It’s been a while….

As the Staind song of the same name says, it’s been a while….It’s been quite a while, since I put my thoughts to paper, rambled senselessly through the twisted corridors of my mind. Listening to the strains of “Fade to Black”, I feel the age old pain renewed. The pain that has always been part of me, the pain of suppressed power. It is the curse of self-doubt, the plague of hesitation. Today, I practiced guitar for almost 5 hours straight. It hurts, and it’s gonna hurt like a bitch tomorrow morning. However, the fresh calluses on my fingers remind me of the inconstancy of my life. Rather than a sustained and thus productive effort, my life has often revolved around periods of great inspiration and energy, followed by even greater periods of dejection, disheartenment, and utter sloth. It is my sobbing prayer to anyone who might be listening in the heaven’s above, to grant me the one thing I crave the most in this world. The constancy of purpose. Give me a passion that lasts me more than 48 hours. I’ve tried running, lifting weights, swimming, smoking, drinking, memorizing the entire contents of a book, crunching numbers (in a fit inspired by Good Will Hunting), cryptograpy, skipping, boxing, break dancing, alcohol, drugs, chasing skirts, praying, intense meditation, yoga, even rares instances of inventiveness……Nothing seems to stick to the teflon-coated facade of my life. Everything has a patina, a laminate that protects me from any form of lasting impressions. Lasting: word for the day. Nothing seems to stick. It’s like a galvanized life. Goals change not when they are achieved, but when they become too ponderous to think about. I probably waste a large part of my day, thinking and plotting about something, only to let it go in the evening, and discard it for a new mental-mistress. I’ve seen things today, things that sparked a deep fire in my loins, that screamed at me…Do what nature made you a man for and claim your prize. But no, I shall not. It isn’t fear, I haven’t known real fear for a long time. Instead, it is a worry that maybe what I set out to do may lose steam halfway, and god forbid I’m beyond the point of no return. The last thing I would want is to be stranded in a desolate reserve, unpopulated by kindred spirits, where every smile is an effort, and every word a challenge to the wilderness. My soul longs for retribution, for fame, for universal glory. O Raistlin Majere! What price I would pay to live the way you lived. Second to none but the power of my own mind. Proud like a God. To point my finger at all the doubters and the achievers, and laugh until my soul is blissfully unburdened of its wearisome luggage. Unparalleled power, fame, glory and money….The master of my own destiny. And sometimes, taht Zippo-lighter of a feeling that we call hope flickers in the cruel North wind, as if to sigh out and whisper away to greener pastures, and stiller skies. And yet, I cling to the last thread, as the speeding jet takes off from the masked runway at midnight. I might be really babbling under the psychadelic influences of Nirvana, seeking my very own nirvana in this hellish place. The pictures I saw today deeply affected me, and made me think “I would be such, that the mortals say, Of him we have not a picture, from his time of imminent greatness. As a child all the innocence in his eyes was lost upon the world, and resulted in a change so great that it rent a gaping hole in the canvas of mankind itself. And now plays “Black” by Pearl Jam. At once a blindingly familiar bittersweetness courses through me, more bitter than sweet. And all I taught her was, everything. And now my bitter hands, chafe beneath the clouds, of what was everything. Her memories come to me in a stream of consciousness, renewing old scabs. There is no pain, only Novocaine numbness. Those were the times I can say, that “Yes, I’m a little happy” But now the light from the Black Sun that feeds inside me tattoos everything black. All the beautiful images turn to shadeless silhouettes. I know someday you will have a beautiful life, someday you’ll be a star, in somebody else’s sky. Why oh why cant it be mine. The men from Seattle couldn’t have said in a more heart rending fashion. Yes, I am not afraid to admit it, that even after one year of solitary existence, her kisses still sting me as much, when I run the film of our time together in the projector of my sadeness. My words, never underestimate the power of words. The ancient Hindu scriptures say that a man never must say an untruth, even if it means the loss of life of a million souls, and the desecration of hell itself. The power of words said in a state of great emotion is such, that although they are often foolish and unwise, they remain to haunt us of their unfulfilled promises unto our very deathbed, like ghouls returning to claim their share of life from the living. “Humko Deewana Kar Gaye” a movie that made me weep tears of glistening blood. Every moment was like an intense biopic. Another haunting memory. The tears as they dried on my shoulder. Although the moment lasted less than a moment, it shall remain in my soul for eternity. And if I could, I would turn back time and go back to those moments we shared, if only for another minute together, just one more kiss, just one more glance into those ecstatic eyes, as our souls writhed together in divine consortium. And yet I do not lay fault upon any being, not even myself, as it was a bitter lesson learnt in the fire. The fire is where the steel is folded an infinite number of times, in order to morph into the singing katanas of yore. And this katana shall sing yet, if only a single deathsong, like the songbird that pierces its heart and impales itself upon the altar of sacrifice, for no reason other than that of pure joy. The lesson has been learnt and it has been learnt well. Never again shall this katana sing for life. Now the song shall be in death, as everything fades to black. And yet it shall cry, “Sajna aaa bhi jaaa, nai lagda tere bina dil mera” The immortal words of anger/love. Try as I might, you are a part of me, and to destroy you would be to destroy the very part of me that keeps me alive.  The velvet heart still spreads its fragnant tendril betwixt the arches and gothic griffons of my shadowed alter of passion. No amount of dust or cobwebs can wipe out the indelible caress of your lips. Set in stone, they shall remin true even in the catacombs of rebirth. And so I will it to be. Every moment I live not the future, but an altered version of the past. These words hold no meaning for me anymore. Your very essence has become spliced with every breath I draw, and hence every intake of prana or life-energy is a yogic recall of your presence. Maybe the gods be with you, and give you even my share of the fruits of the few good karmas I have. A blessing upon your eyes, and a longing kiss upon your lips. That is all this soul has for you. Sometimes my hidden eyes tell me that somewhere someone else is thinking the exact same things, and longs for my unattainable caress too. However, this is merely the power of wishful thinking. Fly away my little sparrowhawk, you have bigger battles to fight. I am but a leaf on your perch. Live the journey not the destination. Goodbye and Good Night….

~ by aecoss on April 2, 2007.