Through that fog

Voices in my head....

As the cheerless towns pass my window
I can see a washed out moon through the fog
And then a voice inside my head, breaks the analogue
And says

"Follow me down to the valley below You know
Moonlight is bleeding from out of your soul"

I survived against the will of my twisted folk
But in the deafness of my world the silence broke
And said

"Follow me down to the valley below You know
Moonlight is bleeding from out of your soul"

"My David don't you worry
This cold world is not for you
So rest your head upon me
I have strength to carry you"

(Ghosts of the twenties rising Golden summers just holding you)

"Follow me down to the valley below You know
Moonlight is bleeding from out of your soul
Come to us, Lazarus
It's time for you to go"

- Lazarus by Porcupine Tree

Convenient Melancholy

Feeling utterly bored. And this is inspite of having so much work to do, so many things to set right and so many projects to manage. I had been wishing for some change all these days. Now that it has finally arrived, I have this ghostly cloud of melancholy always hovering over my head. It could engulf me at any time and let go whenever it pleases. Right now, I am totally surrounded. It is strange because I know I have no reason to lose cheer.
Yeah, it isn't boredom exactly - am just thoroughly disgruntled and conveniently melancholic. I feel this is the mind's tactic to evade responsibility, to resist change and remain conveniently stuck in the rut. It is another of its games targeted at derailing me. Never mind.Considering I have started working on establishing a fulfilling relationship with it, this should not come as a surprise to me. I never expected a smooth start. And I am not the one to give up either.

The Giver?

Talking of His gifts, I am reminded about his ostensible magnanimity. He gifts quite sparingly most of which are only token gifts. They are like advertisements for 50% off sales with a tiny asterisk relieving it of all its practical utility. When His gifts are not token - these are even rarer, by the way - they have an excruciatingly small shelf life. You haven't even held it in your hand, admired it, felt the pleasure of possessing it and poof! - it's gone!
I wonder if that is because we don't deserve it. We haven't yet learnt to accept them gracefully. We are not grateful enough. See? We don't deserve it.
Then why give at all? Why raise hopes? Why leave us all worse off than when we didn't have it at all? Only so that we learn we don't deserve it?
Funny, isn't it? His ways... as mysterious as they are cunning.


Music of the Moment (?): my tea's gone cold i'm wondering why i got out of bed at all...

alone

For the first time in my life, I feel lonely. I haven't learnt to accept His gifts gracefully. It is disgraceful.
I am ashamed.

Pervert Meat

I just found out one of our new professors is gay. Of course, it would have been all nice, rosy and highly inconsequential except of course, for some academic interest and finally for some diversity in my boring college life if he had stopped at just that - being gay. The problem is that he is a pervert and not to mention, an unabashed lech. I have had some difficulty in reconciling myself to the fact that one of my teachers is a shameless and disgusting lech, the very thought of whom makes my insides squirm.

One of my classmates was told, albeit privately and ostensibly, also in jest that he should pull his pants down so that he could be recognised by this desperate gay schmuck! I was terribly appalled to say the least. It is simply an insult to the chair of the teacher that one is forced to abuse the person occupying it in such degrading terms. And I fail to understand how the University has managed the terrible feat of stooping so low in its policy considerations and administration that this klutz, of all respectable and learned people in the world provides the last (and only) resort to the University's current pathetic state of affairs by graciously agreeing to take up this course! I shudder to think about the plight of the juniors whose education suffers unfairly and unwarrantedly in the hands of institutions with such abominable lack of foresight. God bless them all! And I thank my stars - for the first time in the day today - for this being my last year in this University. I am concerned, scared and at the same time, relieved at some level.

Anyway, back to the point. Most guys in class are, of course, up in arms against this guy and are driving the concerned authorities desperate to find an alternative or chuck him out. Either way, it isn't going to work out. He has been the last and only oasis in the desert for the University. Which takes care of the second choice. The reaction of the guys brings in the form of a outrage brings with it feelings of pleasant surprise along with some memories. And mind you, this reaction is well before the latest sexual banter of Mr. Pervert with the student. These are sad memories of the very same guys not standing up for a fellow classmate and a girl who happened to be in a similar situation, thanks to another male member of my class.

It was her mistake, they said. She wore such clothes, they said. She behaved in such a way, they said. He committed no sin, they said. He is being demonised, they said. Sheik Taj Din al-Hilali, Australia's senior-most muslim cleric called women uncovered meat. They attract "sexual predators", he said. They will be eaten by the "cats", he said. It isn't the cat's fault - oh no! The problem is with the meat, not the cat.

And one fine day, this gay teacher comes along promptly subjecting him - the guy to stares, gestures, banter and actions (you know, all those normal things) which are, to her - the girl, simply reminiscent of the everyday happenings in our lives, and whoa - they are all up in arms. This is sexual harassment, they scream. They are ready to revolt, to make noise, yell, disrupt peace and generally gather attention. Last known, a guy was nearly in tears at the idea of having to suffer the pervert's gaze for four consecutive hours (which may extend to six since he cannot keep track of time!) every week. Wonderful! Welcome to her world!

Not a day passes without her shoulders being rubbed against, without her body being the object of the lustful gaze of many pairs of eyes, without her physical attributes being commented upon, without being whistled at by absolute strangers, without her being felt up, messed with and objectified. At the end of the day, she only ends up developing a thick skin but finds very little support or understanding from him.

Finally, he can at least empathise with her, if not support her. And that in itself, is going a long way.

Thank you, Mr. Pervert! And for the record, you disgust me still.

Watermark by a Soothsayer

When I fall in love it will be forever
Or I’ll never fall in love
In a restless world like this is
Love is ended before it’s begun
And too many moonlight kisses
Seem to cool in the warmth of the sun

When I give my heart it will be completely
Or I’ll never give my heart
And the moment I can feel that you feel that way too
Is when I fall in love with you.

And the moment I can feel that you feel that way too
Is when I fall in love with you.

When I Fall in Love by Nat King Cole

PS: Dear Cakepearl, This is all thanks to you. :)

I hate love

Found this quote on a friend's blog:

Have you ever been in love? Horrible isn't it? It makes you so vulnerable. It opens your chest and it opens up your heart and it means that someone can get inside you and mess you up. You build up all these defenses, you build up a whole suit of armor, so that nothing can hurt you, then one stupid person, no different from any other stupid person, wanders into your stupid life...You give them a piece of you. They didn't ask for it. They did something dumb one day, like kiss you or smile at you, and then your life isn't your own anymore. Love takes hostages. It gets inside you. It eats you out and leaves you crying in the darkness, so simple a phrase like 'maybe we should be just friends' turns into a glass splinter working its way into your heart. It hurts. Not just in the imagination. Not just in the mind. It's a soul-hurt, a real gets-inside-you-and-rips-you-apart pain. I hate love. - Neil Gailman

I agree with it almost entirely. Except perhaps the part about "maybe we should just be friends". Loving a friend also hurts. It need not always be romantic. Loving your sister could hurt. Loving yourself hurts in equal measure at times - at times when the mirror makes you feel ashamed of yourself and you begin wondering how you ever loved the person staring back at you. Is it the same person you thought it was? Yes! Thats the worst thing to be told to you: that you are not the same person you were.

Did I create your illusion? Did I create your reality? How dare you punish me! I am comfortable in my own skin. In my own reality. I have no illusions about this reality. And I know the reality is an illusion. When my world crashes, I re-create it. When I feel you are different in "reality", I create my reality where you are what you want to be. I love you for what you are - in my reality and in yours.

"You are not the person I imagined you were."
"You are just somebody else. It is not your fault." (Well, who cares really even if it was?!)
"You are not the same in reality." (There wasn't any reality for us ever, was there? Reality was an illusion. Illusion is the reality and will continue to be so. When did you start caring about reality?)

These are words which pierce your heart and let it bleed to death. I have been told this. And I have died - a little each time. I have felt helpless, frustrated and cornered. I have squirmed in my seat not knowing what to do. I have cried endlessly. Cried myself to sleep every night. I have FELT my body go numb. I have felt the life go out of my heart. I have felt the song in my heart die. Soul-hurt, that is what it is.

It is worse than death. There is nothing beyond. It is a dead end. Yet, the love stays. The heart bleeds but the love remains.

I hate love.

Music of the Moment: "Follow me down to the valley below... You know... Moonlight is bleeding from out of your soul..." - Lazarus (Porcupine Tree)