WR1

People watching more often than not plants stirring trains of thought. We perceive. We process. We ponder on what we would do differently if we were the very person we were eyeballing, or if we would do anything differently at all if we were to embody identical cognition and judgement. While queueing in line for a cab 2 weeks ago, the lady before me nabbed my attention because of the book her nose was pressed into. TAKING CHARGE OF YOUR FERTILITY, it stamped. Now while that is a subject of relative commonality i grew sharply intent because of the individual she is then rooted before me. I took note of her features, observed her movements and as a whole became increasingly aware of her presence.. though i mostly thought about her problems, or what i imagined were gnawing at her anyway. It wasn’t very funny. I attempted at best to conceive and understand her woes, moods and options.. then thought about myself. What if the book were to be a necessity for myself someday? Would i be bothered, could i be as sedulous with homework? It was then her turn to board the waiting cab but being consumed by her reading content she had hardly recognized so. I should have offered a gentle notice but i just couldn’t, because sometimes when you seem to unlayer a veneer off somebody under the likes and mastery of your perception you grow shyer than you should be. Not that i ever talk much in the first place.. because as my Mom puts it my ‘mouth holds gold.’ Well she finally left and the next car pulled up. I entered to be greeted by a taxi so embellished and illuminated by striking lighting fixtures and assorted modish accessories it was genuinely showily exciting; among all the variant furbishments were windows with quaint fabric curtains and numerous dashboard bobbleheads that moved uniformly to the motion of the drive. It was really nice if not too flashy. Upon boarding the driver gave me a lookover as if to dissect and decide if i were the type of passenger to launch a conversation and gab and jive aimlessly, or if i were the type to make travel route demands unmannerly, or if i were the type to.. you get the idea. Amidst his sea of decorative car plates was one placed right above his head and distinguished in bold lemon: H8 MY DRIVING? CALL 1800-EAT-SHIT. Another one to illustrate his feistiness shrieked, ‘IF YOU DON’T MAKE THE CAB HAPPY WHEN YOU ENTER, YOU SURE DO WHEN YOU LEAVE.’ Wow. It was awesome. And he was a fast driver.

While on the train today there was a boy, of which i ascertain the right term to be used in reference as special, taking shots at preventing the doors from closing. So there he went with every stop, holding the doors back for 2 seconds before submitting to the mechanical duress. Nobody tried to stop him, mainly because it wasn’t perilous (Much as you might conjure it up to be, providing you give up when you have to each time) and if anything we all just watched, perhaps even anticipating a resistance that would surpass 3 seconds from time to time. Because we are humans like that. 15 minutes into his feat he received a call from whom i suppose was his parent, because he replied with hearty conviction that he was clear on how to head home.. followed by ‘WHY YOU SCOLD ME?’ and the stomping of feet. It was good, really, to know that despite certain incapaibilites he could still look out for himself. And maybe one day, just once, he can hold the door for anything longer than what he is already adept at.

My dreams have been anomalous, cold; i wouldn’t acknowledge them as nightmares because they scarcely involve deviltry, or anything tragic for that matter, but there is the conspicuous residence of a dark being almost nightly. I could be bearing a fairly customary dream and some form of phantasm would be present. Existent. In view. Occasionally within reach. It is just there. It often lingers static and isn’t up to anything, but it is watching.. sometimes from a distance, sometimes next to me. A shadow. A soaring hooded figure. A lady. Few evenings ago it was a Doppelgänger, save that it wasn’t in the realm of actuality, for they are harbingers of misfortune. My sister came home that night for dinner and i retired to bed soon after she left. Plunged into a dream forthwith, i found myself walking into her room only to meet with her facing the wall at a standstill. In the depths of my submerged mind i registered that she had just departed and could not possibly be in the area with me. I enquired about her occupation, first politely, then sharply when frightened. She insisted it was her but, incensed by my grit, turned her neck and bore her eyes into mine. Recognizing the quandary i tried to flee but remained rooted, and the aberration then surfaced into sleep paralysis. I can’t be fucked talking about it now, but if i’ve shared my encounters with you previously you would know how saying it happens to me all the time is a gross understatement. What’s unwonted here isn’t sleep paralysis but the bizarre ubiquity of apparitions in nearly every dream of late. 3 hours ago i was faraway in a visit to a women’s execution centre.. i cannot elucidate enough the number of specters witnessed.

It has been an attempt to piece these unsettling dreams together with the fact that i have been battered by my graduating project, and that my mind puts itself on a retreat, though evidently not on the best one available. On an assuaging note, i will be done on Monday. My external examiner is among the founders of London Fashion Week and has been hailed as the high priestess of British fashion by the Telegraph. That itself is as fearsome as my shady dreams.. not quite, but almost.

25th Hour

Start admiring the vastness of the forest and a tree will surely fall on you, bashing your skull for the crime of perspective.

-David Benioff

Other things may change us, but we start and end with the family.

-Anthony Brandt

 

I don’t remember the last time i felt so defenseless. Perhaps it was during one of the endless rabid episodes with a moonstruck ex, or the pervasive black spells that customarily oppress me into emotional ruin. I am inflamed, petrified and powerless to the nth degree. I don’t know to what portions the issue decays itself among pride, security and injustice; i do know that between bleeding my eyes dry and forcing out chuckles, this is a trial of ties. I try to remind myself that my story does indeed stem from my parents’, and there is no blame. How fleeting life is, much less matter.. can i truly face us raising the white flag? Saying yes would groom resentment in me, but saying no would be far too selfish. Woe is me.

To have had everything and then nothing at all.. this Christmas will be dismal. Dusky. Cold. To be able to claim that this is just the door to reconditioning our lives for the better would be ideal.. but on the most part, this would probably just make them intricately wearisome and galling like never before.

 I see no light at the end of the tunnel. I cannot feel my way at all.

PH

A single rose can be my garden… a single friend, my world.

-Leo F. Buscaglia

10:51

Because time itself is like a spiral, something special happens on your birthday each year: The same energy that God invested in you at birth is present once again. 

-Menachem Mendel Schneerson

Opened hand / Veronika Decides To Die

The month has slithered past me after a fleeting coil and i can’t, for the life of me, recall much of its affairs.. if i even should. Seated here at 4 in the morning, Cheestik in hand and hair so damp it makes my neck clammy, i don’t know what to do with myself but perhaps take a shot at deterging the bleakness that always keeps me both awake and aloof. When was the last time i was at ease? It’s been a bit, except for last Friday where for a few good hours my heart was placid and settled and, with some chocolate cake and a bag of chips, i managed to voice my dreams and desires while watching the bushed world go by and on with their lives at 3am. I can be and have been a fierce listener to plenty, stringing along with how i talk little, but people mostly choke the steam out of an encounter when they see the blank canvas meant for them to compose and etch on as an emotional dumping landscape. What happens when no one returns the favour of a release, or only simulates one with no heartfelt intention of knowing? To know, be still and opened to enwrapping and disgesting? This submergence has been sore.. these days i can only let the phone ring. I can only feign incomprehension and step away. Are you drawing into or from me? I, too, need to be remedied and harkened.

We need to lie atop the bonnet in comfortable silence amidst the vast expanse again as if rapture had came and went and we were the only 2 people vacuumed out by both climaxes, Pea. Thank you for listening and unlayering what so many cemented with selfhood and embracing the dark, dismal ball of friction i am, often manifesting the love only a sister can give.

*

‘.. But all that is just part of life, i think; and the price you pay for having to deal with those minor problems is far less than the price you pay for not recognising they’re yours.’

-Paulo Coelho

See the heavy leaf
on the silent windless day
fall of its own will

-Nozawa Bonchō

Whole lotta BS

/Hijacked.

Thank you for your kind words; i, too, would like to think that it can exist, if only i’d allow for it.. it’s quite the jarring antipodal complex.