they sound so fake

even to my ears.

i’m just finding it hard to believe that there’s you and there’s me and that’s that. whatever happened to those pauses in time, when there was no memory or rhyme?

I’ve missed your words, though I’ve had none of my own.

You would think that a hybrid of Spanish Omelette and the Thai Omelette Roll would be a success.

It’s not.

Lesson learnt: Eggs + Sprouts = EPIC FAIL

Standing in the valley staring into the vast choke my eyes are blind for naught can I see. Where is the world where are the souls where went the empty and where went the sorrow. Light stole and in the narrows black emptiness resides. Seek the pain the betrayal the lies the fights for all that exists is oneness of a kind that I reject and rejects me. Stood in the heart of the random storm but a blind spectator slowly mingling in  the colours and the speed lost in the dots of the background waiting for the block the fight the sting.

drop by drop, i’ll fade
slowly, painfully, fearlessly
knowing that you can’t do a thing about it.
i can’t breathe anymore
you think i can
i would prove you wrong
but i’ve disappeared now.

The shore’s bright and the shrine’s inviting

The chill is warm and comforting

Like a sweaty hug thats hard.

A drill goes on and on

It seeks but never finds

Infinity, we achieve

And ignore

Blood, we fear. 

Our life, we fear.

They kill lives to save a heartbeat

We cheer and shed bitter tears of joy

The hard day is nearly over

The bed that’s far from this prison, locked in hell

Invites me over

My bones are tired

My blood is thrilled

We race towards the finish line

and find ourselves exactly where we started.

Took a break of Hemingway and finished Marquez’s One Hundred Years of Soiltude and Murakami’s Kafka On the Shore. 

The amazing thing about ‘One Hundred…’ was that inspite of the amount of magic and fantasy involved, everything is so damn believable. And the character of Jose Arcadio Buendia was so attractive somehow. Even though the theme the same theme of the genius in pursuit of proof is repeated with most of the other male members of the Buendia line, none of the others are so compelling as the patriarch. I was about talk about Ursula, but that’s the whole point of the novel. These characters who are much more than just a part of the whole even if it does appear so at first glance.

Right from the hopeful beginning of Maconda to its desolate end, without describing the place itself, Marquez paints such lively landscapes with his characters that you learn to understand the place even if you can never learn to love it.

And Murakami was intense. Gripping. And I’m think I’m gonna need one more read to get the answer the questions, but the themes are so delicate and subtle that you might miss them if you aren’t careful enough.

Me : Ooh, pretty quilt. *grabs it*

Mom: No, don’t open it.

Me: I thought it was for me?

Mom: Yeah, not now. It’s for your wedding night.

Me: blink blink 

Mom: What?  Don’t look so surprised. You’re twenty years old already. You’re almost there. 

Go on. Laugh away. I did. 

Once I stopped gaping, that is.

I wonder how I never realised how awesome Pondy is.

But then after eating the yummiest chicken du vin in a roof top
restaurant, talking for two hours about the benefits of World War I
with a drunk stranger in Bindaas Cafe, writing like crazy in the park
and the cafes and sipping hot lemon tea at two in the night
overlooking the sea at Le Cafe, I’m surprised I even left the place.