Cynicism and Sex

I picture the smirk on your face.

I know you're trying to understand what's on my mind,

Looking for a reaction.

Looking for comfort.

Looking for love.

As you thrust, sometimes slow and sometimes hard.

You're trying to figure out which one brings me most pleasure.

Because you've sensed how capable I am of strange familiarity. 

"I've never felt this way before."

Yes you have.

Yes you have.

Don't fall for it.

Don't fall for me. 

It will do you no good, it will do me no good.

I don't want to play games with you.

You're a kind soul.

It takes one to spot one.

I don't want to ruin you.

Oh, this endless self-pity.

Oh, this deep sense of mistrust.

When you're used and abused over and over again, you start to think maybe you're not worth anything at all. You have trouble coming to terms with the fact that someone really does find you beautiful, worth something. You have a hard time believing that there are no ulterior motives, you're not someone's temporary sex toy or someone's trophy for them to keep on the top shelf.

It's hard because your instincts are like that of a child. You trust unconditionally, even though your heart has been broken into countless pieces over and over again in the past

But I've always dreamt of you.

I've always believed that there will be a knight in shining armour who'll make me feel woman again someday.

Is that you?

Isn't that you?

Please don't be like the last one, a personification of all my worst fears.

You're not like the others. I know it, I just do.

I'm not asking you to love me, just be kind...

I'll be celibate till I meet you next.

Like losing my virginity all over again.

I'm yours, only yours...

Nobody's Fool

I refuse to be the girl who is told that her dreams are too big.

I refuse to be the girl who bows before infidels.

I refuse to be the girl with no love, no passion.

I refuse to be the girl who dies before she is born.

I am not the girl you keep on the top shelf and eventually forget about.

I am not the girl who will sugarcoat her words so it doesn't bruise your ego.

I am not the girl who will mother you till you turn into an adult.

I am not the girl who will stray.

I am not the girl with hollow thoughts, inconsequential aspirations.

I am not the girl who will back down till she finds herself.

I am the girl you fall in love with. The love remains till the day you die. If it goes away, then you perhaps never loved me at all.

I am the girl who teaches you love, grace. 

I am the girl you'll never forget.

I am the blood in your veins.

I am the beat of your heart.

I am the taste in your tongue.

I am your throbbing penis, aching for a release.

I am the void that can never be filled by someone else.

I am not extraordinary, I am not a goddess.

I am your girl.

Beautiful Stranger

He calls me beautiful and then whispers something in his mother tongue.

"I can't translate it, but you understand, don't you?"

I do.

We run our fingers through each other's bodies. My heart is beating so fast. As is his.

But slowly we're both calm like the sea.

His dog, Papouche, takes an instant liking for me.

Man, woman and dog. What a life this couldn't have been.

I want to lie in his arms and sleep forever.

Straight out of a romance novel, our adventure.

We listen to his favourite music. I play some of my favourite songs. It's beautiful, even though we don't understand a word. We don't need to. We can feel it.

We kiss. We cuddle. I want to stay with him forever. The sex is great, but it's the after that I crave for. The intimacy. I hadn't felt it for so long that I tear up a little inside.

"Don't go"

"I don't want to go" 

He's not like the last one, bruising my self confidence with endless tales of past lovers. He wears a condom. He has no erection problems. "You're so beautiful" he keeps telling me with that heavy French drawl as he moves the hair away from my face to kiss me.

He kisses my forehead. He kisses my cheeks. He gazes at me oh so lovingly.

I fall for him. I fall hard and fast. 

This is unreal.

We make love. I was expecting sex. But we make love.

He's a big man. He's a strong man. He does not resort to any fancy tricks like a sex monkey. It's traditional. It's liberating. He enters me and kisses me on the mouth. He looks right into my eyes. He makes love to me. We make endless love. 

A french lover.

My french lover.

I know I probably won't ever see him again but at this point in life, he came to me like an angel who kissed my wounds away, made me feel alive again. Made me feel woman again. Made me feel whole, so complete.

I'm done opening my legs for random middle aged men who spew bullshit from their mouths and eye me like prey.

Real men exist. Real men who are not afraid to love. Real men who's gaze isn't perpetually filled with lust.

I know now.

"Stay a little longer, I'm starting to fall in love"

"I can't. I am scared I am too.."

Curse of The Cursed

"You're beautiful"
He doesn't call me 'hot' like the last joker.
Ten points.
Ten more for that accent.
Ten more for that lean body.
His face looks beautiful under the moonlight. "You're handsome". He doesn't understand what I'm saying. Chiselled features, white supremacy.
Under the stars, by the sea.
I look at the sky. The moon makes an appearance at last.
We're sitting so close to each other. Half understanding each other's words, but fully aware of the beauty around us. The calm of the sea, the serenity of the moonlight.
He kisses me.
His arms are around me. I touch his face, feel the stubble on his chin.
"I want you"
He touches my thigh.
Oh you bloody charming French man.
He looks so gorgeous under the moonlight.
A page right out of a romance novel.
Yet I feel nothing.
Maybe I'll fuck him just to live out this fantasy, maybe I won't. I don't know.

Is this how it's always going to be? Kiss for sport, fuck for fun?
I don't want it.
I don't want any of it.
Or maybe I do.
I don't know...

Nobody

I steal a glance in the mirror.

My body has changed with time.

I am Comfortable in my own skin,

No longer overtly critical.

I see the fine form of a young woman.

Toned, slightly muscular.

A body that works, works hard.

Lean.

Stomach concave from the hunger to achieve bigger things in life.

Thighs strong from running around, jumping through hoops.

Flexible hips. Sensual hips.

Young, supple, full of energy.

Yet a face so tired, so unloved. 

Up In Air

It gets lonely on top, mid air.

So scarred, so scared.

I'll never let my guard drop again.

My walls will be high like the Great Wall of China.

No invasion, isolation.

I am nobody's.

Nobody is mine.

Love, what's that?

It doesn't exist.

Lust.

Conquest.

A tale you tell your friends.

Perhaps old lovers, to make them jealous.

He kissed my mouth, never my face.

It hurts to think.

It hurts to live.

It hurts to breathe.

Discarded like a broken toy.

And yet I soar so high.

Everything is falling into place, but only, it's not.

It gets so lonely on top.

I move away from a human connection with every passing day.

So scarred, so sacred.

They have their eyes on me. 

But only for a while.

Nobody wants to deal with damaged goods.

I learn.

I learn the hard way.

But I learn nevertheless... 

Rock And Roll Memoir

My life is as rock and roll as it gets at the moment. Never want this fucking tour to end. I want to do this forever and ever. With the initial inhibitions gone, I feel like musicians who play in bands are different creatures. They understand one another somehow, echo the same sentiments about life and work. It's a great feeling to be able to do what you love, I feel fucking privileged.
Sure there's no money, no name, no end game to all of this. But does it matter?
Let me have my moment of madness and glory. I'm high when I'm on stage, possessed. No drugs, no alcohol, just plain adrenaline. 3 down, 5 more to go.
This 2 Stroke tour is turning out to be the adventure of a lifetime. So much that I've lost interest in the big-name headliner gigs that we're playing during the later part of this year. Who cares about those man. This is the real deal, roughing it out. A proper tour, no fancy bullshit.

Back home for a day's breather and the Oasis tune keeps playing in my head. I feel it. I feel the words, the sentiments after all these years.

"I live my life for the stars that shine
People say it's just a waste of time
When they said I should feed my head
Well, that to me was just a day in bed

I'll take my car and drive real far
You're not concerned about the way we are
In my mind my dreams are real
Now you're concerned about the way I feel 

Tonight, I'm a rock 'n' roll star.

Tonight, I'm a rock 'n' roll star.

You're not down with who I am
Look at you now, you're all in my hands
Tonight 

Tonight, I'm a rock 'n' roll star

Tonight, I'm a rock 'n' roll star.

It's just rock 'n' roll
It's just rock 'n' roll"

I'm done with the bad drugs and bad dicks. My tragedies seem so insignificant. I have received so much love and positivity from so many people these last few days. I was just looking at life all wrong. My love spreads like a disease, one I can't control. The more I give, the more I love selflessly, the more I get in return.

Rock and roll, baby.

Woke up.

Packed my bags. Made sure I had enough patch cables. 

Set out for the day.

What bandh? It's all just an excuse.

At the magician's studio, we spend hours and hours trying to fix the last minute creases.

He is my guardian angel. My hero.

Both of them, such rockstars.

I am blessed to have them in my life, guiding me every step of the way.

But it's not enough to knock some sense into me. 

The withdrawal kicks in.

Trembling hands.

I'm going to fall.

No I'm not. I can do this.

Play it out.

Play it out.

But this time really does feel like the end.

I have no strength left anymore.

Mentally.

Physically.

Emotionally.

I feel ugly.

It hurts.

I feel tainted.

It hurts so much.

This sobriety is killing me.

Taking away my will to live, to fight.

Never again. 

Never again.

But I just want the pain to end.

Never again, I swear.

Why did I start doing *?

I try and remember. I think it had something to do with my spirit being crushed by a boy. 

I say boy and not man because that is what he was.

My shame.

My dirty little secret.

My bad decisions.

My window to bad drugs.

And now I've gone too far down the rabbit hole.

I can't seem to get back up.

I feel like I've lost the battle.

After all these years of struggle.

I've lost.

I don't have the strength or the motivation to get back up anymore.

I still can't decide if it's an act of extreme bravery or cowardice to let go. End the misery once and for all.

Maybe I need to really think about which one it is.

Everything will become infinitely easier once I decide. Once and for all.

It hurts.

It hurts.

It hurts.

I can't believe it hurts so much.

When will this end.

Will this ever end?

Songs About Men With Dick Disorders

Ugly men, uglier souls.

Can't even keep an erection.

Use me.

Use me.

So I can use you right back.

The new songs come to me like I am possessed.

So much hate.

So much misguided hate.

But it's worth it.

Turn the humiliation into a song.

Or two.

Or two million.

I could go on forever, till I find closure.

Preparing for war this time around.

No mercy.

I will tell the whole world about how I was fucked and ditched.

I have no shame.

I am vengeance.

I am fury.

I am the goddess you treated like dirt.

Now you must suffer the consequences.

Withdrawal

It's a scab I shouldn't pick.

Hanging on to whatever little sanity I have left.

My body craves for one hit, just one more.

I'll be fine after.

An epileptic fit.

I'm passed out on the ground.

Shaking violently.

It's hot and cold at the same time.

I down some cough syrup to help me sleep.

My dirty secret.

My bad drugs.

One more hit and I'll stop.

Junkie.

Fucking junkie. 

That's who I am.

Shame.

Humiliation.

Anything to keep my mind off things.

When I was 12 I thought I'd seen the worst in the workd. But I was wrong.

The monsters lurk everywhere.

They seduce you, charm you.

They have their way with you.

Abandon you after.

My drugs don't.

Always available, that one hit.

I'm shooting up my poison and nobody even knows.

They miss the signs.

The weightloss.

The dark circles under my eyes.

My trembling hands.

"i'm just tired"

That's not entirely a lie.

I am incredibly tired.

Of people.

Of having my heart broken.

One more hit and it'll all be over.

Every day I wake up,

Hoping it'll hurt less.

But it doesn't.

The sadness is neverending, continual.

What am I doing wrong?

I ask myself.

There is no answer.

I want to stay in bed and never get out.

But it feels tainted. 

It has witnessed far too much longing, loss.

Alone.

That's what I'll always be.

Big Long Now

I feel like I am overworked to death these days, which is why I need an outlet-getting high during whatever little free time I have.

This short detox is bringing in strange epiphanies. For me, weekdays are always more fun than weekends. The problem with the Calcutta clan is that since we look out for each other as a family, sometimes we tend to forget that we are all eccentric and our lifestyles and choices are not normal, ie, average.

I'm practically losing my mind trying to manage bookings for the band (so far we have not asked a single promoter/organiser/venue for gigs. They come to us, leading me to believe that it's more important to practise and create music than spend time hooking up gigs) along with writing guitar, keyboard, vocal parts for the new songs. All of this is taking a toll on me physically and I think it's time to hand over the management aspect of the band over to people who do it professionally. R and I have been doing this from the beginning but with all these gigs pouring in, we're both losing our minds trying to sort everything out. It doesn't help that people tend to take my being a woman for granted and just assume that I want to suck their dicks. As if. I have enough substance and I'm here to stay, I don't need to resort to cheap hookery antics to be heard.

For those constantly questioning my credibility, well I have nothing to prove to them. If there's anything that I've learnt in my 24 years of existence, it's that the universe works in mysterious ways. I don't expect things to be handed to me, I would rather work for it. If at 24 I don't have to take my clothes off and sell out and still be noticed, then I am probably on the right track. I just need to keep at it no matter how broken I may be from the inside.

It feels great to think that I have experienced so many moments of love and light in my journey so far. I don't want to be on the fucking cover of magazines. I'd rather play a song to twenty people and get them to see the world through my eyes.
Everybody's chasing all the wrong things and here I am, laughing at how short-sighted people really are. Nobody wants to look at the bigger picture. Good for me, less competition to deal with.

I spent the last evening getting drunk and then having a heart-to-heart with a few children outside a fancyass mall, nagging them to go to school during the day no matter how horrible they may feel about it. For them I was another human with short lived compassion-something that they're used to, but for me it was a learning experience. People with so little, yet so happy to just be alive. I don't like talking about my relationships with those worse off than me-be it humans or animals because compassion is not something you boast about, it is something that should be ingrained in all the cells of your body. The strange irony is how people treat me though, how poorly they think of me. Or rather how they don't think about me at all.

But that's alright. It doesn't matter. Life is unfair, some people are cruel. My greatest fear is becoming one of them-heartless. I think I really will pull the trigger the day that happens.

Hopefully in the next two years, I will finally muster the strength to leave all of this behind and go live in a yoga camp to purify and enhance my soul. That is something I've been wanting to do for quite some time now. I don't want to headline festivals if it comes at the cost of having my heart broken over petty people and things over and over again. The reality is strange, disillusioning. It's not what I want-the fame and the glory.

One day when I'm at the peak of my career, I shall walk away from it all and dedicate myself to the opening of my kundalini. But not through drugs, through meditation and celibacy.

I am done having rubbish sex. I am done looking for love. Every blow has made me stronger and I'm not going to let mediocrity satiate me.

I want bigger things in life, from life.

I won't back down till I find it.

We Dance Alone-Beck

"Darker.

We dance alone this way.

It's getting darker.

We dance alone this way."

Not all memories were bad. Some were only full of love, endless love. I try and replay them in my head when I go to bed.
Love/sex.
Sex/love.
Like a drug.

Your body against mine.
Swaying together.
Brain imploding on drugs.
We dance.
Feeling you so close to me.
Hungry.
Hungry to get inside me once more.
Eager.
Eager to be consumed by you.

Stay indoors.
Never leave the room.
Fuck.
Fuck.
Fuck.
Set a record, top the last one.

We're on the bed.
My head's sliding off the edge.
Ecstasy.
You see it in my eyes, don't you?

I picture your face, drowning in pleasure.
You're in me.
You want to stay in me forever.

You mark my skin.
The scars remain long after you're gone.
For future lovers to see, back away.
Tainted skin.
Bearing testimony to the extreme pleasure once experienced.

Hard.
Soft.
You know every inch of my body.
I know every bit of yours.
Secrets we'll take to our graves.
Of the winter and the summer of extreme pain.
And extreme pleasure.
Six different places, over two years.
Six million orgasms, over.

Ghost

I dig and I dig, his face crops up in one of the pictures. His facebook profile no longer exists, so I can't send him my periodic rants like I would. His best friend in the whole wide world-gone three years now, why does his facebook account still exist? I see people post messages, share their news with him like he still exists.

They're gone.

Brothers before lovers, it seems.

Good choice.

Too bad it wasn't me.

He's not waiting for me, he really is gone.

Everything has changed.

All the memories are starting to fade and I feel so ashamed.

The ladies' washroom upstairs at Olypub no longer exists.

In fact I don't even go to drink at Oly any more.

Our pot dealer is quite possibly dead.

I don't smoke weed anyway, it's been quite some time since I last did.

I can no longer smoke chillums, it hurts my throat.

I have mastered the art of rolling joints though.

Our restaurants are no longer the coolest ones in town.

Nobody uses MSN or Yahoo messengers anymore.

I don't have any curfews. I feel like an adult, but not quite. 

Pujas are the worst. 

I miss him the most during the pujas. We'd keep bumping into each other, like the pujo miracle of sorts, little did I know that it was life's one of many cruel jokes on me.

The CCD near my house has shut down, shifted to a new location further down the road.

The bench near it we once sat on is gone, broken beyond repair.

As is my heart.

This Loss,

So deeply personal.

Loss.

Love.

Loss.

Everything is broken.

Every memory seems fuzzy and disconnected.

But I remember the way you'd look at me, comfort me.

Love.

So much love.

That strange reality check. Of being replaced.

So I retreat further back into my shell. It's time to put on that mask again. Be a warrior for the world to see.

"tor bari bhoot hoe ashbo and finish that long forsaken desire..."

I am the girl who survived it all.

Sex like Lenny Kravitz-Fly Away. Yum.

Sex like The Rolling Stones-Rain Fall Down. So yum. 

Always finish with Led Zep. 

Is it fair to use someone as your muse and just that?

-why not honey, you're an artiste, you can do whatever the fuck you want to. Use them, abuse them. You have all the power. Greatness is a responsibility. Are you ready to handle it?

I fucked X and Y to rid me of my writer's block. That's all that there is to it. I am a bitch, yeah I am.

What to do.

My heart was broken by someone who promised me the moon and gave me hell instead.

He's in my head.

Like random shots from a movie, a porno.

Fuck me.

Fuck only me.

Fuck me like you do.

I want to scream. And cry. And orgasm.

But only you know how.

You know all the secrets hidden in my body.

It still bears testimony to your love and your hate. Some scars still remain, I run my fingers across them sometimes.

Me and you.

The last leg.

Hard.

Hard.

Hard.

Gentle.

Gentle.

Gentle. 

Push all the right buttons so I'm yours. I'm ashamed of dropping my guard so low. I'm yours. I'm yours to ravage. 

Don't tell me you love me when you don't mean it. 

You're not here.

You're not here to hold me,

Kiss me

Make love to me. 

 

You're not here when I need you the most.

Nobody's here.

I am all alone, trying to figure my life out. 

Replace me with someone else already.

I'm just another girl.

I'm just another fuck.

I'm just a passing phase.

I didn't mean anything to you, anything at all.

That's all that there was to it, wasn't it?

The promise of an 8 city/10 day tour and hopefully one outside the country next month is not sparking the kind of excitement as one would expect. 

I've been busy holed up in my room writing, which has made me completely oblivious to the fact that I need to start prepping for live gigs as well, it is nearly time. 

I enjoy this isolation and solitude for most parts because it's an exercise in controlling my sanity, or whatever is left of it. 

At 24, I realise that I've come a long way. I've won most of my battles with the past. I no longer have any demons to fight with, like I'm cancer-free after over a decade of struggle. 

There is something about this city and the people here that always helps me get back on track everytime I lose perspective of who I am and what I stand for. It is home. 

This dystopian world needs real role models, adults who are more adult than you and have their shit together. I feel incredibly lucky to have all these great souls to watch over me, guide me through my dark. It may sound rather melodramatic, but for the first time I'm in love with someone I should have loved right from the start. I am starting to fall in love with myself at last, after all these years of self-hate.

I have to cut myself some slack sometimes. It's perfectly alright to make mistakes, I'll learn as I grow. 

The important thing is to keep holding on.

Up.

That's the only way to go.

It'll not be very long before I finally get  what I want. I just have to want the right things.

"I have no charm.

Only crippling self-doubt.

Does it make you worried,

I'm so numb I won't scream or shout.

My legs feel so heavy.

But my socks, they match.

For your inflated ego,

I'm such a great catch.

You eye me like prey

And I play along.

I am ridiculously stupid when I'm drunk,

Forget my right and wrong.

Fall for the ugliest girl in the world and I'll show you, what love is.

My emotional bankruptcy 

Is a blessing in disguise.

My complete lack of self-respect 

Makes me immune to your lies.

You're so cold, baby, so cold

And I thought I was mean.

You keep me in the corner,

Where I cannot be seen.

Fall for the ugliest girl in the world and I'll show you, what love is."

"Fall for the ugliest girl in the world and I'll show you, what love is.

It's always the ugly ones,

It's always the lonely ones,

It's always the crazy ones that care"

-Ugly Girls, Untitled Project.

Two, Four

Three days of constant drinking, some rare moments of sobriety in between.

Since when did I start doing neat shots? Oh well, it's my birthday. Anything goes. Cheers to me.

Let's call the dealer one more time.

It's on me.

Everyone is wired.

Everyone is wired.

Everyone is wired.

A few hours later we're on a massive group comedown of sorts. Let's drink some more then.

Party's not over yet. 

One more day.

I like the company. Few people. No drama. My boys pretty much put everything together for me because I'm busy being a hot mess.

But I fix my face, wear some nice clothes for a change. Colour my hair blue, atleast it turned out well. See, everything is not so bad.

Snort some.

Snort some.

It's my birthday, go ahead you do a line as well.

Everybody snort, it's my birthday.

Bring out the guitars and play some music because that's the only thing we're good at.

23 was as rock n' roll as it gets.

Gotta get back to work now.

I'm 24, the party's over.