Crooked, Strange and Cockeyed

There is a difference between what we perceive and what we believe we should be perceiving and both of these are different from what it actually is. 

I was doing my daily chores of inflicting physical misery on my body this morning in a park because I am not a gym person, neither am I a dog or a cat person or a gun person nor am I... whatever that is in vogue. I think I am not a persons' person. I don't know if I am even a person. This could well be a dream but that’s a talk for some other time. Sorry got carried away there. 

So I was saying that I was in an park which is less popular among the locality people which makes it even more beautiful and desirable. As I was catching my breath (multiple) and wiping off my sweat of my forehead (and other questionable places) I saw a burned out Diwali rocket lying on the grass. It was a big ass rocket, the ones which i wasn't able to incinerate as a kid because my parents couldn't afford such travesty and i thank our subsistence for that. The red head of this exhausted rocket was almost in a decapitated state, holding on to its body by dint of some fibers. I might have looked at it half a dozen times and something in me was not feeling right about it. I could not shake off this feeling. I don't know what it was or why but i wanted to pick it up very badly. There was only one outcome which could follow after this i.e, breaking of the rocket's head and throwing the parts away, back on the grass. 

Why was this crookedness bothering me? Why did I want to break it? So that I could have a sense of symmetry? 

We were told from the early days to be straight(not particularly pertaining to sexual orientation), to be symmetric. We were told it is right to be straight and wrong to be crooked. But how can we say for sure that what’s crooked is also not right? This is a very debatable idea of perception. This is the matter of our belief or more appropriately our belief system which has been manufactured over eons of civilization and is still being manipulated by various forces. 

Whatever doesn't suit our eyes is crooked and hence is not right. If you are strange you better make yourself right or others will do it for you. In the process of transforming you away from this asymmetry we will break you if we have to. This 'breaking of a person' seems to be the most likely outcome without achieving the required transmogrification. May be that’s why I wanted to behead that cockeyed rocked. People will break what they perceive strange even if they are not being affected by it directly. This may very well be because they are hardwired to do that over millions of years of evolution. But, if we believe we are spiritual beings then spiritual evolution must require us to see beyond symmetry. We ought to learn that being strange is not bad but in fact is enthralling, and swaying us(and others) away from our quotidian believes to expand our spiritual experience. 

I did finally pick the cockeyed rocket and rotated it thinking all these things and suddenly one of its fiber to which its head was clinging on to its body twitched and broke. It made me stop doing what i wanted to do with it. I didn't care about its symmetry anymore. I made its crookedness a part of my belief system and i let the rocket with its bobbing head slip out of my grip and fall over the carpet of lush green, curly grass.

Don’t Leaves This

Trying to write something on this piece of leaf, anyone who gets this must understand that this is not a revelation nor this is a confession (well, I do have one confession to make. I have a very poor handwriting). It’s been ages since anybody wrote anything on a leaf. We are losing the habit of writing as the trees are losing these leaves on the advent of fall. This doesn’t mean that I am an avid writer myself but at least for the sake of practicing we should write often, if not for the mastery in calligraphy. I know that the people who are coincidentally like me will say that pen-on-paper writing means more cutting of trees and we are already running low on those homies. But then I look at this leaf and all her fallen brethren. What purpose do they serve (after they have been relinquished from their maker) besides making us able to click and post an erogenous shot of their demise on Instagram and accumulate a million likes? They just fade away in the ‘Poorwaiya’ wind. These leaves might aid us in recovering and recuperating the lost art of scribbling. 
Don’t you agree? 

P.S: I am pauper in spelling correctly, grammar and mathematics. Leaves fortunately don’t have autocorrect but unluckily they don’t have spell check and fonts too.

Rumi’s Field

What is all that is wrong with this world? 

The world which we think we know so well or which we understand via experience and science. 

Is it possible as much clichéd as it may be that we could actually be living in a cat's or a dog's dream? 

What is that field about which Rumi brags about? 
Do the laws of physics apply there? 
Do the apples on the branches get hit by people with big heads there as a redemption from gravity? 

Ghosts and people must live in harmony there. 

That green and incredibly leveled grass in the meadow, those savanna-esque grasslands and the easily scalable ice-capped mountains with beautiful gorges and a crystalline river flowing in them, and the fresh water dolphins somersaulting out of the water, all of it in an existence beyond ours. 

There is no right or wrong there, no prejudice, no greed, no jealously, no possession, no pain, no grieve just bliss (not the kind you have on FB, twitter), actual, absolute bliss. 

Everybody is having an LSD trip every time but without esuriently swallowing one. Even the monsters are putting flowers in one others' hair there. 

God has no business being there, S/He is an ishmael over there. Just living in an old age home called The Heavenly Kingdom with pearly gates. People from the field visits her/him on her/his birthday i.e. every time S/He creates another universe. But that's all there is to her/him. The field has taken her/his progenies or creations to a dimension far from her/his domain which is almost everything. 

What do people do in this field? Is there any work there? If so then who assigns it? 

I doubt there are any ranks there. Hierarchy is an old concept of a festered world. But nothing rots here, everything is fresh, always. 

Everyone is here, everybody who wants to be here is here. It should have been crowded but it’s not. It’s open, open like a magnanimous heart, infinite. A paradox but not at all bewildering. 

There is no thin line between fact and fiction; there is no line at all. 

No lines, no queues, no coffee, no cigarette, no bear, no 'drinks on me'. 

P.S: मैंने रूमी को पढ़ा नहीं है, मैं सिर्फ बड़बोला हूँ|

Cinema and questions?

Was The Departed written by a stand-up comedian?

Why the fuck had Russel Crowe jumped into the river in Les Misérables?

Is Keanu Reeves for real?

How the fuck Morpheous made that jump, wasn't Neo suppose to be the jumper?

When will Natalie Portman... aa... they should not have shot her crying... i loved her when she went bald in V for Vendetta... i don't believe she is human, ghost may be, stuck between our world and the world beyond... where am I going with this?

Why in a god's world nobody is posting how brilliant Jessica Chastain is?

Are you going to spoil Irffan Khan like you spoiled Anurag Kashyap?

How can you confuse a strong female character with a girl swearing and doing trivial shit in the name of adventure?

Why haven't they given a billion dollars to Shriram Raghvan so that he can make movies every month?

Was Clive Owen born in his late 30's and will he ever touch 40?

Do they have a De Niro the Redeemer statue in Hollywood?

How the hell Koreans make such an orgasmic cinema?

Will you kill me if i say the voice in my head is the voice of HUGO WEAVING and not of Morgan Freeman?

Why they are making action movies with Danzel Washington shooting the fuck out of automatic guns when he can kill bad people just with his countenance?

Why would anybody wants to be a film critic?

Why Akshay Kumar Why?

When will they make a movie about NSD with all the NSD great in the lead role(s) in a New York I Love you esque?

Why Alejandro González Iñárritu's Birdman didn't have 3-4 different stories which ultimately melds into one like Amores Perros, Babel, Biutiful, and 21 Grams?

Why isn't Woody Allen starring in his own films anymore? :(

Shekhar Kapoor, Paani, When?

Whats went wrong with Ram Gopal Verma after the 90's?

Can you even guess one BAD movie of Vishal Bhardwaj?(except Matru, which wasn't actually bad)

When are they re-re-releasing Jaane Bhi Do Yaaron?

HIGH TIME TO DO THINGS IN A POST-APOCALYPTIC WORLD ALONG WITH THE OTHER IMPORTANT STUFF AFTER THAT

G was sitting on the door steps of an ostentatious house in brown study with a leather knapsack. He used to be a vegan.

It was dusk... or dawn, nobody could tell anyway. How can they? After all they were all dead and long gone.

Finally G stood up and a hissing sound followed him. Soon the big, opulent house engulfed in a frenzy fire. It used to be a house of a rich father not his though, but he liked enacting roles very much. This is the only game he enjoyed the most in the world of which we know as of now.

P.S: Read it again while listening to Coldplay's Rush of blood to the head.

Corollary

According to Projective Geometry any pair of lines always intersects at some point, but parallel lines do not intersect in the real plane. In other words, two parallel lines meet at infinity.

Probably or in Probability one day our Good Samaritan friend Math got bored from its ever supportive pal LOGIC, and decided to flirt with PHILOSOPHY a little. Some nerve aye?

Some wise Wo/man once said or not but I am paraphrasing here anyways "two roads always meet somewhere". Well I don’t travel much so I daren’t annotate on that but I’m almost sure 'two sides of a road never meet'.

Imagine! All their life (non-life) they remain abreast of each other but never actually felt, not even a lone touch of one-another. Just moving at a hand’s distance from each other and we move along them. What stories they must have shared in their eternity of acquaintance? One side that is completely oblivious of the other. They only talk at nights when there are no vehicles to document their detachment like the families of two brothers living in different cities asking about the well being only once a month or like young lovers full of intimate clandestinity. Their different worlds had the sorrows of their own. Everyday they are strangers or at least they act like that till there’s the visibility of dusk. Alas! They can’t even say “let’s meet at some cheesy café.

What power is holding them apart? What force in this universe that is so callous that it’s not letting these fervent friends to infuse? Poor bastards can’t even hear the poems that some eminent poet had written on their agony that propelled his career.

I guess Maths knows and empathizes with this pain of theirs. It evidently had changed the rational mood of Mathematics and hence it provide them with Hope that if they kept going, these so called Mates then they might meet at Infinity.

Now the derived question is “Does Maths really gave them Hope Or Is it one of the immaculate illusions of this great player?”

Questions? and Unanswers?

"sorry what?"
Me: Real.

"What are you having for lunch today?"
Me: Defeat.

"What do you like to have today for a change?"
Me: Victory.

"Whats your status?"
Me: Added preservative.

"Have you find your way my child?"
Me: yes, it will be fully operational and open to travel by 2050.

"Whats that you eating?"
Me: Time.

"Who are all these people?"
Me: I don't know, follow or add them.

"Where are you staying?"
Me: Apathy.

"What do you seek?"
Me: Medical Attention.

"What do you want to be one day?"
Me: Not Horny.

"How much money do you want?"
Me: Enough to get crushed by its weight.

"There is nobody here, who are you talking to?"
Me: whatever is not dead.

"I am going to the market, should i get something for you?"
Me: Bring back the Change.

"Did you see that?"
Me: No, i was blind in love... for fame.

"Where does she live?"
Me: In my mobile phone.

"Are you awake?"
Me: Nope, took the blue pill.

"How much for this?"
Me: Just some good deeds.

"What have you done?"
Me: Nothing, I am lazy.

"May I come in?"
Me: There is no door.

"Whats on your mind?"
Me: thoughts, sadly.

"Do you know what it takes to be a man?"
Me: Yes, a huge Debt.

"Are you Drunk?"
Me: Only Dehydrated.

"What is bothering you?"
Me: You along with my attachments.

"Whats your name?"
Me: Let me check my high school certificate for the correct spelling.

"What are you good at "
Me: Truancy.

"How Tall are you?"
Me: Stall.

"Got time?"
Me: So much that i can create some multiverses.

"Do you like her?"
Me: Yes but what if she turns out to be Real.

"Got light mister?"
Me: I am no GOD.

"Where have you been?"
Me: Internet.

"What are you up to?"
Me: 5"7.

"Whom are you closer to?"
Me: Greed.

"Got any ideas on this?"
Me: Enough to go Insolvent thrice.

"Why?"
Me: Genetic.

"Where does this path takes us?"
Me: towards non-residency.

"What does this makes us?"
Me: Transmogrified.

"Where will you take me to?"
Me: Hideouts.

"What do you have to offer?"
Me: Condolences.

"Going home?"
Me: less.


"What will you soon going to be?"
Me: Dead.

"How may I help you?"
Me: Bwahaha. Tell me your Twitter Handle, now!

P.S- non of this really happened,  allegedly.

incidental

just one big eternal sniff
and when the Shehnaai cried
and when the hound kisses your leg with its beautiful canines
and when you returns the favor to the beast with your warm, soft flesh and blood
and then you execute the run like an immortal
and when the couple droplets of blood trickle down from the gap
savoring each and every centimeter of your sweaty skin
and when the wounded opening feels the enjoyment of the fresh wind of the dawn
and when the pain stop getting radiated
and when you feel like a superhuman
and when you observe what you could never
and when where everybody you know is afraid for you but you aren't
and when you do exactly what was forbidden to you
that will without any exception would harm you but you enjoy it and survive
and when everything is over and you again become what you were before THEN...

Mothers' and Fathers'

We are our fathers in making.
We are our mothers in making.
We are a perpetual imitation of our fathers.
We are the bygone humility of our mothers.
We are the mockery of our mothers' buried disappointed ambitions.
We are doomed to be failed like our fathers' pulverized business ventures. 
We are our mothers' ultimate fear.
We are our mothers' negligence to knowledge.
We are fathers' pride out of social infliction.
We are the pagans of our mothers' bigotry.
We are our fathers' diluted industriousness gone to vain.
We are our mothers' pains to please god.
We are our fathers' lost antics, our mothers' lost games.
We are our mothers' dispensable sacrifice.
We are our fathers' longing to sleep for dreams in wanting.
We don't want to lose them, we have to get of them.
Our mother's and fathers'...
What do we look for in them? What is that they want from us?
Our mothers and our fathers...

मै ! ... ?

क्या उतम है और क्या अपूर्ण ये मुझे कौन बताएगा ?

मै नहीं जानता मुझे क्यूँ बुलाया गया इस धरती पर 

किन्तु मुझे ये आभास है कि कोई अज्ञात ही मुझे ले जायेगा।

मैने देखा है इस जहान को अपनी मासूम नज़रों से, 

उन आखों में कभी थी एक सुन्दर दुनिया। 

अब एक सपना है जो अतीत के पल्लू से लटका हुआ है 

और भविष्य कि उस कमज़ोर रस्सी का सिरा ढूंड रहा है। 

पर अब इस वर्तमान कि कलम का क्या 

जो ज़िंदगी के काग़ज़ पे इश्क़ का अंधा फ़रमान लिखती है? 

इश्क़ कि इस दुनिया पे शक है मुझे मगर नफ़रत करने वालों को भी इश्क़ करते देखा है।

वो पूजते हैं मुझे विनम्र समझ के लेकिन 

वो ये नहीं जानते कि मै ही वो छिपी इर्ष्या हूँ 

जो नफ़रत को जनम देती है।

मै कौन हूँ? मेरा नाम है क्या? ये मै ख़ुद नहीं जानती,

किन्तु आप मुझे जानने कि कोशिश मे कहीं खुद से ही इर्ष्या ना करने लगें।

नफ़रत का वो दौर निकल भी गया और मै यहीं रही।

इन थकी हुई आँखों से मैने एक बार फिर तुझे देखा, 

तुझमे मुझे तेरा और सिर्फ़ तेरा सत्य दिखा। 

अचानक से तू मुझे ख़ूबसूरत लगने लगा ।

मुझे नहीं पता था कि इस तरह ज़िंदगी मेरा नज़रिया बदल देगी, 

तेरे पास होने पर, तेरे साथ होने पर

नफ़रत से घायल इन आँखों को ठंडक मिलने लगेगी।

एक विद्युत सी जैसे दौड़ी हों मेरे बेजान बदन में 

जिसने दिल और दिमाग का मेल कर दिया। 

ह्रदय पुनः चिंतन करने लगा जिसमे एक नयी 

धड़क्ती अग्नि का प्रवाह हुआ और मस्तिष्क फिर से सव्पनों में विमुक्त होने लगा।

हिंसा के इस उजाड़ शेहर में, 

नफ़रत के उन अंधेरे खंडरो के मलबे से 

सदियों बाद फिर एक पवित्र प्रकाश फूटता है।

जो सारे आस्मां को रौशनी में सराबोर कर देता है।

मै खड़ी तेरा हाथ पकड़े, उस गगन को निहारती रहती हूँ, 

और कहती हूँ 

“अब हमारे पास ये सारा ब्रह्मांड है, आओ प्यार की एक नयी कहानी रचदें” 

मेरे सवाल अभी भी अनसुल्झे हैं पर शायद; 

यही वो रहस्य है जो प्रेम को ज़िंदा रखता है, 

वही उत्तम है और वो ही अपूर्ण।

HARMONY of CHAOS

Universe has a music
So as the planets
The plants and the mountains
The oceans and the rivers
The birds and the animals
All the nature’s harmony
But there is another harmony
My harmony
The harmony of chaos
The harmony of panic Within me
It’s been there from the starting
But it hadn’t made me dance
It is something which doesn’t creates joy
It is anarchy in peace,
It’s persuasive
Keeps me pushing Continuously
to do something
It’s like somebody is lurking inside me
And thrusting me outwards
With a immense force
An invincible power
It is happening right now
Now, and then after the now I
n the next now
Even in the next then
Like a same record is playing Again and again
Unrecognizable, ineffable
And it never comes to end
Never halts
Just keeps on going
Painfully engaging is what this chaos is
Trance but not transcendent
The mind is too little,
Too weak
for this chaotic symphony
Don’t know what happens
when an agitated leopard
got trapped in a cage
made of leaf and dry straws
that’s the situation with my consciousness.
In this case Only one thing is certain
And that is
This harmony is not going to slow down
This harmony of chaos will...

wondering

Sometimes they talk good,
but then the fear
make them corrupt.
The dread of being thrown,
out from the very family
which they made themselves
The family which won't
have any existence,
The family which can't
thrive without them.
Sometimes they talk good...

VANITY and ME

What is the purpose of vanity when everything is futile. Then why this extravagant display of the plasticity.

I see how the makeup, this masque of false beauty get washed away during the times of great sorrow.
At the very urgency of life we somehow boycott the pretentious vanity, thus we don’t care anymore about the forced hypocrisy at the scarcity of happiness.

What happen then? Are we enlightened or we felt the awakening?
If not then what is that which take over this addictive ornamentation?

Some say “it’s the harmony of life, love, affection, care. Indeed these emotional entities do have their affect but none of it is the pivotal driving force behind it.
FEAR, the dreadful thought of losing the material world and thus unwontedly relinquishing this habit of hypocrisy.

I try to feel the flawless conscious BRHAMAAND in the time of emotional and affectionate scarcity. I think I didn’t feel any fear of future or this ‘love for material’. But the horrifying nightmare of the present, that could happen this very moment.

I am worried about the future regardless of the vanity of what to come but to know that I am here and most possibly will be there at the times of responsibility.

I don’t want to undone anything not to change neither to control but to flow away from its course so that the present couldn’t intimidate me. This extreme feeling of irresponsibility in me or the fear of facing the responsibility is the reason for this, may be.

I left the masque since then but have no realm to stay. I know I can’t find anything.

But I just want to feel ...

LOST in the Facade

WHAT DO I SEE?

I see a flock, flock o people capable individual intellect. But still a herd greedy for the forage they can't digest. I see constant covert hypnosis by the preachers of education through the saucer of competitive consumerism to lure the beef heads for comprehensive self gain.

WHY AM I HERE THEN?

I mean here, in this perpetual illusion-ary system.

The answer is that "I don't know, i know but i don't wanna tell, What you wanna here?"

Can give you as many assertion of these interpellations as possible.

Because i am the mind and the mechanism behind this system. Without my element of apathy, unawareness, fundamentalism, greed, insecurity and fear this system can't be flourished.

I see some pseudo daring cattle that try or mostly pretend to show that they are challenging the subtle possessive art of the system. But in there consciousness they wanted to be fed that same crap disguised as royal regale. There initiative is already sublimated to the system. They don't want to know what's beneath the ground in the fear of what it might be. Dirty, dreadful, filthy and with the peril that the filth will be reflected upon them and will aid there insecurities to gallop them.

WHAT ELSE?

The other type of pseudos, the pseudoacquantances. They try to modify the relationship in accordance with their greed. When the satisfactory toy of self assurances remained starved, they urge you to accuse and interrogate the system. This is the famine generated in their self defensive mind against the elevated thoughts and intellect. They see you as a shield and weapon to avoid direct engagement. They push you to do something they can't nor wanted to do.

WHY AM I TAKING THIS ABUSE?

I am a pussy, a traitor of my own ambition and bravery.

WHAT SHOULD I DO?

I know the answer the actual question is

WHEN I AM GONNA START DOING IT?

DON'T WANT TO SQUANDER IT.

           DON'T SQUANDER IT.

Resolute Music

Music is the trance, it gives you an euphoric experience
and sends you to a divine world of harmony.

Phrases and words gives you the awareness.
If you combine these two you will get a song.

It creates the most powerful language in the world.
With this virtue we can render and manifest anything to anyone.

But the people should not be so selfish to corrupt it for their own greed.

This will only mislead  the conscious being to dark
and there will be a dreadful waste of this sacred humility of the harmony.

So I urge the talented ones, not to squander
this gift of forte in narcissism and boastfulness.

But to sparse it for the awareness and enlightenment of the bourgeois.
It have to have a purpose.

The tea cup of life

So I was drinking tea in my old steel cup and on the top of it I saw a bubble. It was sticking on the inside wall of the cup and was slowly sliding down. I started to blow over it so that it could fly off from the cup like a soap bubble. I relinquished a long blow of wind and it made the bubble to move upwards but then, just as it reached the edge of the cup it had stopped. I blew again but it won’t move though half of it was outside in the air ready to fly. It was just holding on to the edge like a person holding on to the edge of a cliff. If it let go of the edge it would meet its end. Eventually my breath gave up and the bubble slid down like a family man who had just escaped his death. "But we don't know if he was going to die for sure, he could have been flying by now instead of sighing and celebrating the great escape" i said to myself "He could have set himself free but he chose to slide down".

After, when it came down, I blew on it again but this time towards the dry side of the cup. It slide a few micro meters smoothly but then it stopped like a race car driver suddenly pulls the hand brakes of his fast moving vehicle. The bubble won’t move because the moisture aiding it to slide was absorbed by the dry wall of the cup. So I blew harder and this time it was not only resisting moving up but also retreating against the mighty current of the wind. Just like the people who choose not to walk on the unknown path and follow their mundane routes. And they resist just like the bubble was resisting the blow and they will do anything in their power to hinder the force which encourage or tend them to pursue the seldom path for the unknown.

But I wanted it to fly, so I blew again, and this time with a furious power to chuck it out of the cup with a jolt. But this time it  had bursted instantaneously after a displaying a wispy struggle. And then, at that moment, it struck me that the life of a person is just like this bubble in this tea cup situation.

Isn’t this the philosophy of life?

FURY part2: TORTURE

Captivity imposes solitary, anxiety and dreadful environment. And there is another element which aids in the agony of the captive that is torture. Inside the cage, everything from the outside world is a torture no matter how polite or encouraging it is. Solitude and captivity became hazardous when aided by torture but it doesn’t kill you. The tragedy is you never die from torture because if you do they will lose the fun of having a beautiful captive in their lives.

Then why, why they do a torture? Just for the fun of it. No they do it because it makes you sick and miserable. It cut down your reinforcement of mental toughness and makes you incapable of resisting. It makes sure that you do not even think to recollect your power to fight back and break free.

Fighting against torture is a usual stimulus response. It makes you stronger and enduring but the beauty of it is that it does not prepare you to fight from captivity. It has had developed a kind of memory (mental or physical) which helps you to fight the torture in your second cessation. That means if you had able to emancipate from your first captivity the things you had learnt and experienced from that, will aid you in future. But it is not going to happen because you can’t escape the captivity excepted already by you.  

The best thing about the torture is that harming you physically is the least thing it do. The catch comes when you became retarded and you know the wide aspects of torture.

You think the torture will spare you because nobody wants you dead inside. No, it will eat you up like a rabble of termites and finally you will become an empty vessel. A void weeds pot, your life and you which has no marijuana in it. Your soul will be dismembered and your body becomes pathetic. And this will be the time when they unrestrained your rotting body and leave it on the altar. At the same altar the vultures of the society will tear and eat you to death.

now that's What I call a beautiful end to a fruitful life!

fury part 1: captive

PRISONER, that's what i am from the past 21years of my life. a prisoner in my captive surroundings, my relations, society, friends, parents, relatives, moral conventions. i am sick of world's hypocrisy, greed, possessiveness, competition, politics, adulation, gossiping bitches and dick tongue backbiters. 

i want to capture all the people in a large shit hole where all the pimps and the bastards and the whores and all the scum of our modern urban society will smother to death. But they can’t only die from the bad stink so steal the intercontinental ballistic launcher and bomb that filthy shit hole which became filthy only after the admission of those fucking superficial cunts before it was just a large shit hole. after bombing the place with the ultra nuclear missile I’ll submerge the whole god damn place in the shit worm's urinate and let it sink to hell.

but i really can't do it cause I’d been also a captive of passivity. Though out of frustration and anger i thought of turning into a psychopathic serial killer to ease myself but I don't have a border line personality disorder either but i do believe in myself being a schizoid. 

i only find peace in my dreams and illusions and movies and stories coz they let me live in a world of freedom, adventure, instantaneous moment where my emancipating stimulus can prevail till eternity. where i can be whatever i want to where i can evolve but then these illusions are momentary and fragile thus breached by the daily routines and people in the surroundings performing the mechanical rituals.

try to breathe but get suffocated, try to create but get wrecked, try to fly but catch a bad fall, try to bungy jump from my coop but my prisoner chains are to short and rigid to fall and they are heavier then me and my dreams. the only-thing a learn from this captivity is pleasure in pain and pathetically living like a big limbless reptile crawling through a dirty sewer. these manacles has enslaved me and even confine me from self-destruction.

my dark side is growing day by day. i started to see things differently but also horribly. I am a 

ticking TIME BOMB which can explode and spread havoc and epidemic to the world. i want to ravage and relinquish my rage and violence on the parafinnated society and burn it to ashes till the tranquilized world open their eyes in freedom and truth.

but then what a CAPTIVE can do? 

darkness

          Darkness inside is a black hole sucking every light of not only your own life but others too. It is very powerful, you can’t escape it and it won’t let you go.  if you try to resist then your bones will be crushed by its pitch-black denseness.  If you don’t resist it then it will abate you.