All your dreams are made
Of Strawberry lemonade
And you make sure
I eat today
You take me walking
To where you played
When you were young

I'll never say that I
Won't ever make you cry
And this I'll say
I don't know why
I know I'm leavin'
But I'll be back another day

come play with me, baby
the games of our lives.

let's fall together, baby
then lets hold hands and cry

when we're done we'll sing together,
if we're not in tune we'll try

come play with me, baby.
and we'll play ourselves dry.

We inch closer to that final moment, in shuffles and sniffs. we brush our hair, smell our sleeves, feeling every crease until every thread speaks to us. But its more than just touch, and we know that.

We feel the light upon us, in titillating flashes and colours, and cannot help but wonder about someone or the other. We always think about someone else and when we have seen the light, we think about ourselves (as an afterthought). Perhaps thats why they say we are animals. Because none of this is anything more than a quest for a partner. To sit with, to stand with, to eat with, to sing with, to answer to. To be with. We cannot help but wonder what the light would do. Does it fly? Or is it just momentarily suspended in the air, on a rope that hangs by seven threads? Will it come crashing down on us? If it does, will it hurt?

We stop to hear the music. Words put to a tune, or a tune put to words. Its rhythmic adjustment, and it makes us jump up and down, our insides beating fast to catch up with the rush thats going to our heads. We sweat; every drop a testimony to our desperation to be part of a scheme. You, me, us, them, the voices, the beats, the lights, the rhythm, the masses. Thats what we've been reduced to, now. Thats all we're worth anymore. Believe it.

Sometimes they stop to see if the crowd sings along.
No, they stop to let the crowd hear themselves sing.
No, they stop to hear the crowd sing.

No, dumbfuck. They stop for a drink.

After enough of the light has been soaked into our skin, you realise that there remain some things too ephemeral to think twice about. Then the transience of it all hits you hard from behind, and makes you bend over double and choke in the shock of it all. You never thought about it before, and when you do, you don't know what else to think about. Now, not even the light will distract you.

They say she will wait. She knows its too late. She knows more than you think she does. She knows more than bones and fingers and skin. She knows more than tears, whoever they belong to. She knows more than the glint in your eye when you smile. Frankly, she knows more than she wants to know. She knows more than what she believes is true.

But its more than the truth, and you know that.
Now you know all you can do is wait, upon midriffs and the waves and tides of hair.

it feels very strange when you are happy but everyone else is not.

its a horrible kind of guilt.
sometimes i make myself feel bad just so that i can fit in better.

I like to sleep beneath the trees
Have the universe at one with me
Look down the barrel of a gun
And feel the Moon replace the Sun

So you're with, without, with, without. Every petal on your flower means something else to you, and plucking them off and delicately placing them on the table means little more than saying those three words in the first place.

but there's something in seeing those petals lined up one next to the other, (like soldiers of your army), that pulls you down in a way that words, written or spoken, could never do. This is the unspoken word. It is a communication that is felt through heartbeats, and the absence of them.

It all seems so fucking pretty it makes you sick to your stomach. Loneliness isn't meant to be pretty. Its meant to pull the lining of your stomach from the inside, and wrench you dry of tears. None of that is pretty to me. Not even the flowers. They're the ugliest flowers I've seen.

There is something curiously palpable about loneliness. You hold it in a single hand, and curl your fingers over it just so that your thumb touches your pointer, and yet its so large that it holds you within its perimeters, in your entirety. Perhaps loneliness is not about the cessation of feeling, or a void, or a vacuum, or flowers. Perhaps its about the existence of dearth, and the measure of it.

jagdssc

living might mean taking chances but they're worth taking.
loving might be a mistake but its worth making.


Thanks for everything. Looking forward to Wednesday. :)

Its been a completely unproductive and grudgingly slow week, but its culminated in a good, motivational weekend.

I sat down and read through my history notes today, and forced myself to make my way through it and organise the thoughts in my head. By the end of it, I understood most of what Bradley Lightbody was trying to say (yes i am still at the lightbody article. so sue me.) and I was able to formulate answers to the questions, even.

That is a major milestone for me this year. Because, for the first time, I have a sense of direction.

History and me have a love-hate relationship. I love reading it, and learning new things, and thinking, and forming opinions, and having intellectual discussions with people about the things we learn, and formulating answers to questions. At the same time, I hate it when I don't understand something, or say something wrong and embarrass myself. But I know that there's no way i can get to the former without going through the latter first. And this has been my primary source of internal conflict since the year started.

You see, Humanz are very smart. I love smart. But I also hate being at the bottom of the hierarchy, if there even is a hierarchy. I always think in terms of hierarchies. I should stop.

No, I am not self-deprecating. These are only observations. I am not slipping down the slope of self-appreciation into the depths of depression, or anything of similar nature. I am quite fine.

What I'm trying to say is, I finally understand how much work I need to put in to get anywhere. At the end of last year, I had these grand plans of working hard and reading and asking questions, and I had these images of what lectures would be like and how I would contribute to them and enjoy every bit of it and come out feeling highly intelligent and enriched. What i realised today, was that none of that is just going to happen. Its a slow, hard, laborious process, as A levels are generally considered to be. I have stopped expecting good things to just sort of happen to me, as of today.

I can't believe how tremendously stupid all this sounds when you put it down in words. Usually it works the other way.

For starters- why do you think the Russians always called themselves democratic, even though they weren't, really? The Soviet Union never really had an election, and Stalin was, after all, a dictator. The people of the Germany never really had a say in who was to rule them in the immediate aftermath of the war, so why did the Soviet zone call itself the East German Democratic Republic? Did they define a democracy in their own terms? Can you even do that?

Was it just a matter of naming it? What do you think went through their minds when they were thinking of what to call their zone?

Fascinating.

The best thing about things like this, is that you can ask all the questions you want without giving a concrete answer, and it will only show that you've been thinking more. Not less.

There you go.
Sneha the Improved.
Hah!

Calling all angels

I need a sign to let me know you're here
All of these lines are being crossed over the atmosphere
I need to know that things are gonna look up
Cause I feel us drowning in a sea spilled from a cup
When there is no place safe and no safe place to put my head
When you can feel the world shake from the words that I said

And I'm calling all angels
And I'm calling all you angels

And I won't give up if you don't give up
I won't give up if you don't give up
I won't give up if you don't give up
I won't give up if you don't give up

I need a sign to let me know you're here
Cause my tv set just keeps it all from being clear
I want a reason for the way things have to be
I need a hand to help build up some kind of hope inside of me

And I'm calling all angels
And I'm calling all you angels

When children have to play inside so they don't disappear
While private eyes solve marriage lies cause we dont talk for years
And football teams are kissing queens and losing sight of having dreams
In a world where all we want is only what we want untill it's ours

And I'm calling all angels
And I'm calling all you angels
And I'm calling all angels
(I won't give up if you don't give up)
And I'm calling all you angels
(I won't give up if you don't give up)
Calling all you angels
(I won't give up if you don't give up)
Calling all you angels
(I won't give up if you don't give up)
Calling all you angels


***

Thanks everyone for today. It was very, to say the least, atmospheric.
And the best presents dont cost any money at all. You'll remember them forever, even when they're not there for you to touch and hold anymore.

For the record, i don't think im excessively cynical. I enjoyed the day. I really did.

i don't like eternal optimists.

words and their absence

Why do people only feel comfortable when they're filling the air with words?

Sometimes I feel that the thing I am most afraid of is silence. i hate sitting in front of someone staring into their eyes, without knowing what to say. Or without a need to say anything. Its perplexing how we all seek clarity, but when we have it, and express it through silence, its never enough.

I like hearing what you don't have to say. I really do. I'm just not used to satisfaction. Its not without a reason that i keep insisting you talk to me. I just have this feeling that if you stop talking to me, then we'll have nothing to talk about and then we're all doomed because we will be hanging on to an awkward silence. Awkward silences aren't very pleasant things to hang on to. They make me feel all itchy.

But Morrie said that we must get used to silences. As we must get used to tears, and touch. I listened to Morrie, really, as much as i appeared not to. He made a lot of sense, although it was sense packaged in hallmark sugary goodness. You learn to suck your way past the goodness, into the hard bitter truth. Which is that we must get used to silences.

it should come as no surprise that people describe conversations with me as circular.


All I have is a voice. We must love one another or die. We must love one another or die.

So I'm listening to Mozart and his songs-with-fancy-names, and watching violin bows swoop across the strings in rehearsed, practiced perfection. In my head, there is another song, of far less significance than Mozart-with-a-capital-M. But its in my head. That must mean something.

The stars spoke to me last night. They said they wouldn't tell anyone my name. They said they would sail me to the moon. They told me that this was better than any movie I had ever seen. I wouldn't go back empty. They showed me the city sky that reflected the silver street below. They looked so good it hurt sometimes.

And just when we spoke of symphony number 40 and what we were missing, the stars showed me that the night was well worth all effort, with their own little symphony of sorts. I watched the lights light up my skin, and I watched the lights change colour and shape and form and rhythm.
After a while I stopped thinking about it in terms of words, and just felt it rush through me.

There is something about nights like these that make you see the bigger scheme of things. Great lights, great music, and more importantly, great company. But its also about rhythm, and when you skip a beat by mistake. Its about looking for the right note, and hitting it. Its about finding metaphors without words. Its about finding words, without cliches.

At the end of it, you realise that with symphonies like this, you don't need to know when to applaud. You have nothing to prove to anyone. Our stars know what we're thinking. As do our angels.

So what do we do, from now till yesterday?
We're all sitting around a table, and laughter drowns out the sounds of anything else. The music is just bearably loud, and just enough to keep the noises in my head.

Just enough.

There are too many diatribes, with the bitter of each left floating in the air. once everyone is done speaking, what is usually called an awkward silence lingers in the spaces between people and their voices. Its not really silent, though. Its saturated with thoughts and vibes and circles and lines and waves and all of them are constantly buzzing and humming around you and through you.

But we only hear what we want to. Only the diatribes seem fucking worth listening to anymore.

Gone to the Movies

Now the rain comes down the windows and it
Drops onto the forehead of the waiting boy
He surveys his rental kingdom and he
Wondersif he’s really lost his joy

Another fool would go down to the
Only place she went to lose herself
She’s gone to the movies now and she don’t need your help

Now the rain turns into snowfall as the
City sky reflects the silver street below
And it covers up the cars and the wall-
Flowers cd ended half an hour ago

Another fool would dig the broken car out from the snow
And drive to find the show
She’s gone to the movies now and she’s not coming home
She’s gone to the movies now and she’s not coming home

Now he looks around his place and anyways
There’s nowhere she could sit besides the bed
And he wonders if the car will start tomorrow
Or he’ll have to take the bus instead

Any other fool would be out on the roadway
Trying to spot her rusted pontiac
She’s gone to the movies now and she’s not coming home
She’s gone to the movies now and she’s not coming home

it feels fantastic when people tell you they are proud of you.
especially when its someone whose opinion means so much to you that you are scared to even ask them what they think for fear that they will say something you don't want to hear.

there are few people in the world you can still go to for honesty.
and i am so glad i still know them.

today was a good day in snehaworld.
I managed to get quite a bit of work done. Doing work makes me happy. Ticking things off my list fills me with bounds of pride, and i can only hope that it will continue to be this way.

i got my new violin. its the gorgeousest thing i've ever seen, i want to stroke it and hold it and i can't believe its mine.

there's something beautiful in the blessings of a guru. becuase my teacher doesnt usually shower me with compliments, me being the old buffalo who is still at 5th year. butbut he has a way of showing it. and i have learnt to pick out his compliments, relish them, bask in their glory and suck every bit of happiness from them as is possible. probably more than he intended to give. but it makes me happy. so sue me.

tomorrow is going to be a long day so i promise i will eat a heavy breakfast, and i promise i will not complain. and i promise i will eat more from tomorrow, and will not do stupid things like not eat because eating is boring. i love food. i just hate queueing up. i like milo bars. i cannot believe i have not discovered the joy of milo bars until today.

i have an attention span of 2 minutes.
my conscience (the good one) tells me i should go back and finish my work.

and i listen to my good conscience these days.
it makes me happy.

and down the waterfall, wherever it may take me
i know that life won't break me
and when i come to call, she won't forsake me.

i'm loving angels instead.

It doesn't take a lot to use words the way we do.

We fling them around, over each other's heads, and flail around with our arms in the air, and try to catch whatever we can.
We put them in our little baskets, and fish them out with eager fingers, when our tongues have gone dry.

No more.

I will feel the shape of every syllable in my mouth, gnawing on its hard edges and rolling my tongue over the marbly bits, before spitting it out.

I want to see you wait with bated breath, for what I have to offer.

Go see this Memoirs of a Geisha parody, and crack yourself up. Its the funniest thing I've seen in a while.

Courtesy of Sam Da Man, who really is Da Man because he knows all the funny links. I mean ALL of them.

Look where we are now.

In a queer paradise, a nirvana of sorts. The lights flicker honey, but they don't go out.

I've always wanted more, and they've always told me not to ask. So i didn't. But when I saw the stars shine, it hit me that they shine as much for her as they do for me. There's a macabre magic in the light of the stars. Makes you wonder. What are they looking at?


What's it like for you?
Tell me in words. When you shiver, does it hurt?

Wait.
Did you look like i told you to?

You don't have to if you don't want to.
But if you do you would see letters and shapes. What I see. But you would see different. You would use your fingers, long and tapered, to mould your own endings, as you moulded the beginnings. We all did. I moulded mine. Look. Don't tell me, but look. You would see that we have always been running together, you and me. Your leaps being my bounds.

Baby, don't speak. Its not about words. Just watch. Watch the greys and the browns and the reds and the greens. Watch them collide, spill over and spread. Watch as they slide before you. Watch every drip, with fervour rushing hrough your veins, and into yout heart, where it goes on. It only goes on baby, yeah yeah yeah.

So tell me, sugar. Where are we now? Where from here? Say what you say. They say habit wins the day. Victory is what we seek, isn't it? How do we know when it comes to us?

Maybe the stars will show us, if they look back on us.
I'll keep watching. Wait with me.

today was a brilliant day.
sneha is pleased.

it fucking sucks when you realise you're making things difficult for yourself. but cannot do anything about it.

when you're truly upset, words desert you.
I couldn't have said it better myself. I don't know what to say.
Except that I should get a grip on myself and move on.

i'm going to get a grip on myself and move on. taking what i need with me. and leaving behind what i don't.

okay evidently i have not thought this through as well as i should have.
but i will.

really.