The Pact.

It was just one lousy beer. One lousy fucking beer. Usually it took about four for the underlying stupidity to surface and make me do something…well, stupid. Or reckless. Or a lethal combination of both.

I was with a friend S. It was one of those super boring evenings where you really have nothing to do but you just don’t wanna binge watch some crap on the screen. So we just decided to grab a few beers and kill the night. College huh.

About an hour later I and S are half way down the first beer and maybe it was just the beer (maybe that particular batch had a little extra something) or maybe it was just us, but we were really fucking buzzed. We were on the rooftop and it was a full moon day and the soft breeze carried the salty scent of the ocean.

So we start talking about life (surprise surprise) and S tells me how he is anxious to stop leeching off his parents and get a job and go out on his own. The dilemma being that he doesn’t want to work at a job. (who does?).

“Man, fuck a job. Fuck all that slave shit, go do something on your own.”
*sigh*
“yeah but…where the fuck do I start? What the fuck do I do? I have no idea. And all I get from people is this vague bullshit like “Follow your passion” or “chase your dreams“. Chase this (grabs reproductive organ) bitch. Gimme something helpful. Fucking clowns.”
“Hahaha yeah. Get a job. get a wife. Have a dozen kids. Retire when you’re too tired to do anything else”
I laugh. He laughs. The moon just watched.

I finish my beer and sit up. “You know what dude? I am never getting a job. I promise. Not to you. but to m- *burp* me. I am never getting a job. I am never settling down. Fuck the staus quo. I am going my own way, Fuck all this manufactured reality. Fuck the guy who got a job. I promise. I will not bend.”

I guess that fired S up. “You know what?……. Yeah. Fuck all that.”
He drained the bottle and smashed it against the other side of the wall. “Fuck a job”.

I grabbed mine and mimicked him. “Fuck marriage!”

He grabbed one of the many empty bottles lying around (it is a popular drinking spot) “Fuck adults!”. SMASH.

I fished out a whisky bottle. “Fuck social conventions!”

I let out a howl and S joins me.

SMASH.

SMASH.

SMASH.

S bends down and looks at me with a goofy grin. “Down to the last two bottles dude. Lets make a pact.” (I know…corny. But we meant it and we were drunk so fuck you.)

He hands me one, and clears his throat “We fucking swear on our balls that we will never bow down to society, social conventions or ever give a lovely flying fuck about what people think or say about us!” (I know. pretty colorful huh?) With a war cry he smashes the last bottle against the wall.

Me still laughing, I follow suit. Except instead of throwing it against the wall, I smash it against the wall while still holding it. Still laughing I hi5 S.

There is a wet splash. I guess there was still some booze left in the bottle. But as I held my hand up I saw the bone of my forefinger in the pale moonlight.

“Yo come check this out”. Still laughing.

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FAST FORWARD MODE:

S sees the blood and completely loses his shit. Drives me to the university health center on his motorbike. They don’t have an X-ray so they call an ambulance.

Never been in an ambulance before. Am still buzzed and pretty calm but S is shaken up by the blood and he doesn’t want to look at the bone.

At the hospital. Doc smells the booze and makes us confess before stitching it up after the X-ray.

3.A.M in the morning when we finally step out.

NORMAL MODE:

S lights 2 cigarettes and passes me one. (My hand is bandaged too heavily).
I pull hard and release a cloud of smoke and watch it float away. Dreamy. Never gets old. “My lungs are so happy”.
S laughs. “You’re fucking loco man. Crazy motherfucker. The only thing I want right now is my bed.”
We puff away, the same moon above us.
I chuckle. “Hell of a pact though right?”
S glances at his watch. “Yeah man sure. I wish these fucking ambulances did return journeys or something”.
“Hmm. Let’s just get an auto”

As we ride back I glance at my hand. The whole thing probably meant nothing. And S and I never mention the pact whenever we told the story over the next few weeks. I am pretty sure he forgot actually.

But not me.

The 9 stitches will scar and be a reminder for the rest of my life.

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The (ir)Rationale Asshole

“Can you please not do that?”
“Do what?”
She pointed at my restless leg. “It jerks the desk and I can’t write.”
So I sped up. The desk shook more visibly and the noisily.
She looked at me in disbelief. She was used to nice people, I could tell. Some people almost never run into assholes. Not even the occasional one. At least not at 10 in the morning in the library. Well, bummer.

The look turned dirty as I now started moving the other leg. The desk shook pretty nosily now and I started getting similar looks from the other nerds around me. I held her eyes the whole time. She still had a look of confusion underneath the annoyed, exasperation. I finally stopped. Smiled at her. Winked. And then I got up, put my H.P Lovecraft book in my pack, and walked away.

I didn’t have to do that. I could have just stopped my restless foot jerking. I usually do when people point out. But rationale people expect rationality form others, and when they don’t get it, they either lose their shit and in the process sacrifice their own rationality. Or. They don’t know what the fuck to do, which is the case here with ms.Chemistry PinkEarphones.

I didn’t have to do that. But I could. So I did. And It does not matter in the grand scheme of things. But I did it.

*shrugs*

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Where Is My Mind?

the clock is ticking on the wall,
the sun goes down, leaving shadows behind
betraying light slowly fading away,
and now darkness is, and still the clock ticks.

time is running out and leaves my soul crying,
trapped between what should be and what is,
abandoned by everything except your dreams,
the clock is not your enemy, you are.

is someone else how you want to be?
stumble and fall and get up crying,
walking through this senseless maze,
your essence trailing behind you, fading.

scattered and disconnected and lost in the cosmos,
beautifully dense mind, pitifully empty heart
nothing sets you on fire anymore
nothing calls you out anymore.

endless rancid pits of negativity and disgust
visions of elevation wake you up from restless sleep
only to despair at it’s falsity
and you hear the clock ticking in the darkness.

mindless

Random Shit (Do not read this if you’re a busy person who values their precious time)

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City skylines and dark moody clouds make me want to laugh and cry at the same time. It rained this morning…for approximately 30 seconds, but at 5 in the morning am pretty much the only one up and I couldn’t share this miracle with anyone else. Because it IS miracle. At least in east coastal India in the middle of April.

I think I’ve been trained to look for reason and logic in places where there simply is none. I understand cause and affect, but I also understand that everyday, things happen that defy logic and rationality. Like the woman who lifted her car to save her trapped baby under it. It just happened. There’s a big fuck you to logic and rationality right there. Not to mention physics.

So I was sweating my balls at the gym the other day (Ok not just my balls, but you get it), I was lifting 25 kg on the bench press machine, which was an upgrade (am a skinny guy, don’t hate) and I finish my standard 3 reps and i think to myself “Damn, at this rate am gonna turn into a monster” and bam, the track on my iPod changes and it’s Monster by Imagine Dragons. Coincidence? of course! And am leaving a little while later and I think back about this and I see this guy jogging by in a Monster t-shirt. Double coincidence? OF FUCKING COURSE!!!

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Desperado

What does it take?

Will you sacrifice everything you are right now for what you will become?

And the clouds split, the rain stopped, the sun broke out and I fell down on my knees, tears streaming down my red eyes, screaming “yes!, yes!”.

L.S.D and a few other old friends.

I’ve been here. The acid is still in my head as i type out these words and it feels like something has to be said about what happened while the memory, and more importantly the feeling lasts. I’ve just realized I’ve never written on acid before. I am incredibly sensitive to everything right now, and a little vulnerable. But it feels friendly.

Nothing has been solved. Nothing has been accomplished. But i don’t see why something has to be accomplished in the first place. who came up with that shit?

Everything goes.

Communication is vital. But sometimes much is said even when you’re not speaking.

Funny is good. Funny is awesome. Laugh. Cause it’s funny. (WTF :P)

A person who is a good tripper is the kind of person you want around you.

I need to remember to surround myself with positive things. This is so fucking important and just so obvious why the fuck would i let some dumb, retarded shit into my reality? Need to be careful.

There is an incredible difference between people who want to get better and people who think they are people who should want to get better. The latter are toxic.

I miss my friends.

I can’t think and type. i Can just type. Thinking is a hindrance. it adds impurities.

Breathe. Motherfucker.

Did i tell you am on acid? 😛

L.S.D didn’t answer the questions. It just showed me there is no one to ask to.

How am i ever going to end this post?

The Unbroken

the clouds moan above as if in sympathy,
for the silent one below
and then the tears roll,
hurtling down on the lone one

head raised to the skies,
only thing colder then him is his heart
an empty smile to the heavens,
he hears the silences between the thunder

timeless, sacred child,
no one can break his heart
this unholy defiance of love,
might scare some, but not him,
wild one below

blessed aloneness amongst a pit of writhing souls,
incredibly vulnerable and yet unbreakable
blessed one, dreaming of ascension,
amid the tears and cries of the skies.

“We’re a generation of men raised by women”

Quote’s from Fight Club for those who are wondering.

A generation of clueless men. A generation trying to live up to some imaginary expectations of a vague entity.

So the question is, what makes a man? Cliched? Sure. Pertinent? Undoubtedly. Forget what a women expects of you, forget how you’re supposed to be like and forget everything you thought you knew about how society works. Empty the cup. Make space. And maybe we’ll figure it out. Maybe.

Death From Love Shower

She was 5 foot 1 inch, maybe 2, definitely not more then 3. Huge eyes that could stare into your soul and if you looked into them too long you, would forget what you were saying.

For someone so small she was quite bossy. So when I refused to move a couple of seats so that she could sit next to the air-conditioner, her face turned sour, her fists clenched and she called me “pig headed dick”. I think that’s when I fell for her.

I had to bend down to kiss her even when she was standing on her toes.

Her hands pulling my hair.

Her scent.

And her eyes…those goddamn eyes. Staring into my soul.