Growing Cold

I am stuck in-between.

Forever longing for the place that doesn't exist anymore, never satisfied with where I am now.

I think it happens with everyone my age. If not age, then definitely with everyone with my outlook to life. If not outlook, then definitely to everyone who is I.

That sense of belonging to a place that I was in, that I roamed in, breathed in, smoked in, drank in, made friends in, lived in. I am in the same place still. But not quite there. As if there was a giant, earth-size plunger that sucked the very essence of this place out. As if a cigarette that's lit out of the last match stick fell into water. Snuffing it out. The cigarette is still there. Oh yes it is. But what's the point now? It's as if it's just nothing. As if that cigarette does not exist, and as if it's existence were a mere illusion that we dreamed about in this nebulous miasma of a life that we pretend to exist in.

It's all fucked up sometimes. Imagine a seesaw having two boys on either side, and the seesaw then going up and down. The kids are laughing. They are having a ball. Then you see a car passing by the road and see an old lady the age, and face, of an dinosaur. She smiles, and it's okay, your heartbeats slow down back to normal pace again. You smile back too and turn back to seeing the kids on the seesaw.

Only that the seesaw is immovably still. And the kids are just statues. Still life. It's eerie. The seesaw is still there, the kids too. But the life is gone from the scene. The essence. The core, crux, fiber, constitution is gone. Only the formation remains.

Pretty weird. I'm speechless too. Now I'm blank too. I was full of life before now. Now I'm this statue too. Just can't say a word.

And so, life hardened into marble, and grew cold.

- Vinaykrishnan.

A writing exercise - Part II (A, B, M and S)

Here is part 2 of my writing exercise. Please bear with me.

A

Anti-pathetic against avarice,
Alternately altering all acts,
Altogether alone as an armor,
And allowing actions an act,
Awarding all actors,
Abnegating avarice and alleviating angst.

B

Big billion blazes blowing by Boston's breeze,
Billowing bulbous barns,
Blackened by blasted bombs,
Blue, bright barnacles,
Braving blundering bludgeons.

M

Mostly men meander meaninglessly,
Mashing moments miasmically,
Mending momentary madness,
Mentoring measly mentees,
Mainly moving minutely,
Metamorphosis made material.

S (Part I)

Sweet sorrow sings sadly,
Summing sorrow's sadness,
Smiling such sadly
Solving sorrow's solitude,
Simple sorrow's shambles shall seem,
Sombre sorrows shall sing,
"So sorry, Senorita Selena,
Something stupid said Sorrow."

That's 6 letters done now. 9 more to go.

- Vinaykrishnan.

P.S. Thanks Baby for the dictation. Love you.

Ramblings. As always.

I have noticed that many things make me happy. For no reason as such. But just because it's there. Or because it's happened. Some are things of real beauty. Some are weird. Some simply make me gaze at them for a few moments and smile inside before I turn my thoughts away to the more mundane things in life.

Rain. Seeing a sparrow hopping about. All the cables and wires entangled behind my PC. Leaves in the sunlight. Many tabs on my browser. My tattoos. I love my tattoos. I wish I could see the one my shoulder as well without having to look at the mirror. But I guess that's why I like this one the most.

Vinyl Record (LP) Players. The pics of my niece on Facebook. Cobwebs. Cobwebs are so beautiful especially when it has just rained and the sunlight filters through it. Every strand shines like multi-colored silk threads. And it gently vibrates with each movement of the spider on it. A trap, but a beautiful one.

A lot more things. But right now, I'd rather just not write about it. I've lost the mood to write.

I even like that I at least have the freedom of not writing if I don't want to. That I am not obliged to complete a post just because I have started it.

This, too, is beautiful.

- Vinaykrishnan.