Atrophy.

She’s screaming into your face with tears streaming down her eyes but you’re not really hearing what she says. You watch her face, red and ugly from emotion, veins popping out, mascara trails that reach her jawline. The more emotional they get, the colder you get, she’s gone too far away from any reasonable place of communication. All that’s left is frenzy.

They’re all the same, really, they are. They don’t get half as emotional with a woman as they do with a man. Is it something about us? Something about natural union that brings up things that usually aren’t there? Or is it a simple deception? I don’t care.

She’s done crying now, she won’t speak anymore. She won’t leave either, she wants you to know she’s in pain, indeed, she probably thinks it’s your fault, whats more, it probably is.

You’re reckless, selfish…emotionally handicapped. No woman would want to be with a man who mistakes dopamine for love, you know this, you tell them this, they rarely take your word for it. Most of them think they can heal you, most of them are foolish and superficial. I suspect they don’t really believe me when I tell them they’ll get hurt or when I tell them I’m cold, until it’s too late. “You don’t want love, you want a love experience.” Indeed.

You have what a woman needs superficially, charm, a spontaneous heart, and a sense of humor to make up for the lack of any real empathy, making a brutal deception possible. It always ends the same way, they realize and accuse, you accept and leave. Sometimes they cry, and they look at you through their tears and you know what they’re thinking, you can see it in there: disbelief. They didn’t clock you for a world class asshole. A world class HONEST asshole, I insist.

They want to be loved, unconditionally, till they stop loving you. Sometimes they want you to love them even when they don’t anymore, the whores. They want to be loved right till the end, I would oblige if I could, but I really can’t. How long do you think it’s going to take to get to know her? A month? Six months? An year? Usually a lot less, and after that there’s nothing, no surprises, no secrets to uncover, no great feminine wisdom to behold, and yet they want to be loved. Ask them why and they’ll tell you it’s because they love you.

I don’t care, let them cry, they’re all the same, lying, skin deep, simple minded and pretentious. They’re incapable of caring for anything that’s beyond the immediate, a boon some might say, spare me, for I’d rather be consumed by the universe than be satisfied in a bubble of mental stagnancy. In their hearts, I suspect they know themselves all too well and they remain unashamed, unlike me, I have to find myself everyday and not everything I uncover sits right with me.

I don’t care about them, I don’t care about me either, goddamn us both. I’m tired of the games I’m expected to play, the tests they puts me through, all the chemicals amok. I’m done, forget it, I’ll let them be from now on, I don’t need a companion, I need some help. So much for the love of a woman.

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Love, harshly.

They stared at each other, her on edge of the bed with eyes swollen red, him standing at the door, eyes hidden behind black shades. Cigarette smoke drifts up in fantastic shapes from around her fingers, the ash trailing long, the ashtray on the bed, full of butts, most had her lipstick at the end of them. On her other hand was a stick of plastic with two dots on it. The dots said she was pregnant, and they said it simply, just like the previous one had. The previous one was in the dust bin, with the same number of dots on it.

She asks him what he wanted to do about it. He says, get rid of it. It’s the rational thing to do. They were young, he says, she was young, they were just starting out, barely. It was the right thing to do, he says. She cringes at that. Her eyes are brown behind the film of tears, she blinks, they trickle down. She stares into his tinted sunglasses. I don’t know what I want, she tells him. He tells her it’s biology. Mothers are designed to feel protective of their offspring, even at the cost of self sacrifice, especially at the price of self sacrifice. It feels natural, like it’s the right thing to do. But it isn’t, he tells her.

He goes and sits next to her on the bed, she edges away momentarily, realizes she’s done it and moves back. He doesn’t seem to notice behind the glasses. She stares at him as he lights his own cigarette. They sit like that as the smoke rises around them in the tiny bedroom. Outside the only window of the room, the evening birds chirp and chatter, a distant child’s scream is heard, her voice giddy, and beyond that one could hear traffic. How real the world is, she thinks. She lies down on the bed, her head away from him and towards the window, and listens for more.

He turns his head to look at her, how tired she looks he thinks. But she also looked at peace, the strain around her eyes and the stress on her face disappeared. She had the look of one who was recalling memories of a distant past. He reaches out to touch her leg, she senses it and pulls it away and her face goes back to show the pain. She closes her eyes and her breathing eventually becomes a consistent rise and fall. He puts out his cigarette, goes to the window, opens it and lights one more. Golden light filters in, the kind that only shows up in summers. He suddenly thinks of the last summer of high school, some five years ago. How did things change so much in such short time he wonders. He watches the golden light slowly become orange and then red and then fade into a melancholy grey. She sleeps on behind him.

 

 

She wakes up to a dark room and the pain comes back with her, clutching at her chest like vines. The window is lit with yellow street light that does not penetrate it, the man is no where to be seen. She sits up and stares at the window before putting her feet on the cold floor and walking to it. Outside there is nothing but the street light spewing yellow, and the darkness surrounding it. A tear trickles out of her eye, down her pale cheeks, her jaw, before falling down on the window sill, reflecting back the faint light.
They sit next to each other on the bus, her head resting against the window, eyes staring out into the fields that are zipping by without actually looking at them, him next to her, eyes shaded, jaw clenched and shoulders that won’t relax. She looks at his reflection in the glass window, the man she loved. Loves? He’d asked her if she wanted anything before boarding the bus, water? Food? Candy? She said no. He got a bottle of water and bar of chocolate and slipped them into his bag. She felt repulsion and overwhelming love at the same time. She wanted to turn, grab his arm and put it around her neck and rest on his shoulders. He’d turn his head and smell her hair. They’d entwine their fingers and he would start tracing the tiny scar on her index finger, over and over again, the scar from her childhood when she accidentally shut the door over her hand. She tried to hold the tears back, she was tired of them.

He felt her eyes staring at him from the reflection on the window. He always knew when she was looking at him, he fancied he even knew when she was thinking about him. He was all to aware of the gap between them, of her leaning away from him, trying to get away. He wanted to touch her, but he knew she wouldn’t let him, he wanted to touch her anyway. Grab her and not let her go, even if she’s kicking and screaming, hold her head against his chest as she cries. He wanted to make love to her, make love to her and keep the pain away. He wanted to heal her.
He caught a whiff of her hair and breathed in deeply and held it.

It was a 3 hour ride to the city, to the clinic, neither of them spoke a single word to each other the entire way.

The city roared with sounds, smells and sights. They made their way to the clinic, dodging traffic and walkers alike. When they had to cross a busy road he’d switch sides and put himself towards the on coming traffic, then he’d switch sides again on the divider, always keeping her on the far end of the approaching traffic. She wanted to hold him then, hold him and tell him she loved him like she used to before this whole thing. She’d hold him and tackle him down on the bed, hold his head and feel his breath on her breasts as he fell asleep. Then she thought about the little piece of life in her belly, his and her life, combined and made into one and headed to the slaughter house and the hatred came back. Hatred that threatened to consume everything in it’s path. She imagined him going under the wheels of an oncoming truck. Blood, brains and bone on the black tar road under the burning heat of the march sun.

She realizes with horror what she just witnessed in her head and starts shaking. Fear replaces hatred replaces self loathing. She’s shaking now, he sees and puts his hand around her, she jerks away, he turns and resumes walking, eyes shaded, and shoulders straight.

He waits for her in the lounge of the clinic as she walks in with an attendant. Behind his sunglasses he studies those around him. Young men, old men young women, old women, all the same, here to resolve a declared problem, declared by whom? doesn’t matter, he thinks. The walls are covered with posters and images of contraceptives and condoms, and information on how to use them. Some were about family planning, most seemed to prefer prevention rather than responsibility. He closes his eyes.

She wakes him up with a nudge. The first thing he sees are her bloodshot eyes, she’d cried a lot. Then he registered the blank look on her face, the painkiller, he presumed. They made their way back through the congested roads and the traffic to the bus depot, and from there the receding city, the growing fields and occasionally the ocean on their left. He’d asked her if she was hurting, she’d said no. he asked her if she wanted to eat something, she’d said no. She stared straight ahead or out of the window, but never at him.

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The bus pulled in to their stop and they get out and start walking to her apartment in silence. When they reach it she turns to him and looks into his tinted sunglasses and tells him she doesn’t want to see him anymore. She tells him not to call her or even talk to her if they should run into each other. She does this simply, with no hatred or sadness or any other emotion. She also says bye. He nods his head once, the sunglasses slip a little and he pushes them back. Then she turns and walks away, leaving him alone on the street. He watches her shut the door behind her before turning and walking away.

He reaches his own apartment and walks up the stairs, his back straight, shoulders stiff, head held up high. He walks up the 5 stories to his flat, and takes his shoes off before stepping inside and closing the door behind him.

Inside he’s sitting on a chair, his sunglasses resting on the floor, his hands over his eyes and head, shoulders slumped and shaking gently, the yellow evening light from a window falling over his head, like some ironical halo.

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A Letter To The Lost

You do this often, and it works so do not despair.

It is not an exercise at all, but rather how nature unfolds, or at least how it’s supposed to unfold. Like a flower blooming.

Live here. Live now. Breath.

See everything for what it is, see it with love if you can but never resentment.

You stray the path, like misguided sheep, and then play shepherd and bring yourself back. So it is. So it is alright.

On good days you accept most of yourself, of bad ones I do not wish to speak on such a beautiful morning.

A sign, a guide, a conversation is what you crave for, to beg clarification of your righteous path. But you forget, such divine synchronicity only occurs when you forget the self and stop looking.

Blessed are you with rationality, riddled with emotions, yes, but rationality it is, hence the last good king predicts your success. Do not doubt it. For no harm shall come from it.

How do I stress the utter importance of vulnerability?

To stay open, to be subject to ideas, emotions, people, events and perhaps in some contexts, even thoughts, all the time maintaining your position as a rational man. Alive and observing, strong and grounded, while still letting himself get carried down roads that he knows not where they lead.

Because that is life. That is how you grow. And amid security, self assurance and comfort there is nothing but old age and self loathing.

So live and breath and be, in this holy reality while you last. Even as we speak your time grows short.

So live. And let nothing take this reflection from you, for than you would be a failure. A human non-being.

So live. And breathe.

Is.

I have been watching and I see nothing at last. I’ve been blessed with emptiness.

Everything on my mind can and will be dropped, leaving me whole and inspired.

My resistances, a seed to perversions. Levee broken, soul set free.

I am nothing, I know nothing, I don’t have to, I am.

Nothing has been solved, just a revelation regarding the lack of a problem.

I witness; my thoughts, my emotions, the fire rising from my belly through my spine to my skull. I am the watcher. I have the power to let power go.

I am nothing.

I am free.

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Of Old Friends Lost…

I’ve been loathing myself for too long,
in dark crevasses of my mind
shying away from light,
I’ve let these thoughts grow like a cancer

burning, consuming, eating away
at my fragile conscience,
an ever increasing void
that brims with your sickness

i feed on what you give me
and what you give me feeds on me,
your indifference makes my soul cringe
but longs for your warmth, now long gone.

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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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.

Fear of small talk

I wouldn’t say much to you
for I wouldn’t want to scare you away with questions
questions of what scares you, what makes you cry
makes you raise your fist against the skies and what makes you cringe at night.
show me your darkest corners, suffer me to pass through your insecurities
all worth it, just as long as I know you are real, breathing and alive.

wouldnt dare to disrespect you with small talk
wouldnt dare to dishonor you one of my million facades
would never want you to be anyting else

so screaming silence is what lay between us
as I contemplate how useless my everything else is
for tomorrow you might not see me like you did today
but today my esence burns for you, writhing, screaming, fire liquid
gushing through my gut, setting the rusty gears of my heart in motion again

didn’t think it would be like this
but so it is, and so it is
and love seems to have found me again.

Glad to see you

so glad to see you here,
hurtling through eternal nothingness,
where nothing was, and nothing will be
except this precious moment

so glad to see you,
we could ascend together,
if only i could cast my demons out,
we could ascend together,
expand and merge into the fabled light

help me stitch my lids together,
while i burn the wool that’s over yours,
pry open the third, and watch the pyramid burn,
against the fabled white light

but if that’s not to be
if this sacred meeting falls short
of burning down the illusion,
then let the light pass…for now,
for i am nonetheless, so glad to see you here.

The Kiss Eternal.

“Your an idiot, did i ever tell you that?”
“Only a couple of million times babe”.
she chuckled and punched him on the side.”I could get used to this you know?”
“Yeah, me too”.
She snuggled closer to him as the cold wind blew past them, and they stared across the ocean. Silent.His eyes were closed.The waves sounded beautiful. The wind blew her hair across his face and he breathed in her scent. And tried to keep it in.
He opened his eyes as she laughed out loud. “One of these days you’re gonna pass out babe”. He laughed with her. She breathed in deeply and sighed. She stared into the distance.
He stared at her.
“What?” she said without turning.
He remained silent. She turned to look at him. He was smiling. “What?”
“You.” he smiled. She laughed and was till laughing when he leaned in quickly and kissed her. “Cheap shot”,she laughed as she pushed him away “you’re an idiot babe”.
And they laughed together.