Friday, April 4, 2008

After a long silence -Shyamli - and what a voice!

A year, days, months, an era has passed me by, since I last indulged my cynical critical ego. I sit here, this black keyboard on my lap. Realization sinks in, about the stagnation that seems to have plateau'd itself, and it sits poignant and smilingly smug, in and around me. My mentor, you, my reader, you, I apologize, I have no more beautiful words to enchant you with as my thoughts have puddled up in the centre of the wooden floor, around this high stool of utter ignorance that I sit on.

The purists have killed me.

The death of experience as mentioned by my reminiscent and equally wistful colleague is a farce. As if there was such a thing then how is it that I am experiencing it anyhow? It seems as though the whole world, my mind and soul included is caught in a rut, of greed and apathy… this is the epitome of foolish materialism and I can feel the corporate rat of a world sink its teeth slowly into the flesh of my calves as I sit… blissfully dreaming in this cave lit by the flickering light of my computer.

I pine as I belong nowhere and yet I belong to my comrades who too belong to this nowhere… I am the undead, caught in between two wholly different species of human intellect and mind sets. And it seems they are both equally skeptical of the other. I am tired of trying to explain my thoughts and thus I shall not bore you, and expounding my theory would imply my presumptions of you as an ignorant and intellectually lower being.

So I’ll stop.

Right here.

I believe I strangled my child like pretentious poet when I realized how small and insignificant my worries are… and I only hope now that others do too. Stop with this verbally infested carnival of freaks… self involved narcissistic FREAKS.

I shall not be one with you and your games… I shall not humor you by being brittle and vulnerable. I shall not be beautiful.

I am not beautiful.

As beauty itself has abandoned us… she left when we became what we are.


I mock at you… and spit, at you your naïveté. Do you not see how meager your feelings are. Love isn’t even a feeling anymore… and pain? APATHY?

Get over yourselves.

The cosmos has spoken and we shall rot… our skin shall burn and blister, our gums shall reek painfully bleeding as we pick at them with our jagged nails, and our foolish politicians shall sit on their thrones and pretend they aren’t the lepers that they are. Corruption isn’t just a word… it’s a phenomenon and we my friends are in eye of this storm of hurricane proportions.

But I, as I scorn denigration, shall not speak anymore… for fear of thus go my last words.

I will sit here,

Not reminiscing,

nor waiting

As I have now exhausted,

All patience,

only for it to be replaced

by an angst, which needs no vengeance.

Thus, I sit.

Silently still,

with a blunted axe in hand..

and a warm blanked in another.

I do this for you.

The world is burning.

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