metaphorical death

>> Saturday, August 16, 2008

Late summer and fall lie ahead, but will they be full of ghosts? That is the trouble with long summer evenings and the sparkling monsoon days, they are haunted. The question is, if worst comes to worst, what is the prospects of a new life in a new dead world, with this that or whoever. I struggle constantly with a rebellious spirit, my mind in a continuous state of disarray and brooding resentment, contemplating nothingness. Not for the pleasure of being alive and desiring, for life is all too often no pleasure whatsoever, but it makes you leap and rejoice for having had the opportunity once a while for existing at all.

It has finally come to only this, a tiny bubble of consciousness surrounded by thousands of sheets of virtual paper – these dozens of folders filled with disordered scribbling. The words come without warning and they chill my blood. Disheveled heaps of words, an incoherent jumble and snarl of truths, lies, memories, fantasies, adding up to nothing. They are said to me in my own voice, the sentences dripping into my ear like slow poison. To silence them I rouse myself into a fury, a literal blood-letting, making my whole body a visible and tangible shout. For as long as my shout reverberates in the air I do not hear them and I keep scribbling something. I take turns, exalted, depressed, terrified, lustful. A regular night of witches, devils, thorns in the flesh followed by contrition and clear sight. Followed, of course, by the old friend, morning terror. I can’t write.

And all at once, the terror has a habitation and name – I am having "mood swings" .. right that’s what they are .. Suddenly the morning sunlight becomes just what it is, the fresh lovely light of the morning. The terror is gone. Another week and lying in my bed, I become prescient and clairvoyant, orbiting the earth like an angel and inducing instant angelic hypotheses. I saved myself by naming this terror, knowing the worst of me, then naming it with ordinary names, English common nouns, smiling and moving on.

In times of ordeal one’s prayers become simple. I had prayed that I faint in a private place where no one would disturb me. I had closed my eyes and then there was a pleasant sense of being attended, strong hands laid on, of another’s clothes rustling nearby, albeit virtually. I wonder; did it break my heart when this latest illusion died? Yes. I constantly expected this death and yet did not anticipate it. There was even the knowledge and foreknowledge of it while it still lived, life still had its same peculiar tentativeness, living by the usual fits and starts, aiming and missing, while present time went humming and the foreknowledge that once the imminent collapse is accomplished, remorse would settle in and give past time its bitter specious wholeness. If only I hadn’t been defeated by humdrum humming present time and missed everything. I knew and still that time went humming. Then everything was over and here came the sweet remorse, like a blade between ribs.

I do not understand the principles of attack and siege, strategic retreat, counter-attack, and ambush. The sloping shadows, hibiscus blooms that had quailed and folded, it is all exactly as I had remembered and continues to exist. The delirium is over, I am still not in control of myself, marveling at and regretting the now dead excitement. There is also a compensation, a secret satisfaction to be taken in this death, a delectation of tragedy, a license for drink, few words for a new verse, a taste of everything for the taste’s sake.

What has been broken torn stained chipped smashed bent cracked pilfered what has to be repaired replaced repainted thrown out entirely; a total loss. I love nothing in the world so much as the sight of a perfect unsmudged carbon copy hence everything is repeated over and over again. Life seems larger at night, swollen with dark shadows and strange creeks that terrify me yet I can not help exploring it, wondering if there is anyone else like me, awake and catching glimpses of the unknown. Every morning there is this temptation to see signs of the end and that, even knowing this, there is nevertheless some reason, with the spirit of the new day being the spirit of watching and waiting, to believe that … what?

pS : to be continued. for I am, presently bored of my poetrics.


MAN IN PAINTING August 16, 2008 at 11:54 PM  

i beleive it is time, you start thinking about publishing.Ofcourse we need some sort of editing and such things..dosen't matter..I cannot suggest the way or anything..but i just feel so..
Like chinese acrobats, words just twist and turn and dragon- sentences takes unusual curves...It is always a pleasure to read you..i leave my consciousness in the safe hands of your words and just sit back on my chair knowing nothing till they bring it back to me..
YES as Marquez said..
"living to tell the tale"...
take care...

Perry Strange August 17, 2008 at 12:32 AM  

something new. I like it.

... "another's clothes rustling nearby"... "the words come without warning and chill my blood"...

... that last is something that's hard to say. I think it's true, though-- forget the rest... if you can manage to frighten yourself-- then you're on to something!

The Wandering Hermit August 17, 2008 at 2:21 PM  

The eternal quest to find solitude.. Have some like days too, when the hard rain falls.

again beautifully written almost a continuation of a similar thought I had some days back, so I identify a lot with this "rant"..

keep on seeking that elusive place where only You exist in spite of the world and time

aria August 18, 2008 at 12:59 AM  

Man in Painting.. I've decided to compile everything 'seriously' from today.. lets see if I can stick to this resolution. thank you for all your words and encouragment.. means much. you too take care :)

Perry.. "if you can manage to frighten yourself-- then you're on to something!" that was cool! thank you :)

Zofo.. I had an inkling you would relate... hope you've been well.. its always a pleasure .. reading your comment .. thanks for your words on both posts and esp that line about melancholy..:)

Inconsequential August 18, 2008 at 1:41 AM  

presently bored of my poetrics.???


is this not poetry anyhow?

damn fine stuff, lots of snapshots, a slow slow poison indeed :)
One I happily imbibe again and again :)


MAN IN PAINTING August 18, 2008 at 5:46 AM  

as you said a change is always good...
i posted something different..
from my college note book..

AshenGlow August 18, 2008 at 10:34 PM  

"And all at once, the terror has a habitation and name – I am having "mood swings" .."


"right that’s what they are .. "

Or so id like to believe..

Mirrored my condition, aria..Absolutely. The only reaction was silence and awe...

aria August 18, 2008 at 11:30 PM  

Inconsequential.. "you" should publish! I hope you are also giving it a thought. thanks a heap.

Man in Painting.. just checked it out.

Ashen.. Thanks so much .. for making my day .. subah subah :)

take care all of you.

Inconsequential August 19, 2008 at 2:27 PM  

lol, I shall never commercially publish, though of course it's wrong to say never...

My stuff is crap :)

Anyhow, I do intend to have a book printed :) My vanity demands it!

I shall do a little something for myself on one of these online things, like or whatever it is.

Nash August 21, 2008 at 12:37 PM  

Still not a story but this had the potential. If you remember you had promised me a story. :-)

goatman August 21, 2008 at 12:41 PM  

I am not sure, either, why we continue.
Perhaps it is the knowledge that we are each a part of the organism and to lose part of that is to defy the life of us all.
But your words are wonderfully descriptive and the night does hold a thousand frights.

Thanks for visiting my paltry words.

Think Tank August 23, 2008 at 10:58 PM  

beautifully written ..really blogrollin u :)

Echo August 24, 2008 at 12:19 AM  

Copies are comfortable. Don't take them for granted. Some canonly dream and not reproduce former boredom or joy. And yes even boredom is a part and a comfort.

Nidhi August 24, 2008 at 9:20 AM  

hey Aria you are have you been? havent read the latest entries as not keeping in good spirits, you gotta visit my blog to know life at my end

much love to you fine and smile that smile and me were to smile till the cheeks ached and ached..

take care

Tazeen August 24, 2008 at 10:51 PM  

Think publishing, it was great.

aria August 25, 2008 at 6:28 AM  

Nash.. thanks.. I'll try writing a story :( it takes too much time and drains me out coz of the intensity with which I write. thanks :)

Goatman.. thank you and always a pleasure visiting you.

Think Tank.. welcome to my blog.. thank you for the comment and for the blogroll.

Echo.. thank you for dropping by .. nice to see you after a long time.

Nidhi .. I've been the same.. and missing your posts.. checked out your space and commented .. :| I think of you all the time.. do take care.. I am sure things would be fine.. with loads of good wishes and prayers thanking you for dropping by despite your condition.

Tazeen.. welcome aboard.. thanks for appreciating. :)

asuph September 15, 2008 at 3:35 AM  

I've mixed feelings about this one. This is no doubt beautiful. Hell it's more than beautiful. It's brilliant. And yet, yet ... if you could *show* this, not *tell* -- that old literary cliche, if there was one, if you could weave this into a long-story or a short novel (at least)... if you could linger at every corner, and not leave it in a hurry... if you could indulge, let your characters indulge ... invest time, and energies no doubt...

the possibilities are endless... and you could keep on digging. contrary to what you say, this IS a poetry. sheer poetry. so what if you've completed the sentences, and bunched them into paragraphs. this is a poem.

this, though, could be an excellent window to explore the deeper, fundamental, questions and struggles for answers. this could go a long way, if I know anything.

waiting for more... and not just in installments.

take care,

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