A waking dream, a spontaneous combustion.

Visualize this if you will....

The voices, the lights and the whispers,
The knowing smile and the pretty face,
That look in her almond eyes.
Flitting through your dreams.
Ever evasive.
Dreams. Octane dreams.
Knowing, deep inside, that it is all but a passing phase.

Nothing is real,
The dreams tell me that every other night.
All the images of BeingWantedAndWarmthAndBeingLoved,
Mere manifestations of the ticking clock inside.
Tick tock tick tock.

The unknown force driving you to Wait,
Wait eternally for that significant other,
A practical joke being played on you by that bastard puppeteer above you,


Those passing visuals you witness,
Not of endless calamities, but of
Fair maidens that come your way once in a wolf's cry,
They get your mind racing,
Turn your drained gully of a heart into a fucking waterfall,
*Thud*
Hammer. Heart beating like a Hammer.
They turn your incisions and your scars, inside out.

And then they leave. Poof. Gone.
*Thunderclap*


The impregnated black clouds seem to follow me as I walk back home,
Back to the place, back to my sanctuary,
Where all I do is waste away on visions of.....STOP.


Now,

Is it worth it, I ask myself.
To kill that part of you to feel the lack of pain.
To lose yourself in your mindless self-indulgent bouts of sunshine, on a rainy day,
To paint a fake smile on your darned face,
To waltz through broken cobbled boulevards, Walking Dead.
To smoke a cig and blame it on infinite possibilites.
To watch a broken twig bleed,
To burst into flames to pardon those who broke you.
To save the saddest songs for last.
To try, just try.
The answer lies in the skies, they said.

Fuck It All. I give up. My fall of grace, dust to ashes, ashes to dust, whateveryouwannacallit.
I have had enough of reading this endless manuscript of Waiting; when will I ever find the last page?

When, goddamnit?
Fuck.


And yet,
And YET,


On those nights,
Those silent nights,
When the lights go out.
When you turn around, and look into the eyes of the prettiest girl you'd ever seen.
When all you do, is look out the window as she does,
At the same cursed twinkles of Existence, the stars,
And the stars tell you, Turn Back, Look at Her.
And that unknown force,
That points your eyes towards hers,
And lets you see,
That tiny diamond of a tear in the depths of that glimmering well,
Her pretty face blurred by the moonshine,
That flicker of a smile, sweetly worn.

Then DAMN it,

You change your mind.
You realize,
All hope is not gone.

And you know you're right.


*Flicker*

*Undiscernable Static*


Ah, the sweet sound of silence.

A Stellar Maybe.

Like ink running off the neck of a feather,

He draws upon a shaky conclusion as he trembles to get his thoughts right,

A conclusion he does not love.

But one he remains firm on, as firm as the lone leader of a pack of wolves howling into the night, standing at the edge of a crevice so deep,depth deserved a new definition;

"Why is the world just a shallow earthen pot of half sun-baked black dahlias, rather than one filled with a bountiful bloom of a psychedelic display of colors emanated by the brightest of the bright magnolias?

Why is it always a true story that when every man, woman or child you know,looks at you as if you had uttered sheerly the most blasphemous of blasphemous phrases ever to be phrased when you had indeed voiced out a mere fabric of your brilliantly complex nervetree of ground breaking thoughts?

Why is the population of the very planet You grew up on,just a mere mass army of monotonously idle media-driven group of single minded individuals, who dared to explore their vastly complex storehouses of unborn ideas only as much as blind armies of wounded men would, when they barely scraped the surfaces of hostile castles with their drawn swords erstwhile failing to realize the castles even existed?

Why is it virtually a sin to wander unto yourself and discover the true reason for your pitiful existence on this planet, while it is something worthy of applause on a grand scale when one carries out an act that just cements the ideology that every mind must follow a specified path into a dark void of linear oblivion when there are actually a countless number of roads you could take to actually explore your own mind and free yourself from the binding chains of Stigma?

Why is it Wrong to be random and spiral out of yourself to explore metaphysical depths untold of, while it is Right to be a typically traditional God fearing individual drowned in theological lies driven into him like nails by the hammers that the Elders in his Family possessed?

Why did the sacred art of Love involve two plastic souls pretending to the world that they were indeed One and the Same by engaging in fake acts and speaking out mindlessly artificial phrases lacking in Heart, all the while massacring and mutating beyond comprehension, the true meaning of what the word Love actually represented? "

The answer would never come to him, he concluded.

Struck his heart like a poisoned arrow it did, that Change was not possible.

He would have to live on.

Live on.

Live on.

Live on, and yet not daring to Live as Living was meant to be Lived.

Not for one moment, daring to step out of the circle of fire drawn around him by the rest of the mindless souls marching on towards the End.

Not for one moment, daring to hope that someday, he might just find that one person to complete him and shine Light upon his thoughts.

Breathe.

Breathe.

Ah, the travesties of an unsatisfied incomplete man, he thought.

It was all part of the game of Life. No strings attached, but no spiral staircases into the unknown either.

* Soft music in the distance*

A discontent sigh of a man shaken by his own conclusions,

as he turns to a mirror and looks into his own eyes, thinking

'Maybe it is not meant to be.

Maybe I am not meant to reach out.

Maybe I am not meant to step beyond the invisible boundaries I couldn't cross.

Maybe I am meant to walk on an already trodden path towards a Dead End I would never see. And maybe, just maybe, my thoughts weren't meant to cross a Human mind. '

Is that not a sad sight to see, my friend?

Because, I will tell you, maybe that man is Me.

Playlist, 29th October 2009.

Put on your headphones and play these songs, bitches and motherfuckers.

1. All Time Low - Remembering Sunday
2. Sick Puppies - White Balloons
3. Raconteurs - Old Enough
4. Tool - Wings For Marie Part 2
5. Aranda - Whyyouwannabringmedown
6. Paramore - Brick by Boring Brick
7. All That Remains - Forever in your Hands
8. Rise Against - Whereabouts Unknown
9. The Almost - Drive There Now!
10. Senses Fail - Hair of the Dog
11. Black Tide - Shout
12. Porcupine Tree - Open Car
13. HellYeah - Alcohaulin' Ass
14. Escape the Fate - Something
15. JET - Shine On
16. Pearl Jam - Love Reign on Me
17. Drowning Pool - 37 Stitches
18. In Flames - Take This Life
19. Sevendust - Prodigal Son
20. Stereophonics - Dakota
21. Aqualung - Brighter Than Sunshine.


PEACE

Causeway Bay

Imagine yourself as a rich pimp, rollin on the streets in a Benz, throwing your arrogancy around like you own the fuckin world, money bulging out of your every pocket, your eyes glazed with greed and lust.

This is Causeway Bay, ladies and gentlemen. The area in town dedicated to rich fucks and greedy motherfuckers. The most expensive set of stores in town.


I am putting up these pictures, coz I was damn fuckin' IMPRESSED by the beauty of the place, and also coz' tonight was a good night where-we-got-high-on-stuff-we-bought-in-Causeway-Bay.

Peace.

Louis Vitton

Louis Vitton in dressed in different colors.

Random alleyway.

The IRONY of it all.

A random mall.

Giant Gucci billboard.

Perfect.

A replica of Time's Square.

Uh, Weird.

Ye know, weird things happen sometimes.

I woke up at 6:08 PM today, I had no idea what the fuck I was doing, sleeping at such a weirdly odd time. The only reason I came out of my slumber, apparently, was cause I had a weird sensation of a sharp throbbing pain on my ass, as if someone'd maliciously kicked it with a boot-adorned foot with a deliberate sense of wanting to hurt. I had this urge to drink water when I started coughing badly, my throat felt as if there was a lump inside it, and started behaving as if there was a fuckin' godzilla breathing flames inside it. My head was buzzing constantly, and there was this weird smell that oddly resembled a mixture of cat piss and fresh rain. Uh, yeah, weird.

And I could recall snatches of a dream where I was climbing an eternally endless flight of stairs towards a dark tower along with a wise old man who was telling me weird stories, where I had this unreal Faith in every word he spoke, where I was desperate to hear him through, all the way. But he vanished as soon as I turned to look at his face. Fucking douchebag he is, leaving me behind like that.

And more weirdly enough, my jeans were actually folded up and was lying on my desk with the belt dangling down like an immobile serpent; calm and still, and yet so malevolent. Don't ask me why that's weird, but it just is. Coz I never fold my fuckin jeans, and never leave it on the fucking desk, alright?


Weird part is, I have an uneasy feeling about this whole thing. I dunno why, but a constant nagging voice tells me there's more to this than meets the eye. Maybe its just my imagination running wild, maybe.


Or maybe not.

Weird.

Aaditya's Playlist : 14/10/09

Artist - Title


Porcupine Tree - Arriving Somewhere but Not Here.
Mastodon - Divinations.
Chevelle - Shameful Metaphors.
Tool - Forty Six & 2.
Billy Talent - Tears into Wine.
In Flames - Take This Life.
Breaking Benjamin - Anthem of the Angels.
A Perfect Circle - Orestes.
All That Remains - Air That I Breathe.
Paramore - All I Wanted.
Lamb of God - Dead Seeds.
August Burns Red - Meddler.
As I Lay Dying - Sound of Truth.
Blessthefall - To Hell and Back.
Relient K - I Don't Need a Soul.
Wolfmother - Joker and the Thief.
The Raconteurs - Old Enough.
Otep - Rise Rebel Resist.
God or Julie - Fallen Soldier.
Three Days Grace - Last to Know.
Meshuggah - Bleed.
Suicide Silence - Smoke.
Porcupine Tree - Blackest Eyes.
Muse - United States of Eurasia.
Megadeth - Dialectic Chaos.
10 Years - Alabama.

Scenes From A Memory.

Ah, the good old days. Cliche indeed.

Thoughts....
When? A random night, summer of 08.
Where? It's All The Same.
- - -


My phone in one hand, a photograph in the other, I lie back with a deep sense of completion. My Heart beats in random rhythmic patterns, almost oh-so musical.

The feeling of knowing. Knowing I was on a teetering van speeding on a mountainside on steep rugged gravel roads, feeling so-fucking-good it was scary. Knowing I was this close, THIS close to killing the silence of the night with a roar of pure joy. Knowing I was on the edge of hysteria. Knowing it all, yet not caring.

She's my heroin, I think. And hell yes, I'm addicted, I think. And fuck yeah, I'm
IN.Too.DEEP.and.I.Don't.CARE.

Think straight, a tiny voice from the inside says, Beware, it says. I say, FUCK You.




School the next morning. Doped look on my face, black circles under my eyes, the world outside blurs by in a haze. Bored. Bored. Bored. Sleep deprived. The inside of my head, it's one hazy clearing, everything's dark, there's a pinpoint of light on the horizon, and beyond the horizon lies a tiny figure, and my mind's eye is focusing on this tiny figure. My entire body craves for the night. Every bit of it screams silently in anticipation for what lies ahead.

Oh yeah, she's my heroine alright. She rides on every train of thought that speeds through my head. And it feels good. >

-----------
Fuck.
I should stop here.Why I'm reminded of this, do not ask me.

But one thing's for sure. I miss her. Bad. So-fucking-Bad.





I felt for sure last night
That once we said goodbye
No one else will know these lonely dreams
No one else will know that part of me

And now I go back to sleep. Rough night it's gonna be.

A Voice from the inside; so familiar, and so overwhelmingly warm.

I am the one. I listen to your every whisper. I watch every move you make, from deep within the bowels of your mind. I fill your mind up with a black abyss of nothingness. I stake out in the deserts of your mind, hiding in between the caravans that run your thoughts. I drain every teardrop that you cry of its soul, and massacre the existence of every chapel of life where the bells of your past toll to their glory. I promise you nothing but the creation of your own dark tower of fate, where the demons of your existence reside and slowly but deliberately dissolve your thoughts in a black acid of turbulence. I yearn to drown every desire you ever possessed, and yet I let the darkness survive in its alley of zig-zag transitions. I beckon from down below, as above as your train of focused deliberations runs towards its evident doom at a breakneck pace. I intend to show you the essence of what it feels like, to bleed from the dusted pages of your book of life, to bleed from the roses that lie on your grave, to bleed from your heart that you thought had locked up your every last thought about hands you held high, in the black void that is the fabric of your every moment. I am the child of your imagination, and I am but a hole of eternity that you cannot see with your eyes, but can feel in every breath you take. I am the one that shines darkness onto the light that radiates inside you, the one that feasts like a Sultan on your poisoned cradle of thoughts. I am the one that rains inside your head, the one that drives away the angels of light with my hazy clouds of misery. I am black, I am white, I am a road that leads nowhere, and I am a ghost that takes you down the spiral again. I embrace your feelings with my cold body, and I pull the trigger to put a bullet in the back of your head everytime you lie back and dare to Think. I burn every shred of Hope for the future that lies within your wells of your actuality. I drown you in my hollow depths.



Ah, Well, I am your Past.

Beneath the water
that's falling from my eyes
lays a soul I've left behind.
The edge of sorrow was reached but now I'm fine
I've filled the hole I had inside.
I've erased the past again .