brothers in harms

My brother turns twenty tomorrow… ever been so acquainted with a room you could find your way through it in the dark? It’s sometimes scary to think he knows me that well. I’ve never written about him. He deserves a better writer. He cries never for himself but for the world that never summed up for him. The man I’ll always admire but I never want to be. To be cursed with a clear conscience is not something I’m not man enough to live up to. His conscience was so loud it suffocated me. Right and wrong so clearly cut. Leaving no space for selfish interpretation. I’ve always been a disappointment to him. Sometimes he hides it sometimes he doesn’t. Sometimes I feel he’s tied down then again maybe I’m too blinded by my own mind. I still remember the day I opened the door to our room and found him crying as he sang “aerials” aloud. He’s as messed up as me but he has the class to not rave about it like I do. “The world might be messed up and fucked up but I’d rather be in it, I’d rather be in it” he sticks up for me, cries for me, fights for me, picks up after me but never dies on me. Hopes that someday I’ll be the man I want me to be. I love him. I love him and all the people stuck inside him. Anger, loyalty, hope, resolve, faith, fucked up hair, baby face, power, class, depth, dimples, love, care, intellect, sadist, chauvinist, romantic, stubborn. Throw in some rock music and some dirty underwear and poof you’ve got my brother. Do I not show him my love often enough? He told me once “the whole point of friends is that you get to take them for granted” love you broff couldn’t have asked for a better best friend. Happy birthday and fuck you muuuah

blind sight

So the drunken mind is free of such inhibitions that if you weren’t high then you’d be jealous. But then again do I really need alcohol to set me free?? The two questions in me arise thus and proceed to contradict each other… what is the right question to ask? Is it.why do I ever need the high? Or is it do I need to be bound by my inhibitions to blend within etiquette and normality? What do I care for answers and reason when I’m blinded by freedom itself! Defining myself is beyond puzzling. What term do you apply to matter less matter? Should I take solace in the coolness of being the ideal paradox or just cry like you would cause she never cried when you said goodbye? Not a tear for the man who represented the nothingness of everything. And in tears he shouts “you fools I am beyond you. Don’t I see words clearer, thoughts crystal and souls stripped? Am I not what you forgot to be? Do not mistake my plight for weakness! SUB QUESTION-BUT WAIT WHAT IF I WAS WRONG! What if I was fooling myself! But I don’t care now do I …I am elevated …maybe the black sheep was hated cause he begged to fucking differ.” Ah a finger for the lord the Adam the eve and the freaking fucking apple. I aint none the more wiser but a good cause good drink a good thought and a good word soothes the mind any day more than an invisible psyche will!

MIRROR TALK

If I never played could I still miss the game?
If I changed could I still be the same?
If I cried could I still laugh at pain?
If I crawled could I never walk again?
If I never tried could I still fail?
If I never left could I still stay?
If I was whole could I have come undone?
If I forgot could u still remind?
If I wasn’t real could my thoughts live on?
If I wasn’t a fool could I still be stupid?
If I was falling could I be flying?
If I am what I do could I be nothing?
If I lost u could u leave me directions?
If I loved Christmas could u be December?
If I faded away would you… could u ….. remember?

confusion and marmalade

orkut Blog: An orkut User's Story

CONFUSION AND MARMALADE

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Waging a war against the insipid humor that my being derives I plod on through to my next sentence. Ah what shall I write about today? Should I be sarcastic or funny…melodramatic or romantic… pessimistic or optimistic or should I just quit and give in to slumber. Staring at the poster of uncle bob pasted irreverently onto my wall I sing along with him. We are jamming ooh jamming. Wishing to be finding myself jamming along in a concert in Jamaica as the deceased marley stumps his joint out as he proceeds to the next song I move over to my next thought.yaa maan! Almost deciding to spew another array of carefully designated abuses at the cricket players of my country for their indigestible dismal performance at the world cup. I decide against it. Too many people are doing the job. Even my choicest abuses shall be found wanting in comparison. So what next? There’s a pencil lying askew on my table. I love pencils. I’d choose them over pens any day. They smell of fresh pages and pinewood. Sadly they aren’t edible. Wish I had slave monkeys who knew to type. I guess even the cleverest simian would be unable to configure the irritating likes of ms word. What with all the red and green lines. Traffic signaling my vocabulary whilst dampening my idea of my prowess over the same. I wonder why rock died? Don’t people miss the blatant audacity and eccentricity of character anymore? Sadly hip-hop offers no solace. 50 cent reminds me of an athletic hormone induced orangutan. Here lies the grave of 50 cent he sang about thongs and booties and riding on 20’s. Encore! “Thank you all from the pit of my burning, nauseous stomach for your letters and concern during the past years. I'm too much of an erratic, moody baby! I don't have the passion anymore, and so remember, it's better to burn out than to fade away.”- The last Para of Kurt kobain’s suicide note. He killed himself never knowing he was immortal. I suddenly am frightened by the thought that scares me most. The absolute truth that however big the crowd I you and him we’ll always be alone. Privacy resides in thoughts. No voyeur could penetrate that wall. The fact that such thoughts could never be bared frightens me. Bloating the insecurity that defines me. What would you do if today were your last day on the earth? Would I run to her to steal a last kiss? Would I stay home and tell the family that they’d be missed. Would I ask my slave monkeys to type in my epitaph? Would I pray for forgiveness and a seat in heaven? What’d it look like? Heaven? White fluffy clouds, sparking cool mist. White gowned fluttering angels? What if heaven is a state of mind? An overwhelming and everlasting feeling of joy. Then again wouldn’t even joy get boring? Would hell be the heaven for people who wound themselves? Do I ponder too much? Yet never enough!

just words

I love the madness that derives my soul
Infidelity drawn in short gasps and sighs of infamy
Populated thoughts that filled a barren mind
A sniper aims at my head I wait for the bullet
Playing a song in my head I wait for death and them other inevitable
Dum da ri did um dum dum da ri did um dum
Sang the cuckoo from its nest
I wasn’t tomorrow waiting for today
I was just lost in my caravan of woes
Dj wont u play my melody
Wont u ever set me free and all these worlds that lived in me
Random thoughts swirling in a lava lamp of confusion
Kisses and misses left on a platform for zombies
Plucking the petals off of this dying concert
My karaoke concert for the dumb and the mute
I remedy the brandy with cocaine
I remedy the love with pain
I’m the Jesus that died for himself
I’m the narcissus who was betrothed to his reflection
I am vanity inspired by starvation
I am love inspired by worse
Did I tell you about the time I died?
Just to see if I could fly
The curiosity sadly never killed this fucking cat
The bleeding never bottled the pain
Searching for the answer that died in me
I smother your tears with bruises
Smashing my thought into your head
Ramming my meaning into your being
Where did I die Sophia?
Where did I die ?????????????

blah from me

I took a swig as I lie asleep in your casket
Dying for u hoping you’d stay alive for a breath I swore at u
To be inspired by a servant of lust and death
Maybe an insipid vagrant dilemma
But to me completion of a task that was never a struggled path
Sarcasm in my blood levitation in my soul I fly high
Along with the million souls that cried on my grave for
The wannabe the superman of the silly fool network I love being useless
I love playing my broken songs on a my splintered guitar
Don’t u dare tell me you’ll love me so early I’ll leave u like I loved u
Ask for me at the counter and you’ll be convinced I checked out
From this motel the motel of marmalade
This bittersweet symphony written for the brave not for the meek
Stamp on me my fellow spartans I might be strong but not brave
Typing the blabberdash I wrote along the way I wish for ten seconds in a kiss
We’r locked with lips and hips and swaggers of kings
In laughs and smiles and lives that lived too long
The story never ends the tune never stops
But all good things come to an end
And protocol is my suicide note

CRY

my angel bit my tears
and she made them sting a lil bit more
i clasped her hands she hated me for makin her twitch
i didnt care i held on to my last thread of hope
she drew her hands away a silent good bye
i let go with a tear in my eye
i dont wish on stars nemore they hate me for askin too much
as the world flew past me i stared out the window and wept
wishin the world for u while u unheedingly slept
the gods looked down and saw me cry
they predicted for me a dead end
i was a story worth the read
an ode or a word or a memory
for all the world to pity and see
look how he died for his angel bride
she never looked back but he sat and cried..
"teardrops come set me free
i've loved her enough now let me be"

whistling on my grave

Waking up today morning I found myself occupied by a state of indifference. Comfortably numb safely tucked into my cocoon of confusion. I had nothing to look forward to but another jejune day. Realizing I was out of cigarettes I ran to the nearest shop to buy a pack. I was heavily dependent on nicotine to keep me numb. I loved smoking. I’m not one of those smokers when confronted with the question of whether they smoke answer reluctantly that they do and with a heavy face confess that they’ve been trying to quit. I embrace the fact that my lips are forever wedded to this thin stick of soothing redemption! I’m not so favorably inclined to the other vices and I have my reasons. What I believe is this. A cigarette to me is the only thing u can expect something from and actually receive it. No other vice or virtue to me does the same. Alcohol could get you too high and a session of lovemaking could always tilt towards disappointment, falling in love could lead to betrayal. Ah but the cigarette. What u need is what you get. Nothing more nothing less… yes it kills eventually… but then again what doesn’t…love …success…fear…death…life…. in this case though the understanding is mutual. The cigarette is like a passionate lover. For the 5 minutes that u devour it. It burns for you. It dies for you. It lives for u and you alone. The understanding is mutual.if only people were cigarettes!! Now buying my pack from the same person I’ve been buying my pack fro for the past three years I realize that I’ve never asked him his name. Never smiled at him. Never said hello to. He was taken for granted. I turned around and asked him his name and went on to have a rather pleasant conversation with him about how the roads badly needed tarring. It didn’t matter to me I doubt it did to him either. It was pleseant all the same.

I drove back home bracing myself to confront the parent who I hardly spoke to anymore and then the words of a lady in a tom hanks movie reverberated in my head “ I didn’t leave because of the shouting I left because of the silence” it played on in my head. And I smiled a wry smile picturing myself on a date with the old lady. We’d have a lot to talk about. Reaching home I hurriedly got to my morning routine of making black coffee, which I couldn’t live without everyday. After my consumption of this bitter concoction I lit my first cigarette and resided myself on my throne with a copy of aeneid by Virgil trying to make sense of his take on life whilst I answered the call of nature. Halfway through the cigarette someone whistling a tune from somewhere outside struck me. I craned my ears and was awestruck when I realized that it was a bird of some sort humming away to glory. I sat transfixed mesmerized listening to this tune.it was like the bird was humming a bollywood tune it couldn’t get out of its head. It sounded pure sounded clear sounded wonderful. I sat listening. Finally it fluttered away leaving me in a state of absolute wonderment that lit in me a lust for my keyboard. I wonder what the bird was singing about. Or whom was it singing to. Was it singing bout world peace or America’s war on Iraq? Was it singing about Elvis or beavis or butthead? Was it singing for love or despair or death? Was it singing to you or me or her? To whoever or whatever it was singing. I am but grateful to it. For a memory divine. For words forgotten. For thought provoking and for making me fall in love with my country all over again for these minor specks of beauty withered around it. I am happy today for a bird sang on my grave today!!!

cries from a jet plane

It took me a long time to write again... I pondered and wondered over topics and lies and hazy interpretations... her picture kept dancing on my stage but I ignored her for fear of being my clichés. Ignorance has gotten me alas but only so far. She bounces around in the walls of my mind relentlessly. I’m in love. Its scary, its cliché. What’s wrong what’s right. I was numb until the stones u threw struck me. Drawing blood feeling pain... painfully... finally. U jumped my bones u deemed me redemption. I’m being poetic in an essay. I’m confused so is this thing that I write. It’s neither here nor there. It’s a maybe..."whatever" u keeps screaming. One of those stones u threw at me along the way. I don’t care I can feel now...I’m drunk on wine and mind and thought and lips I never kissed...don’t blame me for not being there. I want it as much as u...1000 kms and more they have a price tag. Hate it or love I cant but ignore it... I’d cross-seas for u (if my dad bought me a ship) I’d walk miles for you (if dad bought me a butler) I’d fly skies for you (if dad bought me a jet plane). Want is alas just a dream...fulfillment comes with a price. I’m already in debt let me pay them let me walk alone.... I’ll come patience counts, patience drowns. Choices aren’t easy to come by... and even when they do come by they’re too hard to make.
I’m scared. You made me feel fright. What am I scared of? Of being disloyal. I love you too much to lose you. Would it help id I never had you? Then I’d just be a walking zombie. Wandering through boulevards of regrets. Smiling at memories of you strewn along the way. I hate writing about you. You fill up my head and my senses like that song somebody sang. I’m bound in a prison chained to your lips. I hate it. I love it. I could write a million promises and doubts but dig me deep and I know I can’t run. I’ll come for you and all the dreams that you dreamed in me. Wanting to be the man that you saw in me. Doubt is of course my baggage for life but chase you I will. Am I too fucked up for you? That’s for you to answer. I’ll have to accept it that you’ve checked in to my head for life. You’re there singing songs and strumming guitars. “Every place I go I think of you, every song I sing I sing for you” – john Denver makes sense. Why does this frustrate me so? Do I have a fear of being happy? The question keeps ringing in my head. How long? Will we be this way forever? Sitting by your side looking at the seine sipping on coffee I never understand reading a book I cannot read because I’m too busy reading my life in your eyes, that’s what I want. We will get there. Hurdles are waiting to be jumped across and mountains are hoping to be climbed over. You’re waiting to be kissed. So I better get to it. Hold on for me I’ll be there soon. me, my ship and my butler together we’ll be leaving soon on a jet plane and john Denver will be singing from his grave!!

cliche romeo

to need u so much to feel all this want...such overated cliches
i'm livin in one ..acceptance is my way of life
i dont care nemore for rhyme and rhythm
all i have is this guilt.. for having wanted more
i have u do i need more ?
doubt hangs in the air ..i've heeded it too much this serpent of mine
i feared i didnt love u although conviction denied it
but my doubts cleared i tell u
i think of you now ..the spirits have held me captive
but confined in this prison i dream for ur lips
ur my hope ur my freedom my saviour in a plaid skirt
this is my story urs is forgotten but my cravings ne'er cease
ur breath ur smile ur lips i frame from hazy pictures
dont patronize dont realize just let this be its just my freakin analogy
u made me feel guilt ..u made me feel.. no longer numb u hold my string i'm ur puppet
pull them right pul them wrong i'll dance to ur tunes
words should ne'er end ne'er for u..ur my apocalypse ur my jesus
save me from death and save me from life
shed tears for me and ask me why
i wont die i promise i wont die

love song

i love u i think of u non stop
maybe i'm just hallucinaing like i always do
maybe ur different like i always do
they smile at u and i'm fakin my love like i always
nooo contradict me gimme my hope back
ur mine arent u wont u run like u promised chase me like u promised
i'm drunk on u and on liquor what inspires me more i've yet to configure
dont hate me ever never i need u for now maybe forever
i'm scared for u for me ur mine arent u
never leave never say u wont love
u just did it hurts it frighhtens it terrifies
live for me breathe for me i do for u
temporary maybe i dont care y do u
i'll stay if u just chase random i am drunk i am
in love i am with u
fuck u its no longer about poetry not about love
more selfish "just me and u" just me and u
stay it'll be just me and u... a promise

dilemma

to wait for empathy and to hold for sacrifice
waiting for destruction of critiscm by my own emphatic mind
watchin myself doubtin correcting myself
and examplary analysis of my being
why this frail and passion devoid correction of myself to an ignorant world
stop cease never hath happened never will
just a prodigal son running through a forest of hope
finding solace in victories of minute acceptances and deemable actions
watch me onnn i'll soar someday i'll fly someday
hope i'm wedded to faith i'm bound to
not to a silent god nor to a vindictive world
just myself me me me me me me me
i laugh aloud at u for ur theories right or wrong
a as if car i heed fake attention
ur not me nor willl u have ever the grace or eccentricity to fake it
bugger off u bastards of vindictive analysis ha ha ha
i laugh at u forever and never forever and never

i write

I write. Yeah I write. What? Poetry, stories, questions, answers epitaphs for anorexic monkeys. It makes me happy. One of the few things that do. Reason – too complicated maybe too simple. Why bother. My rooms littered and dirty. I love saving crap. It’s a habit. There’s a chart with crap on it (took a lot of time), pink Floyd dark side of the moon cover (heard it once sounded hard looked cool), half empty bottle of water (also half full) a dead clock (waiting for an epitaph) cigarette butts (addicted with good reason) a newspaper (never read it never will) aaenied by Virgil (uncertainly grabbed from library). I like saving crap without good reason. I’m the prodigal son. Only I never came back home. Father innocent angry sweet mad caring delirious hopeful hateful. Mother confused, loving, stubborn, broken, perfect, vindictive, and beautiful. Me screwed up. Don’t blame them. Blame sloth.
I failed. Miserably. Quit my last course. Ran when I got scared. Ran and hid. Senile? Give me time. No one waits. Give me time. No one believes. Give me time. Arguments everyday. Why? I couldn’t it was too hard for me. I would never be happy doing it. Then why complete it? So people wont know. You’re screwed up but that’s our secret. Give me time. You’ll run from this too. Journalism now is it? Phaw. T’cha just because you can scribble a few words here and there eh? What do u knows about it? Name a good journalist? Who’s the finance minister? I don’t know! What do you know? I love writing. I want to get better. Isn’t that good enough?? Phaw t’cha. Nothings good enough.

I have a brother. I love him. He loves me. Simple equations are beautiful aren’t they? He wants to be a businessman. He wants to be happy. He’s busy now. Making others happy. Give him time. He has ragged hair. Like kids growing on railway tracks. He’s handsome yet. Am I? I believe I am. Well I convince myself I am. Makes it easier to live with a handsome screw up. Vanity is a necessity in my case.

Where does this all lead? Where am I taking you? To neverland. I just keep flying with words I never land. Landing means confronting. How was the trip? My you’ve grown thin? How’s the weather up there? Phaw t’cha.

I’m in love. She loves me. She never lands either. We fly together. A duet wrapped in distant kisses. She’s not here. She’s there. She kissed a stranger. She told me so. She was drunk. I wish she’d kissed me. She’s not here. She’s there. She loves me. I love her.

I’m running short on words. No that’s a lie. I’m just tired. I want to go on but I’ll say goodbye. Life is hard and we question why? Maybe life’s just hard cause we question why. I don’t know. Give me time.



dedicated to Donald Barthelme for his "See the moon?" a lilterary masterpiece in my eyes for having inspired clarily in random thoughts! touche!

contradicting sloth

I had found myself left wanting of words a few days ago. Suffering through the inevitable crisis of the aptly termed “writers block” I found the whole deal rather worrying. I felt guilt for not having ensued my relationship with the keyboard. Looking upon it like an impotent husband staring at his loving wife. The need to fulfill my want was becoming but atlas the fear of falling short perplexed me. Waking up today morning I was pleasantly terrified by the barrage of words that flew to my fingertips. So cautiously I began to imprint them onto permanent matter almost afraid a sudden move might jolt this revelation away.
Today my thoughts pertain to the devious sin “sloth”. This topic had become the one in question among my good friends as a result of my habit of being easily comfortable with this subject in hand. The conversation was more honest and more invigorating than normal due to wholesome amount of alcohol consumed the same evening. I shall not bore you on with the hapless events of the evening and proceed to the subject, which I pertained to earlier. My friends as I recall were terrified by the concept that I was but easily adoptive to a lazy and jejune living. I will not try and justify myself, for a sin is but a sin and deserves no such treatment. I although shall tell you as I told them why sloth is so easily evolved into me. Sometimes in life I find clarity only when I cease running and watch as the world zooms past me. We in our driven races striving to achieve the pinnacles of victory often are absolutely unaware of the smaller beauties in life. We are like horses with blinders on. completely unaware of the beauty that surrounds us but instead focused only on this long winding road stretching far and wide before us.

Now my perceptions might me correct but I realize it holds no true value since finding contentment in today only but hampers progress. Now we might be so bold to ask why do we need progress. Weren’t we better off without it?? Yes we would have been but sadly we humans are incapable to deter the lusty calls of progress. Hence like the saying goes “if you cant beat em join em ’’. Besides if the early man was content with raw meat for lunch and caves for homes and animal skin for clothing, life would have been rather sodden now wouldn’t it?? Lets not be so nescient as to say the early man was happier than us for we are but unaware of his trials and hardships. If he could be brought for a visit to the present I could bet my left hand that he would but be in awe of the fact that we have the luxury of worrying over trials that are far away from food and shelter.

So this contradiction of myself and the drunken arguments with my dear friends has helped me to the realization of this- “succumbing to sloth is unintentional suicide since it hampers growth and harbors contentment with ignorance. It encourages a life of procrastination and a life uneventful. Clarity must not be sought in sloth but instead in moments!!” so thank u dear fucked up mind of mine and thank u dear fucked up friends of mine for you have provoked in me a conviction that finally will stay.