Monday, June 8, 2015

Embrace the Emotions

Sometimes I wonder if I'm too hard on myself. Other times I wonder if I'm being too lax with what I'm doing. I'd like to be able to peer into the minds of every human being, draw a statistical chart and analyse if this conflicting predicament is part and parcel of our entire race, completely unrelated to circumstances and actions and personalities, or if it is just an inescapable human condition. 

Couple of years back I'd say that girls whine all the time. I still say the same but the fuck up is that so do I. Does that make me a girl? Are men like this? Well yes, I've heard men whine all the time, all my life too. What is this? What are we whining about? Why do people associate whining with women? I guess only cruel little boys think like that, I wish we'd all grow up and be a little more forgiving to everyone including ourselves. 

I don't mean to disappoint the girl I am with. So does my disappointing her make it an accidental situation or a premeditated action. I don't understand. Are people forgiven when they do something they shouldn't by accident? I am a final year law student and I can't answer that fully. Did me becoming a law student help my conscience or am I just corrupting myself every passing day as a part of this leech-profession? Can I really suck off the blood of a party knowing full-well I'm representing the wrong guys? The answer is probably yes, I don't support the party I'm representing in the case I am assisting my Senior with. Yet, I write counter arguments against all logic.

Some days are just negative. Even my apologies sound mean. My phone calls are deemed to be opportunities to yell. It's not like that, how do I even explain when I hate explaining sometimes. Do we have the personal choice to stop explaining ourselves even around our loved ones? What if every word of explanation we utter pushes us further down the ditch we have been stuck in since years? 
Should I surround myself around empaths? Make an empath society? Will our empath society collapse because of our hyper-sensitivity and inability to bottle up our emotions? Mass grieving followed by a slow, depressing death. Am I even an empath? Is there such a thing? Can I go to a doctor and be examined for this condition? Maybe a psychologist. My mother is a Social Counsellor and she's told me I'm hyper-sensitive. So...

Where am I going with this? I have zero direction in my life. If I had a compass that pointed at the direction I'd want to go to it would point to freedom. Does such a place exist? Do people without a life-plan reach anywhere? Do they even want to? Why should I seek an El Dorado/ Shangri-la when mostly wherever you're in the world it is a bountiful place to be alive in. It's a marvel just to be alive.

I was never encouraged to ask questions as a child by my father. Can I really blame him when he himself was lost? We created a God because even out parents didn't have all the answers, those poor grown-up children. We believed in fabricated truths to make living easier, bearable, less confusing.

Why must we find meaning in everything? I just want to make my girl feel better. I don't mean to be contradictory.   

Sunday, November 4, 2012


I always wondered how people just abandon their blogs. 
How do people do it.

This blog's a big fucking elephant in every room I sit in, in every house and even in wide open places.

It stranglulates me and makes me feel all ick inside. I don't identify with the person who started this blog, or the one who made the pathetic posts, nor the sad fucking love-struck poet and definitely not the guy who thought who could take nice pictures. 

I have other things to do.
I regret to announce to deaf ears that I'm leaving. I'm going now. GOODBYE. 

Sunday, September 9, 2012

Data Analyst, Fuck This Please

This lecture encasing mediocrity
It makes me retch in disgust.
Robots being trained tirelessly
On the path of being a data analyst.

Data analyst, fuck this please
I don't want to be a data analyst.
Frequency distributions, medians & what not
These robotic tasks for a human me.

No, I say no to this setup
This setup of perpetual desensitization.
Numbers & figures, data abound
Flickering figurines, ticking sound.

All that's achieved is nothing at all
All being lost, all dissolved.
What good is being good at calculation
"To help this nation", you may say.

I say it again, I won't contribute
No, not in this moronic way.
Tag me dumb, call me stupid
But not a data analyst.

Saturday, September 8, 2012

You're Fucked, My Dear

She looks at the world through her bubblegum lens
Says made-up words to you. 
And roams the streets in her flowery dress
Then through her eyes, the bubblegum sky loses its blue. 

The sun shines bright, blinds her unsure sight 
Can't tell false men from true. 
Happy as ever, flying her kite
Till a hawk tears it, she loses hue. 

She runs back home, crying big fat tears
She hits her bed, and weeps some more. 
She does get scared, first taste of fear
She felt a chill, numb to her core. 

Valium Pills and Popsicle Sticks 
Were her best friends, for evermore. 
Daddy told her, "don't be in a fix
I have meds for you in the store."

Day after day, and week after week
Month after month, year after year. 
She took those meds, and now she reeks 
You're fucked my dear, I hope you know.