MIHTFBID - III

Sri Lanka is beginning to feel like vanvaas. Time seems to have very little meaning here. Nothing seems to matter, there are no pressing concerns. Even work never seems to attain any sort of sense of urgency and the world seems to be taking it for granted that everything will sort of neatly finish itself eventually. This is not as relaxing as it probably sounds. It's a strange sort of vacuum where nothing seems to get through. It's like I know in my head that the universe is out there and there are people, people I know, living the same lives I'm so familiar with beyond all this water. But it seems like that only, a concept within my head or some sort of vivid dream that comes about as a result of a severe chemical imbalance.
I spent all three mornings / afternoons of my three day weekend with the curtains in my room drawn. With these curtains drawn it feels like it might as well be 3 AM or 3 PM outside, there's no way to tell the difference. My bed is a king sized cloud and I spent all three mornings / afternoons drifting in and out of a daze, vacillating between complete clarity on the POA and struggling to retain a single train of thought, trying to get some quality brooding done and failing. Most of all I'd keep unconsciously thinking of the way things were in the past, way back in the past before anything mattered, and the way I felt and was back then. Now I can't seem to shake it and I can't seem to bring myself to care. Living by the ocean is probably the easiest way to stop giving a shit about everything and everyone. I'd eventually realise that my mind is completely blank and there isn't anything that seems to need to be thought of and I'd draw the curtains and the entire room is flooded with light. The motherfucking ocean, man. It's like living on the brink of my future, with my past and present dissolving into each other and losing their identities. It's like constant sniggering at my expense. At the fact that I'm pretending to be a different person, or maybe trying to be a different person. At the fact that I like to waste hours pretending to be distressed about problems, while what I'm going to do about them was already decided before any of this began. At just how much I seem to enjoy being this person who is truly dedicated to these concerns. The problem is I think I may actually be all these things. I have spent too many days being by myself, repeating things over and over in my head till they've lost meaning. And now I can't seem to remember which is the made up bit.

What does one speak of when times are confusing and emotionally overwhelming and generally thoroughly disorienting? Cellulite, naturally. Internet, I have a lot of cellulite. Bits of me are completely dimpled and ripple gracefully when I so much as move. Also, it’s not exactly bits of me. It’s most of my thighs and all of my ass. It’s a highly disgraceful state of affairs. I really ought to do something about it considering I’m only 23. Now that I’m here in Colombo, with precious little (except really intense stuff) to occupy my unnaturally large brain, my day is broken up into two discrete parts. The morning and early afternoon when I feel fantastic about the cellulite and my general hotness and the awe-inspiring scope and savage beauty of my game. The second half is late afternoon onwards when my game becomes limited to the creepy old men in my hotel, who are naturally chubby chasers and attracted to my resemblance to a nautical vessel :| Internet, am I doomed to never find the answer? Is it my inherent whoriness compensating for Cellulite City or the awe-inspiring scope and savage beauty of my game?

Now I have suffragette city playing in my head, except Bowie’s singing to my ass.

Don’t lean on me man
Cause you ain’t got time to check it
You know my cellulite city
Is outta sight
She’s all right

:D

Bonnie & Clyde made my heart sing and my soul make its presence felt.

Give me reason to live / Teri behki behki nigaah nai mujhe ik sharaabi banaa diya

Internet,

I wonder. Am I secretly at heart a cheesy, lustful fat old man? Do I want to tell you to go on over there, turn on the lights (ALL the lights), come over here, stand on that chair, raise your arms and shake them? Am I worried that suspicious minds are talking, trying to tear us apart, that they don't believe in this love of mine, but they don't know what love is?
But I know what love is.

Or am I secretly an insane, completely awesome fat old man? Kya main saaki ki har nigaah pe balkha ke pi gaya? Lehro se khailta hua lehra ke pi gaya? Jab se dekha hai unki aankho ko halka sa saroor rehta hai? Na namaaz aati hai mujhko, na wazoo aata hai. Sajda kar leta hu jab saamne tu aata hai :)
Mera baad kis ko sataonge?
Mujhe kis tarah se mitaonge?
Kahaan jaa ke teer chalaaonge?
Yeh teri nazar ka kusoor hai ke sharaab peena sikha diya.

My gums don't bleed anymore. It's like I'm losing my identity all over again.

Above you

One of the reasons why I'm not listening to music right now is because songs like these, songs that in my increasingly unhinged mind are entirely devoid of musical quality but are wholly representations of context, they make it harder for me to focus on the pertinent, things that I have come to know for a fact. These aural misrepresentations only speak to me of urgency and the fervent need to cut yourself open a little, to let your nasty bits hang loose, to loosen your vice like grip on your foolish but all very real notions of mortality.
So today, again, I'm more than just a little insane.
Are we all bound to repeat ourselves? Over and over and over. The same story, with different people playing the part that seems to be set in stone. It's not about the people, or the reaction they induce in my blood. It's not about the fact that how their day went matters to me. It's also not about how certain smells and sensations trigger the most primeval sensation of comfort and security. What really got to me today, was when I realised that I'm playing a part in someone else's pattern. I too am fitting into their required scheme of things, it's really not about me, but just to what extent my behaviour and reactions fit into the part portrayed by many before me. I'm not sure whether I should be comforted in the knowledge that it's not just me who's a slave to some subconscious requirement to live the same scenario over and over, to be the same person in multiple people's lives. It makes me wonder, to what level has some part of me decided my fate, mapped out how the rest of my life will be.
So I'm not listening to music. Because I don't want to forget that you and I are pawns in our own grand scheme of things, not for the sake of a pretty tune.

To clarity

I'm going to call this the year of my narrow escape.