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BANG BALLS
FREEDOM OF SPEECH NOTHING SHOULD BE IMPOSED
IDEAS NOT LEECHED ONLY CREATIVELY COMPOSED |
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Jasmine
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Sunday, May 31, 2009
Lighting Up. It all starts with a plant From some far-off tobacco farm Where only the finest are grown and cultivated (Where yoga gurus are also levitated) Dried, packed and treated Tar, chemicals and poisons are then added Rolled into quaint white rolls Straight, no creases, no folds Packed into boxes of twenty Sealed with silvery foils ever so pretty Garnished with images of gore We HAPPY-ers all know they're all mythical lores We pay a premium price When we should be paying that much only for rice We pack it on the back of our hands Or palms or the tables' straightened bends Unwrap the plastic Open the foil Fish out that one stick And you're ready to yourself spoil The flick of the Zippo Suck it in like a Hippo Blow out the first puff Suck in the next Soon you'll huff And you'll puff Dreaming of the river Styx Suck it in, suck it up Close your eyes and let yourself drop Into a world of outerspace Filled with pink and frilly lace Savour that moment Ever so pleasant You start a pattern of lifting it to the lips Sucking it, letting the smoke slip Shadowing you from the realities of the world Withdrawing you into the center of a pearl Where all's shimmery and gold You'll always be warm and never cold But you do know, that they too do end As it draws nearer to the face You feel the warmth from the ember And the stark reality of life slowly enters The transient respite now over Till you light up the next, another. Wisdom From Beyond. Well sometimes, the reality is emotion. And thought is what blinds us. DAMN SEX. Wednesday, May 06, 2009
Desolation. The nights are hardest when you spend them alone. Some company, you think to yourself, would be great right now. Just that little cuddle; maybe a warm snuggle. Some form of a touch; that might just be the remedy to this whole fiasco. The days have turned to night. Darkness of the night is now personified with the brilliance of the rising sun. Shine Jesus Shine! That's what they used to sing. It used to have that little bit of hope - that last sliver one could hang on to. But now, even that has been snatched away. The moon of craters, might very well be the heart of sorrow one carries. Defaced with craters, what an apt allusion to the scarred heart that beats within. The heart's a symbol of vitality, the elan vital of life. But now, what's left? How can something as dead and tragic as such, be motivation one craves for? What really went wrong? Well, what even went right? The emotions, they well up inside. All ready to burst through the floodgates. Wait, you need to hold them in. It's weak to appear frail. Or is it not? Even the strongest fall. Maybe I too should try falling once. Suicide? Death? Would that be the answer that would satisfy you? Maybe. But dying a nobody is death by a loser. No no, this can't happen; not to me, at least. You don't want to be a statistic, nobody does. But face it, someone in this world has to be THAT unsightly obtuse statistic. It might just have to be me. Is there anything worth holding on to? Happiness - that's it! The departure to greener pastures. Grass is always greener on the other side. What you fail to do is to look down at where you're standing. The grass beneath your feet, they may very well be the lushest green the meadows have seen. Maybe, you just haven't opened your eyes. What you seek is rarely found. And what is found is rarely seeked. Retrospect, introspect. That might just be it. The thoughts, these emotions. They drive you insane. A throbbing pain, both in the heart and brain. It strikes that chord - that chord of pain. An awesomely numbing sensation, craved for, desired. But after that initial orgasm and release, you start to see darkness engulfing your world. Some say it's depression. I say, it's a psychosis. Tuesday, May 05, 2009
Secrecy, is a state of mind where paranoia and denial have great roles to play. Monday, May 04, 2009
The Room of White. As all rooms have, this room too had - an entrance, a portal to the other parallel universe we always dreamed of. A place where little prancing ponies grazed the green pastures, of rainbows and pots of gold. And. That ephemeral and divine belief that a heaven of some sort (where purity and innocence resides) actually exists. The entrance to this haven of purity, it almost served to comfort the mind clouded with the darkness of an eternal abyss. The walls of the room; they reflected all the rays and beams of incandescence the room held into your sight perceptors. It was a blinding image. One of light so bright, you almost forgot the existence of black. It was mind numbing. He took a seat right in the center of the square room. Equidistance from the four right-angled corners, right where that imaginary X marked the center of the room. He sat facing a corner. He stared. He started to paint his mind a blank. This blank, it wasn't empty. It was hard to describe. It was a pseudo emptiness that served as a vacuum for his emotions. His mind started to spin, the room of light was now a spinning whirl. Very much like a washing machine switched on to full power, where soapy, foamy bubbles formed. It seemed snow like, almost. He started to wonder if the lack of colour was actually black, or if it wasn't, would it have been the other end of the spectrum? The other hue at the other end of the colour slider. The paleness of this room. Well, he concluded that if light were made up of seven separate colours. The lack of colours must be black. But now, he wasn't convinced. You see, if you mixed any colour to a point of saturation, it would turn black. So was the lack of colour still black? Darkness could be compared to black; and light to the paleness of paper. He couldn't resolve this problem either. This room that he was in, it was meant to make him feel hopeful. But now, as everything else in the world had done to him, this room too has imposed darkness on his mind. To think that an asylum would have helped. |
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