Cut Hurt & Waste

Everything’s going wrong. This wasn’t how it was supposed to be, we were going to be all right. I was the golden boy and she was the flower child. Turn off the T.V; you are not paying attention to me. I tell you it’s all a conspiracy; don’t believe their story - Words in print - Putting things in your mind telling you what to think.
Listen!!!!! Just for a while. I am not asking for much. Don’t send your eyes to the sun you might burn them, it isn’t worth the sacrifice. Edit the gory, enhance the glory.
I will tell you the story as it seemed to me, No I can’t recreate photographs or reflections and my store does not operate CCTV in the interest of your safety. I can just tell you what I was told or rather what I chose to perceive It began as a dull grey canvas with maybe a shade of blue and then there was a splash of Brilliant Burning Red As it caught my attention I did not see it spread Orange and yellow with purple highlights When I looked again the Angry Red had dissolved herself lost the resolve Somehow merged somewhat submerged Before me was the most glorious sunset From within her I saw the dragon child rise Bigger Greener and more Evil he grew Black Satanic eyes – a forked tongue of an unknown hue Rings of Smoke – Black Bellowing Charcoal Dust The gray canvas was now Dark -with a thousand stars and yet before me I saw thunder and lightning A flash of silver – a hero was born Young and strong Fearless…….and then I looked away Though the thoughts they painted on Green Yellow a streak of white a dab of blue. The picture is almost done but the paint will never dry as I do often decide to add a touch or two…………..
Make believe fantasy
Me – painted on a slate
Stop!!!! There are too many colours!! Too many lives…we are moving to fast in our efforts to erase the past
Green fields, hot sun, Dhanoli station, we are just steaming along another station another bridge we just keep moving on. Rushing headlong into a place we do not know Searching for something we can never show. How did I get here?
I had an interview in the city, the job was advertised in the glossy magazine – the girl in the picture had nice breasts and the pay was good, so I decide to call. And the man on the telephone he said ‘Don’t ask me, I just work here.’ I was on my way; unfortunately, he had decided to come too. And there sitting across from us was this angel.
We are moving again We move to fast everything should be slower and more gentle – played back in slow motion with emphasis on the edges…where the colours have withered away I want to see the angel again and the little nooks where we have hidden things for so long that we no longer know they exist…the fragments from the broken jar for how long they cut up my mind….bleeding myself just to know the guilt…No we were not evil then, there was no guilt – golden boy and angel child. In an old brown coat I noticed her eyes. She was beautiful with her mad red curls – alone and lonely staring at the bars on the window I noticed the puncture wounds – round and perfect. She was infected, infested. I could see the worms in their crawl. They reach her pretty little head, long and curled, eat into her world. They make her ugly and they make me hurt. She seems to be screaming ‘Don’t touch me cause I am infected, don’t touch me cause I am imperfect.’
Wicked eyes– shield me from their lies. And the Helpless cries. Drowning in a world that moves to fast. Everything’s a part of the same swirl.
Stop the scenery…I am getting out…I can see the speed, the stop signs and the exits from this freeway, only after I have zipped past them. I can see myself in my red sports car with the windows down and the wind in my hair. My thoughts they float and they fly like butterflies, like this cotton ball I will rise. Sucked in by a vortex, pull out the plug stop the water before the sink overflows – the damns will break and the villages will drown. Fat cows branded and bloated still manage to float.
And she was still there – perfect. Peaceful serene goddess with her needle infested veins and glazed eyes. Look beyond their lies- she said. Virgin island paradise sold on a frozen slice of pizza pie.

Do you see her there? Hiding in the corner she used to be a friend.
A wonderful person if only you knew. But, she knew right from the start and she didn’t really care. Hundreds and thousands, ugly, dirty, cold, beautiful, warm and made of gold and somewhere out there was me. Floating on my river drowning in a sea, blowing in the wind, trapped in its wings…one day she knew we would meet.

I don’t know where to start because I don’t know how much to say. She talked I listened. The voice of the voiceless cannot be crushed, like the wind – saying a million things without a voice. But then if it were like the wind then it would not be her, she was real, not just empty spaces, real like toys or buttons. She only whispered, I listened very hard I heard her every word.
At first I don’t think she liked me very much – I thought I made her cry. I didn’t want to make her cry – it’s just that I was curious. I wanted to see what was behind the curtain and the colour of the bricks below the layers of paint. She, she was not curious, she does not want to know, she is safe in herself, safe in her glazed over world; She and her worms. But soon we learnt our places and our spaces. Hand in hand fingers entwined. Vulture like grip – playing, seeking, searching, soothing, scratching screaming – the lines, the sores, even the puncture wounds, the chewed on finger nails, we knew them well.

I wondered if we were really on the edge - what would happen if we pushed just a little bit further – would it be this free fall in a world without dimensions…would it be like the suction of a vacuum pump in my head maybe it would be this crazy farm of thoughts, some of them nice and friendly like the innocent white sheep in the picture books others like snarling dog or the greedy fat pig. So we just kept going further and further till suddenly - We had no outer limits. Free to explore – limitless and untouched –and yet it felt safe, secure and warm behind the walls. It was like we were in a room of windows not glass tinted or clear Venetian or French but huge open spaces – between the spaces outside and the spaces inside. Something I suppose like ‘the doors’ – things known and things unknown and between them lie the doors. Not doors of perception but doors of freedom. Freedom to a space of our own, freedom to this place between the known and the unknown, this sort of haze where it wasn’t about violent jerky reactions but slow pleasant drift, like a hammock on a beach or a coconut shell out at sea. Thoughts and plans like random strands not vying for attention, not pulling or choking, just hanging around and we could choose not to jump from one lose end to another but float and let go.

We all need our hits, the eternal trick, in our search for the perfect world with no hangover and no hanger-ons and no left over and no bloated stomachs we need perfect sublime feline beauty, watch the cat but the mirrors are all cracked and reflections are we cracked up imagery and so the lover is sad…again. Don’t want a say, don’t want things your way. But the worms were evil. The worms had to die.

She flowered out of season but she never bloomed. This was over before it started. This cannot be the end. I want yesterday again. Yesterdays are always nicer. When I want to be sad I had more reason to be – yesterday, when I am happy I was always happier yesterday. I guess we are changing with every yesterday. When I want her she was always better yesterday.

The future is not important, it will come – eventually and then it will cease to be. But yesterday can never die. Yesterday will always survive. The present is more important because it shapes the yesterdays to come and creates situations for more yesterdays. Actually now is the only time I have control – but I don’t like to be in control so I just let it drift away and form this undistinguished yesterday around which I can build all my fantasises. I like creating fantasises. I don’t dream about the future but create images of the past.

Disillusioned to the core I could hear her say in the unconscious voice in my head - ‘this worlds a dirty whore, you better watch out infected by her disease, we are plunging to eternal decay, something’s got to change, something’s going to give way , someone needs to discover a new day.’ the voice of the voiceless cannot be crushed….

Where was my angel today? The worms were going to pay.

An idea floating in my head as I tracked and trapped it, it died without being realized it was always just meant to be a little thing – beyond my reach it was just a thought. Don’t know how she was born No reason can I find. Before I knew it she was dead. And it was all just yesterday

I tried to hold her hand but she would not let it be. I asked her to come and fly. Vulture talon claws, piercing searing skin. The first step is the toughest, I said, Step out of the birdcage. Far is where we have to go, run till we can go no more.

‘Baby, the worms must die. Scale the mental blocks and accept things that can’t be explained by reason. Expel all thoughts of treason, sometimes the emotions like icicles stand on edge, the words – like a knife, cut where it hurts. We just have to hold on, locked is the door, long is the night. Come with me and we will fly or we will die in the try…’

I need a theatre…Curtains rise……Lightening strikes, like an unwanted child
The worms must die.
I am the master you are the slave…this is my stage…something has to go my way….stop the spin – something is trying to speak…..please give me a break….In the midst of this madness I can still hear the voices – they almost become clearer…Sometimes streaming – nameless and naked I feel ashamed to think of them Sometimes they are not so bad, almost fairy children, pretending to be angels But that is rare. Sometimes they trickle Sometimes they flow mostly they stand still, not caring to grow. All evil and wicked, Infect my angel who is perfect in every way. Tell me –Have you seen the clown today?

I am a circus freak
I am guilty and weak
I need to be protected
But no ones going to protect me
Need to build myself a Cage
I am me I am clay
I am a delicate mould
Eggshell mind fragile child
No one sees how they hurt me
Please protect me….
I am a circus clown
Call on me when you are down
Make you smile – think a while
Come on and bring me down
After all I am just a clown
As you watch me perform
I bring a smile to your face
I am a murderer
The worms must die.
I am me, He is he
The fight can be won

‘…..we shall fight on the seas and oceans, we shall fight with growing strength in the air, we shall defend our island, whatever the cost may be, we shall fight on the beaches, we shall fight on the landing grounds, we shall fight in the fields and in the streets, we shall fight in the hills; we shall never surrender’

Build the wall. Build the show. Fortify our defences. Reinforcements ride the trains. I am on my way. Victory must be ours today
Screeching brakes. How did I get here? Dazed and Confused. Refuse Resist. Blasting in my head - ‘Tanks on the Streets Confronting Police Bleeding the Plebs Raging CrowdBurning Cars Bloodshed Starts’

Push out the weak
On the roof
What a lovely view
The battles almost won
One final shove
That’s when they took him away

This has gone on for too long
Johnny wasn’t brave
Press the button now
Kill the freak
We need our peace
That’s all they ever see
That’s all they ever say

Freak!!! – covered in the make up
Freak on stage!!!
Freak in the spotlight!!!
Freak behind the painted face!!!
Lock him up and he will be okay

Locked in a cage
Grey building on the corner
With white windows and a blue border
All lined up in rows
Disinfectants perfume the halls
Mad crazy hallucinating beasts
Can’t they see I don’t belong here?
Looney’s with broken hearts and smashed up heads
As I bang my head to be free, the walls are too constricting for I have drawn them close tied them around me. And as I suffocate and choke I cry so my tears will stain the floor and reflect this madman straitjacketed by his world the world he has created for me. My head begins to bleed, as I bang on - to be free, it tears open revealing me - naked I stand stripped - the blood it covers my eyes and helps blind me, the walls they cave in - ringing in my ears the pressure starts to build- I can't stand me. As I collapse - writhing on the floor - overtaken by animal instinct - foaming in the mouth I will not die for I am not on cyanide. I find it hard - it’s hard to find - something buried away deep inside me - deep away from me. I can climb up again - I can stand again push these walls away, wash away the blood and break lose these chains - for I am me - until he takes over.... again - until he wants to possess me.... again...
They wouldn’t let me really win
They decide what we watch
They decide what we read
They talk of love and peace
They spread lies and distrust
Laughing at my fears
Laughing at my tears
Can’t look me in the eye
Fears dissolve into tears
Rain drops leave me drenched
Shivering in the cold
In my ears I hear the band and I am getting left behind again.
In this fish bowl world
He kept staring at the bars
Breathing the tasteless delights
Infinitely warped – by refracting walls
And magnified by the layers
Everything moved in slow curling swirls
The lights dance in their endless twirls
- somewhat deadened by my turns
Fearless weightless he floats
Swimming ceaselessly in the currents of his mind
Is he drowning in me?
Will his lungs burst?
Is he in the right world????

Flying through the day
I am back where I began
I never left my cage
Perched – I preached I screeched
They didn’t even turn to see
Nightingale voice crying of the pain
Echoes resonate
I want my angel again
But they would not listen
for I am locked out
and cannot participate
As I watch the world fly by

Tears in my eye glittering with hate
You can never paint my eyes because the burn with a fire that’s too difficult to describe

As I slide into my dreams
Float in my feather bed
My mind slowly cleansed
The scent it seeps into the corners
The cracks in the floor
And the folds in my head
Mosaic tiles…cryptic designs
All clear and defined
And the skies open
Creaking sound
Symphony in my head
The mark won’t go
I want to know the colour of the bricks below
Come on my bed
Roll away
Sail away
Take me to the middle of the sea
Be my island
Be my bed
Be my death

Hate Hate Hate
And again and again and again
Everybody - Then I will be safe
Free to wander – inside me
Step near my cage and feel my hate

A man who cannot show how hurt he feels soon forgets how to bleed

I do not want to be stained
I am not your pain
I am not your shoulder
I am not your terrain
I am not here to entertain
Stay far away
I am the plague
I am undiluted hate
Stay far far away from me
Lost within myself – I am not me, just this entity. All encompassing and omnipresent - my spirit drowns in myself. As I struggle to reach the shore, straining out to reach. Extend your hand, pull me up and help me over the edge. I am calling out to you – frayed ends of sanity.

Then they spotted her on the street. They screamed -
Freak!!!
Freak hiding her face!!!
Freak cowering in shame!!!
Freak with her needles!!!
Freak – with her painted face!!!!!

Yellow light
almost there now
Swaying swinging singing
Line the sights
Just one more shot
She will be dead

I am nearly there not half as naked but twice as bright - bringing glory to the endless night. Give me a chance please….

I though you said she drowned
I don’t know – I just said she was dead
They shot her didn’t they?
Elephant graveyard paradise
The river is too shallow
Drowning in our shallow world
This freak fest shall end
I bet that’s what they said.

It somehow seems to me that we are ashamed of our madness ..as we are ashamed of our nakedness….we hide ourselves using social norms and brown polished shoes…There is something about being mad and finding your madness that frightens us so much….that we seek comfort in numbers and norms…we must all look the same…feel the same…taste the same…be the same…my madness is me….but think of our institutions…they are all tools of propagating this sameness……schools temples t.v….all ways of putting us in boxes…with our own kind….so that this sickness can spread….

SWAN SONG.........

‘I will play the swan and die in music’
I will play the song and suffocate on its words
A mad flapping of wings
A cacophony to thrill the airs
One last attempt to be heard
Before I bow out of your way
That death shall set is known
For the virus has sunk deep
But one wane attempt at rousing the skies
I will shout and I will scream
Full flaunt of survival instinct
Praying for magic melody
To scare the death demons away
The same verses I will repeat
Over and over again
Till they sound beautiful –
At least to me
I was meant to float
To spread my wings and sore
I know my throat is weak
But I will sing
And sing
And screech
In the hope that someone sees
The beauty in the passion behind those screams

journey terminated

Tight rope torn
Hanging on in hope
Caught up in the ropes that used to hold me in place
Why did you hold me before the fall?
Where have you gone?
The child is gone
Splattered in her pink dress
A beautifully tangled mess
Twisted turned
Still I hang
Swinging to unknown beats
Swimming in mindless vacuum
Where is the sandy shore?
Hanging on in hope
Hoping for a little more rope

Journey of your life

A delicate tight rope ride
Trapeze artist in the dark
Carrying the burden of the frightened child
A quiver a shake a shadow
She cringes she cowers she rages she spites
She fights she bites and she wishes she could cry
A jerk a slip a tiny push a gentle shove
She flays her arms
Grasp the past
Desperate attempts to return to the known
To live in the shallow familiar hallow
Of a known life

Clinical surgery
No umbilical cord
No noose
No human tie
A beautiful blue sky
Transactional Cut Dry

Shifting worlds through imbalanced motion
And delicate words
Why doesn’t this tape rewind?

The journey of your life

moving on....

Its time to pack up my life and move on
Its become too familiar a feel
Almost a favourite past time
Sometimes i wonder why I left a few of those nice things behind
Sometimes I wonder why I left at all
Sometimes it just wasn’t my call
Start this journey
Knowing that this too shall pass
Sometimes a little too fast sometimes kinda slow
Come ..let us go…

Long john's tale

What are you running away from? What are you hiding? What is it that you have hidden away for so long? And how deep have you buried your little treasure?
This is not Long John Silver’s Treasure Island and there is no bottle on a dead man’s chest – though a few skeletons you may find.Dont dig too deep – chipped bones of a dinosaur era – delicate as china – fragile egg shell footprints of my past life.
Buried under rocks and in the shady shelter of overgrown trees – in the warm hollows and the little spaces which are easily overlooked; when it rains – no it never rains it pours on this tropical isle of mine – the waters run down the hill slopes – carrying with it the mud and the stones. The pillars of my stability, the backbone of my existence – broken down by the elements into pebbles which roll down the slopes and collect in the crevices – in the little hollows and the shelves hidden from your sunshine. My life gets broken down and hidden away – all stored in secret code. The past cannot be brought back – reconstructed to the grand stones – and it is by choice.
The thunderstorms and the showers – I like it when they belt upon me; the waves lashing my share changing my shape and my form –eating me away. I know the calms will come again- I will expand, I will grow, slightly altered but still me, there is hope This is my life – seasons and cycles, turbulent tiresome torrid sickness and calm. The rocks and the shadows, the seagulls in the sunset all will rise again, Full glory body burn – rejuvenated broken down – everyday and again.
Don’t you come near – not with your pick axes or your pneumatic drills – the treasures I buried them deep. I know their shape and their form but I broke them down and I am not selling the map. That’s my escape, it is the most effective way.

dead puppies

Buried a puppy today ….death so easy…neat puncture wound on the neck …..and another one slipped away…but life rolls on….its just like every other day - roll call….parade….present – your in the army now…conform….but I didn’t sign up for this shit….didn’t you see the sign when you were born… ….it isn’t a choice …compulsory conscription ….soldiers in the world strife….fighting everything down…competing to be the best ….you cannot rest….run fight strife strike…weakest must die…it’s the worldly order …your in the army now….confront…conform….what is puppy love?

Push button-switch to change the channel…entertain….watch the big man with a big gun – it’s a lot of fun…..have you ever seen a man die?….have you seen children cry?....no no not on the silver screen….die for real….like life gone…dead…and no more there ….cry for real…real pain real hurt anger…..have you ever looked out the window? its alive outside….techno-colour movie…surround sound …3 D effects – more real than the latest game on the X box…more pixels than you giga-memory cell phone could capture….change the channel I am bored of this bullshit…it isn’t about my life!....

When happiness ceases to be a few beers away….

urbandream

Used to think that time was a friend of mine…past perfect – distorted to any colour I feel fit to fit my version of what happened…something somehow changed along the way – it always hits you back in the most horrid– biting u where it hurts the most…there is no effective anaesthetic….nothing that can make u sleep….its not another drink or another jay – there is something burning up the insides – wet logs don’t burn brilliant fires but there is decay – eating away the insides falling apart everyday ….
Men walk on burning coals and eat fire when it is so there desire…but I just stagnate…even the embers are not alight – need fuel…need fire ….need to dry… need to burn with passion again…need to crackle and roar… see the flames alight…burning brilliant fire flame…the smell the sight…. even cats would be afraid…
But its all dead like wet logs on a rainy day – nothing can spark this man’s remains…funeral pyre in cyclonic rain…a slow line train – nothing to push for no higher aim…stagnate.. no whirlpool no vortex no still waters that run deep – just muddy puddles and playful reflections…sold myself to the urban dream..

poems for lovers

Far is where we have to go
Run till we can go no more
Scale the mental blocks
accept things that can’t be explained by reason
Expel all thoughts of treason
Sometimes the emotions like icicles stand on edge
the words – like a knife, cut where it hurts
We just have to hold on
Locked is the door, long is the night
Is it worth the pain?
You decide – I’ll just sit around and wait…..

Hanging on the edge of the precipice
You can’t decide whether to let go
Don’t worry, you are not alone
Don’t think about what is below
It is safe – I promise you
You try to justify that which you don’t need to
Convince yourself till you believe you
Deceiving yourself into believing anything I want you to…..

Let’s see if you can fly
The first step is the toughest
Step out of the birdcage
Come with me and we will fly
or we will die in the try…

wet worms

The guard are down
and the worms start to crawl
Puncture wounds – round and perfect
they suck my blood
And they reach my head
long and curled
Eat into my world
They make me ugly and hurt
Don’t touch me cause I am infectedDon’t touch me cause I am imperfect

My opaque myopic vision...

I will tell you the story as it seemed to me
Not like a photograph or a reflection
But what I was told or rather what I wanted to perceive
It began as a dull gray canvas
with maybe a shade of blue
and then there was a splash of Brilliant Burning Red
As it caught my attention I did not see it spread
Orange and yellow with purple highlights
When I looked again
the Angry Red had dissolved herself
lost the resolve
Somehow merged somewhat submerged
Before me was the most glorious sunset
From within her I saw the dragon child rise
Bigger Greener and more Evil he grew
Black Satanic eyes – a forked tongue of an unknown hue
Rings of Smoke – Black Bellowing Charcoal Dust
The gray canvas was now Dark
-with a thousand stars and yet before me
I saw thunder and lightning
A flash of silver – a hero was born
Young and strong
Fearless…….and then I looked away
Though the thoughts they painted on
Green Yellow a streak of white
a dab of blue
The picture is almost done
But the paint will never dry
as I do often decide to add a touch or two.

big black rock earth

big black rock-earth
uncaring unyielding mountain world
time ticks on and I don’t care
you do your thing I do mine
stay out of my way and we will be fine
accept the sick and life’s a bitch
and the mirrors cracked
no time to learn the short cut tricks
steal the stick – power cures the sick
a wonderful gimmick
and we all need an overdose
with no hangover and no hanger-ons
and no left overs and no bloated stomachs
we need perfect sublime feline beauty
watch the cat
but the mirrors are all cracked
and reflections are me
cracked up imagery
so the lover is sad…again…
don’t want a say
don’t want things your way


disillusioned to the core....this worlds a dirty whore...you better watch out ..infected by her disease ...we are plunging to eternal decay...something’s got to change...someone needs to discover a new day...
obhi

Druggie Under the Street Light

Yellow light
Naked bulb
casting shadows of monstrous proportions
Swaying swinging singing
hell bent on death and destruction
just one more shot
i am nearly there
not half as naked
but twice as bright
bringing glory to the endless night

narmada - dam the damns

Sacrifice to the temples of modern India
For you I will give up my lands and gladly go
For the rich and the strong who I will never know
For the thirsty in land many miles from my home
For the chemical factories that paint my rivers red and blue and grey
For the poisoned fish and the dry docked boats
For coco-cola to drill our waters some more
Don’t you wish
Don’t you wish
Don’t you wish
You could wish me away

She used to be a friend
She is angry now
Drowning my village and my cow
But this is where I was born
And this is where I will drown…

Box 1

BOX 1 – the magic box

…I don’t question myself enough…I wish I did…but all is not enough…for I can’t think of everything that I would want to answer to myself…or even question myself…nothing is ever enough…. The mind it is locked in a box…everyone has their own…crazy coloured and vague shaped …boxes…heart shaped or circular..elliptical or curled…hazy, crystal clear…made of lace or gold…these boxes..boundaries if you like…they arose when I was a child…if I knew then….I would have made mine interesting..not dull and drab…but no one ever told me…
…I am not trying to say these boxes are unchanging…in fact I believe they love to adapt…little distortions and slight twists…all variations…to the box..take place over time…But they cant be totally broken down…the form is always there…they can be decorated and sometimes even repainted…but to change it all…that is hard to do…I wish I could…maybe I can find a new box…an empty box..a box with no boundaries..a box which does not hold anything in…and therefore can keep nothing out…a box within which a river flows …and the wind blows…a box that floats on a river..and blows in the wind…
..I truly believe that every question thought and un-thought has an answer…it is only a matter of finding the right box….an all encompassing box…a box with no boundaries…a box that lives…a box that breathes…a magic box…a magic boundary…which is no boundary at all…but a box nonetheless…
…For the box in my head…she knows…boxes come in every form…ugly, dirty, cold, beautiful, warm and made of gold…and somewhere out there is a magic box…floating on a river..drowning in a sea...blowing in the wind…trapped in its wings…one day I will find her…and then I wont be lost…for everything will have an answer..and the questions will never stop…
…But is that what I really need?…I don’t know…for my box ..she is old and confined…that’s why I need the magic…but will it not be too late then…I am unsure…too many unanswered questions…this box has too many holes…..

Box 2

BOX 2 – the voiceless box

I don’t know where to start because I don’t know what I want to say. If I had something to say then maybe it wouldn’t be voiceless, or maybe it would be like the wind – saying a million things without a voice. But then if it were like the wind then it would not be a box, because boxes only hold empty spaces and toys and buttons. Have you ever heard of a box that holds the wind? Or even of a box that holds a voice?
There is a box in my head – she is all neat and organized labeled with identifying tags but the box in my head she can’t speak, she only whispers. Sometimes when I listen very hard I hear her.
I don’t think she likes me very much – I make her cry. I turn her neat little world on its head. I open all the drawers and compartments – pull out all the clothes, leave the books on the bed – an absolute mess.
She can’t speak but she whispers and she cries, and when I listen very hard her tears fill my eyes.
I don’t want to make her cry – it’s just that I am curious. I have to see what is behind the curtain and the colour of the bricks below the layers of paint. The box she is not curious, she does not want to know, she is safe in herself, safe in her boxed in world.

Box 3

BOX 3 – an adventurous one

I want my mind to have no boundaries. I want it to be free to explore – limitless and untouched – but then again I want it to be safe and secure, warm behind the walls. In the ideal sate – it would be this room of windows not glass tinted or clear Venetian or French but huge open spaces – between the spaces outside and the spaces inside. Something I suppose like ‘the doors’ – things known and things unknown and between them lie the doors. Not doors of perception but doors of freedom….. Freedom to a space of my own, freedom to this place between the known and the unknown…this sort of haze where I can switch back and forth – not violent jerky movements but slow pleasant drift..like a hammock on a beach or a coconut shell out at sea. Thoughts like random strands..not vying for attention …. not pulling or choking…. Just hanging around..and I could choose not to jump from one lose end to another..but float and let go..
I want to reach here on my own…without you or anyone else…it is nothing personal….just the ability to make my own trip…to reach wondrous limits..and then wonder if you are really on the edge…what would happen if you pushed just a little bit further – would it be this free fall in a world without dimensions…would it be like the suction of a vacuum pump in your head..maybe it would be this crazy farm of thoughts…
..some of them nice and friendly like the innocent white sheep in the picture books…others like snarling dog…or the greedy fat pig…

We move to fast everything should be slower and more gentle – played back in slow motion with emphasis on the edges…where the colours have withered away…on the little nooks where we have hidden things for so long that we no longer know they exist…the fragments from the broken jar for how long they cut up my mind….bleeding myself just to know the guilt…
It is time I washed away myself from this filth…moved to a nicer cleaner neighbourhood…the time to move ahead has come again…and again I am moving to fast….i do not care to explain myself….because I am selfish..and if you don’t understand its not worth explaining to you anyway….

flying in the freeway

I can see the speed, the stop signs and the exits from this freeway, only after I have zipped past them, in my red sports car with the windows down and the wind in my hair. My thoughts they float and they fly like butterflies, like this cotton ball I will rise. Sucked in by the mindless vortex, pull out the plug stop the water before the sink overflows – the damns will break and the village will drown.
Lost within myself – I am not me, just this entity. All encompassing and omnipresent - my spirit drowns in myself. As I struggle to reach the shore, straining out to reach. Extend your hand, pull me up and help me over the edge. I am calling out to you – frayed ends of sanity.

madness

Sometimes I wonder if you know what I am trying to say – half hoping you don’t …Sometimes I just wish to leave you lost…hanging..groping…confused and on your own…a place where you must question …if only to find yourself again…who you are versus what you are constructed to be….I believe that there lies in each and everyone of us an insane mad place…a theatre of crazy thoughts…..But it is buried… in the constructs we create I don’t know why…but it somehow seems to me that we are ashamed of our madness ..as we are ashamed of our nakedness….we hide ourselves using social norms and brown polished shoes…There is something about being mad and finding your madness that frightens us so much….that we seek comfort in numbers and norms…we must all look the same…feel the same…taste the same…be the same…my madness is me….but think of our institutions…they are all tools of propagating this sameness……schools temples t.v….all ways of putting us in boxes…with our own kind….so that this sickness can spread….

painted on a slate

How I wish I could paint my thoughts - a pretty picture it would be - Vibrant - Orange Red and Green. Cold and dreary – Grey White and Pale. Methodical and cold – Steely White – Surgical Analytical Cut and Dry – with rough edges – Sharp as rusted nails.
Watercolours, Chalk and Oil paints. Charcoal and Sprinkled Gold Dust – all a whirlpool of colour – all a misty haze. Me and My thoughts painted on a slate.

Cal' Trippin...

Tomorrow by this time I will be home and all this will be yesterday. To me yesterdays are always nicer. When I want to be sad I had more reason to be – yesterday, when I am happy I was always happier yesterday. I guess we are changing with every yesterday.
The future is not important, it will come – eventually and then it will cease to be. But yesterday can never die. Yesterday will always survive.
The present is more important because it shapes the yesterdays to come and creates situations for more yesterdays.
Actually now is the only time I have control – but I don’t like to be in control so I just let it drift away and form this undistinguished yesterday around which I can build all my fantasises. I like creating fantasises. I don’t dream about the future but create images of the past.

the sun has gone away, to the other side but I am not in darkness. I am living in the shadow of the light. I am cool and calculated – thinking in the shadows – rationally balancing between dark light and burning skies
the window bars are my jail. I can see I can strive but I know I cannot go beyond. they are the limit allowing the occasional foray. but the bars are thick – they will never let me escape away..

How are thoughts born without thinking? Only after a thought is born can u think about it. It must be some unconscious mechanism that makes you realize a thought has been conceived. Then you can start to think or at least try to…
Lightening strikes, like an unwanted child
the thoughts are born
Sometimes streaming – nameless and naked
I feel ashamed to think of them
Sometimes they are fairy children
dressed like angels
but that is rare
Sometimes they trickle
Sometimes they flow
mostly they stand still
not caring to grow
Thoughts sometimes unconnected
evil and wicked
otherwise good children in every way
Most of all my thoughts are of things
which most people wouldn’t even care….


Green fields, hot sun, Dhanoli station
we are just steaming along
another station another bridge
we just keep moving on
‘Life’s a journey not a destination’
Moving towards a goal we do not know
Searching for something we can never show
We plough through the future
heading back to the past
where we will stop, when we will slow
noone will ever know.

flying through the day
I am back where I began
I never left my cage
Perched – I preached I screeched
they didn’t even turn to see
Nightingale voice crying of the pain
Echoes resonate
But they would not listen
for I am locked out
and cannot participate
As I watch the world fly by
I realize I am safe in my cage
See the circus, never participate
Jailed behind the bars of my mind I will survive

embedded deep

Rain she washes my soul – she cleanses the spirit and the clothes and the vultures they sweep down and clean the bones. Blood dripping, dip the beak a little deeper. Deeper, pull out the evil, pluck out the bad seed I know it’s embedded deep. Come cleanse me please. Blood drips, stains the white precious sheet. Help me please……
This will never end. Every end brings with it new beginnings, new pain and new peace – let me swim in my own well, let me search in myself deep. I need to find the person who keeps staring at me. Those eyes they haunt me. What is it you want? Do you not approve of who I am turning to be. The harder I look the more you stare. I need to find you, I need to know who you are and what you mean. Where do you belong? Do I need you to approve?

11 men, a horse + a letter to mr.cobain

It really is like a scene out of play from your worst nightmare….Maybe even a comic strip…who knows …our is but to do or die…Maybe there is some alien planet watching us far away…And some one decided to flip the channel to comedy farce…And everyone just flipped…Oh how we entertain…just like the ring master and his animal troupe…the dogs eat the moneys in spates of rage …and the fleas have their own little circus to…with all sorts of tricks and with their magic doctors they never catch the flu…and the bears are beaten till they beat their guitars …and oh that is music too….Oh this is so much fun…may be you should join in…and don’t forget to bring your gun…and your story….big men of the world …I will drink to that….and tell you of the savages I slayed…crouched over the cross hairs…oh such a thrill…defenceless women I could kill…..Oh what lovely machines we have built…that fly and kill….And bombs to …co-lateral damage is a thing of the past…no more gory images of wars of the past….precision target bomb…clinical efficiency…cnn we own and bbc we feed…the only things that are important happen are on mtv…watch mj n his plastic surgery the osbournes family parody….…Oh we sold them armour….the Russians had to be repelled… but they didn’t know of our nuclear grade amour piercing shells….a lesson we had to teach them….for building nukleear weapons…

Eleven men and a horse….magic tapes…and disappearing men…bombs that crawl into caves…and governments that plagiarize….networks of terror …and silent sleeper cells…mad bomber in the sky….a friend of my friend is my enemy…the infidel must die….islamist fundamentalist terrorist…time for the missiles…all to much talk. and not enough oil…the peoples plea for our help…so we bomb them…and liberate them…and they will be grateful for evermore….a new government...a friend…an enemy of my enemy….oil contracts…ford motors will grow….

Oh yeah …you think you are so great….your pain articulated…and your hair dyed…you and your punk rock life….your chains and your shredded jeans…badges of your pain….your adoring fans your trophies…your death the ultimate sacrifice…you know fuck all…mr.suffering and woe betide…mr.pain himself…let me tell u…u make me angry….very angry.. yeah you suffered..and maybe even your suffering was greater than mine…but the fairy tale is what you searched…the big castle and the swimming pool….beverly hills…you are a star now….here we are pretty peasants all lined up…here we are now…entertain us….