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“Hell is other people.”

— Jean-Paul Sartre (via neckkiss)

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Oregon Coast Highway #101

March 2017 Oregon

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The Ugliness Inside Us

All of us,

Carry ugliness inside us.

Ugliness we’re scared to show,

Ugliness we’d rather keep hidden,

Ugliness we don’t accept to ourselves,

Except, in out darkest moments of truth.

We were all born into a broken world,

We never stood any chance,

Eventually it got to us,

Or maybe it was always inside us,

A part of us,

A part of who we are.

I’m sure you made the best of it,

I know you did the best you could,

I can see it in your actions,

You’re a good person,

Despite the ugliness inside you.

That is why it surprises me,

Why you would choose,

To keep your ugly bits,

Hidden from me.

I have already made up my mind about you,

I am already in love with you,

Nothing would change that,

Not your ugly bits,

Not one bit.

So show me your scars,

Tell me where it hurts,

Tell me things that you’ve done,

That you aren’t proud of.

Tell me why you hate yourself,

Sometimes,

Tell me what keeps you up at night.

Tell me the things that’d hurt me,

Tell me the things I’d hate you for,

Tell me everything,

Because I won’t.

(Hate you)

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This Little world we have made for ourselves.

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Ordinary

I am an ordinary man,

I get-up, poop, shower, work, rot. Rinse and Repeat

It’s 5pm on a Friday Let me get wasted with my friends Beer or weed, name your poison. I have two days to live my life, I was paying my dues for the past five, Now let me eat, sleep, fuck Now let me live.

It’s 6am on a Monday I must be blue. I go to work wearing all my fascist badges. I fit in. The clone army is on the march.

It’s 7pm on a Wednesday. I leave work early. I have a dinner date. Doing weekend stuff on the weekdays Is this rebellion?

It’s 9am on a Thursday, It’s so close to Friday, I don’t want to march today. But I will, Just so it is Friday again.

Rinse and Repeat.

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Metaphorical Man Hymen

Maybe nobody noticed.

Maybe nobody cares.

Felt like shit day before ‘cause I couldn't paint.

Now I have an incomplete painting I don't feel like finishing.

What has my life come to?

Why do you sound so sad?

It's part of my charm.

I'm so sad, please fuck me.

Why are you laughing?

I'm laughing garbage.

Say something.

I'm trying to make a poem out of you.

So say something beautiful.

You're beautiful.

The name of the poem is Metaphorical Man Hyphen. It's two people talking after having sex. Italics is the girl.

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I refuse to be another rose. Another flower picked in their prime just because their beautiful.

No I’m more than that.

I will be wild, free, with roots dug deep.

Nearly as impossible to pluck as it is to forget.

I’ll be the sort of thing you write your journal entries about.

Hannah Nicole // Not Another Rose

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“The complete irresponsibility of man for his actions and his nature is the bitterest drop which he who understands must swallow.”

— Friedrich Nietzsche, Human, All Too Human

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it’s so hard to feel attached to your body these days 

it’s so hard to feel attached to the idea of a body that may never exist 

it’s so hard to feel attached to the idea of a world that may never exist

— Andrea Abi-Karam, from The Aftermath

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Inside.

Everything I'm doing to be happy,

Why the fuck, am I still sad inside?

Yesterday I jumped off a cliff to feel alive,

Why the fuck, am I still dead inside?

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first draft

the loneliest sweet potato

i am at the grocery store because i feel sad. i feel sad because nobody is in love with me. nobody is in love with me but everybody loves me. everybody loves me because i’m good at making people feel good. i’m good at making people feel good because i have had a lot of practice on myself. practice on myself because i feel sad…a lot. i feel sad a lot, but when i make people feel good, i feel good for a little bit. i feel good for a little bit, until i get lonely. i get lonely and i am uncomfortable in my lonely.

in my lonely, at the grocery store i practice trying to make myself feel good by pretending i am a regular person buying her groceries and not a very sad person trying to distract herself from crying. crying gives me a headache. headaches make me want to crawl into bed. to crawl into bed is what sad people do. what sad people do when they are lonely looks a lot like me at the grocery store.

at the grocery store, i feel sad but i look just like everybody else while picking out avocados. or lemons. items no one refers to as ‘comfort food’. ‘comfort food’ makes me want to crawl into bed. to crawl into bed reminds me of two things: i am sad and i am alone.

i am alone, in the grocery store, moving slow in the condiment aisle. in the condiment aisle, it is perfectly acceptable to stand around for too long. stand around for too long and i will begin to tap dance. tap dance lonely in the condiment aisle is a great title for a book, i think to myself, as i wait in line to reach the cashier. the cashier seems surprised when i ask her how her night is going. her night is going okay, she says. she says nothing else, except: cash, credit, or debit? she waves goodbye. goodbye is the saddest word i know. the saddest word you know is my name. 

my name walks around at the grocery store and feels less sad. less sad, because at the grocery store, nobody knows there is nobody in love with me.

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This Poem is a Metaphor.

Oh Look!

This is the unstoried wall of an unmarked building.... in ... let’s say Paris... why not? Why not?

So there is a completely ordinary wall in Paris  It looks like so many other walls in Paris  No one knows for quite how long it has been here  No one knows for how much longer it will remain No one thinks about it too No one bothers to. Sometimes the wall gets a new coat of paint Nothing too outlandish. People, then, might stop and look at it for a moment. Not really. It’s more of a passing glance.  Only I stop and look at it.  I don’t have a lot to do these days

So I stop and look at walls, Also at doors and windows. And sometimes, at the entire building itself. But that rarely happens.  Buildings are quite all these days.

But I do, look at walls. And I did look at this wall. Many times. Because when I looked at this wall, I didn’t see the lack of a story, I did notice, however, the absence of one, And it’s quite jarring.

I try to pry hints of its story with my eyes, Because the wall, doesn’t say much, You see.

-Mohit

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Middle Class Utopia: Part 1- The Father

Father is a  51-year old

Pot-bellied man.

He has scruff on his face

Although he shaves everyday.

His hair is turning grey,

Like his mustache.

But it is not balding.

Something he’s sure to remind you

Every time you bring up anything!

It really isn’t balding.

He had diabetes and hypothyroid

Trademark diseases of men

Who’re middle aged and live in the MCU.

 Apart from his hair,

His age shows in other ways too.

He is equal parts wise and stubborn

He buys new gadgets

But rarely bothers learning how to use them

His way of trying “new cuisines”

Is ordering the same dish at different restaurants.

It’s paalak paneer and naan. Sigh.

He’s  given up his dream to loose weight,

He chooses to be healthy instead.

And he’s finally started to tell people,

When his knees hurt.

They do that quite often these days.

 But Father wasn’t always

This stubborn and wise old-man.

Before he was Father,

And for sometime after that too;

He was both unwise and open to new things.

He’ll tell you about it

When he’s feeling sad or introspective.

He’ll tell you,

How he wanted to study economics

But his father said the economy wasn’t right for it.

He’ll tell about flunking out of college, being a mechanic,

Then pursuing his dream of making money,

Spoiler Alert: He made lots, of it.

But it was never enough.

 He won’t tell you about heartbreak,

About lost love and how he found it again

In someone else.

He won’t tell you about pain,

Not the my-knees-hurt kind of pain,

But the my-heart-bleeds kind.

He’ll pour money and alcohol over it,

And when that won’t be enough,

He’ll look at his family,

And hope; that it is.

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sudden purple silence

falls from all around

sullen perfect stillness

echos of no sound

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My Thoughts On Newton: An Essay

*Newton is a piece of fiction and so is this essay. Please don’t kill me*

Enough movies get made about poverty and the Adivasi are just poor people in the jungle, so why bother making a movie on them. Or they are the communist insignia wearing terrorists, so let’s portray that aspect of their lives. How about portraying them as martyrs dying valiantly for a lost cause?

The portrayal of Adivasi people in movies is a tricky one- because not only their situation is extremely complicated but because an average Adivasi probably doesn’t subscribe to a belief system that resembles anything to that of the movie going audience. This is where Newton comes in. It is a story set in the jungles of Chhattisgarh about the righteous and overzealous democracy trying to bring into its fold the unwilling and clueless Adivasi people- whom it does not understand and the pragmatic military trying to keep peace in an area where it kills the same people in the crossfire that it is trying to protect, supposedly.

The commentary of the film on the perception of state and democracy by the Adivasi people is interesting. They do not understand the concept of elections. Their problems of food and shelter are more immediate and the few disagreements in their small community can be solved by their local leaders. Cut out from the outside world, they do not recognize the Indian state and what it implies. When they are forced to vote in the election, they are visibly confused why their local leader cannot represent them in Delhi. They do not recognize any of the candidates they are asked to vote for or even what voting represents.  It poses a very interesting question- what role does the Indian state play here. It offers the people nothing except conflict and the people do not recognize it. So is it a state or an occupying foreign force. The question is further given weight by the movies ending- which shows that the people have been displaced and now the area is a mine. The Adivasi people have been displaced from the land they call their own by forces whose authority they do not recognize.

Newton also showcases an interesting example of how democracy, even in its truest and most uncorrupt from is not the ideal one size fits all governance system it is perpetrated to be. The Central Government in Delhi means nothing to the Adivasi people. It does nothing for them. Even if the elections were held fairly and everyone was given the opportunity to vote- the question arises- to what end?  Does election ensure representation- specially a minority too insignificant for the candidates to even campaign for. And does representation solve anything- these people do not have problems that need a powerful state bureaucracy.

Another important narrative is the effect this inclusion process is having on the Adivasi people. The war against Naxal forces in Chhattisgarh is war these people didn’t agree to participate in. Nor do they want to be a part of it. Yet it is being waged on their land and they are stuck in a cycle of violence and destructions. Both sides offer the villagers incentives to join and punish them with destruction of life and property if they refuse. The Indian state sponsored violence maybe justifiable in the editorial columns of newspapers that Adivasi’s won’t read but to them-  the violence on the ground is just violence no matter who perpetuates it. In the movie, the village has been completely burned down to the ground and no one is sure who did it- the Naxals or the Police but those affected are very visible.

Newton showcases a completely new narrative of the Indian State, as perceived by the Adivasi people in the jungles of Chhattisgarh, whose voice is seldom heard in movies. It is that of the unwelcome oppressor pillaging the area for its natural resources.

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Molly: Alright, listen up you little shits.

Molly: ...Not you, Harry. You're an angel and we're thrilled you're here.