Inhale, Exhale

As I sit, live, and breathe, verses of Kabir's poems draw me into their mesmerizing simplicity.

"Between the poles of the conscious and the unconscious,
there has the mind made a swing."

I wish there was a way to have a conversation with him, apart from reading him through his verses. I seem to be drawn to all aspects of magical realism; in art, in words and in songs. Kabir, Rumi, Sigur Ros and Shilo; their work always gives me a cumulative mental picture equivalent of a border-less sky with stars looping into infinity.

Was Kabir one of the greatest philosophers of the mystical realms? Or was he just a pot smoker expounding philosophy? 
I guess maybe the two needn't be mutually exclusive. 

Riptide!

Tring!Tring! Tring! I wanna write a song. Something that rhymes and mirrors 'Riptide'. That talks about "The movie that I think you'll like...About this guy who decides to quit his job and heads to New York City." 

It's funny how every other line and every other song makes you zoom right back to some moment, and someone. Teenage fantasies perchance? :)

Boo. I miss you! :( And all I can do is blog about it on a blog with non existent readership, juuuust so I can say it out loud. :| 

Stephen King

“The most important things are the hardest to say. They are the things you get ashamed of, because words diminish them -- words shrink things that seemed limitless when they were in your head to no more than living size when they're brought out. But it's more than that, isn't it? The most important things lie too close to wherever your secret heart is buried, like landmarks to a treasure your enemies would love to steal away. And you may make revelations that cost you dearly only to have people look at you in a funny way, not understanding what you've said at all, or why you thought it was so important that you almost cried while you were saying it. That's the worst, I think. When the secret stays locked within not for want of a teller but for want of an understanding ear.”

This validates why I feel so misunderstood. :D

Addendum

You never have to change anything you got up in the middle of the night to write. I read that somewhere. I also read that there is nothing to writing. You just have to sit at a typewriter and bleed. Hemingway said the latter.
There was no 9Gag then, unfortunately. No cat pics and videos. No free video streaming. No high speed connectivity to the most banal content you can conceive, consume and create.  
In the midst of all that,  I came to two realizations.
I get that sometimes your favourite character must die. And that sometimes you must be the one to kill it.

Old Friends, New Times.

"With a flick of the hair, it can make you  old!"

I think I'm slowly falling in love with Chet Faker. And since it's 3 a.m., the party's over, and everyone's asleep, I should totally have some profound shit to say. I should, but I don't.

Rewiiiind: Nope, nothing memorable happened today. Let's see. Repeats of "No diggity", a bit of browsing, and a whole lot of wardrobe changes. End Scene.

Also, someone suggested turning a story into a manga. Now won't that be something? An Indian origin manga story. *Starry eyed and starts to wish*. 

Someone, please pay me for dreaming my life away! :)

Insightful-ness

“They don’t teach kidnapping at Eton, dad” - Lipstick & Bolsheviks
A book I haven't read (or had even heard of till now), but that quote makes me want to. :D 

Indian Dad Says: "But why not son? I pay good money to that damn school!"

Sway

Listening to No One's Here To Sleep.

Music isn't music until it transports you elsewhere. The beats so sultry, they make you the protagonist in a narcissistic, but oh-so-passionate play. Because hey, peaches and cream, hunky dory and white picket fences don't lend themselves to stories worth remembering. We need an epic, don't we?  

:D

Naughty Boy, you made me wanna write. Who would have thunk it?