darghhhreams

I must talk about my dream.

(I'd noted it down, at least what I remembered of it in my phone, knowing that today would be one of those merciless mornings/noon that'd extract my thoughts and time)

some low life disgusting piece of asswipe was blackmailing Amisha patel (Bollywood actress) wtf? and throughout the dream she wore a strange silver coloured lipstick and a dressing gown that looked like it was made of aluminium but it was some really silvery fabric instead.
So anyways, this piece of rancid sewage fetus was blackmailing her and she was obliged to come to his shitty office everyday and pay her respects and call him sir.

It angered me so that I rage woke myself, and I was sweating.

I think it just really got to me and goddamit I was so irritated when I woke up and oddly sad and so fucking unhappy.
I felt bad, so terrible even though it was just a dream, but still.

Might it have something to do with a conversation I had with my brother some time back about the worst kinds of criminals. Cuz nothing gets worse than blackmailers in my book. They're the worst offenders. The worst, and gah..I don't even want to get into it anymore because I could talk about this topic forever. I know how it feels.. ugh.. it feels like SHIT

The point is that the dream seeped into me, permeated through me all night and I've stayed depressed and irritable since.
What a fuckall dream. It sent slices of scars through my brain. I felt ice in my veins and an odd dread filled me from within.

Ugh, i wanted to snatch the jelly out of that bastards eyeballs and feed it to the crows while he slowly slid down a rusted spear impaled and alive. Feeling the pangs of torturous pain till the very last moments of his life, and even after his death.

I'm angry again now.
Imma look at a gorgeous face tinted black and white.

Nuff said

open my mouth and decide to say nothing

Yet I always do, something exaggeratedly true; meant for you

tighten my heart and avert my gaze

cease to think for that fraction of a phase that comes and goes 

where I hold my soul true

finishing line is a blur

It disappears, for I fall off my course

into a bed of delicious rotten fruits

that are sinful sweet

they disintegrate your soul

under a fan, near a window, in a rocky yellow greenish jungle

take a tumble

like jack & Jill would never know 

satin thick coat of humble

tattered and torn dressed in shambles

sprinting away on a concrete road

that looks molten from afar

like a shimmering pool of water

a damn fine mirage

or an oasis of wishes that came true in a genie lamp 

wade into an unreal pond

of liquid phantasm

optical illusion of the universe

a magic 

a volcano of warmth

that chars your skin

makes you believe 

it's a delicious sun tan. 

G'day

We're so used to eating shit cakes that we actually look forward to it. 

Our collective benchmark as a country has been so lowered in everything that we're fine with the worst of services, worst living standards worst everything..to the point that even our appreciation for standard of humour is hitting rock bottom. 

We are apparently okay with the worst of worst and since we're okay with that no one gives a fuck to actually take the initiative to improve their worsening lot. 

So the worst stays in static, to the point that it evolves to become a part of our existing Eco system and we are okay with that too cuz seriously who really gives a fuck? And then that shit stays in our Eco system and we evolve to not bother and in fact like whatever shit it gives us. 

Who the fuck wants to take an effort man? 

Whoever wants to get their work done has to wade through this quagmire of no fucks and achieve whatever small daily goals in their life or a task set out for that day might be. 

It's like let me do nothing and pay me still cuz who wants to work man? 

To hell with all! 

The weather forecast is scalding solar flares of wishful longing with a possibility of balmy evening breeze of cheerful soul mocking. 

aargh audiobook 401

I just have a moment to carve these words before I pick up my machete and go on a hunting spree and find the sadist who didn't upload the last two chapters of the audiobook 'the blade itself' by Joe Abercrombie.
I mean here I am, sketching away like penance, listening to the wonder that is this fabulous book, and lo! it abruptly ends on me..and I'm like wha?
This isn't done. Come on. I need to know what happened. The last two chapters..come on. Someone..anyone.
I can't find it anywhere, not on youtube considering I was listening to this book on youtube. Can't find it. Nope. Not even on audiobbokbay, cuz in fact even the chapters are amiss on that site too.

SOBS.

lovehate ugh.

My entire night was a Baz Luhrmanesque dream sequence. It was bigger than life, gaudily colourful and full of musical numbers..and if that wasn't enough, there was an entire scene dedicated to freudian conversation amongst people I know and some I don't about some past happenings of my life that I didn't think I'd ever divulge even if I were set on fire..on my pyre..but there it was..stark naked and freely discussed, while I stood there sheepish..waiting for someone to get mad at me, and somehow everyone looked so extremely sane and rational without the slightest hint of anger or even raised voices.
What was going on? Everything seemed so free and happy and yet somehow creepy. I wanted to be a part of it, but kept taking a step back.
It's like I know what's good for me, and yet I don't freely give in to it, because I know how much it will hurt. Stupid hurt, that which can't be seen..only felt; the pain of which is so searing I know it'd tear me apart..and I have not the will to in me to push it away.
Ah but look what it's really caused. Fear, paranoia, stress..so much so that I fell physically sick and still recuperating, and keep relapsing time and again.
The best part is I know, just like I did I my dream that getting out of it would do me a world of good. It'd stop the anxiety, the stress, kill the fear and extinguish my paranoia..but no. I gain nothing submerged in this quagmire (oh this lovely quagmire) except happiness that I believe is happiness. To me it is. It's the invisible warmth, unseen unreal love..all of which belongs to me..none whatsoever is mine to claim.

ugh.

Playing house

Mornings are bright

and dark is each night

Oh the hopeful smiles that light each morning with the rising sun, then collapse into a puddle of decaying lichen when each night I cook for one.

Blankets that stay sizzling on one end of the bed while the other is vacant icy deserted dread.

Haunting an empty house with solitary breaths, turning on every noisy gadget to drown the hush.

Keep busy with a book, with a screen, swirling smoke from between fingers in ashen hope this grim peace lays in tatters—tortured and torn seam to seam. 

In stale air a wisp of smoke still lingers, until I blow it away in a tornado of lonely exhale. It disappears into a negated territory of created noises that fill a house of gadgets I've just switched on. 

A steady churn of washing machine like a derelict plane about to take off, gibberish on tv left unattended just so this place fills up with useless dialogues, a stranger's laugh/cough. 

Patterned suction noises of a tired vacuum cleaner too jaded to feed on insipid cleanliness, relentlessly plugged in..uselessly turned on. 

Oh I could do with some noises cacophonic screams and strange voices. A warm breath or two that aren't always mine. 

I'm painting the walls with solitary shadows, playing charades with it like a mime.

Anything that fills its cold gut, because it's quieter than a dead mouse..I could do with some babel..just so I'm not alone in my white walled house.

Woes

So I was locked out of my VPN account since last night, imagine that. Locked out. Why? because I was downloading a good print of the movie hateful eight on torrentz, and it had infringed some copyright laws.

Surprise, surprise. Yeah because pirate laws in sanctimonious first world internet waters amount to heresy. Oh, what blasphemous acts against god and earth alike did I commit by downloading a pirated movie. 

Oh hell. Just my luck that my VPN was connected through some American servers.

The reason I usually keep my VPN turned on while downloading movies is because I get a better download speed, and also because it's the first thing I do the moment I sit on my machine.

 So get this, I kept getting a message that you have been locked out of your VPN. 

Apparently I did not heed the copyright infringement warnings that were sent to me, nor reply to them because there were three warning mails in my inbox. 

Oh why oh why dear gods did I not reply to mails that were sent to me while I was sleeping? That's right, it was night as night could be in my time zone. But hey, how could you be asleep when your piracy amounts to sacrilege against the gods of Internet. You should be up walking on burning embers while spikes of redemption pierce through your unholy existence. You should be ashamed of third world download acts..It would've still been acceptable had you been a terrorist, blowing up babies and aeroplanes, but illegal downloads??how could anyone fall so low? 

So, I'd been locked out and I had to log back in without the VPN for affirmations..like it was some long lost love from a previous birth. 

Here's where it gets weird and proves to be a brilliant example of a catch22 situation.

To log back into the VPN account I needed to open its VPN site..but that's not possible.because all VPN sites here are BLOCKED! of course they're blocked..that's the reason why I need a goddam VPN in the first place..but now I've to redeem myself, by doing the impossible and log into the VPN site with correct username and password without any VPN site opening.. and don't even think that it could be done through an app, because all the app ever did was display that angry message in super passive aggressive black and white Times New Roman. 

 This is when you've haul up your socks and prepare yourself for some serious scrolling on yahoo.com (the one search engine that does open here), and by the time you reach the eighth page of determined VPN searching, you miraculously find a vpn site that does open. It must have passed through the great firewall undetected. 

If you're lucky that site might have a free trial period, and if you're unfortunate, and I was, you might have to buy a trial period for a month or so. Well, what do you do? 

You've already desecrated the consecrated grounds of righteous internet overlords and thus been exiled from the VPN temples, you've to buy your way back to the afterlife. 

That's exactly what I did. Bought another VPN to access an existing VPN for affirmations and a steamy session of hot digital fuckery.

Finally I got back my woeful identity, the temple doors have been opened and I'm on probation. So smite me lord if I'm ever to illegally download movies again, and smite me some more if I don't.

Just that I'll be more cautious and not go through the same channels. 

Death to first world internet laws. I'm backchanelling through every Asian country in existence.

Snowed in dreams

It has ceased to rain and begun to snow, and I can't even..

Nights and dreams are an oddball team of malicious intents. 

they dip into the ancient archives of buried history stowed away in the darkest folds of your subconscious. Memories that you'd kicked into the dingiest most secretive corner in the vain hopes that they'd never be found again. Hoping they'd melt into nothing the same way a stray ice cube does, when you carelessly kick it under the refrigerator. 

Not only are these sizzling bits of regrettable moments found, but they're also played in cinemascopic dream HD with a clarity that trumps the most sophisticated 4K television, in crystal clear diamond hue, plastered across your eyes, while you see in 3D, those glaring mistakes you couldn't that moment ever find. 

Oh how the dreams cook up a melange of all your moments so deplorable in hindsight, that you've winced and worked hard to forget..and lo they regurgitate in a sewage rainbow of all night dreams..so real, they jolt you awake, and you heave a sigh of relief that none of it was real. It's all gone now..but you're sweating in a weather that's almost iceberg cozy..and you hate that you remember all that you'd pretended to forget, and like a lovely midnight sadist you try to remember it all again, clutching your blankets with sweaty palms. 

You know what the dream was about but can't remember it, think hard and it slips  further, like trying to balance a drop of mercury on your fingertips. The plot is hazy, but you know the script by heart ..a soft mumble to yourself followed by uneasy burrowing under sheets, a billion toss and turns and a silent prayer for an odd nightmare that can make you forget this dream.