Only this can save me.

Long gone are the calm days and nights, its all panicky around here, howsoever I try, numbness crawls in and chaos in the background. I am as much aware of the world as the world is aware of me. If I speak, I am no one to, if I don't, I cannot. Each moment I spend, is costing me a moment I can't have back, I am not living, I am not moving ahead, everything is moving around me, its changing and aging. I don't know what to trust and whom to trust, if people wish to stay, they can but if they don't then whats to fear. Bloodied I feel from inside, that's a different kind of existence than blood in veins and muscles in the right places. I find myself melting and solidifying in a totally uncontrolled manner, every time I let something out which I certainly want to, I feel ashamed. Words are a misfit in this world, they are unpardonably limited. I am beginning to feel disgusted now, like it would keep happening to me. Am I going to live this utterly confused life, where I will never understand my fucked up self and where words like "right path" or "amazing" or "great" or "love" will continue to butcher me and rest of the words. Only this can save me, this out let, this disgusting form of defecating.

-knightesS

My views on invasion of imagination and other things

What invades my imagination is called modesty, in the most simplest manner.

I feel as if I am a failed writer, which i, so obviously am construed by many of friends and foes. I feel failure in articulating my vivid imagination, putting it in right words in a tight and meaningful way. I feel lack. I don't understand it, I only try to. Modesty lacks right words, it's  a short pause against long pauses of imagination, it's awkward and ridiculous of all. Modesty stems out of lies which we so firmly swore to abide to. It is moral, and imagination is overuse. I kept thinking, I took long pauses, for minutes and then for few hours. I spoke and spoke nothing of what mattered to me, I was being modest. I should have run. I should not have spoken. I should not have heard. I was misconstrued once again for a patient listener, which I am not, I am too moody to share, I was being modest. 

I took a long walk home, I was so distinctively able to see me and her as separate entities. I could see, I am no gender, caste or religion, I am unperishable. I am unharmed, I am unborn. She was something else, and I was other things that mattered. 

Peril

My mind is wandering, and wondering if words are real? I am wondering if anything is real? If truth, belief, trust, love are just words, with uncanny emotions attached with them. I wonder and wander in no direction. 

Everything at once seem stupid and idiotic. Everyone claims to be someone else. 

How can I be sure of anything at all? Human beings are the most untrustworthy of all, they can change in split seconds, they can be something else before you conclude. 

I have a feeling of disgust, I am rejected and objected. 

Full stop

Wish I could laugh about it. Wish I could reverse what I had said .. 

There is upcoming darkness 

There is my beloved black hole

There is my end .

Random Variables

"The word random stresses the fundamental fact that we are dealing with experiments governed by laws of chance, rather than by any deterministic laws."

A wander into the present.

I don't need to wake up to this time. I don't need to write this post. But my mind wanders and it won't stop unless I write. I don't want it to stop wandering, letting something off the plate though. 

I see 

Since I was one year old

I watch 

Since I was seven

I notice 

Since I was twelve

I dream

Since I was eighteen 

I observe

Since I was twenty two

I have only been blank since then. Nice story to ponder. 

Trying to see, watch, notice, dream and observe, but blank stares at walls and books and screens and mirrors are all and whole from a while.

What am I thinking? 

What do I do?

Such infinity..

And I am just stuck.

I write poetry to circumscribe,

But unleash myself in innocence.

Deeper into the outer space,

Narrowing and objectively,

I stare.

My mind wanders and eyes blankly stare at infinity, they are bright, both of them, equally writhed by questions and many probable answers. 

I wander with my mind into something that leads upto nothing, but it can not be nothing, so it is something. Yes, it's all mine, from beginning to end.

Deliberate dilemma

I'm in deep dilemma from several years, and today I don't want to stop writing at all. Deeply I have thought about things happening around me, people and places. I have lived more inwardly than outwardly. I have learnt, crammed, understood many facts in unique ways.. And yet I want to see a different life ahead. Mathematically, I will live as pathetically as I have lived before. 

Above thought was just stopped by another, that me and life are no different things. I am a life. I don't want to be all philanthropist about it. So let other things flow. 

Different spheres, and their Venn diagrams now appear before my eyes and none of it makes sense. Wholly, it's all intersection, again and again. I have been searching answers, everywhere.. Who knows the right question. 

I am no one. If you know, let me.

Laughter

Laughter. I have never thought so hard before for a right word, but I think laughter is an eternal chaos. I am assertive, anything can be laughed at. A murder, a discovery, a religious fight, a book, a war, a friendship, a relation, a baby, a mother, a deer, a main hole, a body(quite often, laughable bodies), all colours, all blacks and whites, a television, a vision, a man, a homosexual, a congress of millions, a life of zillions.

Fog

What if, all human beings are projections of everyone else's thoughts, pictures, dreams, imaginations etc. what if they are just projections, and the souls that everyone know is a key..an anagram or jumbled clue to a different reality. What if I am a projection of someone's thoughts..someone somewhere wanted a girl like me, and I, unsure of my reality keep living in dilemma that why can't I understand everything. 

Morning After

Just woke from a four hour sleep, I felt that I've been haunted all night long. I was haunted down to every inch of myself by my words, sounds and incomplete sentences. It feels pukish and empty. All the liquid in my body is gone. I was in a horrifying poem. Sun shone, and all that had been, vaporized into air. Clutter fills my mind or from wherever I choose words. Nothing is fixed, all can be zero and infinite at close quarters. What is there to hang onto? What is there to remember in the morning after?