the Audacious and the Brash.

I know I must not think. I know I must not comply.
If only I had the strength to,
Perhaps on my mettle I could rely.

I wish I had the perspective. I wish I had the ambition.
If only I had the will to,
I could approach the not with limitless vision.

I believe I have it inside of me. I believe I have all that it takes.
If only I exemplified the idea,
Perhaps I could manipulate what makes or breaks.

I hope I do not fall short. I hope I do not start where it ends.
If only I got accustomed to,
I could survive wherever the utopian dream sends.

(Drafted '09. Lost and found.)

Die day, die.

Just one of those days. Or those days that add up to this. Or those days that led up to the days that culminated in this. 

Destructionnnnn! (in more of an 'Avada Kedavra' sense.)

Oh but. None so archaic (or wizarding), as the notions comprehend.

Maybe its just the vague dullness that everything you ever started ends in, or hangs out with, for what very well may be the rest of its heartbroken time. Jolts and bumps, here and there. So depressing all of this sounds that I can pass off a pretention of amusement by now. Lets fancy those random testimonials to a horrible, horrible day. A day devoid of any occurrences, happenings or anything notable whatsoever. A day when you rationalise murder and gore, and grin. Atleast sneer. How I pray you too will pass, how I keep my fingers crossed. Maybe it is worth getting the tattoo now. How I ramble pointlessly? How this is probably the best part of my horrible, horrible day. Drawing parallels, being hatefully judgemental and succeeding to completely ruin even more. Remorseful thoughts - invoke, provoke, shut down. So much of this perplexing abstract. Argh! To you - prepositions and punctuations. And to you - vicious indulgence, and imploratory peace.

Up-to-date-ish.

(This post goes out for my two homes, and their constituent fractions - the one I never thought I could have, and the one I never thought I'd still want.) 

It struck you as mere odd at first, but the vigor is overpowering. And overwhelmed by it all, you keep going, not knowing how to terminate the drab ennui. Anxious even. What else can there be? When you read, when you write, when you talk, when you sense, and when you rediscover. Fancy a few (back to back) feel-good movies, background jazz score (still finding a way to settle you down through the hushed, somehow), and a pile of unread books waiting to be caressed. Exotic statements forming in your not-so-dormant thought process. The fervent expressions and you have gotten back together, who would've imagined. (*smirk*) Well, you were always the artsy, ethereal type, weren't you? Cold heart and dreamy soul in its decided place. (*shrug*) And there might be new strangers to be befriended. New exceptions you can try to endure. You consider that you might have found yourself – in love, at peace, in good humor - all over again. Not waiting endlessly, not letting deep, dark regret penetrate the crevices of primary emotion, that you realise you've fought to defend in vain. 'You don’t want what you can’t have anymore.' That too has passed. The change is more apparent than ever. You suffice. A few battles won for the greater good (always, always), but is the war over?

In this utter state of bewildering amusement, you find yourself anew.

For the snippets we etched.

She did it, committed to it, and made it happen. It was her.

Scrunched up the courage, dreamt the decor, spun in her wishes, filled it with all the love she could muster up and believed in herself. The universe had to give in and call out - joy, the fusion, an assured manifestation. 'There you go.' Near perfect it was - an errand to run, a memoir that enticed butterflies, highs and lows, lessons learnt - as a smile played on her lips. The future-her would have to deal with some tremendous nostalgia. 'This is it. Won't you last forever?' 

Perhaps this is what life does, how the story goes. Pain passes; So does hale and hearty. Love does not always last, and if it does, there is some serious luck acting in. Some indomitable alignment of the better stars. Some amazing compensation of karma. 

In time, reality justified itself to her. Cosmoses crashed. The love was no whole; broken down into miniscule fragments, while each lost definition - the hourglass trickled endlessly. 'Please. Go away.' She transitioned instead - unable to stay, defend her creation, guard her own. But did transition imply what it demonstrated? Rhetorical moving on. To a new place with new people, with new things to do - yes. 'I can. I will.' A valiant attempt at letting go, needless to comprehend - in vain. She almost did. And she almost fooled herself. It both intensified and simplified the situation. Remaining rooted when the infallible realisation struck, cajoling others to percieve the change. 'Absolutely fine.' She tried to go along with the obvious calling, pretending to be oblivious to her lost world. Whatever she had given, whatever she had gotten - posed an unfamiliar consciousness. Did she know? In her deepest fears, her darkest hours - did she forecast? The elasticity of her emotions had failed her. There was nothing to feel anymore, to manipulate, to touch, to make known of herself. Lingering along. Like a graffittied wall - and the colours wouldn't shine out. Like exotic perfume - and the fragrance wouldn't twitch an amorous nerve. Limbo.

Then there was rain. There was a glisten, a glance. And a glare. 'No.' Slight sway. She gasped - when she travelled to her crux, when it all came rushing back. The future needed to mind its own. She would not allow the plausible to delve with the possible; Hope against will. She chose what she claimed to be her beacon, she forgot the fragile ways of perception. There would be no interference. There would be no change. A clairvoyant understanding guided her, led her to a trail. Here she had already been. She could wilt, she would not waver. A pendulum that throbbed with supposition, exposed the mythical old values that she had sworn by. How could she be anything like another? 'Again. Anew.'

Lost no more amidst what was, what had been, what might be. She transpired, and bequeathed, and loved. And she remembered to feel, like never to forget, like there was no morrow. 'An array of snippets etched in memory.'

(You might not be named, but it's for you alright. Fancy an ode? Here is to - be.)

To reinstate, if I might.

For the one who gets fascinated.

Oh, the last thing on my mind - will this instance ever perish? Will it bring to us what you and I seek (like it matters, like we know), or will it abandon horribly? When you do what you do. When I reason with myself. When the quintessential supervises. When little brings joy, and much more squanders away. When I require, as much as you dispose. When the signs act out. When intuition reigns, wishes align and there is eternity to create. When nothing else concerns. When everything falls in place. Am I contemplating definition? I must stop posing the rhetorical to the self already.

I try not to think.

I am sure it is some irrelevant fragment of my imagination.

By the one who fascinates.

(Yes, its been quite abstract lately. But I appreciate that it has.)

Plausibly.

Maybe.
I'll wage a war. Or love irrevocably.
Or whim and inevitably neglect.
I'll overwhelm.
I'll administer and persist.
Or shrug. And dissolve.
I'll replenish. I'll stimulate.
I'll accomplish and exhilarate.
Or disillusion and uncreate.
I'll be transparent.
Or murky, vague, nebulous.
I'll be cipher.
Or I'll be me.
Maybe I won't. Maybe I will.

Today?

Rain. Yellow lights. Laundry. Smoke. Alarm. (as random as the order could get!)

Hola new life. :)

And work. Sigh. The one word that makes me curse the past four years of my life. Err. Okay who am I kidding! The past four years of my life were awesome – read : liberating, changing, all I could have asked for and refrained from. Ups and downs, highs and the mellow. The sober and the sore. There’s an eighteen-year old you. And then there’s a twenty-two year old you. And you are proud. Mighty proud. And now, is when you finally understand why the parents asked you to wait for the weekends do anything remotely joyous, droning on through the workdays – inanimate, monotonous. Weirdly wise, the new you also understands these obligations. The updated encumbrance. Where directions bifurcate, old flame entwines and you welcome the entire sobriety that the universe has to offer. Snippets of thought getting me anywhere? Somewhere. And I’m still flanking on the lines of beginning this so called stint. Drone, flow, absorb. And leap.
;)

Hello. Goodbye.

And this is what it comes down to. LOL.

After taking a break from something you love(d) and would never imagine being separated from, and when it did eventually happen, being apart for longer than you could possibly imagine, you end up realising that the love may not be. Anymore. But it does still linger, and everything comes rushing back. The same urge, decisiveness and butterflies. Familiarity. Ease. Amusement at the past. Understanding of what has been, is and may follow. And the will to let go. 

So for starters, here is to another stint that will hopefully last longer. Avid-er. Better.

Cheers!