me seductively moan "babe" into your ear, didn't you, you cheap fuck? ) I miss you. I miss how we'd kiss, how you'd hold my hand and guide me from time to time. I miss you and the way you'd hold me, hug me and console me. I miss the way you'd run your fingers through my hair and down my back, I miss how you'd squeeze my butt, my breasts and run your nails down my body. You'd finger me. You'd fuck me and you'd make me cry out for more. You were everything I wanted but I guess I was never good enough for you.
You never loved me the way I should have been loved. 'Why are you so hot' you exclaimed when you were busy sticking your dick inside me, onetime. That was always it for you. I was a hot, modern yogic piece of meat for you, never more. You never tried to understand me. You blamed the ex-lovers for getting in the way, but never blamed yourself. My ex-lovers were never throwing themselves at juvenile sluts, you were. My ex-lovers were never lying to me, you were. My ex-lovers were never abandoning me, you were. My ex-lovers were gone from the frame, Only you were around, but it is so much easier to blame someone else that yourself, isn't it?
I think about the sex we had from time to time and I pray that it wasn't the greatest I'll ever experience, I pray that it will be better for me someday. I pray for average sex with someone who'll love me with their heart over great sex with someone who will ultimately leave me feeling like a whore. I want to close my eyes and make love with someone, someday. I know I will, because you sure can fuck me hard and fuck me fast, but you've never been able to bare yourself and make love to me. It takes some amount of sensitivity and genuineness-qualities which you clearly don't possess.
Pay someone a thousand rupees and they'd probably do the same as I did. I was your cheap cheap cheap fucking whore, nothing more. Pay a whore a thousand rupees or slightly more and she'd swallow your semen and tell you how much she loves you as well. There is no real difference, is there? It's all just the same, girl A girl B girl X girl Y...it's all just the same. Scope them out on facebook, flirt your balls off, dream of fucking them someday somewhere. The cycle is endless. Two birds in the bush are quite obviously better than the one in hand, ain't it?
Pay a whore some money and she'd dress up all nice for you, be lady you can show off to your friends. There is no difference. They won't let you kiss them on the mouth though, But I wouldn't know, the lovers of my past have been completely satisfied with me, they've never had to look around as much as you've had to. they've never had to visit the rendipotti in Calcutta or elsewhere because despite my frail frame, I've been more than enough woman for them. You're the only asshole who I was obviously not enough for. I guess maybe if I was younger, sluttier, and had bigger boobs, maybe then I'd have your undivided attention. But what to do, I can't and I won't let someone like you make me feel inferior. If I had to take revenge then I'd talk about the size and girth of your fucking dick, your manhood. But I won't go there. I am not the peasant that you are. I am royalty, bitch.
People are obstinate, people don't change. Perhaps sometimes they get better at covering their tracks when they lie. But they never change. Anything you hear on the contrary, are just lies.
The older I grow, the more I realise that I want to settle down with someone, marry them and have their babies. I want to be in an average mediocre relationship with someone loyal, faithful and loving. I don't want adventures and grand plans. I just want someone who'll love me and complete me. I want someone who'll treat me right and be there for me when I need them the most.
The sex with you was probably the only thing I remember fondly, but then again, you never really understood and valued me. Because if you had then you'd never let me go. You'd never treat me the way you did. I was your hooker, I was never your lover. Dignity, look up the word on a dictionary, I don't think you know what it means. My ego has never swallowed me whole and every time you treated me like dirt at public places, I took it with a pinch of salt figuring that you're perhaps too naive, you're one of those asshole chauvinists who will perhaps change someday as they grow older.
It's strange how the more I let you treat me badly, the more you went ahead and did indeed. A showpiece, a prize, that's all I amounted to for you. But you forgot, you poor boy, was that everything has a repercussion. If you were to ever father a girl child some day, I pray that nobody ever treats her the way you treated me. Seriously, can you imagine the rage and the humiliation you'd feel? It's cool to treat women like your sextoys, isn't it? Wait till you have a daughter of your own, you cunt. Or would you be okay with someone treating her like a prostitute as well?
It's okay I guess. You're old enough to understand that we belong to two very different spheres. We want something completely different out of our lives. You want hot chicks, a whole bunch of them to adore you, you want to be rich and famous, I just want to settle down with a man and a dog (two actually) somewhere and write my music. Our priorities in life are very different.
You hurt me and I will eventually forgive you, with time. But I will never forgive myself for falling for a fraud. I always fall for a fraud. I guess that's my weak point, thank you for tapping into it. You're not much different from the guy who raped me. I feel stupid thinking that somebody would love me for my soul and the kind of person that I am. I guess the perils of having a moderately fuckable body is that guys will always only want to fuck you and dump you after that.
I don't know why that is though. Am I that ugly? Or does nobody want to love me because I'm tainted, because I've been raped? It's like everyone wants to stick their dick in me but nobody wants to stick around. I guess there are a few drawbacks of being raped during your adolescence, everybody assumes that you're a piece of shit and that you do deserve to be treated like one. Sometimes I feel like I should douse myself in kerosene and set myself on fire, just die. Perhaps nobody will love me. Everybody just wants to have a go at me, fuck me and then abandon me.
I guess not every girl has a happy ending. Some people, like me, unfortunately become the victims of the cruel game called life. I don't blame you, you had your go-duping me from time to time. I hope you had a good time. I hope I was able to "love you long time." The gifts make sense now. I'm not a cheap hooker, I'm one of those classy ones, you give me gifts and I give blowjobs etc etc.
I sometimes wonder if you think of me too. I wonder if you remember the time at your place when I trusted you to make love to me. Wait, who am I kidding. Your memory is probably too jammed from the fucking drugs and the superficial lifestyle. How could you remember, if you had any respect and valued sentiments, you wouldn't let me go so far away/
Someone told me that you've been writing about me, that you put up a naked picture of me. You know what, I won't give you the pleasure by even reading what you have to say to the whole wide world. I give a flying fuck. Try as hard as you can, pull of all your unimaginative and incredibly mediocre stunts, I'm gone. I'm really really gone. You're just a waste of time in my 23 years of existence, nothing more. If I can get over the person who I loved for the first time in life who raped me, then getting over you should be a piece of cake. I'm done waiting for a sign. I'm done waiting for you.
Infact, why the fuck am I even typing this out. I'd rather write a note for my dead soulmate who'll at least acknowledge my presence. You're not even a man. You're just an infant who threw away the best he could have imagined, the one who threw away the best he could have got.
Sincerely, without any love
S.
Monday, February 23, 2015
Cheeky Little Cunt
My pussy is tight
My pussy is tight
Don't kill my vibe, bitch
Don't kill my vibe.
I'd fuck your girlfriend
I'd fuck your brother.
I'd fuck them real good.
I'd fuck them right.
Cause my pussy's still tight.
Warm. So wet.
Waiting for you.
All those rumours you've heard
Are indeed true.
My pussy is tight.
My pussy is tight.
I'll spread anarchy right here in Calcutta.
It's time to start a fight!
Sunday, February 22, 2015
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.
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.
Saturday, February 21, 2015
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.
সকাল- বিকেল গেলো
নিজেকে লাগে ভালো
মন্দ নই!
আমি মন্দ নই! "
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
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.
Friday, February 20, 2015
1:23 am
"I miss the girl I knew"
V and I had the strangest relationship. I met him when I was around 16 and after a summer of crushing on him and finally ending up cheating on my boyfriend with him, we became friends. But of the strange kind. We were never in a relationship but neither was our friendship platonic. He'd give the largest love-bites, sexy was the new cool. To make matters worse for me, he was such a darn good kisser. I swear to god I was addicted to kissing him. He was a drug I couldn't stop doing even though I knew he was really bad for me. His reputation as a casanova was set in stone and I knew I was just one of the many, like one of Sebastian's conquests from Cruel Intentions, but I didn't care. I figured that I wouldn't be young forever.
I was in high school for pete's sake, it was a crazy time for my hormones. They were quite out of control. This was also the time when I was going through a self-destructive phase when I felt dirty and used up from the rape. I figured I could sleep with whoever I wanted to, it's not like I was going to get abused again. Atleast now I knew what sex was like, atleast it would be consensual.
V and I had the strangest relationship. I met him when I was around 16 and after a summer of crushing on him and finally ending up cheating on my boyfriend with him, we became friends. But of the strange kind. We were never in a relationship but neither was our friendship platonic. He'd give the largest love-bites, sexy was the new cool. To make matters worse for me, he was such a darn good kisser. I swear to god I was addicted to kissing him. He was a drug I couldn't stop doing even though I knew he was really bad for me. His reputation as a casanova was set in stone and I knew I was just one of the many, like one of Sebastian's conquests from Cruel Intentions, but I didn't care. I figured that I wouldn't be young forever.
I was in high school for pete's sake, it was a crazy time for my hormones. They were quite out of control. This was also the time when I was going through a self-destructive phase when I felt dirty and used up from the rape. I figured I could sleep with whoever I wanted to, it's not like I was going to get abused again. Atleast now I knew what sex was like, atleast it would be consensual.
We'd fool around over the next couple of years, off and on but it never amounted to either of us falling in love with each other. I used to find him very attractive, but I could somehow never love him. Even though I was completely okay with his promiscuity, I couldn't get myself to settle down with him knowing his dick would still be in someone else's pussy every other day even with me in the picture.
When you're a young girl and starting to become aware of your sexuality, you are basically a kid in a candy shop. The possibilites are endless. It was the perfect definition of 'friends with benefiits' for us. But the older you grow, you realise that being someone's booty call or having a fuck buddy is rather degrading. It's impossible to separate infatuation from sex. At the end of the day, you need some romance in your life-it can't be about hardcore, no mercy fucking all the time.
Anyway, V and I gradually lost touch and never really hung out as friends once the sex stopped. It was strange how at one point I wanted him to want me, but he didn't.
He really wanted me much later after I disappeared from his life but by then I'd settled down like a domesticated cow and I wasn't going to give it up for him. I was happy being in a committed relationship with someone I was starting to set life goals with. At 18, when you're in love, it is the best feeling ever. You make all these completely ridiculous and impractical plans about the future with your partner even though the chances of them never working out are sky high.
V was always my sin. I'd always go back to him every time I wanted a quick and easy fuck, with no strings attached. He'd effortlessly fit into the parameters I had set for fuck buddies. We kept our lips sealed once the deed was done, it was a perfect arrangement.
I could go back to my old ways and sleep with him just to get all this energy off me, but at 23, I realise that the solution to a broken heart is not sex with someone you don't really care about. We've played this game over and over again as teenagers but it seems so silly the older you grow.
The problem lies with me. I've spent my entire adolescence not believing in romance, but things have changed post the debacle that was A. I want to believe in romance and I want to feel loved. I want someone in my life who will want me and only me, as I will want only him/her.
I'm losing my faith with men in general. I get every man usually wants to have sex wth me, that is why they flirt with me in the first place, but then what? Move on to someone else? What about me in that case? This arrangement has no returns for me, what do I get out of it, maybe mediocre sex at best.
When A and I started fucking, it was mad. We were all over each other, but during the last time with him at someone else's house, I realised that I couldn't do this to myself. I wouldn't do this to myself.
It's better to not have sex and be celibate than fuck someone who makes you feel like a whore.
V and I passed our expiry date years ago, I feel giddy when I think of all the fun things we've done. But then I also remember breaking someone's heart for him and ultimately paying the price for it for years after that.
When you're feeling down and out, defeated with life, it's nice to receive a message from someone saying that they miss you. But just because they miss you doesn't mean that you are obligated to respond. Sometimes you just have to let go and move on I guess.
At 1:23 am he said, "I miss the girl I knew" "Why don't we ever hang out anymore"
...baby, you're 5 years too late!
Thursday, February 19, 2015
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?
Wednesday, February 18, 2015
Stupid Things I Do
1. Check out my horoscope. Sometimes I question my sanity when I find myself googling love compatibility with other signs. Who is best for a leo woman? Does this shit work? I don't know, but I want to believe!
2. Finish an entire pizza by myself in a day and then feel bloated as fuck.
3. Fall in love with all the wrong guys and then take an eternity to get over them. If I could go back in the past and undo meeting people, loving and trusting them, I totally would. It's hard to write love songs when your heart is crushed.
4. Put others before me and subsequently get hurt. Seriously, WHEN will I learn!
5. Watch too many horror movies, waste too much time.
6. Make stupid lists like they matter.
Tuesday, February 17, 2015
Underdogs
"I am birthless, I am deathless.
I am the eternal Lord of all beings.
I am born through my maya
-defying all laws of nature"
I read the Gita for the first time when I was around 16. This verse and another one in particular really spoke to me. I've never looked at it as a religious book, more of the self-help category.
The Gita was said to be the sermon Krishna delivered to the hesitant Arjun before the battle of Kurukshetra, I really don't understand how it became the religious book of the Hindus! If you read it carefully, you realise that it talks about your eternal soul and your duty to be at one with everything. Isnt that what a self-help book also preaches?
A seemingly long time ago, when I met A, I'd ask him to tell me stories from the Bible. It was fascinating because the Bible has so many characters and so many different tales (or sermons?) on life in general.
But why I have a problem with all forms of modern religion is because none of them embrace paganism, or the worship of nature. If you think logically, humans would pray to the fire/earth/rain/sun gods and godessess for nothing else but a healthy life and a good harvest. Ancient human beings had their sense of right and wrong, not as individuals but as a community. How the fuck did we evolve from that to the sham that we call "religion" these days that propagates violence and inequality?
Monks dedicate their entire lives to attain salvation, to awaken their kundalini. But I am a cheater, I do drugs to open my third eye, I need chemicals in my brain to rid myself of all inhibitions. Arent inhibitions and a lack of awareness the only things stopping us from salvation?
Have you ever had your kundalini awaken, even if it is only for a moment? I've had two experiences so far and the easiest way to get there, honestly, is through orgasm.
Women's bodies hold the key to the universe. I keep saying this again and again because I really believe it to be true. We are receivers, carriers, nurturers. Life perpetuates from our wombs and men merely facilitate the process.
It also leads me to assume that there is no stronger human on earth than a woman aware of her sexuality. It is a gift and yet a curse.
A was making me orgasm once when we were both tripping on acid. But there was something strange about that trip, about one orgasm in particular. It felt like someone had loaded me on to a cannon and fired it towards the sky. There was a tingle and I felt an electric current shoot up from my tailbone straight to my brain. It awakened nerves whose existence I did not know of. My soul left my body and I felt like I was levitating, floating higher and higher into a white light. That is what there is at the end of the tunnel-a white light. But it was not what I saw, it was how I felt. It was overwhelming-like I wasnt supposed to be there yet, I had cheated my way into it. It was that extreme point of pleasure my body could take before it tipped over to pain. The line separating the two is so thin. Crossing over from one to the other is easy but never the other way around.
Have you ever cried because you've experienced something so beautiful, so intense? It's a strange feeling. I've tried to replicate it and the only time I've been successful is through stimulating my clitoris.
When I say that women are the perpetuators of life, I say that in the crudest way possible because we are also the ones with an organ which exists solely for pleasure.
Whether I decide to bear children and marry a man or not, I will stay sane if I can master the art of using my body as a vehicle to my salvation-my nirvana.
Monday, February 16, 2015
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...
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...
Sunday, February 15, 2015
Valentines Day (or is it Valentine's Day)
We lay on the bed listening to our favourite music, naked, holding hands for some strange reason. He looked younger than I remembered.
Stoned out of our minds from the chillum of highly stale weed that I found. The sunlight filtered in through the curtains, falling on his arms. Strong. He'd hold me forever he said, he wouldn't let go.
I was emotional. It was a strange kind of melancholy.
I woke up from the dream and realised that P's been gone for 3 years now. He bought a one-way ticket and he's never going to return. I didn't want to get out of bed. I wanted to dream again.
By pretending to be strong all this while, I realised that the child in me wasn't dead yet, just stuck somewhere dying to breathe.
Love never dies, your priorities in life change. A part of me will always be stuck trying to get over the man I loved who left me stranded.
It's always the same story.
The cycle ends only when you die.
Saturday, February 14, 2015
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.
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.
Thursday, February 12, 2015
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.
Wednesday, February 11, 2015
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.
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.
Sunday, February 08, 2015
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.
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.
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