Thursday, January 5, 2012

Give desolation a chance.

Many a days I have passed with gloom and sadness around me and wondered why I have fallen in love with it. It is not depression or desperation but just melancholy that attracts me. I have reveled in rainy and winter seasons when people take shade and protect themselves from harsh weathers, the empty streets and roads provide me with peace from the mad world we constantly find ourselves embroiled in. I have chased darkness and shunned light, preferring to reach the end of the night, knowing I was constantly wasting a dawn. Owls and bats have been closer friends and pets than robins and sparrows. I still carry, although buried somewhere, a zest for life, as we have stooped to live it. I have nothing against happiness or bliss, except that it is momentary. The pain however last a lost longer. In times of sadness, I have often dug deep to glance on those questions and search for answers to things I have feared. The feeling is similar to being lost in a tunnel with darkness on either side, the lack of direction providing that thrill of adventure, while exploring for secrets. Those moments when time stops to look upon me and mock me while I struggle to put two and two together and find a way. The echoing sounds of crickets chirping around me, complementing those screams of anguish inside my head, act as a perfect catalyst to dip me into a hole. A rut is settling in as emptiness creeps inward like a misty fog to engulf the spaces left by those things I have denounced.
Even in a group of people, I have felt strange and isolated, as if I am all alone, unwanted. Loneliness doesn't have a pause switch, though it can make life seem a lot longer. During those times I have looked in places I never knew existed. Sadness acts as a key to those doors covered by layers of happiness ivy. Dreaming of castles of solitude, I wander forlorn with time besides me, hoping to spring hope from hollowness. Isolation breeds retrospect. A spell in a dungeon is more creative than gatherings of multitude. With time and voices as my only companions, I follow that lonely road towards making myself a better person in my own mind. It is during those times, when I can really be a judge of those things that matter and those that don't. I feel vain reflecting on trifles I had used as floats to make my existence bearable. What good is me being present in a pub when I am still serving time inside my head?
Desolation and solitude are cornerstones not only for discovering myself and my feelings but also developing my wit to mask them from others. I have often found humor as a cloak to hide the void inside me. Sadness is indeed introspectively funny if given a chance.

Sunday, January 1, 2012

Just about time to turn....

I can think of no good reason to quit. It seems a waste of time to get rid of a harmless monkey and join in a charade to while away life. I had traded so much for those hours inside my head, that I had lost all tabs. It was a lonely and alone journey, either way, a decorated reality or a flawed illusion. There was no reason for me to switch lanes, and cut back to mundane, still, I had to follow those signs. The signs around me had changed or rather gotten hazier, more confused. Some had told me to keep straight towards obscurity, but some however scary, told me to come back into reality.
Though I never really know where I am going in life but there is a resonating feeling or a sign to convince me, that may be, just may be I am in a right direction. Times when signals echoed feelings and justified means. Everywhere I looked, I found hidden and well placed clues of fate. Never mattered if I was going through dense forests or dark tunnels or doors, something was telling me that I would find it. The pieces would themselves fit into place, all I was supposed to do was keep riding the wave. Nothing would ever go wrong, and even if it did, there would always have been a replay button, one last hit.
It has been different these few days. Something always has felt amiss. As if those squirrels tugging at nerves in my brain were being attacked by furious monkeys. There was a lurking fear that times were changing, had to catch a drift and let myself be blown away or stomp my foot down and try to weather ancient storm. It seemed like a game where levels had gotten tougher, time had decreased, yet I wished to complete more number of things. The ceaseless buzzing of a mosquito drowned noises inside my head, as I lay inside a cupboard, trying to justify to the voice that I had to stop listening to it for some time. There were no reasons.
Even after returning back to the horde, I would cherish those times inside my head. There were numerous things to relearn. I was returning to a world where money had replaced books as treasure. Not only would I have to forgo old rituals, but now make new routines, habits and indulgence. Replace innocence with a streak of ruthless, mask it with gentle false pretensions. Devote more time to others.
Before leaving no trails and wandering into unknown, I had to give one real try of coming back to life. Before I helped script another myth of a lost soul on a journey, I owed an attempt at a legend with my psychological Gremlins.