Pretentious runway… funny larva… adulterated gossip… some fake smiles… even bigger faking laughs… crocodile tears… big mouths… small hands… cathartic emotions sold for perishable ambitions… erectile dysfunction … elastic marks or meaningless ideologies… sometimes everything is going good and then there is this ‘but’ which makes you feel like a ‘butt’… and then there are days when you consider public as pubic and want to get rid of everything… words get broken without your knowledge ‘therapist’ to ‘the rapist’… and even writing seems a big farce… the biggest falsity on earth… ridden by artificiality… like a mole.. like a motley… like a molten lava… each having a meaning.. but without a sentence it has no meaningful living… and then you go dream… and they turn into nightmares… like you like beer and you are thrown into a barrel of beer and made to drink till you die… the keyboard then gets typed on its own.. the words fill the pages on its own.. the letter gets printed on its own… the message gets passed on its own… and everything then starts living on its own without the need of any human existence… the material starts living then.. a scarlet day… broken hopes… speech chord vanished… pixilated existence… nobody to decipher… Arrested Thinking.
The curse of the killing noise in the veil of silence
The sin of the blazing sun… it shined in a peaceful cup… enlightened for a while… made the mind wander… glitter… free… before drugging it to a burning eternity. Like fire burning water. One form getting decomposed by another. Wind. Earth. Just mere spectators. Men like hay sticks just fueling the process of death. Crimson colour. Black vomit. White soul. The cry bearable. A vacuum of sound bottled. Outside disappeared. Inside ballooning up. Particles multiplying. And in an usher killing them all. Killing every, each and all. Waiting for new particles to come to existence which will never come. But it will wait. Wait in that lullaby of noise. Patiently. Eating its own churns. Drinking its own fluid. Giving rise to violent thoughts. Exempt from any explanation.
The lungs of restlessness
Sound waves like blades are cutting through my cells… entering those crevices… which had closed eons ago. Then, it was an orifice of abolishment... a cave of nudity that had nothing but autonomy… Everything could just lie there… be silent, be broken… be esoteric… be. Nothing to hide from any one… no matter… no mass… only one religion… that of flesh and blood could be together. It couldn’t be taken from you by any force. No faces with desires… no figures.. no emotions… like water running in a perennial river… there is a definite flow... a beautiful truth of purity it is… like the billions of years ago there was a reality.. all believable and no moot. Its eyewitnesses still existed in some form.. and if you are naked.. it will take you in with you. Peace.
(Title credit- The Fox Scene from the movie ANTICHRIST)
