One foul moment

Sadness prevails and may always prevail.
I grow tired and I stare away. Fear looms and darkness grows. I am trying to get through but something is amiss and something is incorrect.
I will try to will myself through but success is not certain.
It never has been and never is.

You are supposed to dance in a circle and hail to the invisible man.
Grow afraid each day for there is something to lose and something to not attain.

I see them holding hands and I see them jumping.
There is no reason why they do this, but at their age, may be it is all that really matters.

The wind strikes the trees naked and the water accumulates at each opportunity.
People write and people eat.
This is all that I care for.

How d'you like 'em apples?
All that is required and all that is appreciated is a number.
A standing and that is what distinguishes.
But what if it all goes away?

In one foul moment - all (of) it is taken away.
And we lie naked there knowing the potential that is lost and the anger swelling within.
We want no explanations and we stay away from confrontations.
There are people out there, ever trying to be something outstanding.
To be someone of importance and to create a niche.
The problem is 'trying'.
The problem is 'studying'.

It makes me think at times, whether anything really matters.
I believe that over the long haul nothing matters.
I believe that I write insane stuff.

Torture

I should be mutilated, cut open, my body parts chopped up, my brain squished in a grinder.
The ground brain should then be put next to my heart so that it blends with it.
The ground brain would then flow through my body to all parts.
Enough about the brain.
The entire idea is that I need to be put through pain.
Whenever my head hurts, what ought to be done is - slit the vein/artery running across my forehead, so the pressure is reduced and the throbbing stops.
Another idea that came to me was for my nails to be removed entirely.
Furthermore, a guy would always be pretty queasy about his private parts.

I am sick and I am sick and I am sick and I am sick of this environment.
I want out.
I want my legs in my hands because they do not belong there.
This world infuriates me and I believe that there is no spoon.
O ! I just slit my throat.
Felt good.

Beaver Story

He looked around the forest at the creatures crawling.
They made an impression on him - almost each one.
He went to get wood, but found out that he could not purchase it.
So he decided to create a wood founding factory where he nibbled at the woods till the wood shone through.
He had created wood and was happy.
But he now had people working with him.
He felt lonely at night.
But one day a flying beaver came to his creek.
He was smitten and he took her for his.
He wanted to grow the wood founding factory but to what effect?
She made him understand that beyond a point, all the wood in the world is just worthless.
However, what is important is that he has gained his independence.
He need not depend on other wood cutters to make wood for him.
He said OK.
Now he drives around in his flintstonesque contraption, wading through the muddy forest.
He is old now.
He sits in his house made of his factory's wood.
He sits with the flying beaver.
He orders some rodenty food.
And he says to himself.

This is all I ever wanted - I was such a nut till this flying beaver came along.

A queer love story

I join the dots and she is making her hair. I assemble the pieces and she puts on her dress. She looks wonderful right now and I feel like smiling. So I start crying as I think of all that I lost. She is standing now and she is crying because I asked her to marry me. I knew she would say yes, so I bought her an orchid. There is something about a girl who cries that makes her all the more beautiful. Of course, I told her this, to which she slapped me. I said ouch and she said sorry. We held hands as we jumped through the streets and into the restaurant. They served food there, which was better than it had ever been - simply because I had made the food. I lied, we did not go out, we stayed in and we ate well. We saw a movie that made her smile and that made me laugh. "O look! Where have we come to!!"
She never thought that there would be such a day, but here it was and here we were. Holding hands, as she lay in my lap and I thought of a time that had passed us by too long ago. Back then, things were uncertain, and uncertainty breeds angst; and so, as she recalls, both of us were sad. However, she had her dreams - she wanted to be a sorceress and I wanted to be a janitor. That was all that we wanted and if that had been the path we had chosen, things would have been drastically different. I thank luck that brought the two of us together on that safari. She relinquished her desires to be that witch and instead decided to be a bitch. She treated me horribly, to which I realised that I should not be a janitor for, in order to tackle her down I would have needed to be powerful.
So be it. That is what brought me to be this man that I am today.
I stroke her hair and she falls asleep. She is dreaming of us, I can tell. Why? Because I see her grinning and scowling. That is what she has always been.
My back was aching when she woke up because she had been sleeping for 10 hours straight and I did not feel like waking her up. This is me. She slapped me with a frying pan so I was out cold.
Now I sleep next to her as she reads a book. It is called "Roads to the Abyss"
51 years and 26 days from now, she dies.
I try living for a few days and I realise that although I could, there was no particular reason to my existence. I had created all that I wanted to and these past few years it was mostly the time spent with her that made me wake up each morning.
So I took a life killer medicine and I killed myself.
That's that.

I wonder who makes the food in the house now.

Words

Individualism
Unity
Sincerity
Inquisitiveness
Conformity?
Romance
Dreams
Ego
Anguish
Restlessness
Lust
Admiration
Regret
Uncertainty
Companionship
Solitude
Choices
Anguish
Companionship
Individualism
Dreams
Desires
Home
Ego
Companionship

Worries

There is no point to how things are for they are headed nowhere.
I believe that one day I shall see you cry.
That day I shall know how things are and how things shall be.
There is no solace, of that I am sure.
May be I make this up as I write to you;
But all that matters is the clown on the street.
For he believe in me more than I ever can.
He waved at me yesterday.
He told me through his mind, he told me that I do not belong here.
I belong there, from where I came.
To where I belong.
Nobody had spoken to me the way he did then;
I believe I belong there...

But will there be anybody waiting for me back there?
How shall I be if everyone has someone new?
May be I adapt, but surely I will cry.
Which may be why I cry as I write this,
For all seems sad and dark.
If only they could wait for me.
If only the sky would seem blacker than it is.
Then I know that I could make it by.
Have felt this for the longest time now.
Have mourned for the longest time now.
Will anybody ever understand me?
Does it matter is anybody understands me?
May be all that matters is the when I reach there.
What follows then is all that matters,
And not my perception of how things might transpire.

Memories

There are times when words spoil;
A little gaze is all that is required.
I sat by the ocean and heard the waves.
There was a murmur behind me and a throb inside me.
It was peaceful then when nothing needed to be explained.
I remember the sudden wring of laughter and how that was not meant to be.
I caught my eyes that day as I stared away...
Sometimes nothing need be said.
It's only the memories that stay,
And those particular nuances that gel those memories.
I remember the gaze and I remember the smile.
I miss myself at times.
But the times, they change and they mold me.
I long to go back into the past in the future.
One day I shall see those scenes again.
That day I will not rest.