Dendrophilia Diaries

this is not a secret

2012-02-22T23:09:00.007+01:00

Where can they find you?

You might not spotted standing next to me, while I wait for

the bus, the tram, the train, or at gate no.37 before it starts
boarding with a bored frown giving me premature wrinkles,

like my mother would exclaim.

You might not be found next to my dry, naked body, before
I rub the blueberry body butter like an incest lather.

You might not even be seen sitting across me while I eat
momo, read gay magazines or drink dark beer after I sleepily
vandalize walls of public lavatory in style i.e.

But if they looked harder, they might just find you poised like
a crown on the alphabetical playgrounds, wearing metaphors
and similes for a grin.

You might be seen at the corners of sentences, tucking your
shirt and pouring gin & tonic.

If they looked closely, they will find your voice vibrating
from the colorful walls of my abstractions, that gently arrange
themselves like a psychoanalyst’s dream.

If they searched for you with a microscopic heart then, they
shall find you secretly buried underneath all of these
adjectives and verbs, like the sun bottled inside a torch
light in the dark.

@ Piotr Buczkowski

pin your heart to the sky

2012-02-22T22:06:00.008+01:00

Today I strutted through the secret road, to get home.

secret road?

You don't know about this route because let’s face it- I’d rather
keep some things to myself.

Like?

Like campy trees and uneven shrub arrangement where I smell
the color green and white simultaneously..

Yeah, we are allowed to be stingy when it comes to pleasure
sometimes. Besides private lives are mysterious joys.

But while I was walking and listening to music, my ears started
pumping thick lava of euphoria into my system. It was one of
those moments you want to save in a little glass bottle. Almost
everything about that moment was amazing. You should have
been there to see my face perform secret public orgasms.

You are my secret public orgasm.

And that wasn’t all. You see, I had this sudden urge to write
a poem. It was the strangest kind of urgency, hard to articulate.
But it also felt like hunger that kept growing in proportions. Today
I think I was walking, breathing, listening and feeling the accurate
quantities of the cosmos for an explosive roadside delirium..

So the music made you pregnant with a hungry poem?

Yes, it did. It impaled me and I loved it.

A frosty, uncomplicated afternoon detour can pin your heart to the sky I guess.

to be neatly sliced in tin boxes

2012-02-20T23:15:00.011+01:00

Dearest tree dwelling perky bird with a bow,

I was going to write you a letter but the table is pinned down by empty glasses, scared jugs, half filled books and loose paper. There are too many things demanding attention. I am repulsed by such needy properties. Thus, the fingers are doing the loving here while little, neatly packed walnut shaped sounds are exploding inside my head. Mondays don't do that to me, evenings do. Then there is this impertinent sense of restless tonight. Like my body is elsewhere and I am trapped in a small box in this room. My body is probably under a big rock, waiting for a shooting star. Or it could be running through the woods barefoot, carrying a big lantern. Maybe it is trying to wrap itself around a dirty jungle cat. It could certainly be licking sweat off his body or kissing hamstrings that get injured. I do not know where it is. But I know I am trapped here, with music for company, dark beer and these fingers that push and pull. For I know not what to do..Oh, well! I hope your body is having fun and you aren't feeling as disjointed. I shall ring a bell for you. I will ring the bell for my body too. Certainly everything will feel wholesome soon.

many many wet kisses from a soft velvet matchbox,

ex-slug

I need a whore

2011-12-11T02:16:00.002+01:00

Everything is different now.
I am older, but mirth is still young.
Room is dirtier, without humans.
Heart is cleaner; affections cleanest.
Friendships have more clarity, yet distance.
Ideas are emasculating all phobias, but excitement.
Sounds are simpler, complications are noises.
Temper is more sophisticated, like a new disease.
Nails are more brittle, like lies.
Human drama radar is seemingly more sensitive but so is disgust.
Everything is different now.

Apparently celibacy has perks?

I am dusty moaner

2011-12-11T02:02:00.001+01:00

stupid pornographic confessions can break your heart

stupid confessions can break your heart

confessions can break your heart

break your heart

your heart

heart.

but we all lie.

from the belly of the shotgun (i)

2011-12-11T01:39:00.003+01:00

triple vodka shots
second is never right
wooden pipes

sloppy handwriting

fuck fuck fuck
skip what slips

leaking oral cavities

dead balloons

beige silk stockings

margarine romance
green bruises
all existed
black and brown umbrellas
itchy g-strings
cold tea
melting ice
costume wearing airport conversations
polka dot pitch
greedy man gets greedy woman

if you were wondering, absence is serious like paper cuts.

On buying artificial tears

2011-12-04T02:44:00.003+01:00

If you don't feel it,

don't talk about it.

If you can't say it,

don't write it.

What good will a bad habit or an incandescent imagination do to an aching heart?

to define

2011-11-13T05:57:00.003+01:00

silence has been a parasitic theme. It spread like a sly jungle fire in my world, outside of the body and inside too. From merely a small part of private time to becoming a sinful cave to run inside of, silence slowly became a lifestyle. Now amends are to be made. Shutting the world and shunning words is over now. Many holes are left gaping like an eye sore. So silence with its gaudy oblivion teeth is going to be disciplined. I will start by not mentioning it in the next 3 or 5 posts.

Lets raise our cups and drink herbal tea to that!

[Oh, yes! I have started to drink herbal tea. Old age is kicking in I guess]

I ate your superman.

fence of hell

2011-11-13T04:59:00.000+01:00

It is almost 5 am

sounds have collapsed into

folded white paper napkins with

disgusting pizza remains that

stain, but who is looking

for sounds at this hour?

let me eat you

2011-07-07T21:45:00.000+02:00

The calm before the storm has a vacancy for sounds.

peel slowly,

toes know,

circle circles,

thighs shiver,

hold tight,

clench distance,

touch me,

feed wood,

nipples thrust,

lick old friends,

whisper,

mouths open,

teeth melt,

tongues slip,

dig nails,

breathe slowly,

close eyes,

stand up,

press me,

balls jingle,

hook me,

finger bites,

compress quick,

horizontal night,

vertical death,

drown me.

A finger, a 35 mm pressure, a lip rub make sounds.

[ Damien hirst for Red Hot Chillie Peppers ]

I walk the earth an unfair lady

2011-04-27T16:22:00.003+02:00

vulnerability has always been attractive, like a sexist.

but these days self-absorption is the bomb.

what is truly fashionable is - what was.

thus, we should care not.

just carry on.

heart is a romantic pyromaniac

2011-04-27T13:36:00.004+02:00

days you might not

know me,
days I might not

wanna do you,
days we might not

stick our tongues out,
days life might not

let us be,

I'll be pragmatic and let you burn.

sell broken bones

2011-04-25T04:50:00.002+02:00

cranium :

6,981 cigarettes out

and the mind is still not set,

on how many penumbras

I will slyly replicate.

carpus :

Saddles and padlocks

don't scare you.

but I secretly know where

today shall take you.

femur :

My stockings clasp my thighs like you,

and my socks too smell my feet.

Dear, the twigs I stole yesterday,

now know all these little warm things.

hyoid :

Don't follow, don't fall in love

with the shadows I cast.

Feint and orchestrated,

they are out of control,

they mime truth last.

perhaps noise is good

2011-04-22T01:03:00.006+02:00

I had been lamenting for a while, about how the birds are noisier now that spring is here with all its green scales and shiny orange lather. But tonight, that itch to shun them disappeared. Spring can come and play now. I am game, for true.

It is so because I went out to smoke in the balcony again.
It is so because I saw framed lives in windows awaiting me.
It is so because I decided it is time to quit smoking in the room.
It is so because I let it come to me.

[ I have edited myself tonight. Time travel is possible.]

limping, not

2011-04-20T19:22:00.001+02:00

I drew some robots today. I might well continue making robots into the week.
New glasses are on their way. My doctor says that I 'have' to wear them now (though he did say so 2 years ago too). He promised me that those new glasses will give me x-ray vision, foresight and acute awareness of ulterior motives. But I am not so thrilled.
One more exciting plan for summer in motion.
A new discovery: smoking cigarettes is part of the cosmic procrastination plan of the ego. No wonder it has escalated these days.
I want to hear tree frogs sing and watch mountain-goats dance.
Masturbation is not an ostentatious guilt.
My heart is as calm as the floor of an abyss where the sun comes to hide, thanks to absolute isolation from petty conversations and humans.
I am having sushi for dinner, again.
Spring came earlier than I had anticipated. My gills and wings are still frosty.

multiplication table

2011-04-16T16:37:00.003+02:00

May the nostalgia of my absence in your arms

curl your head around clouds.

May those clouds circle your head like flies,

singing and chanting lullabies.

May those lullabies etch their weight with ink

like wet, silent and dialectical sinking.

And may these words save you.

@ Jules Julien

Today we shall not pretend

2011-04-10T13:07:00.000+02:00

Because silence is not distance.

Because my noises are half yours.

Because secret lives are half-written plays.

Because kisses never happen.

Because sunlight depresses me.

Because some words were careless.

Because wants are sexier than needs.

Because you lit candles for me.

Because apples can make you fall.

Because I can’t save you.

Because you can’t save me.

Because metaphors are powerful.

Because the chapters are being written as we speak.

I know not what to make of you.

to fruit a bloom

2011-04-09T16:06:00.002+02:00

All is Vanity @ Adad Hannah

The world is spinning. I feel it more today.

Gravity has stopped working. The molecular attraction has weakened. Another day where my lips are wrapped around numerous roll-ups has emerged. I have tied the silk petticoat around my waist like a corset. My fingers are naked; jewelery abandoned. Lipstick smeared lips are dry and humming no song today. Birds might be noisy outside but there is no sound in this room. There is annihilation of forms and feelings. The phone keeps ringing and I keep hearing people make strange images from boring words. Early this morning I was thrashing around my bed in pain. I thought I was having a heart attack, I thought it was all going to finally end. But in all honesty, it must have been just gas. Nothing is making much sense today, not even premature notions of death. Sparsely, I read dead men making love promises. I keep reading dead women talk about unrequited love. And then, I try to read my world.

I don't understand the length of my thoughts, neither do I have any idea of the volume. They keep coming in and out of different parts of my head. Thoughts become predicament because we are not honest with ourselves. So many lies, so many falsehoods. And we end up with desire.

There are disparate longings making small holes in the sky. And much to my discomfort, the universe appears different from every peep-hole. However, it is not comforting to realize that there might be many suns out there, but only one sky. Today my sky with holes tastes different. It has wonderful after-taste making me dizzy.

Dizzy like a chewing gum chewed by a monkey on a trapeze.

Sometimes I wish this burden of feeling and eagerness to make sense of everything were as convenient as wearing a cloak. So many of us would be walking around naked then...

substructures

2011-04-02T15:50:00.000+02:00

sushi and ice-cream for breakfast / skyline dimpled with a foggy disposition / super clean room and neatly stacked books / roughly folded laundry looking immaculate / smell of kiwi and peaches everywhere / closet quietly resembling bonsai arithmetic /a dance filled glass of wine to water the soul.

I couldn't ask for a more beautiful Saturday to be home.

why haven't you thought about bruising the moon?

2011-03-31T02:56:00.003+02:00

Because I got tired of the moon

even before high school.
The madness of the werewolves

was that of virgins, while it still is.

Because the moon is too close,

it is almost tangible, to love and

regularly gets puckered.
Besides bruises are too

plain and tender.

Only rocks or minor falls

bruise, and I am neither.

To be a phoenix

2011-03-29T01:29:00.004+02:00

Hugo Simberg

I went grocery shopping this evening. In front of me stood this old lady with a red hat (with flowers on it), a mustard-colored raincoat and a walking stick. An image straight out of a children’s book, she was. I avoid spying on people in public places but it was impossible to keep starring elsewhere today. Apparently, she did quite a heavy shopping. At one point I stood there thinking if she will last until the detergent she bought does(yes, we are allowed to be cruel to strangers, in our head).

Soon, she was putting away all the things in her bag; meticulously slow. The old lady picked up the remaining change from the coin machine, one by one. I heard every penny being picked and her pace never wanting to create a new beat.

I watched her pay- unhurried and calm.

Her wrinkles sculpted her face like shadows of twigs and branches on a forest bed under the sun.

Even her head with its silver shy strands shook a bit like she had a secret song playing in her head.

She was alone. She was cheerful. She looked pleased with herself. And I thought it must be the growing fingers of the sun making everyone in this part of the northern hemisphere giddy and gay. Spring is almost here, everyone claims.

It was then I sort of felt like a dickhead, meandering in my head most of the time. Always bending the desolate thoughts as poetic and emotional cruelty as beautiful.

There stool this old lady, with her whole life almost over; regained, satisfied and collecting her grocery with a smile. Previously I was looking at her and thinking how lonely her longings must be, how quiet her bed might be. But then I thought she probably has more memories than I have had dreams. Or maybe she has no memories, which is always a blessing.

I stood there with mixed feelings putting away my groceries in a rush. While next to me she shook her head and made cute breathing noises. The old lady putting her groceries away with a sunflower for a smile made me breathe quick.

I didn't help her.

I was in a hurry to get out of there.

Something was yearning for fresh air.....something called the guilt for being miserable and young.

forgetting the funeral of flowers

2011-03-21T12:44:00.002+01:00

The snow melting and pleasing,

returning back to the hearth very slow.

But winter come, where do the flowers' songs go?

how to live in peace

2011-03-20T13:51:00.002+01:00

My living arrangement for the past 3 years has been sharing the kitchen and bathroom with another human being. I have had 3 of them come and go. Everyone has been a bundle of joy.

Human no.1: Vegaard used to leave the toilet seat down and even piss all over it. He never once bought any toilet paper. But I valued him the most because he never complained no matter how vulgar I might have been during a normal school night when drunk and loud. And since he was a medicine student, I’d often go to him asking for remedies when stoned. I thought he was an ostentatious freak because he would often cross the street if he saw me coming (often at the risk of being run down by the approaching tram). Not surprisingly, he left without saying a note, without a note… We lived hearing each other have sex and fart in our castles called rooms for 2 years and he left without a proper goodbye. Well, I was away for a month still. But maybe it was a good thing. Because since he never locked his doors I kindly stopped by his room once and went through his porn collection. He was clearly a disturbed child. So maybe it was a good thing after all.

Human no.2: Victor. The fragile looking saxophonist who was so visibly gay that I thought it was appropriate to kiss his hand rather than shake it when I first met him. He used to cook after midnight and often scare me by making food that took days to finish cooking. The only problem with him was his clothes were always better than mine. Before I could spill anything on his clothes, he left. He said it was tad bit expensive for him ( which is ridiculous). I think he just wanted to be next to his boyfriend, the uber campy Chinese guy that once took my umbrella and NEVER returned it.

Human no.3: Pia, the mouse. She clearly is like a mouse, hardly makes any noise other than while cooking. And she turns off all the light, all the freaking time. In an impending desire to drink some water at night, I open my door and there is pitch black darkness ready to eat me right outside my door. And I have fallen and hurt my toes many times due to her save-energy-enthusiasm. I don’t know how to get rid of her. Since she is gone for couple of weeks to Rome, I am watering her plants. She has 18 of those. Maybe it will be a good thing to forget to water?

Evil is a profusion of creativity in the mind. It is hard to separate it from your super powers. So I have thought about it and rather than cracking any ethical bone in my body while I defenestrate these humans .. I have decided to possibly move out and get my own place this year so porn collections, good clothes and pet/plants can live safely..

So 'be nice to others, live alone' is the maxim for the year.

water memories

2011-03-19T12:28:00.004+01:00

It must be water bullets, colors, screaming, evasive hands and feet, wet bodies everywhere in kathmandu today. I do not miss that however. I never was keen about holi. Holi always made me anxious. As a kid we weren't allowed to hit water balloons at anyone else other than ourselves [ like that ever was an endless source of fun]. And as a teenager, the main door to our house used to be locked up because dad would be half day gone to some guthi ko puja. Holi always made me anxious.

But I don't give a hoot about it anymore. Thus, I sit in my room, free of anxiety, with the curtains closed and the fat speakers blaring; not curious about how kathmandu is getting itself smudged under the sun (while here I keep the sun out. The sun is going to rape me if I open the curtains and you aren't even here to save me).

suppositions

2011-03-17T21:46:00.004+01:00

licks dying lighters,

frequents wood & disappearances,

steals leaves from trees,

projects conscious assaults without guilt,

squeezes the burning light out of every feeling,

and many many things.

baby, you will eventually get to know me.

so why would I warn you?

'the irony would be we know what we are doing'

put me on fire

2011-02-16T22:04:00.002+01:00

when she swallowed a tear,

she knew not where to bend or break,

then quietly she folded her arms and legs.

Into crimson, wrinkled paper she turned,

crumpled in triple folds, slowly she started to burn.

And no matter how much she cried,

the fire refused
to die.

Your ticket is no more valid

2011-02-11T02:52:00.004+01:00

"L'amour est un oiseau rebelle."

Some sleepless nights

white, hollow and palpable

I daydream of days
beautiful merry-go-rounds

where the fidgeting sun
taunt, brute and groaning

never comes out.

And slowly a storm
silky, neon and blinding

is opening a window
brittle, o-so yellow

in my heart

green and distend

from where one day you shall depart.

So, don't be

stirred, doe-eyed, alarmed or surprised

if you find the sun
suddenly

gone

dark.

to get used to life

2011-02-08T21:45:00.001+01:00

So here I am, again, flattened under volume.

I was just outside in the balcony, dragging in meager amounts of artificial air born out of mini deaths of tobacco. Tobacco, which has accompanied loneliness or social digressions, in solitude allows me to churn ephemeral euphorias. I stood there thinking to myself, no one is aware of this breathing right now. These hot charcoal breaths of air culminating and generating heat in my body and erasing any healthy cells from memorizing life. Life, that ceases to crawl each second I am aware that I need to run or maybe fly soon. Because I do not belong here. And to know not where you belong is a beautiful gift sometimes.

You could temporarily nest just about any fucking where; how exhilarating!

I am constantly living some place else, other than now.

in some hearts

2010-10-28T02:26:00.000+02:00

The sun thinks

the moonless night can't

hear me

tonight,

while the dark night sleeps restlessly.

But behold dawn!

It comes.

It comes

out and in with

no history.

Get your glass eyes, mirror and songs ready.

tell the truth a lie

2010-10-25T18:29:00.000+02:00

I wish I was a giant

with legs merrily strong, and big

enough to stop thunderstorms.

And that my giant hair

spread across the forest like a fog.

I wish I was a giant

loud as the mountains and rain.

(wet and plain)

Apple trees would grow out of

my toes and armpits,

maybe I would smell like beehives.

And if I danced the earth would

squeal and rivers spill.

I wish I was a giant

speaking in magic tongues.

(wild and pantomimed)

I wish I was a giant

with limbs and trunk, wings

and mellow flashlights.

A treasure chest for a heart giant.

I wish I was a giant

visible to you, like

the sun.

'We are what we pretend to be, so we must be careful about what we pretend to be'

2010-10-25T16:34:00.009+02:00

fleeting, it is all fleeting.

---------------------------------

contradictions are my secrets

2010-10-22T04:00:00.000+02:00

worms aren't disoriented,
while the earth is moving;
but wind is restless,
and life is fleeting..

stay fit

swift

2010-10-17T02:36:00.000+02:00

pour me rain, pour me hail,

I don't believe in an every lasting sun.

pour me love, pour me pain.

I don't believe in an ever lasting heart.

limbo, orchestrated.

I speak your language says restlessness

2010-10-13T02:28:00.006+02:00

Yet another night. Or is it already another morning? Or am I on the edges of a transition, from night to day? Another casual conflict in mental grooming caused by absence of ...sleep. Well, I don't know what time does to my breathing slots these days. I am awake at odd witch-like hours, sleeping at ungodly minutes and gasping for meaning in between each leery slumber. Anyways, I was just outside in the balcony- doing my nightly breathing exercises. Just same old me, reiterating the whole process of looking at the city and pausing to observe it, like I am not a part of this biped jungle. But many many years ago, it was slightly different.. Insomnia felt good once.

As a child whenever I woke up in the middle of the mid-night and early morning hours, I used to be enormously pleased with myself. I loved knowing that everyone else I knew was sleeping (yes, strange- you'd say). Because really, absence of human-sightings is more often than not a dovetail move for sanity (I should add, 'in my case'). Alas, it is so hard to get that feeling if you wake up in the middle of the night now. It doesn't work like that anymore.

Tonight everywhere I looked there were people. Every light turned on and turned off had a story behind it. But then I saw two lights move in the horizon. People are flying too, at this hour..

Suddenly, I did not feel so bad ....

does the needle hear the hole?

2010-10-05T19:39:00.000+02:00

It has been a while, for true.

I have been busy chasing

myself,

and ignoring victory.

And each time I lose,

a small prayer for my heart not

to grow up becomes

my noose.

hand me freedom but nevermind

2010-09-08T15:53:00.000+02:00

I am frantically reading, scribbling, mind-mapping for my presentation tomorrow. Like the Age of Absolutism (ah, history is good in the books but not in the heart) which jumps me few pages and I find myself standing next to eugenics. I am somehow supposed to make sense of statistics.. and all I want to do is paint some pineapples on my thighs. Then in the evening, I have to go for dinner. People, duties, responsibilities, reality, maturity- all of this stops making sense to me every hour when I pause from breathing and running. Indre told me not to grow up. I wonder if it is possible.. But everyone is asserting some control in their lives one way or the other. And look at this dendrophile. Yesterday, I was feeling like a twig. Easily flooded and bend. I went crazy making my shoes muddy in the woods. And look at moi today, I am wearing my glasses and pinned down on the chair.. wondering what is going on in the world if I were to just, just slightly open my curtains....

I still want to paint some pineapples. (Don't ask me why!)

insomnia is going down on me as we speak

2010-08-31T01:35:00.003+02:00

That terrible headache hasn't let go of a single inch of my forehead, it has spread like perennial fat on a middle aged woman's body. Like butter on your bread. It has sank into my skin and now I can't decide where my head starts or the unkind pain. All evening I have tried to ignore it by trying to think of not thinking about it. I am exhausted now. I should sleep now. Now- that has stretched since eons ago. A long time ago it was decided that this headache would come approach me and give me a good beating. Now I am fucked. I wonder why I did not wear my glasses like I was supposed to..

Hit me. That is all I am saying to sleep. Come fucking hit me !

Somebody put me to sleep!

get on top

2010-08-20T16:36:00.001+02:00

My room has an uncomfortable, encumbering look on its face. Nothing is in its rightful place, not even the speaking voice. Summer is almost over here, yet hangovers are visible. There are stolen passionflower blossoms from Berkeley waiting to be pressed and tucked.. and from Kathmandu I have lighters that don't work (but keep me warm). Like how the smitten can't locate their frowns, I am paralyzed into believing I have no discipline. Yes, there are a lot of condensed sentences in use today.

But soon, I will pick up the shoes and separate them from the socks. The books will go up and old bills will be filed. Until such technically holy cleansing of the non-living things, I will stay away from them. But, I know comfort is an impending guest. I am an optimist..

I don't know what is more rewarding, articulating your laziness while being a pig or killing the pig?

eyes are so keen

2010-08-20T01:59:00.021+02:00

I am back and heart is not. It decided to stay back. We are all playing grown ups here so no tantrums. Come to think of it, I can't even cajole it to come back using Hallmark cards it once loved and giggled over. It is sad that Hallmark sentiments do not suffice in this day and age of fuck-buddies and metro-sexuality. So maybe I'll just put the absence in a box and go to sleep. Tomorrow, we can speak. The heart and I.

You are like an immensely mesmerizing, exploding sun

note

2010-07-14T02:08:00.000+02:00

Activity will be resumed here after summer. Until then, a new dendrophilia corner of visual pedigree.

one for each

2010-07-11T02:23:00.005+02:00

Today is a quick run through the mental facilities. As quick as the time you might have gone through your room when an unexpected visitor surprises you while you are happily lush in your pajamas/no pajamas, at home on a thought-ordinary day. (Psst, but not ordinary by any means)

Today, I realized how comical the circle of life is. That we just replace one thing with another, just to keep the meaning of words alive. That brings my attention to how we are all chasing other people's definition. Take for instance, the word 'home'. You keep on moving through life's branches and leaves, trying to perch your nest. Trying to nail the word down, through paints and square feet and curtain shades.. Is this white-washed prison box wall of books, clothes, shoes and letters where the home is? Or perhaps it is where childhood came into be? Or where you left it behind? Everything is being capsuled into the shadows.

But everything is relative, says the philosopher.

And there we go chasing after life. Like a word would encompass it all and would always feel the same. Like love which is never the same sound or weight or feel. Anyways, in my insomniac rage- the world is cluttered with strands of a thought or two. Now it is time to go home. Go home, words and meanings! You are just some tragic abyss for the living, waiting to be filled. You are not welcome here anymore.

Ha. Today is like those many other lost and found days.

Walking brings you strange treasures.

Go to San Fransisco

2010-06-25T09:55:00.001+02:00

Habits are second nature said someone wise. Vacations prove it right!

When you travel, it takes you out of your comfort zone. It makes you bend and twist. Often you end up contorted and in love with possibilities. Because when you think about it, who you are is a habitual dependency of the mind. When you constantly eat and breathe a certain thought, you think it true.

Funny how I used to think that I was a kite until I realized in the windy passages of San Fransisco that I am a river running to the sea.

a bird on my tree

2010-06-02T18:09:00.004+02:00

Today a bird sang a song that she had written, it used her words to frame a life that is hers. She followed the bird to its nest. And to her surprise, it flew to an old familiar place.

Once I had fears in my bag pack that smelled of crowded verisimilitudes. Easier to drop than to drag, I stood in a quiet corner of the forest and I dropped the weight on the ground. Dug a hole. And wearing a mime’s crown, I buried it.

Now back to the same spot, it all looked different. The bird was perched high on the tree and the tree stood where she once buried chunks of herself. You could see that her fears have leaves and the bag pack constantly grows and breathes. When the leaves rustled in the wind, you could hear her fears. The birds, the worms, the insects all living in close proximity of the tree know her. They smirked and they laughed while the tree trapped all the echoes.

You play god in your life all the time. You create and you destroy, nonchalantly or dubiously with a constant urgency..

So salvation as an excuse, she hacked the tree down. She axed its branches and limbs. She lumber jacked any existence of the bag pack. Of course, it bled old smell. It screamed cold words. Everything sprang up and came at her like she is their grave. The leaves covered her and twisted her breathing many times, the branches fell on her and injured her grace. But erased, the tree she did.

Now, just the bird remains.

But something always does.

loss is a myth

2010-05-26T23:47:00.001+02:00

Bought unnecessary non-living things today.
Read unnecessary text messages.
Did unnecessary activities simultaneously.
Ate unnecessary food.
Lived a very unnecessary day today.

What a loss of a wednesday?

Not really. There were beautiful clouds in the sky all day long...

be careful out there

2010-05-25T11:30:00.003+02:00

perhaps you will win
not like premature ejaculation
on a speeding bullet

but like a hot air balloon
on a honeymoon?

few

2010-05-20T20:13:00.000+02:00

things today:

walked around a spa barefoot and was constantly startled by half-naked good looking men
plucked some flowers
ate chocolate cake with soda
overslept
heard a beautiful song on the radio and felt like a completely different human being
decided to give up the basic bad habits like cigarettes, beer, men..can't be that bad, eh?
bought 6 pairs of socks
fell in love again, with the clouds

make some lemonade everyday

2010-05-19T00:07:00.007+02:00

It is true that carrying around solitude like a medal gives me insomnia at times. But then; annihilation of solitude via socializing takes away insomnia (read: exhaustion). Common sense dictates that a balance should be achieved in the two different spheres of life we dwell in; life with humans and life without humans.

Life without humans? I know many will roll their eyes. This idea is incomprehensible to a huge fraction of our population. Most people I know wouldn't be able to breathe without seeing another human being stand/sit beside them. These breathing primates, I consider a different breed, the ones who are fit to be caged and bred like cattle because they wouldn't mind it a bit. Harsh? Perhaps. Excuse my sense of justice, that I deem is non-vegetarian.

But, moving on. Where lives balance? What clothes does it wear? Does it like cookies? Would life not be easy if we could just purchase/borrow/rent some balance?

Balance, where art thou?

I am not telepathic

2010-05-10T16:44:00.002+02:00

Yes, it might come as a surprise to you but I can't read your mind. The possession of judgment based on idiosyncratic traits displayed by a human has not provided me with any powers to unlock their motives like how James Bond might. Don't be alarmed or disappointed. I don't know what you are thinking, what you want and neither can I infer your thoughts from random sentences that you punctuate for me. So you will just have to go through the discomfort of using words to tell me what you want.

And I am sorry if I freeze up around you. I am just not used to you.

consumption of reality

2010-05-07T21:42:00.000+02:00

'Where are you?'

Hah. Inquiries with this sparse and curt emotional interest is something I dread responding to. Because if you wanted to be found, you'd be available.

I am digging holes under heaven to see if it has good pillars that can hold up all the expectations of people alive. I am spying on the ambassador of good faith to see if his motives are as clean as they seem uncomplicated. I am treading on the circus of damaged wooden planks to save insanity from spreading to limbs and lambs. I am picking stones and building a spaceship. I am inventing a new future every day and dismantling it every night, resulting in a motionless existence. Really, I have been very busy.

I hope you have it good.

time is fking strange in a nepali village

2010-04-27T01:15:00.026+02:00

'Those bastards', said Stan Marsh.

Soon. Not more than 200 years from now, the world will have to redefine or just trash the word 'patriotism' from normal behavior. It will have a new definition or it will have lost its meaning in some time translation. Because the youngest continents in themselves are results of immigration. Economy will decide what country starts and ends, where or when. Just look at how easy it is today to consider you moving to another country! It is not as brutally punishing as it might have been a mere hundred and sixty years ago. However the irony of all this for me is how tiny humanoids are drawing lines on earth and saying this is theirs and that too; and actually dying for it. Is that not idiotic? Not?

Anyways, awkward realizations about things in general apart, reading about what is happening in Nepal or hearing the news on BBC nepali radio is something worth talking about. Nepali politics propels me to find it stranger not to ignore it everyday. Whether it is my lack of patience for absence of intellectual reality in Nepal or there is a lot of readjustments to do in my own head, I know not- but things are getting more retarded. Politics is a dirty game played by retarded goons, I must add.

There is only one end to all the contemplation you do- the world is bouncing off on hundreds of donkey's egos in Kathmandu. I feel ashamed today of how some nepali citizens in front of mikes and behind tables are fucking it up.

Some frustrations have no correlation with the ability to dissect issues. In some cases, it only worsens it.

Yes, my interest for nepali language is doing some wonders if not thinking about the landscape. Twatayendra, for instance, is a comical literary fusion. But my frustrations are scarier than my joys, at times. Last month I tried typing 'bhanchu' and it took me an hour just to figure out how the Unicode keyboard for Devangari script fashions itself across my abc to z. Hard work for an adult nepali to type the two syllabus 'bhanchu' even in an hour? That. My friend is a mark of technical ignorance regarding one's own language, a shame really. Khai, I don't know about others, but these petty things tend to bother me. Ignorance should always bother us, says a geek in me. I should learn how to type in nepali this year for sure.

There. I have exhausted my sleepy breath on few sentences for you.

You, the people who exist in an unknown world. The world far away from my own, perhaps.

What fun.

What glee.

What misery.

sometimes you need to look under this shy.

urgency is ecstasy

2010-04-24T23:36:00.001+02:00

Dear cosmos,
In the next few days please make sure you provide me with:

a fat and happy mail box sans bills
some mammoth surprises (as of yet) concerning introspection
a super-calm working mind
healthier sleep
missing buttons for my teal trench coat
non-intoxicated interest
some heavy cash maybe so tickets and plans can unfold faster
freedom from nostalgia

And just so you know, I shall be waiting by my window sill pretending you don't notice me.

some days are better than others

2010-04-06T20:50:00.013+02:00

I had an insanely busy day. Insanely busy days are incredibly good for me because I somehow come alive and turn into a flying horse with 10 limbs. Now what can compete with that?!

(Anyways, I can't wait for summer. Many good things are awaiting for me there..)

sometimes wood burns

2010-04-06T03:31:00.005+02:00

While folding laundry, I came to contemplate on the strange personality of some particular division of clothes and how I organized their existence.

There is this thing called the undergarment section, on the first shelf of the right side I have three sacks. They are neatly stored in cotton bags; soft and cared for. It is amusing to think about the way I feel for each sack and how I actually tried to come up with the most nondiscriminatory canons for judging their existence. Perhaps you have some similar idiosyncratic relationship with your non-living properties?

So, the three sacks.

One of them is where I put all those g-strings that you wear only when you are getting lucky or want to amuse yourself and impress a man. The ones with the tight and glittery edges, the dominatrix attire, the hello kitty dumb bitches hot pink frilly tails..... You know the ones that you just don't bother looking at unless you are getting it torn out and whizzed at. The cold ones for hot occasion? The piece of clothing that you don't talk to. And if your g-string would suddenly turn into a human being, you'd call it a slut. You know the ones that stay mute all their life. You don't try to get to know them. (Flesh, meat, evil, sins from garden of Eden kind)

And the biggest sack. The one which has those that you wear everyday. The thong sack. Aren't thongs like the people you like talking to and sharing the everyday world with? The ones with stories. The ones you'd find yourself in the company of, often. Almost like the closest of your friends? I find thongs to have a very jovial approach to everything. Like a eager butler, ready to comply.

Hmm. The last bag. This is where you feel curse of owning a bleeding vagina. In this sack you have sturdily stored the ones you use when durability is needed; when you go out into the world alone- to explore. The ones that accompany you to feet of mountains or into dark jungles at night. The ones that would be with you when you shat into your pants! Them, those ones. You just carry on caring for them. Almost respecting them for their good looks and intimacy with your biggest adventures. However, they just feel like people who you like but are too close to need to impress.

Yeah. Strange, people are. World is. Indeed.

plant trees this year

2010-04-05T18:14:00.002+02:00

It is fun to know that half of the things here, will be attempted or completed when I travel this summer.

I-hath-art-hard-on

2010-04-05T14:05:00.001+02:00

A friend of mine gets super-excited over typography. He gets font hard-ons. An ex-boyfriend used to get food hard-on. I get art hard-ons among many others. Anyways, don't you think the conventional turn-ons are such a turn off ?

Ebenezer Archer Kling

discoveries of a slug traveling on an owl's wings

2010-03-31T05:03:00.006+02:00

Someone in this building was playing really loud music ( 4 am on a Wednesday) and I could hear it since the air-conditioning vaults make that happen. Sometimes, I find myself hearing opera while I am brushing my teeth. And sometimes, someone is crying. On some other floor. That is all cool. But not today.

Their music disturbed me not for its presence but for its quality. I called it 'dumb music' and then went a brief monologue of internalization (due to the ''dumb music'' accusation that I found uncomfortable).

Because, really- no music is dumb. Everything else in nature has its own audio laws and patterns. Music is the sole crown of human audio invention, besides language but language is mandatory part of life. So, no matter how retarded we find a particular music genre, rhythms and mathematical poetry of frequencies; it is someone’s artificial world coming to life. It has been put together. Music does not have any physical address of existence before its inception. After inception, it is cds and records. Have you not wondered sometimes, where does music come from? Does it float around and you capture it? So all the millions of songs yet to be written and sang, do humans carry them in their fist-sized heart and soft cerebral matter? But that is perhaps not a question I will find an immediate answer to.

So, if we leave the compositions of musical algebras behind- have we come to understand how music forms in our mind.. ..........Inspiration?

Is inspiration the happiest goal of creativity and reason behind the Farnese Heracles (5th Century BE) in Museo Archeologico, Naples; or Laocoon (c.150-50 BC) in Museo Pio Clementino, Vatican; or Aphrodite of Melos (“Venus de Milo”) (c.100 BE) in Louvre; or The Rape of the Sabine (1581-3) in Piazza della Signora?

Well, we might not be looking for research materials on how does the whole concept of inspiration work scientifically. Though understanding where inspiration find roots in neuroscience will be an interesting TED talk that I could watch over dinner, for sure.

So elusive inspiration that resulted in everything we find enjoyable in a cultured or just aware way- should be respected. I shouldn't call music dumb just because my ears are adjusted to hear something else or likes some other frequency?

Ok, lets get back to life now. Loud neighbor today made me realize something important. Be kind with your words, if not thoughts. Pay attention to your thoughts. Who knows, it might just help you see the world better, unexpectedly sometime.

life after small deaths

2010-03-03T14:37:00.010+01:00

incarnation

c.1300, "embodiment of God in the person of Christ," from O.Fr. incarnation (12c.), from L.L. incarnationem (nom. incarnatio), "act of being made flesh" (used by Church writers esp. of God in Christ), from L. incarnatus, pp. of incarnare "to make flesh," from in- "in" + caro (gen. carnis) "flesh."

I have often lost years of work in few seconds. My sibling crashed the hard drive once and with it went years of my thoughts and poems. Once, in fits of anger, I grabbed my long locks of hair and chopped it off. And sometime this month, I removed all contents from this blog. It was scrapped clean.

What a beautiful self-inflicted blessing it was!

Because everything that comes back to life, comes back new. Life is never the same, after a little death. ( It is a good thing, these small deaths)

quim to quit

2009-09-09T13:38:00.011+02:00

where death is comically common,
is it worth knowing when and how to stop?

we all die, anyhow.

skipping rope, now

2009-09-07T15:18:00.009+02:00

Who needs
aging magicians & jaded clowns ?

(time to grow up)

I run, run alone & run long.

Goodbye playground,
I am leaving you.

when life is simple

2007-04-02T15:17:00.003+02:00

Tøyen, Oslo

Follow me

2006-10-07T17:59:00.008+02:00

so, norway is where I live now?