dont think anyone can say it better than....

I can’t live the button-down life like you. I want it all: the terrifying lows, the dizzying highs, the creamy middles. Sure, I might offend a few of the bluenoses with my cocky stride and musky odors. Oh, I’ll never be the darling of the so-called “City Fathers” who cluck their tongues, stroke their beards, and talk about “What’s to be done with this Homer Simpson?” – Homer Simpson

my flight

looking at the world through kaleidoscopic eyes, chaeye, tang, electricity, an honest open smile, a surprised hand resting on my knee, the sound of children laughing or is it us, letting someone else drive all the rides, walking to the sound of trees, dreaming with open eyes, listening to the music of silence, taking the long way home- and living, just living life with a joy that never seems to die.
there is no end to it.
there is nothing beyond the magic.

thinking as a non-thinking entity

“Koi guum kaheen hai
Koi guum kaheen
Koi soch bhi unki apni nahee…”

'Thinking' is supposed to purge you of your one-dimensional acquisitive views. except, now it’s merely a tool to ruthlessly crack results from 9 to 5. the very process of unmasking is gradually becoming a thick layered anthropomorphic mask, and most of the times i don’t have the energy or the desire to peel off the scrupulous layers.
hence, i am here on this blog, which is not just a monologue for me. it's an anaesthetic, an energized recuperation through expressing a singular tinge of insanity without any of the routine and painstakingly disciplined copywriting, which i am becoming accustomed to writing.

so many graves to fill tonight...

lights are slowly going out. i am sitting still on a lone desk in my office trying to move towards some transcendental moment. there is no hope of going home yet. not unless i manage to pull off a couple of briefs and that i wont be able to do on this blog. but the will to close the window and get down to work is non-existent. its as if my hands are an extension of this keyboard and moving away for even a minute will be a betrayal to them. i havent enjoyed the zombie phase this much since ages. is this leading somewhere? is this moving onto some profound mahatma phase that will add some meaning to an otherwise routine day? no. perhaps tonight i want nothing to lead anywhere and me to sit amidst my clutter till nothing can be done.

falling for a flight

it is hard to tell where to begin. zillions of words residing in the dictionary atop my table, are all mine. and all my words are songs to sings, but i neither have the voice nor the skill to express them otherwise. so i begin my flight with someone else's words, who said it so brilliantly that his words became my confession.

"even though slow and sluggish
evening comes,
and stops as with a gesture
your song;
even though you are alone
in the infinite sky,
and your body weary,
and in terror you utter
a silent mantra
to horizons hidden by the veil
-bird, o my bird,
though it is darkening,
do not fold your wings." [tagore]