Night time tittle

Afternoon sky

There's no reason why I'd want to put up this picture at midnight, while I lie on the bed, feigning sleep, or rather while sleep feigns me. 

It's impossible to force yourself to sleep when sleep isn't on your system's agenda. 

You might be tired, your shoulder blades throbbing with searing ache, your hamstrings screaming in agony, your triceps raw with displeasure, but the moment you decide to give yourself a well deserved shut eye..well, that's exactly what you don't get.

The irony being that when you are at your sleepest best, it's already time for wakey wakey. 

Perhaps everything is a joke, but it's not a funny joke, and just cuz it's a joke doesn't mean it deserves a laugh. 

If I start writing poetry in a while, then know this, I'm having a pretty shitty night. 

I know what, I'll mentally start designing a menu for tomorrow. 

Lunch is already figured out. It's sitting in the fridge. 

I've only to figure out breakfast which I'm thinking should be some sort of a single serving frittata and dinner..mm..black rice perhaps. 

Imma mull it over. 

Good night world. 

Noneday

Just when you'd started to believe in the power of spring to colour the landscape with overzealous vibrance, you're reminded just how stupid you are with your fanciful wishes. The weather which was just momentarily sunlit orange is now restored to a ghostly kiss of grey cold and incessant rains. Ah! Rains. 

There isn't a spring thaw in sight. This week promises to stay wet, cold and cheerless. Black skies, bleak horizons and irritated souls by the power of grayskull. 

The pallid aura of this season is rather suicide friendly, and the insides of your house rather resemble an anal cavity of a dead cave.

Middle of the afternoon and it feels like dawn forgot to break ( great name for a band) and all you can do is switch on every which light to feel there's a bit of sunshine in this dreary existence. 

The now of now

Did you know darling, sometimes my heart swells with so much love it becomes a burden to bear. 

So heavy it could've anchored titanic.

--

When you stare at the cerulean waters in agony from a distance not too far, seated on a petal rug thirsting to sip from the diamond surfaced purity, waiting to bathe in liquid indigo..when your craving convulsions can only be assuaged by devouring the water—soul and flesh, when you finally sink your hands and pull them out a lacerated mess; for you found in those, a tangle of thorns, a nest of needles and a world of spikes. Those are your waters now, to plunge in day and night. 

--

In that there was a dream of white serenity, of calm solitude, placid tranquility and zen— meditative stillness and harmonious silence and blissfull achromatic hush. 

Yet dreadful miserable times are these, and lost in translation those dreams..granted privacy of isolation, miserable seclusion and white quarantine.

so small yet so big, in the invisible realm of reality.

Looking around we're swamped with everything that was once a fantastical invention. Inventions are as a rule fantastical, so everything we bear witness to was once upon a time, a groundbreaking, serious out of the box thinking..and all science.

The funny part about science is, well we can't see it, and that's what leaves one stupefied in wonderment.

I mean there you are, sitting in a room, jotting down numbers..come on..numbers? ever see one hanging on a tree? It never existed, it came out of thin air, from someone's mind, and what a ridiculously superb ancient mind it must have been to come up with numbers. Never seen, never heard but it's there. I mean maths, for crying out loud, is just a bunch of hokey pokey metaphysical awesomeness. You can't see it, but it rules everything..right from the running of this universe to accurate dimensions of your study table so it doesn't wobble.
So you can't see math, it's not exactly like one can dig it up from the soil while planting trees, you've to think of it? I don't even know or understand how it worked, but there it was for the brilliant taking. Some people understood it, cracked the code of this universe, figured out existence and we're thriving thanks to these geniuses.

How unrealistically intelligent does one really have to be to come up with and understand something that never existed. How much out of the box thinking are you even doing? How did you have the brains to see something that's clearly not visible? 
Ok, for just a second try and come up with something that's never existed, a shape, a design, a feeling? It's nearly impossible, simply because everything you think of will be what you've seen, learnt, experienced. 

An apple fell on someone's head, and 9.8 m/s2 came into existence, I mean come on. The entire universe is a jumble of math and science, and thankfully there's been a steady stream of unbelievably intelligent existence who were able to decipher reality through a thin slit in the cosmos that showed them what it really was all about.
And all these great minds have had predecessors, hundreds and thousand years of studies, papers, observations and calculations. 

The more you think of it, the more perplexing it gets, and I can't even begin to wrap my head around it. Delving into the unknown, unseen, only because you're convinced that this is how it's to be to make any sense at all. 
-------

Thoughts like these get so overwhelming sometimes that you're at a loss for words, and it definitely needs to be written more on. 
Perhaps I should start jotting down points.

punchin' keyboard

There are times when I feel the need to devote more time to my online activities, and then there are times when I realize the futility of it all.
If you were to look at it more coarsely under a subjective lens, you'd realize the futility of it all and all, and soon surmise a vegetative life as one most fruitful; effortless, thoughtless and easily sustainable, for who knows what our purpose really is in life?

Had we been ant like, we'd know our purpose for existence is stay disciplined. Collect food, transport queen, walk in single file and occasionally die―likewise for bees, collect honey, build a comb, be a drone, take care of queen.
If we were to broadly generalize ourselves into the animal kingdom, and live by their rules, then we'd know it's really 'mate. feed. kill. repeat' as very wisely summarized by Slipknot, and well, roughly speaking this is all what we're about..and yet this isn't really just all that we are capable of.
 Scattered in this whirlpool of insipid motto of existence lies our ability to learn and create.
I do not know how many of us carry this ability and to what varying degrees we reserve them, and that's really the point. Some are born with it, some hone it and some are desperate to learn. It's in fact this desperation that should and does keep us from slipping into a vegetative meditative state.

 If something unknown annoys you, scratches you on the inside to be known, then you're pretty much sorted―that is to say, you owe no one to be Einstein, but yourself, and why even be that, when you can be just you.
So yes, there might be futility in everything, but everything needn't be futile. You don't have to be that same person from ten years ago, You can be if you want, but if you want to chose not to be, then you don't.
we've this cognizant factory, inside of us, well hidden from the mortal eye, thats churns new thoughts, reasons, doubts, insight, enlightenment..and we've only to dip in this endless pool of our very own resources to be something new, learn something more from that last moment we blinked our eyes.
It could be as little or as large, depending on your need and greed― as long as you know there's something new inside of you,  you can use it your advantage in extraordinary new whichever ways.

____----_____

of course my online shenanigans have nothing to do with this post but then I have such limited online presence these days.
I could discount it all and say who cares, but it's not just about caring, as much as it's about following a simple routine, and not leaving blank spaces in virtual sphere out of laziness and busy facades; not that anyone would care, but it still bothers sometimes that there you were following a trail religiously, or so you'd promised, and now you let it stray dust covered.  

gossamer gauze of glittering nights and dream vigilante

Night again, to rupture the calm of my sleeplessness..gesturing with every glinting star to sew shut my eyes and call it a day.
Night, with its usual tattered ink tenting, drowsily draping the vitality of a spirited day into a silent hum- massacring in its wake, the very last of any light.
Night, promising me arabesques of florid dreams, only to deliver rorschach blotches of dull nightmares.
Night, a silhouette of all that's gone by and all that's yet to come.
Night, my beloved time that I love to hate and hate to love.


Nights are a trap to have you introspect
unlike mornings when you look forward to a new day

nights have you foraging in the crevices of your bed
in the cracks of your pillow
in the furrows of your sheets
an apology, for your lamentable life

avenging each wasted darkness
through a series of toss and turns
parched throat at ungodly hours, cold spots to freeze your bones

nights let you freely fish
in a frozen pond of forgotten memory
each regret, bad memory you'd tried to forget
highlighted with red
surfaced in a broken heartbeat that caves your chest
crimson faced, ashamed sigh

in dead air tranquility
of decaying silence
every word rings with a gong
ones that you never wanted to mutter

nefarious night, robed in viperous spikes
razor sharp, waiting to burn
lest you let your mind wander and take a wrong turn
it'll demonize you with malicious spite
and salve your wounds with toxic bite.

late night lost time

There's no logical explanation to why I'm listening to depeche mode at this hour. I mean it's well past midnight.
Maybe cuz I've nothing better to do, or maybe I'm hoping against hope that I'll be able to stretch this night into morning. hah, waking up to the moon instead of the sun. Won't that be something?
sigh, here I am, stranded in a swamp of insignificant musings..please, nobody throw me a rope!

It's official..it's late night, and just when I thought this heap of routine couldn't look anymore revolting, it applies fresh makeup of promise, and entices me with a rosy hope again.
What can I say? I'm a sucker for utopia.

The air is thick with all the castles I've built in it, and my paradise is overrun by fools.
letting my desires get the better of me,  I'm a glutton for passion. Greedy and covetous..miserably ravenous for more..this need for effulgent furnace not a primrose spark.
to get sandblasted by ferocious heat
not thaw my bones in a sunlit park.

Silly late night, smearing wishful cravings on my insides
I sit here seeping blood
or is this rose petals
aching myself to a sigh
thirsting, craving
for a sinkhole to swallow me
or lend me wings maybe, so I could fly

The ceiling is probably my best friend, it gazes back when I stare at it..never judging; poker face, always!  But here it is, my dearest darling night. Clad in a morbid smile, promises to sew shut my
eyes, and not a single word about what I'd see tonight..I'm hoping it'd be a dream, but I won't complain if it's a nightmare.