Thursday, August 17, 2017

From the notes archive of my mind (or I needed to get this off my chest)

Depression is a low energy state,
being the human default.
Happiness takes effort,
But aren't we cursed to a fault?

To be happy is to be disciplined
to be happy is to have energy
to be happy is to work
but to be sad just works.

My aspirations of and from love
are dead if not dying.
Everyone I talk to, I am watchful—
am I turning into an asshole

Or am I cheating on my past?
Is it even my past, or have I lulled
myself into a limbo of self-ignorance?
To not answer, is peaceful for now.

My laziness must be at its zenith.
Sure I climb out of bed and finish work
but I'm sure as hell not here
not in the zone or anywhere near.

So lost, in a fuzzy cloud of my mind.
Since when did I become so dumb?
Has my laziness killed my thoughts?
Weren't motivation, discipline, creativity, love not enough?

Such a glutton to instant gratification.
Surviving on the borderline.
Boy, do I hate myself? My words surprise me.
If only I could trust Sarahah.

Alas, I fear I'm becoming shallow too.

Vanity is def a sin,
And now I understand why sloth is too.
Man mustn't give into self-gratification—it's the strongest poison you'll ever encounter.
Drugs, booze, sodom and Gomorrah, the wolf of Wall Street, being spoilt.

Keep yourself away from the garden of earthly desires, and wilfully, voluntarily, forcefully taste the bitter medicine of walking away from all your possessions.

Ugh, and it's making me want to disown and disregard every one too.

So help me God.

Tuesday, August 11, 2015

The special place in the mind that's reserved for memories of meeting someone for the first time

Break my laptop,
And break my phone.
Do a little damage,
And take it back home.

Do a little damage,
But be sure it's visible.
If it's not on X-ray,
They'll start to call it fictional.

Who's going to believe me
When I tell them I'm hurt?
I don't really have people
With whom to discuss discomfort.

For what is absence,
And a change of heart?
Is a shiny blunt edge
The one way to depart?

No papers were signed,
No agreements denied.
No clauses and such,
Nothing to amount to much.

'Nothing was ever there.'
But there's even lesser now.
Will anything be the same?
Deliver me from this pain I allow.

Friday, May 29, 2015

Decisions, incisions

"Nurse, hand me that scalpel."

A decision may sometimes have life changing impact. The choice may show up unannounced, and it may suddenly demand all, or most, of your attention – to the point that not staring it in the eye will eat you alive. Or at least that's how it makes you feel – until you do decide. But how are you to decide? There's way too much at stake, here. Your future isn't just your future – it is intertwined with many other forward moving paths.

"Number 10. Hand me the number 10."

I'm pretty sure that the more monumental decisions would lead to multiverses that are rampantly different. But don't all decisions have life changing impact? I bet there's a parallel universe to all of them.

"At the junction of lateral one-third and medial two-third of the spinoumbilical line, we draw an oblique incision."

I have this theory about the 1º of change.

Imagine, on a graph, you deviate your path from the x-axis by 1º – initially, you won't even be able to distinguish your path from a perfectly horizontal line. But as you move forward, as you continue extending that line, the distance between the 1º deviant and the horizontal axis will not only become apparent, it'll keep increasing.

"You will be going home with sutures in place. You have to keep it clean, and it wouldn't harm to stay away from pets for a while. Don't take off the bandage for a day or so – you call me if there's anything about this that worries you."

A decision may sometimes have life changing impact, and even small decisions may lead to increasingly divergent paths. But incisions heal, sometimes, very quickly. Sometimes, they leave no scars behind, too. But they have to be made, in a very small pocket of time.

Time is of the essence, and even decisions come with an expiration date. An incision made a day later may have no impact at all. Would you want that, versus, say, life changing impact?

"Thanks, doc!"

Friday, May 08, 2015

Daybreak

I am, by no account, a morning person. I do wake up at a reasonable time (for myself) in the AM – but that's usually for class or work. However, the only acceptable measure of will is defined by what you do when no one's looking, and at that time, you'll see me wake up infinitesimally close to the afternoon.

I can stay up all night – that's very doable. But waking up at 7:30 in the morning to get a healthy start to the day? How about "just five more minutes of sleep?"

Regardless, however, I chance upon waking up early occasionally. I don't know how it happens, but I'll be up, and I'll throw my hand around on my bed in a hunt for my phone, and I'll take a quick look at the time before the screen's luminescence makes me wince the one eye that I'm looking with.

Post 4:00 AM, the read feels like quite a victory. Today, it was 4:25.

I derive a certain kind of pleasure from waking up in the wee hours of the morning. This kind of time, when the commotion is yet to start and the birds are yet to start chirping – this kind of time delivers so much peace.

I make sure to take a good look at what's happening outside, even though the world out there is still – just the way it was left at some point of the night. And then, I come back down into my blankets.

Laying in bed, with my thoughts covering the ceiling never otherwise feels so good.

It makes me question my morning-orientation, and makes me wonder why I don't wake up this early more often.

Time ceases to exist, and it makes me question the decisions I've made in my life, and the ones I'm yet to make. It makes me want to apologize to everyone I may have wronged. It makes me want to thank everyone who's ever made me smile. It makes me ponder upon the future. It makes me ponder upon the past.

It makes my eyelids the projector screen that the ceiling was. And I sway back to sleep.

In the distance, however, it is now 7:30 AM. Daily commute begins for someone who, perhaps, owns a motorboat and decides to manoeuvre it on concrete and asphalt. And I open my eyes to a ceiling that doesn't seem like it had ever been a projector screen for thoughts.

And it makes me wonder why I had ever thought of waking up early.

For now, just give me five more minutes.