REM

I love me. I love me not. I love me. I love me not... As I tossed and turned in my bed last night falling in and out of conscious slumber or dreamlike wakefulness I kept dreaming that I was me and someone else. I held me by the shoulders and tried to convince myself that it was all a dream... it shouldn't have been difficult. I had REM to help me out.

A phone was ringing somewhere in the past. It was deafening because it was an echo. I turned over to pick it up and realised that I couldn't speak. I was staring at myself from the ceiling, my invisible form aglow with the passing of traffic lights shaped like bars from a cage. They melted over me and disappeared and I realised with a shock that I was about to burst with all the light. Maybe this was what unintended Nirvana felt like. My Nirvana would not be peaceful or free. It would mean bliss because after an explosion of light the pieces of me would drift down from the ceiling and fold over me like a blanket. Together and collected again I would at last be free to restrain myself.

The cat and mouse chase would then begin again... He loves me.. he loves me not.. he loves me.... but I love me not.. he loves me (immaterial), I shan't, can't, won't love him not! I will love ME not!

Love

Love...is a race. It's an adrenaline fueled competition. We're kidding ourselves. It's all about us. It's not about the other person. It's all about how good we feel, or how bad. We thus use people as mediums of psychological gratification and then subconsciously pretend that they are the centre of our universe. They're not. We are the centre of our universe. In reality, we don't give a damn about the other person. We give a damn about what will happen to us and the insatiable emptiness if that person steps out of our little dream box and a replacement is slow in coming.

Love is basically a sadistic little game based on ego. You win if yours is bigger! You lose if you're responsible for inflating another's. You should be ashamed of yourself if someone is able to count on you. You are supposed to be proud as can be if someone is driving others crazy because of you. Love exists because not everyone is a hero. Because nowadays there's not enough things going wrong to engage people in sword duels and be done with little bursts of frustration. Today, it's people against people. Weapon against Weapon.

So can love last forever? Yes, and no. It doesn't last if the game's played by the rules. It lasts if the game has elements of cheating, intrigue and stale mates.

The Dream

Once upon a time, when the sky was still azure and not grey and red was simply a colour used to describe poppies, there lived a man on the edge of the world.

He was speaking to me. He told me things that were obvious but had never occurred to me before. He said that my happiness could not be created by someone else. I could be the only one to create it and destroy it. He held a secret in the palm of his hand. As I stared into his eyes, they crinkled into one of those comfortable smiles that I had begun to love. The promise was secured by my putting my hand into his and choosing to walk those miles that had been the distance between us. Now they were simple roads of companionship. It was beautiful. It was a dream. I wanted to wake up and smell the fresh air but not the reality. He told me that I needed to stop looking for approval from others for the means I used to attain my happiness.

I told him I wanted to fly. He asked me if I had tried. I said the ground held me back. He said I was scared of the skies. I took off, circled once and tumbled into his arms. He laughed and held me tight. I was restless, too restless. One's own restlessness becomes too much sometimes. It's almost like a heavy object that one is constantly carrying, but not holding. You can pour it back and forth in some place in your soul. Solitude sometimes, is the only reason a mind gets chances to reflect. I wondered if babies cared. Then I was running. I broke free of his embrace and sprinted towards the sea. I took off right before the waves could get a chance to lap at my feet. I soared out over the blue. He had said I could create happiness. I wanted to do it for him. I wanted to do it for me. I didn't want it for us. So I set out on a fruitless search of happiness for him, which only I could create.

Now, the skies are grey. My wings are covered with tar and red is the colour of blood.

Grey

Entwined in wisps of smoke and foam and breath,

a form with no form with a question?

Definite currents and clandestine lovers taking shade

under the pouring tumult of steam and heat.

Lips brimming with pearls of prayers,

and an upside down umbrella to hold...

The death of Death

Today I have managed to get rid of Death.

First, we took it by its ankles and dragged it till the edge. Then, as it screamed and writhed, we shoved it into a jute sack.

We beat it black and blue with sticks until the muffled whimperings ceased and before pity overcame any of us we threw it into the ravine.

Satisfied of no more Death in the world, we followed the bloody trail of torture back into town.

Our return was a grand affair with drums and pretty girls with baskets of flowers.

We had abolished Death and the whole town was proud of us murderers. No more Death in the world... Perhaps only Murder...