Fingers dimming the lights

I achieve that state again the state where the rotten fish in my mind outweigh the smoked salmon I prepare for my mental dinner.

I achieve the state where a profound sense of sadness grips my oesophagus, slowly but like a vice that tightens with every passing second, it moves and it tightens, its grip cold like a hand dipped into a mixture of ice and water for too long clutching my throat on a hot May afternoon In New Delhi.

It tightens around the oesophagus and clutches the rest of my thorax in a quick but scathing action, leaving my face expressionless and mournful, leaving all the good things in my life scattered and placed around the periphery of my consciousness.

I promised myself I was not going to feel like this anymore, but here we are again, sitting on the hood of Convertible Chevy parked on a cliff overlooking the most beautifully abysmal lake in the world, waiting to make out with the sadness surrounding us.




A lighter bagpack

The self imposed exile thats been jotted  upon my usual place of work impliments a very curious turn of events for me and my fingers. 

Usually by this time Im busy pressing the buttons on my keyboard to form legoble sentences that inspire thought and are designed by employing the strength of all my neural networks at once.

Today though im in the zone and my fingers are ready. I don’t have my computer but I still have a keyboard, its not exactly ideal but it does the job pretty well. However I sit here on the precipce of creation, a nanosecond away from achieving an idea that would change the world, like most writers. 

But theres an inhibitor to my process, this pane of glass I clutch in my hands becomes a burden too heavy for my fingers to support, my thumbs usually rest on the spacebar and shift keys. Today they’re in the driver’s seat, taking this text to the destination it deserves to be in. 

Today I write and today I question, today I ask myself If it’s me who’s the creative ot is it the machine that makes me smart. Is it all me or is it a fancy keyboard? Are my thoughts, my thjmbs and this text editor that wordpress desperately needs to overhaul enough for me to make something good enough to inspire thought? 

Today I type with my thumbs, postponing the efficacy of efficiency in favor of a lighter bag.


That big shiny silver thing with the glowing keys despises the fact that it’s sitring in my nightstand the sad part isn’t the fact that the little bastard hates competition its the fact that i miss it. 

Even when I type my thoughts out using a digital keyboard on a glass screen made by the same company it just doesn’t feel right. Im too used to the satisfaction I get when those noisy little pieces of plastic travel in and out of usable depth under the weight of my fingers.

A marvel of human thought and the epitomy of capitalist sensibilities, i called myself pro Left, why does this feel so good then? 

1200 dollars and some change, consumption as mack said is in my veins, Its all I know, it’s the root to the tree, as I branch out I lean but my feet are held closed into this floor which just wont give. 

The bastard stares at me as I write away, these motherless creatures look me in the eyes as I grit my teeth. 

Let me be im a leftist you see? 

You wanted to be a radicle, you couldn’t even do that right. 

I love the left, I was born right. 

I love the ideo of sharing, but not my own material possessions. I am just another guy. There’s a billion like me. 

Get me.


See what I mean?


I have tried my hand at being the best person I could have ever been, I have tried my very best to try and become a person so separate from anything that could even remotely make me slip, to ruin anything even remotely related to this one little slice of perfection that I stole from the universe’s tight grip.

I have given it all for the sake of being a good man, I have given everything a guy can give for the sake of lying to myself about the little things. No, what they meant today was something much deeper than their cruel words. Even when what they meant today was really as shallow as a shower.

Every single time that shower rains down the pangs of anger on my naked skin, It shatters to the point where my whole life, all I am, all I will ever be is a little puddle on the ground struggling to maintain it’s shape as the rain keeps pouring in, trying it’s best to make me join the large aqueous body of universal regret and anger, make me conform back into where I came from. I pick myself up from that puddle everyday, I make sure I struggle as much as I possibly can everyday.

The universe fucking loves me, everything that I have ever wanted, I have gotten and as they say all great things in life come at a price, I can quite easily give them a one fingered salute to prove them wrong, the only price I ever paid was as important as that one chapter in my fourth grade English textbook about tigers and how pretty they are.

I have loved people and used things, I have met a bunch of paupers and a few kings, after every handshake with every alpha male, after every flirtatious glance with every prom queen of the landscape, with every breath I have taken after lying to someone and with every moment of happiness I have snatched away from someone, I feel kind of alright, to be very honest.

Maybe I deserve every pitfall and acidic rain drop, maybe that’s the price you have to pay for having everything you want, maybe I will never be happy with anything that I ever achieve, maybe my eyes will still wander as I sit face to face with my future wife, maybe there is no such thing as a soul mate, maybe it’s just one big lie Shahrukh Khan told me. This love that I chase brings down the rain, scratch that, it brings down the god damned pain. it’s close enough to do that, it’s close enough because I let it in, I’s the best thing in my world, it’s also responsible for all the little scars on my knees.

I was alone with lust on a table for a while, I was alone with love behind that table for a while. I took my blinders off and steadied my thoughts, I opened my eyes and let in the callousness of a casual movie shot.

Plot twist asshole!

I want to dance. But i dont know how.

I lie in wake of the demons that have long forgotten these parts of my psyche.

They used to come around back in the day riding solemnly on those accurately poised graves.

They stopped by and looted my mind, they held hostage a part of me, they did the same thing almost everytime.

Those demons are gone now. They dont show up a lot these days.

I call them, i invite them, i hope they’ll come and bring with them a sadness of their post-coital arousal.

They don’t show up these days. Even when I send out formal invites to them.

All that comes is an RSVP card with a firm and assertive no, just letting me bask in the hollow glow of the emptiness in my chest.
I used to feel something earlier.

I wish I could feel even a glimmer of that sadness now.

Too much face on ugly.

Stuck in the middle of a torrential downpour of human excrement can be exclusively excruciating for everything and everyone involved in the creative process of said shit storm.

The man in the middle is sad because of all the shit under his eye lids. While the man taking the aforementioned shit is regretting everything leading upto the point where he’s a man tbat takes a dump in a giant blender of air.

But shit storms cant exactly be entirely bad now can they, as they say, every cloud has a silver lining. 

My friend, every feacal hurricane is conjugated with rain. Rain to wash you down, rain to get the gastrointestinal blockage on your face, off.

Sure the rain is infused with the aromatic ammonia but who cares, ammiiright?

This life is a problem, death being the only soultion. The life is a garden and if today you’re a small sapling or a giant old sequoia, we all know the great indomitable threat of the end getting every so close with each breath we take.

Don’t let it be your downfall however.

Know that if in the end it is all going to by a dark starry night. It’s your fucking duty to ensure the brightest, the most excitingly beautiful day the face of our planet has ever seen.

Don’t be afraid of being crazy. 

As Mr. Jobs said, people that are crazy enough to believe they can change the world, are the ones that actually do.

So here’s to hoping a guy in a metro typing on his iphone can become an author.

A guy slaving away at work can ensure future generations can get lazy and get it easy.

A sad woman behind the reception at a corporate office can be the biggest business tycoon, ever.

So welcome the the worst thing about being a 4 pound brain controlling a pile of meat, welcome to adulthood.

Remember one thing though.

The box around you was created by people who were No smarter than you.



I look around me and see these words. Words that are alive, words that are breathing. Words that are repetitive in their own comprehensive teasing.

They walk around playful yet stern. Waiting for me to arrange them and end my turn. I keep up with them for the most part, but sometimes they take over. The words do what they want, im not a pen im not even a vessel. All i stand for is the continuous search for unflinchingly poignant hassles.

All infected with the necessary scumbag virus waiting for catastrophes like the next dark blatter. He gets up slowly to great me i know exactly what he wants. He wants me to get his words out. My words deny any pre existing knowledge of this morality eradicating joust. 

He offers me the pen. He gives me the perfect page. He lies down and closes his eyes perfectly setting up the stage. I pick up my pen and i put it on the white paper. I write in red. The end flows slowly leaving stains on his bed.

Anatomical anthems of analogous anomalies 

The world spins on its axis slowly and steadily you know it will continue to. Why though? Why does it spin why not shimmy or shake, I hope someday we find out, find out the truth of our existance for fucks sake. 

Its scary isnt it? Being part of an evolutionary process that pays no attention to individuals. We’re all meant for the end, all we’re meant to do is eat, sleep, reproduce and leave. 

How can that be all? How can i one day cease to exist? How is it possible that one day I just stop. 
The finality of it scares me. 
And what happens after me? What happens once im gone? Will Kings Xi ever win the league? Will my grandkids ever rule the earth? What happens when the sun collapses on itself. 
Mid life crisis. Give me a fucking break. 

Ive got a pre youth crisis. 

Moving to the beat

They waltzed to the beat of destiny, sashaying away the realms of man, blowing kisses through the torrent of the fan.

He was headstrong and depressed, She was perfect and yet impressed. His whims and fancies dictated the world he lived in , it was one she wanted to be in.

A game of shadows and the gestures of a clown, their life together began in silence.

She looked on closely and saw another, with the face of apathy, occupying her space, stealing her rightful degree in winning this race.

Things can never be perfect in the life of a man with so many demons, He gazed upon the shelf and found hope in her dreamy eyes and her slightly blushed up cheeks. She looked at him and rejected the advances he made. The world turned into a bad place, childish empathy and fake sympathy filling up his bottle with drugs and gasoline.

She regretted the steps she had taken but the apathy in his life needed to leave, her life would never be the same, but a man doesn’t matter. its the thought that counts she supposed.

Breaking their promises, learning the acts of true companionship, they march into oblivion as the fade gathers into the mist veiling slowly the coating set into the abyss. Days bleed into hours as months turn into years. The threads of togetherness tore apart by the blades of a rusty pair of garden sheers.

They faced their demons left themselves into the sea of uncertainty for all of eternity.

The world however is a funny place, They thought they’d lost hope but fate entwined their ties into a sullen confrontation of lies.

A tale of two lovers that found each other in a festival of nerds, They found love in a place where you only found virgins.

Whiskey and emotional debts, her 18th birthday and a crooner in a fest. A train ride to heaven coffee drops and toffee pots leading upto the day he found his voice again. He laid it down on the line, He left everything to chance,  Her fingers began to dance.

As Per reservation.

It starts with a slow thump. Escalated mildly towards a gentle pump. The world dazzles itself on a line, losing everything there is just to say they’re fine. I can’t get her out of my mind. I think about her eyes all the time.
She’s got ships in the raft, baskets in cases. You must excuse my mannerisms i was making room for some sadistic machoism.  Let me tell you how it goes, drop the bass now, we’ll talk as it starts to snow.

I like the way you eclipse the sun, when you dance. Was that your overall aim or did it all happen by chance? 

You’re a pilgrim waiting for the shivers, let me be the prophet, i do have a tongue thats silver. Look at me, ain’t it all very great? 

I like the way you move, it makes me believe in poetry. I like the way you put me in my place, justified in serving me some poetic justice nd winning every race.

You’re destined for the disease, the closest thing to perfection that ive ever seen.

Well. Dont flatter yourself over words you cant completely comprehend , im here for one reason, i wont pretend.

Its the same reason I got you this ring. 

Tell me. Do you agree to the prospects of being my muse forever?