toove122

[toove122]

Remember someone! That warm smile and innocent eyes. Oh damn! I am in love with Jesse Owens too.

[toove122]

If I am the one who is guilty, I require a punishment or a confession. The confession is you and the punishment is death. 

[toove122]

It feels like an other day, when someone gives you chances, one after one to rectify things you did. Like something has been put here in place, without abandon, like the things you have to do to have something valuable in life- When ultimately a prayer and a confession is interlinked. It feels like a wet coming into you from far away dreams, when you were a kid, and when you were even smaller. It feels like refining yourself like a blade in its sharp edges. Like a delicate violence that should be gone through, so that you know what it is like to be absent and not present. The act of anything precedes getting ready for it.

[toove122]

“A flower is relatively small. Everyone has many associations with a flower — the idea of flowers. You put out your hand to touch the flower — lean forward to smell it — maybe touch it with your lips almost without thinking — or give it to someone to please them. Still — in a way — nobody sees a flower — really — it is so small — we haven’t time — and to see takes time, like to have a friend takes time. If I could paint the flower exactly as I see it no one would see what I see because I would paint it small like the flower is small.

So I said to myself — I’ll paint what I see — what the flower is to me but I’ll paint it big and they will be surprised into taking time to look at it — I will make even busy New-Yorkers take time to see what I see of flowers.

Well — I made you take time to look at what I saw and when you took time to really notice my flower, you hung all your own associations with flowers on my flower and you write about my flower as if I think and see what you think and see of the flower — and I don’t.”

(Georgia O’Keeffe ‘The Poetry of Things’ )

Has been a while now. It has been a bad night, precisely two bad nights- of salt. Probably that’s the only time when Marquez was right through me, the healing to any suffering is salt- sea, tears and sweat. I abide to it. It is a postcolonial feeling, a telepathic communication as I see Marquez in his little teens running around. 

Some days I feel like I should get out and drown in the seas. Yesterday I dreamed of lying on a rail track. I didn’t know how to do it, lying on half neck, and the train comes by, it approaches thrice, faster than the each one before. Until it reaches I am doubtful of its speed, I am dubious if I will die or not. Huh! I am trying to fix my position as if to surely carry away. I don’t want to spare this chance. And the metal wheels struck my head away. I am left with a bare torso, a sculpted head that is broken to the track. It rolls and rolls and falls under my mother’s feet. When everyone else laughs it’s she alone who cries. I last had such horrifying dreams when I was preparing to go back to iit. Violations, bodily violations. Its expectancy, acceptance. Probably him leaving me is as big a violation as it sounds. Like taking a breath away, taking thousands of breath away, snatching this existence off. Will he ever know,after 21 years of living that’s what I have learned- life doesn’t pay you back in equals. What is it?Destiny? What is it that I am an all lost lying bitch in his eyes now? Was it even important if I lied or not, if there was truth or not? What is truth to the bones ultimately? Ain’t it about realities, love and desperation? Even if there are lies why would it happen firstly? Why would a Hitler happen, or why would ‘A’ happen himself? If I thought like him, would I have fallen in love with him? I still remember and I still know, when I first met him, he was this prudent guy who was careless to the bones, extremely vigilant, defensive, at the same time silent, sublime. There was something about him that I noticed, i notice it even now- life hadn’t touched him, unlike me who had aged faster, who always feels like she is at the old age, he was young, my exact opposite. I should not have touched him, contaminated him probably. I should have stayed away, but nevertheless I liked him and I went near. As it got nearer I still can’t imagine how he used to walk across the supermarkets looking from one thing to another, believing that capitalism will save him no matter what, believing that playing cards, getting a girl, getting lots of money will save him out of the spell he is put into. I still don’t know what did he believe, why did he trust that one. Lies that are dressed like truths? His mother, hasn’t she lied to these little kids- his father what does he do? What is that man really? His mother does she exist like she do, does she put it forth like it should have been, what have they been taught- that one should aspire for power? That one should struggle to forget? Was it all spectacular? Was that needed? He thinks I don’t care- but why I ask him, he thinks I lied to him, truths that are dressed like lies? What should one believe and what one doesn’t?

I know what big trauma is disbelief, I precisely very well know it. But this guy, this guy does not know what I did to him, what was it about, and somewhere down the line even if i left he will leave a peaceful life. How’s that possible, what is it that he has now, that he never had. Yes, he will live a life in peace past his young. He asks me to calm down. Hmm.. I should calm down, before that to what shall I calm down? To unpromised hopes and desires and a power made world, brutal world- or to him who is brown, deep and serine? He says I need to control, but what has this been about, about learning to face bigger traumas, bigger controls, bigger submission, bigger domination, bigger kinkiness. This route from the self to the world, it is important to understand, have I got it? no, has anyone got it? perhaps yes. I hope he lives an eventful life, I hope he understands the moments we shared. I hope he knows me, that none of it was an attack on him, and that there was no need whatsoever to defend himself. 

Just like how my doc says ‘the body has its entire mechanism to dilute, eat, and exit, it doesn’t care for anything else but itself’. It became somewhere necessary for me to understand I should cover myself up in hurts, wounds, tragedies, and melancholy. Vulnerability is like a cobbler’s knife, once it is sharp anything will cut through, once it is a trauma the body will re imagine itself. The head has its own laws, it will slowly learn to anticipate, conglomerate and saturate its own sadness, frustrations. I never wanted him to be an other father of mine, I never wanted him to understand this at the end of an age. Being a man those people will make him work like a mule. I don’t want him to bear the responsibility, suffer and get more lean calves. I don’t know who that girl was, I never wanted to know too. I had promised to me once something like this happens I won’t ask about it more again. I asked him quite a lot- it didn’t seem clear enough. Probably he is scared of me, he is expecting an attack. How do I tell this, dark lovely person that he will be in my heart forever, that his eyeballs look like my old stars. What have I become, where have I reached to. Will I love anymore, will I live anymore, will I laugh, will I wither. I should admit my failure and sleep. But still it is like a beam of light that radars all through the night at a seashore. I remember going to the lighthouse with my old love at 11 in the night, there was nobody, we had sandwiches and lemonade. A beautiful night by the sea, may be a sea shine will cure. I should go, i should leave, to my own serenade, to a self that doesn’t deserve to be gifted, to a self that doesn’t deserve to be shared. I should go, I should leave

I hope he reads this some day.

[toove122]

He had this flash of a human, two sides to his face. The happy guy who is lanky, foolish and lurks around, also the guy who stares deep into you. Who moves through your thighs like a snake. He is sometimes a beast. He can go however far, He can move, float and sink. To me it is like a Mahabharat pakida, the one moment he gives you illusions of winning and the other he omits you to everything. The one moment of dark that slid into an other of light. I am unsure which part has I fallen in love to. 

[toove122]

He says he went to places,

that he will Bunjee Jump shortly,

He might have been excited to tell me about it

But I say I am not interested

that I asked his pictures to see him

He left here,ignoring me,

my howling call, my paper skin

at least that’s what I believe

How much in love were we, I thought

He thinks it is all simple for me

Clots it all into von trier and

Malick

But why? I ask, What von trier

had been there

larger than him, more than his blood

What flesh had been there more than his nose

Does he know that he is the world

And that every world I made is a play place

that the world for me is the real fantasies

Does he know that if he was a world, I like him

but none of this humanity’s, none of people’s?

He thinks otherwise, that I detest him

I tell him to please, to not say that

there is blood oozing out of his tongue

I know. And there is poison drooping into my mouth

This place, where I will love him,

knead him and lust him,

has there been an other beautiful place

on the earth,

has there been an other better joy

Hey, babe, what bunjee,

You should see this- It’s a 

splendid view of you from here.

[toove122]

He asks me if he was not born 

or if he could unlive

Like how one does undo oneself

For each other

He asks me how cursed has he been

Through these years of hurt and bleeding

He asks me how worthless he was

He asks me how to raise it to his real voice

How to mark a sign on the sands

How to gulp any human salvation

He says he is scared, he is broken, and 

His water dies in misery, 

Bare foot

And i wonder how does he 

Undress me so very well in love - 

lullaby me like a sea gull who 

landed lately in his woods

[toove122]

Knight of cups !

[toove122]

[toove122]

EARTH

The earth rubbles

And love springs in hot air

Where was your apparitionT

hat smokes up with the smell

Of a senseless topographic fate.

Where have we been through

All the years of molten steam

Swiveling with past

Dear earth, 

I shall send you leaves in your veins

Please speak to us where we are

Speak to us of the ground

Of your benevolence, and how you would

Sprout the two of us gentle and brown.