Fade Out

This one be for dad… Happy Birthday!!! Wherever you are and in case you stumble upon this…

She walks over me, hold my nuts tighter will ya? I shut my mouth, sealed with your arse! Funny love we have; i love my life!!!

Break the silence; he said and oblivion; he watched.

Stuck in constant repentence, he lived every second in the past and he looked forward to a future on fast-forward mode. In barren lands; he found a shouder to rest his head, fighting the dirt on his palms. The dirt always seemed to win, if it weren’t his palms, it was his arm, his calf, but it was his, it was him. Addicted to death, he was on the edge, weak in the knees… he was the man.

He looked at the reflection that the prism puddle had on display, he mocked the figure till it was too late. Floating in the journals of dirt, he saw the reflection become him. The silverware was used yet it seemed brand new, it even matched the antique wood-work. Priceless it felt, heritage in the making it looked and in the absence of a bloodbath, he fell to paranoia. Crazy beings never seems to change, his blood boiled under his skin and nothing could change that.

Now, he cried if they was a note he could play, evicted he stood, his body to rest and his soul a parasite. He knew the truth and the truth seemed to dig into his sores and take him by the line, but it all felt fair cause’ everything is fair in the games of dirt. His insatiable love was dying… Giant clocks ticking, living with angels, serenity redefined and cures to fucking ignore. The silence seemed broken, warped…The dagger sunk into his chest, ripping his innards out – warped! The waves of remorse tried biting into his left-overs, the next secong ’she’ was seeing puking her guts out.

…and finally as his emotionless leftovers looked back at oblivion…Oblivion seemed silent…!!!

Here’s another take on what we all pay for dearly, every single nano-second of our existence, simply put; we hang on with a grip that amounts up to an atrocious amount of mayhem, even though the cost of it doubles as I write this. I’m talking about none other than the prophecy of sorts, we run after playing “hold your genatalia”, after called life.

Life, as most of us see, it no matter how well-off or not so well-off we are, we end up equaling it upto a set of fragile expectations that keep piling up on one another and it always seems to be too heavy for our weak shoulders. Our minds are nothing but fragments sit at the feet of our thoughts, emotions and physical wants. As I like putting it, this be called “amenities”. These very amenities give our at times spineless existence, a need to live for reasons that if we look at are nothing but shameful aspects of the global being. On the contrary, what makes for its downfall is the parasitic and poserish antics of ours that boil down to a significant factor which we all seem to deny flat-out, and this fact also makes it extremely scary.

This is how the downfall factor works or I’d dare to imagine this is how it works – You think of dying, but you don’t seem to find a sharp enough object to to “go ahead”, you can’t stand up cause your knees are too weak to bear the guilt of the matter and lastly the regret aspect of making others cry and breaking the fragile smiles that always seem to put a smile on your face.

I know theres no point to this post and this is also one of those antics however, that is what makes it different or does it?

As the lone teardrop formed a crystal ship at the section of his eye and forehead and his contemplations descended into the liar and bastards that somehow always felt a need to breathe, he sank into captivity of the blurred lines of  the realms of the deep blue empty spaces of the unreal world. His palms cenched together, he cried “Lord! Have mercy on me.” “Lord, if I’m tired give me the strength to carry on.”

His voice became this faint whisper that had a deep stench of anger and his movements became disjointed, he thought; “So what if my contentment is just pure lust and I will choke in the house of god, so what?”  His words, his thoughts were sinking deep into the sands that fed on waste like him, he tried to make poetry of his life by pulling it into sequence bit by bit, he tried.
Feeling like deprivation’s relative, his brains starving with questions that had no answers and the fundamental truth bcoming an endagered species, he looked up at the figure that stood by him and screamed; “Kill all ye fucking politicians, they’re all parasites who mouth lies and fascist platitudes in a suit and smile that would melt the biggest grouch on this friggin’ planet”. The figure looked back at him with a stare that defined the word blank. He went down to his knees and held his hand and remembered Mark Renton’s words…

“Choose life. Choose a job. Choose a career. Choose a family. Choose a fucking big television. Choose washing machines, cars, compact disk players, and electrical tin openers. Choose good health, low cholesterol, and dental insurance. Choose fixed interest mortgage repayments. Choose a starter home. Choose your friends. Choose leisure wear and matching luggage. Choose a three-piece suit on higher purchase in a range of fucking fabrics. Choose DIY and wonder who the fuck you are on a Sunday morning. Choose sittin’ on that couch watching mind-numbing, spirit-crushing game-shows, stuffing fucking junk food into your mouth. Choose rottin’ away at the end of it all, pissin’ your last in a miserable home nothing more than an embarrassment to the selfish, fucked-up brats that you’ve spawned to replace yourselves. Choose your future. Choose life. But why would I want to do a thing like that? I chose not to choose life. I chose somethin’ else. And the reasons? There are no reasons. Who needs reasons when you’ve got heroin?”

…. intermission…

…He passed out!!!

“He tightened the rubber tube around his arm, clipped the edge of the world. Looked around as if he was about to enter the gates of heaven, his time to meet god, his time and it was his time. His spiked vein looked back at him, it felt as if it cried for his help, the edge of the world drew some stale fluid, just so it would balance out that world with the heavenly walls that were about to greet him like he was part of this walled empire.”

He woke up from his dreary dream, pushing the clouds to a side to make way for his head to pop out and look at the stars. As his innards were growing into this big ball of orgasmic powers that held little competition to the winner of the orgasmic contest. His heart pounded hard, so hard that it beat in an audible rhythm that if anyone was sitting in front would spring up and dance… his heart was in tune with his body, soul and mind. He was one with his own and he knew this was just the starting as the waters of heavens soothe his brain and caressed his body and took his soul was to be taken on a journey to a far away kingdom and back.

He wiped the vapour of the clouds of his face that seemed to pour out of his eye sockets at a pace that would and could be rationalized as “profusedly”. He swerved out of the way; on-coming ship seemed to wreck his journey, so to the left he sailed on riding the oceans, the same oceans that had diluted poison as weed and electric eels as the only fish. On the horizons he saw what he didn’t want to believe – a mermaid.
She swims along in peace, like she fucking owned this empire – it was his, all his and nobody else’. He swam, swerved, backstroked, but he swam, he swam as hard as he could. Fluttering hands, lungs panting for more air, choking up with the oceans left-overs, but he swam like his life depended on it. “Goddamn bitch, this is my castle, my empire, how dare she even try to wet her fuckin’ fins in it”: his eyes becoming red with anger, and the drops of perspiration that confirmed the frustration and wrath.

The next few moments of aquatically inclined exercise seemed to take it all out of him when he felt the adrenaline pumping in again, she was close, real close. As he swam closer, his anger seemed to subside; the sense of gravity that pulled him down so much all this time seemed to become a shape-shifter. Finally, there she was up against a Berlin wall just that this one too had crumbled and fallen as fast as the exact opposite that it was built in. His heart-beat wasn’t playing his favourite tune anymore, yet it was playing a tune that signified and stemmed a hate that was likable, a concept he had only seen in the snuff he had whacked off the other kids in school. His tentative hands reaching out, he named her, she named him all with corresponding smiles, his back stiffened, so did his legs, though his knees gave-way… the world was giving way and dawn was making its way into what seemed to be a reckoning of things to come. He knew it would feel like a downer, but he was ready to take a chance on the figure that seemed not so far away…

“He woke up the next evening, with a head that weighed a fucking ton, a body that was buried deep in a layer of caked perspiration and cum. He could smell not the humanly waste that seemed to make him throw up at the sheer sight of it, but he smelt the stack of sea-shells and pearls that lay beside him… she lay there motion-less like she was a fish out of water. He needed another spiked vein stare back at him…”

Wrote two pieces…

Some Erotica gone bad is HERE

and then we have some random side on problems HERE.

This moment is one of those type of time-spans that have no sense of rationality, yet I try to make it sound as rational as I could get. This is one of those moments that I hate being in, the bravado of this thesaurized fireball makes me laugh and laugh aloud, cause’ according to me, pain does get hillarious after a certain point of time. I keep telling myself or rather I keep asking myself – “Why did you have to enter, exit and then enter all over again the emotional world of the normal mature human being? Why did you have to give in to the other side of your brain, when the corresponding side had another direction to where your life should head on to?” I guess these answers, like just this moment will keep changing and will always differ from the last time I saw and felt myself in this perpendicularly alligned point of contact that coincides with the so-called human touch.

The answer for today is – “I will always fall on my knees to come undone, and no matter what, I would always come running back even if that meant my world coming to an unforsenic end.” “The wasted golden seconds have vanished”, said an “educated” friend, but all I can do is shake my head in a gesture of negativity in the face of that comment. I decline myself the urge to let it blow over like matters of my past life, I decline for the simple reason that I cannot “just” let it blow over. I am more than just imprisoned to this emotion, this emotion will be my ticket to the realms of the unreal world. I can feel it in my veins and in every pulsating heart beat of mine, I can hear it in the music I feed off, I can taste in the salted crispness of the prisms that cant wait to be set free and flow down my face in freedom, and following that revolution, every humanly touch that has set base in my system.

I maybe “wasted” as “sir” here, likes putting it, did I ever question you sir when it came to your other side?  Did I? The answer, both you and I know is in the negative! I hate to believe in fear, and I cant force myself to believe in people, even if I had to force myself to. However, just to prove that there is still a human inside of me, I shall add – I don’t want to believe in people, but I end up doing so and I hate myself for it. People ask me, “Who are you lying to? Me or Yourself?” I wish I had an answer to that, I really wish I had an answer, It would have solved a million queries, problems and so on and so forth. I guess I’ll keep fighting certainity and I will always fail miserably. This same combination will do me in one fine day, but I can assure you – that would be a “fine” day. The simple reason being the fact that I would not have to go through this moment… all over again!

Here’s a funny incident that happened a couple of weeks ago, funny cause’ it seems to be haunting me and drving me over the edge of paranoia of sorts. It so happened last week I was drinking with a few friends (or so I believe) when one of them, who I regarded till this moment as one of the closest musres up (after an over-dose of deep-throating crap); “Gary, I’ve known you for 11 years, and I’ve never quite understood you.” After which, I showed an absolutely emotionless face and said in a tone to match my face and asked; “Why do you think so?” He replied with a wry smile on his face; “I just haven’t quite understood you, I’ve never been really close to you”. I smiled at him, extremely dissapointed and pissed to an extent, though not even a point zero percent showed on my face, I replied; with a smile and said; “Dude, that’s your problem. Not mine, but I could help you…” I was cut off when he intervened; “That’s your problem, you always want it your way, you’re like this brat”. The words sort of trailed off into the night sky but it still rings on, two weeks later. After, I heard this I walked off to get myself a fresh drink, cause’ I couldn’t help but gulp my last drink to digest this heart-breaking piece of news. Now, any person who on the outside may see this as a over-reaction of sorts, but then that person wasn’t there when he heard the tone n his voice. Some may even blame it on the alcohol, I know for a fact that none of us were drunk till then, we were both pretty much sober. Some may even still have the audacity to say “I’m a brat”. Maybe, they’re even right to say I am one considering I’m like this last person to be spoken to or in a vert ‘bratty’ way of putting it – “normally, it’s always your way that goes down.”