Another Year ... here it comes!

There lies the wily horizon,
promising roses, glitter, and laughter.
And you look at it with glistening eyes,
hoping for your share in it.
March forth brothers and sisters
into the grip of its sly, sly allure
and I will too — with head low and steps heavy.

solace in excess

He who makes a beast of himself gets rid of the pain of being a man: Samuel Johnson

Feelings

One of the saddest thing in life is not knowing what you want. Not being able to pin down your feelings and be sure of them.
Fickle, fickle is the word for it.

Me

I'm me, amigo,
With this skin and under
I'm me, with the stutter and a pale face
I'm me, with the jangled nerves and an irresolute "yes"
I'm me, with a wrecked mind and a sick heart
I'm all of it —
A little bit of the impassive sky
A little bit of the dirt on the road
A little bit of the diseased dog on the footpath
— I'm the song on a dying lips.

The beginning of you

Everything begins from a void. Empty. Concave. Silent. Hollow. Unvoiced. Then begins the phase of half acknowledgment and half repression. Denials that come as easy as pain and force their way through, jolting the mind from its sedation. You were nothing. No shape, no voice, no smile — you didn't exist. And now you're there, in involuntary thoughts and bits of memories that surface from time to time.

I understand less.

A song and a spell

Write me a song
So I can sing to the wilderness
To the strong trees and the dark forest
Teach me a spell
So I can lull this storm
And silence all thoughts
Into a dull stare

Ennui

Dostoyevsky: Notes From the Underground
"Another time, twice, in fact, I tried hard to be in love. I suffered, too, gentlemen, I assure you. In the depth of my heart there was no faith in my suffering, only a faint stir of mockery, but yet I did suffer, and in the real, orthodox way; I was jealous, beside myself ... and it was all from ennui, gentlemen, all from ennui; inertia overcame me."

The sky is immense. I see an expanse of grey moving haze without periphery. Two little birds flutter around like tiny black dots, little noticing the awe-inspiring vastness that canvass their presence. I sit on my work desk across the huge glass window and feel tinier than an atom. It isn't always pleasant to feel small and it wrecks your head to be thinking. Boredom is a curious thing. It makes you do things that boggles your mind or satiates it to the extent of being brain dead. It isn't always pleasant when you give in to the idea of musing, lying on your bed staring vacantly at nothing or sitting with your hands on your chin, giving rein to your unruly thoughts.

What do I propose? I should watch a movie.

30

Time is running out for me. I'm soon going to be 30, and I still have a million things to do. Next month, I start learning French — I'm doing it; I don't care if I beg, borrow, or steal. I wish I could do a Phd. too; I'm planning on one but I'm not quite sure on this. I'm full of enthusiasm today. I feel this would last me a life time (like always; but I'm always wrong).

There is money, there is love, there is marriage… why do we make our lives so complicated? Animals are a happy lot. I have enough worries to keep me off love, yet it doesn’t leave me in peace.
I wish I could be Sisyphus; just understand my lot in my own weird ways and get on with what I have.
I don’t know what I'm doing. Let me begin with the French (hopefully).

I need a story.

Fixing my life

I guess most people are suckers for sad, sad stories. The sadder, the more pathetic, the better. I have always loved the melancholy Hamlet figure, the Sisyphus of all tragedies, and every Meursault of the books I've read.


I've had enough emotions jangling in my head.
I'm trying to fix my life —
Find where it's going wrong,
Steer it in the right course,
And the like.
I'm restless.
My heart flutters.
I'm a new age prophetess
Laying bare my life with a pack of tarot,
Chewing gum in my mouth
Like an unstoppable machine
Playing clairvoyant with nervous fingers,
Awed by the falling shadows from the burning tower.

A slice of me

You have me the way you want
Without you knowing —
That’s the beauty of it
I sit at the corner all full of you
And at dawn you dream in your cold silent bed
Of my vain, vain love