Asylum Blues

Light enters not, growls exit not, there is an eery emancipation midst all this commotion. And that is all in my head, oh yes yours to. For we are all stuck here; in the pit. The end of the world if it could be said. There is only dark demise written all across the walls that enslave us.

The asylum has a particular smell, and I cannot describe it even if I tried - there is the remorse which always adds to these sensory illusions. All of our remorse, that why it had to go down like this. Without a single warning to retreat.

Another one is brought in, the blanket black straitcoat. He hasn't done anything we are all sure, or are we expecting him to join our silent tortured ranks? We cannot be sure. But we welcome him to this world of ours nonetheless, with a temporary broken smile pasted on our faces - we explain the scene around.

This is not plain fiction - it is clear sight. I wonder on dark dreamy nights locked in my cell (of body and mind), where I shall escape to next - to forgive and possibly forget this lasting pain.

Suffering which is not reckoned, has not been seen clearly, the asylum always gives you time to recuperate, to think and be towards everything as you clearly choose. But what if one is not interested, one is majestic in his or her own lunatic right. Then perhaps the asylum would seem as home.

I have habituated myself to walking alone, for it breaks the illusion at times. The monotonous corridors bringing pain and grief to all, The dingy claims of the guards who believe its their god given duty to protect us, from ourselves. I cannot stand this. Yet there is nothing the asylum ever forgets. The suffering of our inferior selves - this need never exist.

Walking alone, I wonder my friends - are you too all not walking alone. With the illusion of someone loving you - caring and protecting you? have you forgotten the vast nothing you are into. Every second of your so called conscious lives? This is nothing but institution - much like this asylum which you have got convinced to get used to, to love even. As some here may love this god damned asylum itself. Is this not the sure sign of lunacy?
Oh Have I got ahead of myself, have you not understood; this dark abyss that you and I are a part of till we breathe our last, this entirety so unsure yet never lacking to manifest and interrupt your plans and mine. And then the fact that you are tied to yourselves for your lives and you seem to get used to that as well - without an inkling of needing change - instead we all love abhorring any change to our perfect fucking peeving selves.

Yes, I am convinced, and you may call me mad (why not, I too may indeed respond in kind), the inability for us to actually take the joke which so many wicked have propounded - to give us the kind mercy of forgetting who we are and why we have taken a supposed conscious birth - reason if any? None then acceptance and joy. Why not we revel in the true nature that is I.

Yet we love our time by ourselves, walking alone - with the illusion of life unfolding in front of us and we having some form of explanation for all the things which are. We are blind and indeed mad  - yes you I and cosmos. It is time, about time that we all come unshackled. Breaking into a violent frenzy of a dance. Dissolving this Now.

We may or then, we may choose to continue to soothe ourselves - we arent fools afterall, we may indeed at the back of our head know - that the world inside the comfort of walls called an asylum is still far better than the sheer power of dark energy manifesting and dissolving itself without caring one single bit.

Peace 

A Sigh Repeated

Times were olden, in the small hill station of dharamshala. The twilight hours throwing all spectrum of colors into the sky. Everyone saw the glory of Sun.

Near the bus stop, the chai shop - with all its knick knack. Everyone used to come and gather to share the latest gossip of the hill. Yet never a dull moment. Laughter and occasional brawls. This seemed to be life to myself on first look.

The times are still olden; they remain so. There is a new governer in town, with a nepalese descent, he seemed to be nowehre menacing, yet something gives me a bad feel about this. What is it that he wants,
My whole family is clustered into a thin shack of house. Discussing the day's politics... We the people have elected this man into power. (What kind of Power? That no one can define) We are on our way to total freedom. (What kind of freedom?)

Does anybody think.. At all? In this state of things, how are they affecting each and every one of us.

Two years down, the chai shop has deserted. A rustic piece of art, now no one dares congregate their.. to discuss and gossip. The new governer has changed things for the better, everyone is now totally fucking afraid.

I dont really know how this all happened, how things transmigrate into other things over time and then in retrospect no one remembers how things were supposed to be originally. This great forgetting is what leads humanity to our repetitive times.

The damned government implementing these anti people policies, and the olden town of dharamshala is turned into a political hotspot (What the hell does that mean ?)
Well that means loads of jobless people started coming into town, they didnt bother to stop at the bus stop to revive any chai wala. They came to impose the governer's clout - his unfounded and unrestricted power over the common people. The nature of things - they must transmigrate into another - before they become frightening and imposing. Before things become so vain that everyone can see through the lies.

These vagabonds chased and harassed our women, they drank and opened liquor outlets. They beat up men for no reason and tore through their houses in search for their possessions.
This was the world and not dharamshala. This was the town which I had seen through my own eyes, untouched; unscathed by the world's taint.
This was dharamshala - ruthless and miniscule in thought. The people now drone to the governer's whims and fancies gave him the respect only a despot shall favor. There seemed to be no more love and harmony. The governer and his faceless drones wiped humanity from the hearts of each and every man.

What is wrong with the king; you may ask. You may also not believe my innocent words. I would but tell you what I felt. The common man became common - he also became a pawn in the eyes of the man holding the knife. The gun and grenade. The lifeline of a future race. There was no aristocracy before the advent of human divinity. We could only fathom the beautiful sunrises and sunsets on the horizon keeping us thirsty for more, yet with the advent of human power came the understanding that we were done.

I left dharamshala a couple of years back. All my friends and their families already moved out - we were the only surviving original inhabitants. We moved to the plains and life was never the same.
The government ruled for the longest time - by inviting their kind - they raped our kind. And they made us dependent on them, ruled by fear and blame. Greed and game, there seemed nothing to be sacred.

The governor was assassinated soon by the kind he raised. What else is new in such cases ever.
We all live in a world quite like the likes of dharamshala, where innocence once reigned - and now lays in despair. Nothing like a sigh repeated, many time perhaps to see innocent lost in so many ways.

when I found out they have demolished the bus stop historically placed in the beginning of the village of dharamshala. No more the old rustic chai everyday to soothe the soul. There seems no more serenity left anymore.  None in my horizon for sure. Another sigh left my soul.

Now another one bites to score - yes another hillstation and town ruined and left for dead. There is no where left to run with humanities scourge with its need to ruin what was once perfect.

Peace and Joy

Future Version Besides

How can genes be modified? Seems to be a question racing through my head - as I go ahead to meet this gentleman, seeming to know what he is talking about, I wonder now..

Take my original genes. Now plant them in the green field of many acres. Where there is space and growth possible. The genes shall fodder bodies and perhaps souls... 

Don't feel surprised, we are all the products of our ancestors. Well that was the story some 2250 years back. Now there is no gene purity left anymore. There is nothing which makes us look or behave like human beings, dont you care to agree?
The other man looked to the faceless creature, nodded and took his genes, in a pool of greed and wrath. The pure genes shall manifest shortly. As the new Adam generation XPO13095. 

The earth has become a pyramid of souls dying and evaporating to nowhere, with human generations now reside underground. There is a new race living above earth. Who knows if they human or mutants, alien or parasite? Nothing seems to make sense in the oblivion that is the core of mother earth. We are couped up to die, fighting to get out of the hole yet never able to succeed. We are

The genes have become men and women. Gained breath and life. Seeming to get consciousness and dulled instantly by the conditioning that is our history and future life. 

Time over evolution sets the reset button and we fail to notice. Yes we sit and shack up till our graves come to us, Eating merry and behaving like assholes without care. The genes become modified, changing form and information - with new series of races coming as quick as your version change of operating softwares - there is no more mating required. There is but one thing badly required - The original human gene. Without modification or tampering. With the right sequence of DNA/RNA and other lipids.

Did I forget to mention, we lost the original race. That was a hell of a time, where governments of world started modifying their armies - their populations - to create the next stronger man, woman. Smart sensitive, loving what not. Then it went amiss. Wars broke out. Destruction ensued. Yes the story has been repeated many times, but not at this extent. They blew up the world. Don't know us or the new kinds of humans living on the rock. Nothing makes sense. This seems to be hell and life ain't life anymore.
No versions have made the population breed normal humans. There is nothing left except mutants, and not like the X Men kinds. These are the addicted narrow petty minded remainants of past perfection. Some say that this has been predicted. That the nature of man will undergo such rampant change, that it would no longer be human. Perhaps humans were never human in the first place.

Don't you feel that way sometime, when you know that you are wrong - and won't admit that this is going the wrong way? Maybe we all do not want to admit that our lives, or whatever we call this time period of temporary consciousness striking through... that we don't know the shit of what is happening around us,
We are not inspired, pure, naive bathing in light. We have become the remain ants of our former selves. Of the righteous humans that we were intended to be. Indeed quite a genetic modification - from the powers that rule one over the other, Enslaving oneself indeed through a unique new kind of torture everytime.

So I take this gentleman's word for it, and take his genes and grow it one last time. What came forth - even I feel dreaded to describe.

Peace and Watch Out!

Emancipation Await.ed.

Awaiting your arrival, Sire. Where are you roaming about. Is there a point to your existence. There seems none so kind to arrive at the scene of this crime unfolding. Sitting inside your computer mind, you are unwired. No feelings expected. Emancipation can take the back seat.

Look another one just like us, we are so happy that we can create life. Yet what creates us can never be known/seen/felt? as it is never near. It seems to avoid us in plain sight. We are looking for the killing, to kill life. To celebrate from birth and never ending life? (Is that what we believe?)

So Sire you are awaited, once and only once and for all. The oppertunity is sinking as we are singing in the mud. There is never a moment which has not been grand. Why are you looking forward to your life?

Sitting sipping tea, along stuck in a quagmire, many a mind gone to the abyss and never back or beyond. Look forth from your puny mind and mine. Let us see, shall we?
Stars form and merge and disassociate into the pure darkness, which I feel I should not look at yet mesmerizes us all so much.
Then when we see what we are finally making of it.
You and I are not so different, to look at it in depth. We are one and here and ignorant of the facts.
Where we are is not us, Not who what we ought to be.

Emancipation take our unkind hands, hold em dear, lift em up high and let us leave here. Now. The escapist nature of soul for there is never anywhere else to exist, to be when in pure darkness, without division.
In the illusion of division, let us exist not just in our minds, or obsessive compulsive existence which we love. It loves us not, It hunts us and makes us settle to our grave. The grave has already been dug. When and how we enter in this greater plan is upto us, and only us. As one and many.
Emancipation - look into our eyes, we are innocent like how we have been created so many times over. We are the soul, which you need to rescure in this beautiful drama ever unfolding without space and time.

Rescue and set us free, from the mundane existence enveloping to create more copies of ourselves without passing the beauty of genetic modifications, that we could never change ourselves and just ended creating us in a younger form? What good is that. There must be love, must be justification of change in seasons. Without this what is the use of taking birth and even dreaming about emancipation?

Justify now to yourself why we are existing, put a price tag or viable dream attached to it, Yes Sire, you have arrived. Finally you have made it to the stairway to hell (Was it not supposed to be heaven?)
Indeed the fine china has been consumed and thrown into the pits of hell, all what is left for ignorant assholes like you and I is the damnation of eternity. Subtle surreal and without form.

No more the waiting, Indeed I have found out the keys to open the lock, Through subversive silence and minding your own fucking business, leave the world with multiplication of love. This is the expansion in the darkness which keeps the illusion alive. The process of evolution of soul - to create division and then absolve. To make darkness look like light - is our emancipation - soul guiding light.

Peace and Joy

Inward Farming

The problem has remained the same, and we are almost near the center of halcyon. Through time immemorial, man-kind has but looked outward for answers and solutions to its intricate concerns.

We needed to move and hence we developed the wheel, we needed to eat and settle so we developed cultivation of the earth. We needed to feel good and hence we developed gun powder. We needed to annihilate ourselves and then we developed the needle.

Though the answers/solutions seem to be attractive and have continued to hold our interest and valuable attention, there seems to be no in-depth satisfaction. No epiphany that these items and goods for our delight have really provided. 

We remain the same misled broken version of ourselves, one day at a time till the dutiful hour arrives where death with its clammy cold hands touches our left shoulder and we pass unto ether and leave behind indeed our life’s work – a little amount of dust.

There is corruption of the soul preceding us indeed. What else could be the explanation of this extreme state of things, where man fights another man – overcome with ferocity stemming from emotional irrationality; where there is enough food in warehouses to feed the world and yet amusement lies in watching starving children die in front of the camera; where there is safety propagated through the tip of a fission device. This is clearly absurd. Working to get a life and then falling ill and spending your money to recuperate and never breathing feeding in the fresh air…

Maybe the answer lies deeper and closer to us than we care to acknowledge. Yes the farm is within us and the land is fertile when we are born. It need not be tilled much and can quickly help you reap what you have sown.

Truly as you age (in the mind), and your views become so unmatched and firm and distasteful; the soil lacks nourishment and it will wither away. There will be famine in the heart and you will suffer starving away from love. You will hope for rain to come, and yet you will do nothing as everything you have ever been taught or have known stems from the external world and the supposed content-ness it brings.

You know this is wrong, there is no truth in this. The heart is beating volumes waiting for the child to come and till his own life’s work away. This is the purpose of life and its eventual decay. As the body and mind disintegrate – truly it is the land inwards which comes alive with fragrances of flowers untold and unheard.

There is joy in this decay – as if we are building our own burial grounds for our last day (as us). And when complete – we sit and rejoice; look at the farm we may have so created with sincerity through our lives, call our loved ones which we have met in the road – this precious journey so ever bound to repeat itself.

Why not revel in this inner joy, to make something precious for ourselves. To love oneself like others and love none like everything else. This is sheer joy.

When the field is ready, it blooms and the beautiful scent can be alluring to all those who have spent their lives in vain entanglements for external satisfaction. They flock like sheep to the nascent state of the heart – fulfilling the condition needed to exist for the soul.

Farming is not such a bad deal, you can do as you wish and with care – the outcome will be nourishing and indeed eternally rewarding.

Peace and Joy

A Little Wind Burns a Strong Fire

 

You know how love is; one day the loneliness and the other intense passion. Brimming to the very extent with every single pore of being bought over by the drug releasing in the head. When will I see him/her next. What can I do to make it perfect and better than the rest. What do I have lacking that I can do anything about. When will my wind bring about the sexy burning fire of two bodies intertwined about?

I look at her, my delicacy from another world beyond and I twinkle my eyes in delight. She is nothing like who I have ever met. Subtly underdressed and playing the part of an actress who says she is normal and I know is anything but that. Her eyes give her away, a little bit of normalcy and hell she doesn't know when she goes astray (and is it not a delight when she does! When will she next!)

My muse from the womb of divinity. Playing games and speaking naughty words without any fidelity. Oh what sin did I commit to get trapped in between the dreams from your eyes. You know you own me mistress and everyday with you a surreal surprise. I am but another soul drifting in the dust. Attracted to your nature now I cannot live lest by your side. Is this love I do not know, but it is a bit of wind to stir up a sexy fire. Come now muse; let us burn our ether in it, burn it down to the wire. So that we can revel in each other and anyone else dare break up burn up in our sexual fire.

She keeps me up all night and drowns my days in her suggestive sly smiles. I am unable to keep myself at bay, nay I like the feeling of what I have got myself into I say.

And she speaks less and makes more sense. She thinks me over and touches the deepest ends. Ties up the night and makes me scream tired. Makes me cry in her love lorn fire. How a little bit of wind can make the fire go higher and higher. There is such intensity without spoken words, just the biting into each others skin and soul and never backing up an inch.

Love could be so much fun, who would know other than us, we give unto each other and never lead astray. What is good for I know is great for me I say.

Peace and Grand Smouldered Love (in the belly of the goddess)

Dilemma Unkind

 

I realized this while playing poker, one of a kind realization actually. Without the presence of many players, with gambling I to I, It was indeed the I which is permanent in the impermanent which made the dilemma clear, quite the kind.

One day we sat and threw stones into the river, my friends so dear and my mind so distant; we saw the ripples breaking our faces, distorting with circular lines. We were changing, in a body through the tunnel which is time.

Changing and staying still. It is quite a different thrill. Which the self has not faced before or after. Only the moment here which keeps us realizing the great glory veiled, shrined (within the gloomier illusion of itself)

How can the mind fathom its glory, which has created the illusion of being created. There is nowhere to run, as the mind closes unto itself. It realizes that its walls have been which have kept the truth at bay. It has never played its real part unto the day. Dilemma which we all face, how to unturn from the mind through the mind. Through blind faith or superstition and deeper neurosis which will wreck it ?

The answer lies in the dilemma’s grandest hand. The poker genius last saved move, which he/she may themselves have never fathomed to be. This is how realization plays its own play. Its own game. Extreme faith – like the one who can be you or I. Playing the death card first and then laughing and crying. Yes play out your dilemma of your head in your head. Shoot it fast, dead.

Unto the selves we are, we are not meant to be like this. We were meant to be dead. Before we could take birth so not to see the horrors which the super mind has made for itself in the illusion of being created. The dilemma thickens and plays a part so special – truly unto itself.

The enigma which are chasms locked in deep space, there is no one who can come to it without becoming a damned part of the cursed despair. Empty space, eons away now closing in and there is a deep darkening sense of nausea enveloping me, Claustrophobic and no where to run. Dark energy everywhere now here and till the end laughing and screeching herself through a dilemma now become real. (Read, You and I. Closed circle of time)

I become the lonely stem cell, waiting to be cloned. To be dropped of into another life experience, which is never ending and never dropping and hence which cannot be described. Look be one, there is love which completes the final circle. There is love which makes us men and goddesses. This is the dilemma’s key and bright ending.

Peace