(Art by Edvard Munch)
At the end of the day, you will always find me here typing gibberish that makes sense to no one but myself, in desperate attempts to brew art out of words by arranging and re-arranging them in accordance with their rhyming patterns, syllabic constitution and literal meaning. If my work ever radiates its presence in-front of anyone for more than a minute, I’d be glad to acknowledge it, for truly I feel that my compositions fail to stand out owing to my incomplete understanding of poetry and art, which I will never be able to fully comprehend. I break rules and steer off the road, recycle expressions and phrases over and over, and fail to contemplate outside the region of my focus, crippling my abilities beyond appreciation, and in the end making the reader laugh and squirm at my failed little experiments.
I pity the poor souls who visit my page and take the time to read my compositions til the end, and I share feelings with those who, annoyed at the ceaseless rambling, do not lower their eyes onto the second paragraph even. Now this isn’t a self deprecation post where I degrade myself and then later post a picture with a few lines from this piece on Instagram providing a link to my blog (I almost certainly will do that anyway), I just want to vent it all out. I wish to not annoy my homeboys (and girls) with my endless complaints of variable makeup, so the only thing I can do is vomit my feelings onto my keyboard already riddled with dust and dirt to flush the filth out from my inner clockwork. Catharsis is what my dear friend calls this little phenomenon, a fancy word indeed, reminds me of a Catheter, but lets not walk to that side of English Language.
Let us talk about my dynamic conscience for a little bit.I am in a rather scary situation, because for some reasons “scary” suits the situation the best, where I have resorted to praying to the almighty so that he or she very gallantly denies me the chance of staying here for another year, scribbling my notebooks full while my mind burns with envy seeing my friends pursuing their higher studies. I really am scared and that has rendered me unable to decide whether I am a theist or an agnostic. Fright has completely metamorphosis-ed me into something completely different, and that scares me more. I understand how my ideals aren’t fixed and I change paths the same way I change my Wireless Mouse’s batteries. Like twice a month. Unfortunately my mouse started to heat up just yesterday when I fixed it with a new pair of AAA Batteries, and sadly died a rather warm death. Its simply because I have done my part, and I cannot do anything further from my side that I have shifted to praying to the one above all in a very despairing and selfish way to acquire what I want. This makes me selfish and cunning. Because I know that if I do acquire this thing, or even if I do not, I will shamelessly move back to being an agnostic without any lingering feelings of belief.
Are you still here? I can only imagine one person wasting their time, still reading, a person very close to my heart, a person whom I can never forget- Myself. My pride blinds me, disables me from watching the twinkly night sky, disables me from respecting the scorching sun, keeps me away from the whistling gusts of winds that blow, because all of these things I shall never be able to overpower. When pride is hurt, envy is birthed. No one can directly hurt my pride, no words shall ever pierce my heart so deep. Only action holds the lone power of kicking my knees in. I am in a way stuck with myself, trying hard to find the silver lining in clouds waging war in thunderstorms, because my inner self tells me that I am worth more than others, that I can do better if I try hard enough. The catch here is, if I really could, I already would’ve.
“The world has coalesced into one giant mess of hate and unrest”, sings Oliver Sykes, clearly tickling that sweet spot of reality. Lets face my sorry-little-pitiable life. I have a handful of friends (restrict that to one hand, not two), and this cuts me off from all the drama I could’ve been a part of had I accepted all those friend requests, all those outing offers, all those birthday invites. I TRULY respect all of this, you all are still my friends, just not as close as my close friends, and I am talking about my closest friends here. Because if I do talk about friends who aren’t close, I am happy to have such a healthy friends circle. I do not have pending conflicts with anyone from my school, and I am happy to say that I do not hold ill feelings against anyone from my class. Now I am stuck in a transition phase where I am sure to lose even my closest friends, and this thought burns my heart into a sick fever. Being alone is sad, being an introvert is sadder, being a lonely introvert is the saddest. Well I do hope I am able to find friends wherever fate takes me in his ride. How lonely does this paragraph sound?
Its as though fortune falls through my hands like water, as though the sun blazes through the clouds a little hotter, and drought kisses the land around me with beastly lust, petrifies right away even the glacial winds and cloudy gusts. It all just brings me back to one question- Why does it hurt when it shouldn’t? I wish the birds sing to me, the bugs dance it out to me, the leaves rustle it to me, and the ever-chivalrous sea waves orchestrate to me the answer to my question. I wish to remain simple with logic and reasoning, to never over-complicate the tiniest matters. Will my mental faculties ever land me to my answer? My reasoning tells me that if it hurts you, you walk out of it and never look back. Why let it stain your personage? I am not a votary that I should create a scene upon being tainted, a part of my mind agrees that it saw it coming this way, while another part wants to lash out, and yet another one wants to silently walk away. No matter how many times I try to walk away, in one form or the other, the mud slaps are going to hit my face anyway. There is no escape, and I should finally make peace with it. Life does not stand with me, but against me, and its my job to solve every pathetic puzzle it throws in my hands menacingly.
A Redditor once wrote a quote, “There is no reason to set yourself on fire to keep others warm” and it has been engraved on my mind since then. Do I respect this reasoning? I very well do, these are golden words worth more than anything materialistic. Do I follow this reasoning? I do not. I am too afraid, not courageous enough. I wish to make a change, and follow it profusely. But I do not know if I ever will be able to follow these words.
I really wish I do, at least in the events that should follow.