Thoughts, garbled and jumbled, set and sorted, thrown in this medley of texts for your reading pleasure! =D Poems, notes and just plain randomness.. :)
Thursday, April 21, 2011
Mihir's Climb - A Story
Wednesday, April 13, 2011
Night Time Diaries Part 2

Blink blink blink goes the cursor. What an enigmatic existence I lead after the lights out :D Music blasts through my ears at full volume and I subtly continue to bob my head along to the beat. Once I start writing, it's hard to stop. Its an addictive drug.
Nerd glasses?
-Check
Comfy pillow?
-Check
Covers to keep me toasty
-Check
Well, it looks like we're all set. Lets delve into the mystic world of black and grey shall we?
Sometimes soltitude in silence is not enough. Sometimes I feel the need to escape further from the noisy noisy world.
Which is why this time, instead of a ramble, I shall write a poem.
Now, I'm just gonna wing it, so I warn you, it may not make much sense :D
But read on any ways... Tap tappity tap tap
Purple moonlight and silvery grey stars
The wind beneath my sails,
A whisper from Mars
Sweet and sublime, an ocean of dreams
No boundaries no limits
As vast as it seems
Curiouser and curiouser, Alice's world down the hole
Birds soar the azure
Monkeys swing from the pole
We dance in the rain, we walk to the light
We revel in the glow
Of velvet so bright
We search and we seek, our purpose on earth
Why are we here?
On Gaia our hearth
The pale blue ocean and the swell of the seas
The misty grey sky
Atomic green trees
God has a plan, a plan for us all
Are we just pawns
Waiting for a call?
Or are we the masters of free will enchained
Purple moonlight and grey
Plus silver maintained
So there you have it! :D
I'm done.
Sooo my question is,
What is our purpose here on Earth?
Wednesday, April 6, 2011
Night Time Diaries Part 1

My neck is messed up and my head hurts.
Friday, March 18, 2011
God Complex
Monday, March 7, 2011
Original Individual - A Poem


Tuesday, February 22, 2011
I Feel Sorry For Your Scapegoat
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Tuesday, February 15, 2011
Love - A poem and a short ramble

Beauty, Gouge out the glass eyes

Wednesday, February 9, 2011
Niko Von Monroe - A Biography Of Sorts

Being a Gemini, alters to my personality come pretty easily to me. It is pretty simple to separate my thoughts and feelings from one mode and switch into third person view, to see my situation objectively... To be able to write as an outsider. This entry, previously on Facebook, came from a darker time, almost as if Jekyll wrote about Hyde.
Sshh!
Shut up.
Can you hear it? This is the sound of the walls coming down. Taptap tapping away on a keyboard.
Isolation is a guilty pleasure. He types from a different perspective so that he can distance himself from the pain.
A thousand voices.
A thousand faces.
He feels it you know. He isn't made of Teflon. An empty carcass, bloated and lacerated. Drained of vitality.
Devoid of emotions.
Shell shock
Lived by the book. Pinpricks across the skin. Razor sharp kisses across his heart.
We understand. You are not to blame, even as you pushed him towards the precipice while he lay there broken.
It was clearly his fault.
Provocation
Red nightmares of a blinding white insanity. He writes while the world around him crumbles and falls and he is buried in the chasm created by the relentless taptaptap of the keyboard. It takes one to know one.
A bullet in the brain. Aching to escape. Mumblings through a wired jaw.
Speak up or the crowd won't hear you.
They need answers and you are the one scapegoat.
He hides his flaws.
Overkills.
Overcompensates.
He hates himself for being unique.
Masochist
Acid green fetish doll. Painted up nice and pretty on the guillotine. The blade drops and there is silence.
The roaring mass got what it wanted.
Blood.
Demons feast till the end of time and martyrs are created by unfortunate accidents. The brave ones fall and their remains are the gruesome trophies of a time gone by. A battle well fought.
Blood and guts for the winners and the losers lick their wounds with salt. Shallow opinions thrown at survivors while the corpses of the fallen draw admirers like flies.
Irony
Plastic blue suffocation till the everlasting Christ bleeds dry on the cross. The sin grows back and he screams for temporary solace. Smooth porcelain talent like flawless marble.
But an esteem easier to crack than candied glass.
Silver streaks in the thunderous clouds, because he rains on his parade.
Confidence like butterflies, it comes and goes.
He is an incubus, for gods that haven't quite left us yet. Raised in a putrid womb of metal so sterile, air so toxic that he gave up and decimated his desire to survive.
"Singled out in a hateful crowd, over and over again"
He screams while the desecration of matters holy and pure commences. The harness can only support him for so long. After that, it becomes his undoing. The leather bites into the skin while the metal sears his soul.
A broken toy, with artificial intelligence and a taste for self-destruction. Incarcerated. Evacuated. Left to die. He picks himself up and brushes it off;
Only to resume the taptaptap on the keyboard, till the eternal flame consumes him on the cross.
Quick update
Cyber-Generation

Tuesday, January 11, 2011
Change (and evil waitresses)

Change is a very major issue in most people's lives. Change, as we all know, may be good, like when instead of spilling hot coffee on you, the waitress actually brings it to you safe and sound. Or it may be bad, like when said waitress ALSO drops your Spanish omlette into your lap. So what I am basically trying to say is,