Small ones.

You did not catch-
my eyes, burnt out
lamps- closing like a poem
saddened by love.

-

Plea
edges of these lips
fraying and weary- come by
to lend them pliancy.

4 MORE DAYS AND IT'LL BE A WEEK

so on the 18th of december when I WAS FEELING ALL CAPS i decided to write someshit everyday, something anything everyday, as journal entries. their shittyness, i tell you, is noteworthy but i DID MANAGE TO STICK TO IT FOR 3 HOLY DAYS *!*

so here are the thingies.

18th: decadencebegins here
19th: winterbegins here
20th: haha here.


i sorta love my wordpress at the moment xD so i think ill post everything there and post links here because all you bastards never check that blog anyway.

Plimsoll line

15/12/08,

9:16 PM

+

i will now write you a poem titled 'because',

a poem holding no reasons to negate.


-


what makes a cave is the wall drawings. what makes

an ocean is the borders, bord- oh no the lack of them. what

makes a bird is bones obsessed with emptiness

and elbowroom. what makes a cave is you standing outside, wondering

what it hides and pushing in an arm whispering you're

beautiful as you sense the dark (take it back

along with your arm).what makes an ocean salt water

and nothing more is the shark circling around a ship, thinking that the

ship is big enough for itself and it needs no more.


-


i will now stop pretending that i'm still going to

call this because.

-


what makes a ship is the plimsoll line (ignored)

what breaks a poem is the loose ends let loose.


+

And it breaks my Hea-aa-aa-aa-art.

I never loved nobody fully

Always one foot on the ground

And by protecting my heart truly

I got lost in the sounds...

And suppose I never ever met you
Suppose we never fell in love

Suppose I never ever let you kiss me so sweet and so soft

Suppose I never ever saw you

Suppose we never ever called

Suppose I kept on singing love songs just to break my own fall

All my friends say that of course its gonna get better
Gonna get better

Better

better

better

better

Better better better!!!

I hear in my mind

All these voices

I hear in my mind all these words

I hear in my mind

All this music

And it breaks my heart,It breaks my heart

Breaks my Heart Breaks my heart and it breaks my heart

And it breaks my heartAnd it breaks my heartAnd it breaks my heartAnd it breaks my heartAnd it breaks my heartAnd it breaks my heartAnd it breaks my heartAnd it breaks my heartAnd it breaks my heartAnd it breaks my heartAnd it breaks my heartAnd it breaks my heartAnd it breaks my heartAnd it breaks my heartAnd it breaks my heartAnd it breaks my heartAnd it breaks my heartAnd it breaks my heartAnd it breaks my heartAnd it breaks my heartAnd it breaks my heartAnd it breaks my heartAnd it breaks my heartAnd it breaks my heartAnd it breaks my heartAnd it breaks my heartAnd it breaks my heartAnd it breaks my heartAnd it breaks my heartAnd it breaks my heartAnd it breaks my heartAnd it breaks my heartAnd it breaks my heartAnd it breaks my heartAnd it breaks my heartAnd it breaks my heartAnd it breaks my heartAnd it breaks my heartAnd it breaks my heartAnd it breaks my heartAnd it breaks my heartAnd it breaks my hearAnd it breaks my heart

*

Regina Spector - Fidelity

go listen to the song. it made me draw this.please fullview the last ,whole picture and go listen go listen. i'll colour it later, this is just a tinted version. its for me i need to cheer me up.

and it breaks my hea-a-aa-a-aa-a-aa-a-aa-aaaaart.

ps:so in my mind i am always wearing allstars, am mostly flat chested, though i still have little hair.

-

EDIT EDIT EDIT:

here you go. SOMEWHAT coloured, i just dont have patience to do more right now.i will colour it in hand later LATER LATER LALALA

fullview if you please.

gravity eyelids

HAHA I LIKE CHARCOAL IT DE-DEPRESSES ME IN LESS THAN A MINUTE NO EXAGGERATION

i only used so much of it because i dont know how to use it well ihave twenty sticks lying aroundand dunno whattodowiththem.

and the title oh just because i waslistening to the song earlier today, er no, yday (since its way past midnight) and i cant think of titles anyway HAHAHA GOD THIS LOOKS

terrible on my laptop :X

looks better on my desktop.anyway, edited version:

also, i cant make paper lie FLAT in the scanner. :/

and yes i KNOW about the finger, just dont point it out. please. i just got too lazy to define it as bent. WHATEVARZ.

Off my journal 2

read here.

One of the people i wish i knew better

..just went and killed himself.

Him: Hey mate i need a big favour from you. i need you to search wikipedia for a list of psychoactive herbs and plants, right now. I know this is probably the worst way to begin a phone correspondence but i'll make it up to you someday. I dont know how, but i promise i will.

how'd you plan on doing that now, eh?
i dont know, mate.i could really use some help in maths right about now, yknow.and some weed, ganja baba, you. and our fathers happen to be colleagues too, cool eh? too bad i found out a lil too late.

To The People I Wish I Knew

Meet me at the outfall. Meet me near public toilets.

Meet me at the park hotel washroom,

barge in and say hello. Say- hello, I’m

not supposed to be here; and you'll be forgiven.

Say- hey! You look ugly but just a little and

that’s forgiven. You’re a fucked up kid even when you

smile at me and that’s forgiven. You eat up a piece of your day

everyday, do you want that forgiven? Ask me. Say, 

Hello! What were you thinking? The river always outfaces the ocean 

right before emptying itself into the latter, and the river is never a rapist, not even 

when it rushes- Meet me at the outfall as a river and be swift. Break

my stance on love affairs. To all the people that I’ve seen listening to 

their music with a smile, listening to their mother with a smile, looking at 

the world with a smile, looking their feet with

a smile looking at their feet whistling JESUS F. CHRIST DON’T WHISTLE.

Don’t whistle at the FEET- it makes ME feel worthless, and THAT is 

the red ribbon you cut at the entrance. Walk in, draw a chair, draw a 

breath and inhale my delusions of you. Bit by bit- not all at once like a 

shocking fall in the stock market, or the hair-fall issues making me bald 

and insecure, all at once. When you exhale, help me write a gist

of the mist that is your sadness, your pride, your disease. Make me sigh

and let it not return to me.

Today, I started writing you a poem and it read:

I wish you knew me and vice versa.

I wish you knew me and vice versa.

I wish you knew me and vice versa,

vice versa vice versa.

Today, I looked up the rules of writing to you-

spell out only synonyms of love, misspell them.

Never say fuck. Say 'this is not important',

mislead them. Work out your puzzles before

laying them out for others. Never make yourself the

subject, use vice versa vice versa

vice versa. And I swim through the dictionary looking

for words that don’t remind me of you. But I get

topsail, and I am Ship with mine pointing in your

direction. I get Macadamia, the nut of an Australian

tree that one of you is swallowing as I try

excreting your face out of my brain. I get quadriplegia

and I’ve already let it grow into me, settle in cozily,

helplessness et al. None of my other inconsistencies help me

get over this shizz so I give up trying to cover up, and

tell myself- well, this too is forgiven. Today, I hope to catch you

at that pathetic little corner of the street staring at

the madwoman like I do when my sighs return

to me. To you with eyes like anecdotes and antidotes

to reality, with the trench across your cheek changing

depth as you speak- meet me without your armors. Meet

me with your kitschy secrets. With your collarbones bare,

your shoulders just the way they are. Meet me near

the ruins and sit by me, wondering where we were

when it happened.

girl drawing

because i have exams and because i must study and not while away my time, its exactly what ve been doing (whiling away my time).

i also, dear peopleses, drew after the post-emptyfirsthalfofday nap. i drew my first face with a reference and i realised that i REALLY cannot shade lips.

:(
although i was an impatient little monkey- i just left out the hair and other bits incomplete

(Edit: i reuploaded the sketch, the hair has been roughly sketched). but then i coloured or as i would call it, fucked it up totally, in photoshop. so well.

the sketch: (edit)

photoshopped:

closeup:

(EDIT) photoshopped 2:

also, i hate my scanner. but atleast i have one so mkay no complaining.

now the thing is, i took the reference from this DEV ID of a deviant on dA, even though she had 92376497498237492798 stock photos in her gallery. and im not very sure if THAT was..er.. allowed :P so i just wont post it there for the time being.

oh be nice and say hello lurkers.

Sunday, November 9, 2008

i dreamt of you dying.they told me
love is dead so
i must bury you with it before you
metamorphose into ashes and nothing more, nothing

more.im picking words for love like you pick flowers
for the dead and and this is not my poem. if this is an almost madeup
poem, its not mine at all. this
is a postcard of bereavment to myself and each phrase is borrowed
like this sorrow i carry as my only child.

*

my skin feels like an essay on the Thar, palms like a madman's
prayer, limbs askew from the hunting of leeches,eyes swollen in
wait like the girls in my incomplete drawings,
incomplete because i fear if i carry on, they'll end up with a pool
before them and desert skin from too much semblance
to crazy, lonely postcard writers.my head feels like a snowball
and there seems to be a cardiac pause

whenever im trying to turn the commas in my heart into
semicolons- so that we are closely related independent
clauses and you can walk away but i'd still
mean something, though it never works
without the promise of a longer pause.

*

when i hear them saying Time makes love pass,
Time is nothing but sinister. but then they tell me
Time heals all wounds, and i try saying them together
and it only means wounds give you a reason to
return.

*

sometimes im shit scared of not getting
life's metaphors like the wind blowing sorrow
into my hair,sorrow thick and wild, failing to
get my heart back home.sometimes im shit
scared of what my mother might say next
and as she enters the room, she tells me that
it smells like

something just died.



--------------------------------------------------------------------------
its just writing. seriously.

An Almost Made Up Poem

by Charles Bukowski

I see you drinking at a fountain with tiny
blue hands, no, your hands are not tiny
they are small, and the fountain is in France
where you wrote me that last letter and
I answered and never heard from you again.
you used to write insane poems about
ANGELS AND GOD, all in upper case, and you
knew famous artists and most of them
were your lovers, and I wrote back, it’ all right,
go ahead, enter their lives, I’ not jealous
because we’ never met. we got close once in
New Orleans, one half block, but never met, never
touched. so you went with the famous and wrote
about the famous, and, of course, what you found out
is that the famous are worried about
their fame –– not the beautiful young girl in bed
with them, who gives them that, and then awakens
in the morning to write upper case poems about
ANGELS AND GOD. we know God is dead, they’ told
us, but listening to you I wasn’ sure. maybe
it was the upper case. you were one of the
best female poets and I told the publishers,
editors, “ her, print her, she’ mad but she’
magic. there’ no lie in her fire.” I loved you
like a man loves a woman he never touches, only
writes to, keeps little photographs of. I would have
loved you more if I had sat in a small room rolling a
cigarette and listened to you piss in the bathroom,
but that didn’ happen. your letters got sadder.
your lovers betrayed you. kid, I wrote back, all
lovers betray. it didn’ help. you said
you had a crying bench and it was by a bridge and
the bridge was over a river and you sat on the crying
bench every night and wept for the lovers who had
hurt and forgotten you. I wrote back but never
heard again. a friend wrote me of your suicide
3 or 4 months after it happened. if I had met you
I would probably have been unfair to you or you
to me. it was best like this.


----

just one of those poems that made me fall in love with bukowski, and now
something about it angers me, something about it makes me break into a hundred interrupted sobs inside my head, something about it tells me, i wish i was made up, just all made up.

i have exams from monday, maths first.
all you lovely people, enjoy my funeral, do.

addenshun plis

is anyone i know/or simply anyone reading this going for the Jethro Tull concert (Kolkata) and by any chance have tickets for the 3rd row? hell im desperate for company dont even ASK me why :/

happenings.

THIS FESTIVE SEASON YOU COULD'VE CAUGHT ME AS HAPPY AS A CLAM AT HIGH WATERS but atlas, no one bothered to come around and catch, leaving me to fall into the deepest reaches of the sunless ocean of PUS. given the condition i'm in, pretending to be seemly is the last thing on my mind right now so yeah, go ahead and exclaim how gross i am.

my ear feels like its chewing on a mountain and is nowhere near digesting the mound or throwing it up anytime soon. yes, I've had a boil, a poisonboilthatblockedtheauditorycanalnearly, and now that the pain is receeding (as is the FESTIVALOFNOISEMANIA), its beginning to sound like a paper churner, my ear. the past week has been eventful in the way that i broke the TV remote (frustration depression aggression oohyeah ) and my cellphone survived what the remote couldn't (heh, i suppose the dart across the room just made up for its lackofuse), and also, the fact that my father has successfully killed the PC. i did manage to get internet installed on the laptop again, but its not helping that i cant work with the pictures and photoshop and whatnot, so i have hardly any distraction from my noisy-ear.
earlier this week, i changed my orkut dp twice. hell the first one was THE sax, I'm told. ONLY because i appeared with sneha's camera in it. :/


something just made me lose the drive to type more.

i did 4 maths sums- easiest chapter first exercise- family of straight lines.

im so cool imma turn into an ice cream and drip on your t-shirt and cause you enough nuisance to make you wanna eat me all at once, doods.i love this blog.

Did you spend a night? by ~weevilgirl on deviantART

done as an illustration for a friend Debanjan's poem. read it here.

wordlimit

in this heat
this is me using broomsticks instead of
running water.. grime over my lids, pine underneath
this is time and tide leaving me stranded in a pub reeking of
abandon and neglect , in this heat

this is more tideous than having to stare
at apostrophes to tell them apart- what you are and what you own
and what lies in the thiefs' closet
this sorrow eats my tongue and shits over my heart but
it's still watching- still and watching as

they say life's a road and fail to add how people walk over it just walk all

over it and then grow too weary to add it on epitaphs so you must figure out words of

wisdom that are always half-uttered. in this heat- life is a room with an all-out and no

windows and clustered pest-like confusion and an electricity bill due; life is

a watery verse with wordlimit and too many ways to exclaim
this is what it was.

----------------------------------------------------
this was suppossed to be a poetry challenge for me- set by LD on friday. because i was/am SO blocked. SO SO fucking blocked. she gave me three words [which are included in the poem i wont tell you which ones nananana guess guess if you guess right i'll know they seem out of place and that im a fucking faliure] and sentence limit, actually.
bah i hate this.

new header lalala

:giggle:

mackerella

mackerella by ~weevilgirl on deviantART

this is what happens when i try studying geography

chapter- fisheries. heh xD

chagmukhi.

another version

i think she's just not fond of butterflies. what do you think?

reaching for some love

yes i know. very cheesy. :/

anyway, atleast i managed to make myself do SOMETHING after like aeons.simple photomanipulation, stock photos from dA. i dont know why im putting this up here, but i suspect its because the fear of a dying blog is playing in my subconscious. :S

the girl in the city was one of the various similar unrelated songbirds. the girl in the city had scaldedheavylids a boil on her chin a bigblackbirthmark and scabs on her scalp. the girl was in the city and it was never festive. the girl in the city wanted any of the various similar unrelated songbirds for company.

the girl was in the city oh what pity fucking pity.

story on our wrists

a story i made up at school- started with sneha wanting me to draw a tattoo on her wrist and me ending up drawing phulwa. eventually, we had dhulwa on my wrist, the kid on ishika's and the meow on mitaja's wrist and the story was narrated in the eco class.




now it's on sneha's farewell diary, look! the very first entry :)


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

on a different note:
y:is your health better?
x: im not sure i understand my health
y: what do people say?
x: nothing. they just curse.
y:they are sad.

this is a nice conversation. i'd not had one like that in a long time.
i liked that bit the most.

back

...from sparkling trees in pitch black nights, room no.8, villagers, four scoops of ice-cream, dhaaner khet, shoroter non-polluted akash, santhal dance, birds on electric lines, on thatched roofs but hardly ever inturrupting the view of the sky unless in equally pretty formations, and some very very fun bus rides.
i can never do justice to the trip with words, and have been unable to capture anything decently in pictures.
i have NEVER been this frustrated at my incapabilities. the pictures just SUCK and i am in MAJOR hate with my slr and will NEVER use it again, because, i clearly cant/havnt learnt to use it well.

anyhow, some pictures i took with sneha's camera (some of the notgreatatall ones, cuz i dont think ill put them up elsewhere)are right here: (goodblessherforlettingmeusethecam.godiwouldvekilledmyselfelse)

at bishnupur.

i would tell you which mandir this is if i remembered.

an army in some shop :P

from the moving bus i tooked. on the way to mukutmanipur.

that was on the longway from the resort (at mukutmanipur)to the village. we walked.

piegons on the roof of the first house we surveyed. the children sitting under this room got some my share of chlormints and halls. oh well, they were happy aleast.

malati singh sardar. the sweetest, friendliest woman ever. she wanted a bottle of mineral water to remember us by. i gave her my frooti one. :)

one the way back to the resort.

more many more to come later. dAand flickr will be updated.have been too but with other pictures.

eat it trade it chop it lock it up

yet no way can you rid this world of love

just something i made. credits: THANKYOUSNEHAFORYOUR CAMERA YAYAYAY!

Quick update

i havent been on orkut for exactly a million years, not been online much lately. im not exactly an orkut addict, for those of you who think so, its just that it is the most convenient way to keep in touch with a few people i like [most people i like are all virtual friends whom i dont meet in person so much- no joke.]. i havnt been taking calls as right after school im either falling dead asleep, or am mostly really working/pissedoff/withdrawing from the world. pathetic time at school im having, terribler time at home. i wake up with eyelids heavy and thick as bricks, head not wanting to register the heaviness of my thighs and all the weight that im gaining but infact dragging myself out of bed pulls me deep INTO the realization that the highthyroidthingy is doing its job. motherfucking doctor must've given me thyro-KILL instead of thyronorm. i have 18.33 something when its suppossed to be somewhere around 3 and 6 is considered HIGH HIGH HIGH AND HE'S WAITING FOR IT TO SLOWLY AND STEADILY PULL ITSELF BACK TO NORMAL? WHAT UTTER FOOLERY.then school and a thousand yelling matches, getting reminded of how much i suck, how much bad karma im gathering.they should really do the others and the teachers a favour and throw me out. and then there's light-tracing topomap extracts. FIVE extracts by the way. i wish i could find a dangerous enough looking image of a toposheet and put it up here, although even that could explain the degree of deadness i am in unless you're really familiar with the horror of spending time in a dark, dingy room with just one very strong light source right under the surface where your hand is suppossed to lie while you try tracing out contour lines with exactly 0.234532678 mm of space between them, sometimes the blinding light going straight into your already hurting eyes,all the while having to worry about whether you're actually bunking a class or if its a free period. 7 people on one tiny tracing table with one blown out bulb, its not a joke.everytime i close my eyes i see power lines, railway tracks, metalled roads, mahanadi boken grounds open mixed scrub and everything going terribly wrong. tests from monday. benchmarks and else-dont-show-me-your-face-s.more boils. PATHETIC.

(EDIT:

here's a pic of the shit spread around at home. these are the three smallest extracts that i've started, and none of them are even close to complete. the others are WORSE.threatening-er. )

geography excursion. we leave on the 18th. mom worrying her ass off and killing me with the constant nagging.GD ma'am gonna get pissed at me, no work done.this blogpost is making me impatient, almost wanting to cry out of frustration but let me answer/ask a few things.

@shruti- yes i would like the ebook very much, :).
be kind enough to mail it? i hope i get to read soon enough, really.
@soumi- god DID YOU GUYS HAVE TO DO FIVE EXTRACTS TOO?OR IS IT JUST IM? I am gonna be killing her if its the latter.



@others- hello and goodbye. listen to something anything by travis great song waiting for their new album i havnt heard any music in ages my ipod earphones are dead-ish you see? any chance i get i start whining. must stop NOW.






p.s: saason ki zaroorat hai jaise..
ok im overdoing it.

p.p.s: i hate people.bleeding earlobepiercings. LUCKYBOYYOUREMYLUCKYBOY- ria, please shut the fuck up sometimes.

talk about foresight (at hindsight)

this is being written as i consider suicide.
the sleeping pills know the way to the garage and might
do me in before i begin to protest.
Letter to myself, from a week ago:

before ever attempting suicide:
read poetry or newspapers in the hope
that either will

change your life.try dancing again and fracture a toe/
sprain a ligament/bump into someone to
remind yourself of how it once changed your life.
cry over it,

get over it.be a black bird without mercy,
join a conspiracy,kill a
bitch and say im jealous of you.stop believing in
karma, put it in a tarot card and motion blur

the shit.give up trying to belong to
borrowed walls, know no safer
roofs than accumulated dreams.consider this: every
line drawing grows into a Venn diagram if not
left alone.give yourself 90 minutes in hell for a little

longer than this, and at a stretch.look at the
mirror, say FUCK i have nothing to do with this and
break it.walk in and walk out of being ok and do
it very fast do it like a firefighter against

ocean currents, his training futile,still 
wired to fighting for safety.write an email and know that
this is romance. the air you breathe in is a different
country and your face is a safety-pin(up).bless distance and
stretch it like a continent until it gives way to
your seas, bless plate tectonics for
teaching the world freedom.break free and
know:

this is romance.call shayo up and pray she
sings live forever.try saying yes.say, the pins sticking
out of my tongue need safe disposal, yes. say,
Im starved and lonely and I drew your face but
I was really just hoping it was a smoke and I haven't swallowed
yet I'm waiting,yes. I'm the person who'd find you like you
find her but you dont

come around. paint a pebble for one whole day.
paint a pebble for a little longer.
keep painting the pebble till your mother comes and
throws it away and get back to being
the absence of sense and delete the
last blog post and throw away the pills because
they're hers, really, who wants to use her stuff.this 
is getting tiring, sleep it

over and forget about it, you can't for the life of you
do it anyway.

This was there like a fishbone stuck in one's throat, but i can
only guess.I don't eat fish, they reek of premature
death and regrets. it was like the first day
of the knowledge of cancer,the last
method of redemption and its lost procedure guide.it
was there like hems around my lungs and i pulled it out,
wrapped up the pills in it, and realized that they didn't 
come with my expiry date anyway.

The Dark Knight

so i finally watched it so people can now talk about it within 20 feet of me [which i wasnt allowing hitherto]. but this post is not about how crazy awesome i thought it was, no gushing about no one, all that has been done over by everyone and im not good at such posts anyway. what i wanna fucking tell you is outrageously silly, and 100% true. the FIRST thought that crossed my mind while walking away from the seat i was fixed to for the entire time the lights were out, was this:
FUCK I WANT A BOMB BLAST HERE RIGHT NOW DYING IN A BOMB BLAST IS SO WHAT I WANT.

...
i amaze myself and this is not an attempt to make you laugh. its just so i remember.

OldPhotoPost

OH LOOK ALL MENS AND DOODS JUST LOOK

the leftest little girl is my mom, then there's my uncle and aunt. mom's doing something with a khonjoni.
aaaahahahhaha the grouchy one would be mom's neighbourgirl, and the Chinese cutted haired person is herself.

there's mommy and aunty again.

polyester frock.

it beats me how cute kids can grow up to be such hitlers. the cutest is the hitlerest.:/

This is to inform you

that i've deleted my last post.

curls,colours,andcusswords.

waste of time.

ok so these are the posters i made for my room. customized images of bands i love.could make just two so far, will get a few more done in due time.

oasis

its got random lyrics from random oasis songs i love and its somewhat small-ish... its around normal birthdaycard size.

next,

THE BEATLES!

which, sneha thinks, is exactly two thousand five hundred and fifty five times better than the oasis one. i think i no did justice, but it looks fucking pretty in print. :D this one's bigger- A4 size and since sneha loved it she got herself one and i have one too. she prints my stuff watte dawling no? :D

off my journal

read here.

at 17 and a little more

at 17 and healthy,
life tight around my heart-
i thought i had repressed all memories of shoelaces
tight round my wrists.

-

in the middle of the night when
i wake up to the stinging dark, ceiling fan
sounding like my mother's
bangles -not really sleep walking, coming for me

i feel in my mouth- the gag's
in place it coudntve been a nightmare.i feel between
my legs and i remember sobbing in the toilet.i remember
pieces of me in the backyard.the draining
of everything in the bathtub. drying my eyes into a
solar eclipse and
my empty bed tells me its
just the sound of blades cutting
through air.

-

i was celebrating my forgetfulness when it leaked through
the letters.pity crawling into my life via holes and fault
lines that was me in a red dress being
uncle so-and-so's doll. that was me in his bed that was me
purpled by father that was me shivers running up my
downside that was me rancid, changed.

-

that was me-
soft toys sick of me eating them
out classmates sick of me in my corner
going off on tangents when asked about the
ink on skin which wasnt really so. i sat on my hands
for days as if it could save my ass and when none of
these helped that was me in hate. sweet love
was always a transferred epithet, and impossible.

-

my mother is an indian and foolish.she thinks its
the Gods im angering, its the Gods in plural
that take it out on her through my clobbering father
and the failing me.
i show her how tiny my ears are and she says a silent
prayer like indians who know people with tiny ears die
early.my father thinks im too young to have a lover,
and too bruised. he's a happy man.

-

at 17 and healthy i still sit
in the bathtub all day on national
holiday number 2- that was me making peace
with his body, i think, hiding the SOS sign forever
under my eyelids (this is me recalling a death).
eyes closed, i see it now

in the bathtub, and yell at mother saying- we all have a
lost and found chamber somewhere in our bodies. 'stop being a
scream' , she yells back- and there's a leak again.

that was me not knowing what i had had until a few
months ago that was me with a mirror trying to
look inside me thinking about it, that was me
finding nothing but fluid white
lies that was me being a molested child.

-

my heart has left to play with the
children and i begged it to never return.i let go of the time
i realized that my mother is more patient
with her sewing machine than with
her child's panic attacks i let go of the
SOS sign only i could see i let
go of the panic attacks.

at 17 and a half this
is me a long-ago adult, spread across red river
with the last red ribbon i've ever had, and
the last letters i'd ever hidden under my
bed beyond all memory under my thighs.
one says 'dear mother i think im leaking
am i going to die?' that was me too young
to ask.
but oh God, i think its leaking
and its about time.

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

er. this is me writing on one of those topics i'd usually avoid because i cant do justice, really. but it wasnt forced, even if it seems so in some bits. er. forgive me.
also, this is fiction.

look at THIS:

done last evening at her(sneha's) place, right under her nose :P
and she didnt seem to mind! we laughed our asses off, i tellew.funfun
xD

After the collision

-
but first
you make sure there is one. we have our ventricles
folded, faulted and over-thrust, before they cave
in. not letting up until a change
brings us down the same

old relief.we're gunshots
at the firmament, defying gravity we're lovers
at His door like creepers each a
parasite to the other.and then

we're Russian dolls- you inside
me inside you encasing my music, separated
from my own darkness by our burning
skins,I'm in dithers but you
remind me how our scars keep us

fluid with swallows of ourselves we
keep losing into each other.when i have
fear sticking tight behind my knees you bend,toss
a smile,a touch and watch them
dismantle terror as if

they're children taking turns at
blowing a dandelion clock. switching
roles between a museum guide, a highway map, a mugger
you fritter away until i ask you to leave to

run.speed off like a blind guide.I'm
coming for you don't stay
still we aren't fit to
stand another big

bang we run like thieves leaving behind
all but blades and snares and when we trip

i fall, there's a blackout.but that is because
you're pressed underneath me-
transcending topography like the molten insides of
our planet, the magic carpet
of my 6 year old dreams. no final
tremors.there's a blackout and you're
right here-
too beautiful for consciousness.
-


its my first piece of shit in over a month i guess, and it sucks and its a love poem and omg i dont beleive this. :/

finally

so i'm back. the laptop is still dead, desktop's back after around 9 months no it wasnt having a baby. or maybe it was, we havnt got back the old one back exactly. its a different one, so yeah.
i feel absolutely uninspired, unmotivated, and other sad depressive things.
was never particularly jumpy about myself and now its getting worse. this being the BOARDYEAR does not help one ounce.

im giving photography(if you will call it so) a rest till i manage to get myself a camera. even if it takes years. enough of borrowing around, its getting very very frustrating, i cant keep pushing my limits.
this is a very random post and im writing it not the way a comeback post is suppossed to be written, cause i dont know what that is suppossed to be like.

product of boredomity throughout last week. fullview please.

girlpaperaddict by ~weevilgirl on deviantART

my first shit done on the computer totally. the girl drawed on GIMP [which is a great free software btw, but i havnt used it much :P ] and other stuff on photoshop with textures and brushes used.

randomsketch by ~weevilgirl on deviantART

random sketch, as it says.


Touched:

touched by ~weevilgirl on deviantART


conceptual, as it says. oh well i thought of it only while i was trying to tweak it in photoshop, not while sketching.



she

suninhereyes by ~weevilgirl on deviantART

girl of the seas and skies..
she's a goddess in her mind.

was totally random started off as a doodle, and well, ended as one too :P


Edited:

girl of the seas and skies by ~weevilgirl on deviantART

:D

YES DONE DONE THERE YOU GO!

oh and lastest photomanip is here.

flickr and dA have both been updated with pictures, but nothing much anyway. also, readlastpost if you havnt, cause ilike it. yes im asking you to. yes im like that only whattodo.

When you are broken

I don’t know if you're
broken when you can still open

your eyes to your nails and find
skin beneath them, body
stretched like a
sailboat
each bone in place each rib
like a promise your chest still

serving as sailcloth. You’re
home, even if you're obese, even if tired.
you can cry on the floor
in a hotel room and you'll still be obese,
still like hamburgers, still need sleep

and know it. But you have a closet
full of holocaust
victims to return to, a road running into the tummies of
all of Africa, most of the Mediterranean, and losing
its trail in vacuity Mexico isn't an

escape, neither is your house.
Cries of horns, women and
sighs of old men, haggard eyes ricocheting
exhaustion-alarms off your attic, fill the glass
no reason to drink re-fill

the sky, stay up, watch it empty itself
into your lachrymal glands. You stick to music
because you started, because you are
a humming bird with no better

purpose. You know what the postcards
will say and wish you had settled for
blood in the arm they had spared him then

and now you have a
man with a bullet in his back buried
in your backyard as cattle, vegetables
growing on the mound with none but

the dead to feed. When you make up
conversations in your head and save them
up for afternoons to come, hoping
that the earth explodes

before they do. You can’t ask
about your mother or for
photographs of when it was
different, because maybe that equals

never. When you hold his hand
and you're cold when love feels as
stagnating as being convinced, or being

miles from it. The world sets out
to set you free from your peace
of mind, and when you give them
a piece of your mind,

the undoing begins. You let them molest you,
asking to yourself 'will this keep me safe will this

keep me..' and the know-it-betters won’t have
a benchmark answer. You're broken when
you swallow silence every night silence like
a nasty hangover you can’t

shake off. When you have stories
to be thrown up, but no
words are worth a damn, you know
what to do. Break them up,
and become

the puzzle pieces.

this is the HEIGHT of badluck. i get done with a call, which told me how i must be ready for another call which i might be getting in a while and as soon as i hang up, my phone decides to hang, and then dies. you understand dies? its not getting switched on. idunowhathappened i DUNNO BATTERY GELO NA KIHOLO IM TECHRETARDEDANYWAY ARGH.
edit: around 9:15 p.m.
SO i finally got done with something i'd been grumbling about this morning, over here, so here you go:(fullview, PLEASE)

hitch a ride noncolouredrough by ~weevilgirl on deviantART

so far, so good. but what happens NEXT is that the retard suddenly decides to take a paintbrush, AND paint.. AND, yes just as you were thinking.. THAT very picture up there, and puts them together. in the biginning it was sort of a blue waterwashed sky, so pretty pretty in blue itwas. but then there was the only FLUID poster colour left, how could she not rape the picture with THAT? it was black. BLACK, DOODS! BLACK POSTER COLOUR+THE SKY IN THE DRAWING +A PAINTBRUSH + A PAINT ILLITERATE FUCKTARD = DIS-AS(S)-TER.

SEE FOR YOURSELVES( fullview AGAIN, please)

oh YES. now SOME people might find it artistic [ oh yes, such unbelievably sdhgfh people DO exist (do something about my vocab, someone) i'd give you an example, but you wouldnt know the person ], but i'll tell you straight out what it really is.

it is my absolute inability to paint.period.

and i thought i'd -ahem- dedicate the painted shit to shruti and arunima, justlikethat. but after this -hangs head in shame-

and oh this is justan old doodle. reddoodle.

and if this looks scary enough or summin, this is for old PK WHO STOLE THE LOWE OF MY LIFE.

p.s.: my phone, dear friends, is still dead. rejoice!

also, please see last post. CD covers or whatever, tell me if you'll buy a cd with looks anything like that i need to SHOW THAT SHIT TO TEH WOMAN WHO TAKES ASSIGNMENTS :/

i've been away-ish from this place, cause i've started ANOTHER blog, again without any specific reason. runnyfingers. that one, yes. im a sucker for rant blogs, and thats what all of them end up as. so anyway, updates.

summer vacations are on. ISC results are out and are SCARY AS FUCK. i dont wanna be around this planet this time next year. :S

flickr is great.there's this group i found, called CD COVER MEME.

About CD Cover Meme
Always wanted to be in a rock band?Well, here's your chance...sort of. Make your own CD Cover with the following steps and rocket yourself to mulit-platinum status and start fending off the groupies.

1. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Special:Random

The first article title on the page is the name of your band.

2. www.quotationspage.com/random.php3

The last four words of the very last quote is the title of your album.

3. www.flickr.com/explore/interesting/7days/

The third picture, no matter what it is, will be your album cover.

4. ???

5. Profit

so i joined today, and made a cover today itself :D
Source photo:
www.flickr.com/photos/slimjim/2506817180/

itwasfun!

i'd done another cover for my Graphics assignment, which is here:

source photo: taken by me. sneha's camera. my lowely fender. <3

ok so this one's suppossed to be a compilation of guitar pieces by three jazz guitarists, whoever and whoever and whoever. so that.

i havnt done the spine or back cover for either i must imust :P

so thassit for now.

Today

first hit me in the garb of an
early morning fart from
father and shot me out of bed
unawake, snatching at residues of
7 a.m. half dreams.

*

was another hatechain.
i wrote hatepoems inside my head
for someone, a chance break for mother,
(and guess what day it is)
and laughed at his childishness later,
hating myself for smiling about
people i choose to hate.

*

i discovered a bald patch and
wished all todays would do me a
favour and end,
but not yesterdays nor the idea of tommorows
and never
3-years-agos

*

i lied about God and wrote him
a note saying: "Dear God,
i don't think i would've liked you much if
you did exist."

*

i washed the heat off
my nape
and felt my wet hair drip
on my bare back
for a little longer than
a prostitute can
afford an orgasm.

*

i didnt nap for i was
afraid i'd cry
pools in my dream i'd
cry pools i thought silly me.

*

hasn't ended yet

*

i felt like an old man without his grand-daughter
though I'm still a teenager with
a need for brassieres , and have never wanted
a child of my own.

*


i realized that i've grown up a little
due to this city with its share
of madwomen at bus stands,
and lack of starlight or clarity.
making sense was never this easy

*

i didn't fall in love

*

was an empty box of crayons,
or an empty bowl of soup i
sat picking at the insides of, with nothing but digestive tablets
to indulge in, but after a while
i felt some greys crawl under my nails.
its never truely colour, or complete lack of it
greys always crawl in much closer.


*

i wished the sky would unhinge itself and
blow me a kiss or blow a spine into me or just simply
spit, goddammit.

*

i wrote another note
this one said: "Dear God,
i don't think
you would've liked me much if
you existed"
and hoped he cant read
thought-notes in this language.

*

i laughed at myself and refused to admit
that this shell is safer than not-quite-rights, for
a change.

*

i just made up stories or spat out strings of hackneyed
words trying to make up for the
waste it was, and look
this wound up as a waste too

*

is not an end either.

For Bukowski

i ran into you today, after school,
after an hour of embarrassed laughter in my head
about a bra-strap coming undone.
after a tear for humanity, lost after a stream of
blood rising to my brain because im
unimportant after saying to myself that its ok to
hate old people,its ok to
sleep while they leave for
a surgery after having the low down blues after all
this
my surgery, you gave me back
my veins.

and i love you already like a girl loves
a man she's never smelt, just read and felt and
built in her mind for centuries after he was dead anyway, though
she's unaware. like an unlettered girl loves a man she steals poetry
off, knowing it as her own.
im a bugger that way, a burglar, but goodness knows
its only been an hour
lets see how, if at all, this changes
from peach flavoured to wine
.



im sorry i couldnt do any better, but im not getting over him for a lifetime, not for another.

for now

i'd like to get that feeling like you're
talking to me like im
here and its then
when i heard you say
its summer
but cobwebs dont glisten in the sun.

like im stripping naked boys of
their lies and shame and pride with
words no stories nor facts
just words to cut up their silly
rhythm and i'd like some cake
to go with the fuckyous, thank you.

and d'you know i dream of placating
winds of changing directions
of deranged prisoners and i
get that feeling of walking
summers, streets, snow,
dust crawling through the gaps between my toes
pulling out as sheets of phantom mysteries behind my back.
and i dream of me working in the sun,sweating
sweating like they do outside
my windowpane,
like the fluids have an easy outlet
easier than this.


i'd like to get the feeling like you've read me,
fed me, having tasted each morsel before offering me
a sin, but i'd know what's forbidden
but i'd like to forget
though i dont really know anything about this at all.

like ive just glutted on straight lines
that refuse to curve or bend
and get stuck like the swirling
lines of songs i cant remember, coming from
the other end jammed in my throat. glands can be myths
meant to scare, just myths i like to
think up faces staring straight at
reveries i cant fit into.

but you see i dream
of getting the feeling like
i can hear you and feel something
something else anything
at all as long as nothing
doesnt butt in, as long as
i know there are secrets clumped as
cobwebs in my shell
and i can tell you that i'd like it
when the sun dont matter so much.

i dont know where this comes from.

[edit: 00:04, 20th april]
i think i like goodbyes, i think i play hard for them, hard but fair.
subconsciously. we had two, roughly. glances, both, and brief. maybe somewhere a heartbeat sputtered, but its hard to tell, its more of a fake vintage photograph peeling off my brain. textures, always. like a memory not built entirely, too hard to remember, but impossible to scale. i liked your nose and i never got that litttleboy smile i had saved in my head,the one i stole off pictures of you with strangers and mist.maybe you've killed it don't tell me what it is or maybe you've hidden it away in scripts for dreams to be played on some winter midnight don't ever sound like you did then, please. but its not anymore,i think i've seen snatches of who you could be but who pulled em down?
maybe that's what makes pretending easier maybe that's why you need to pretend at all.

..hide a while inside your smile
and it's going to be spring again..

happiness was never this game, but i played hard for a goodbye for maybe ,
I'm just too used to it.
------------------------------------------------------



if you were smoke and music
and two years ago,
those eyes of summer couldn't have
made you fade like the purple of my chamber,
the purple off the walls.

no more my favoured alphabet soup
my swell my beat no only
just six letters and the ceiling sometimes just a floodplain
left when i look away, bare walls of stars smart eyes no more.

peeling candies off the sky, spring seems
long gone but
if we were those two and
one on a branch
if you were more than a draft
i'd wish you into the thick honey evenings
of dreams and sprinkled stardust,
moon at sticky fingertips still
no want of water no wilting moments just
those which settle politely in my lungs and
drip


inhalable and fluid in that lovely way..
if you were smoke and music.

blue, blue nights

.. for im all alone,
ill blow myself a few fullmoons..

photomanipulation, by the me.
stock credits:

girl:http://trixypixie.deviantart.com/art/oui-my-love-80565068

and i dontremember who from i took the stairsandthechurch stcok, forgibhe me. hence, i didnt put it up on dA, i couldnt've credited proper.

and this is a pic taken a fewmonths back i think, the night when the moon was suppossedly closest to teh earth in (insertcorrectnumber) years. a very crappy cam, 1.3 MP if you wanttoknowthetruth. fullview might make it better.

..how lonely are we tonight?
Like mirrors that lie,hidden inside a woman's past.
-The Shayon.


p.s: for those who i havnt already bugged into checking out my dA and flickr account lately, please do so.plisplis :D

Fullview, please.

Egghead.

egghead. by ~weevilgirl on deviantART
because im an egghead and in case you dont get this, you are one too.
collageishthing.

Asima.




ok so the girl thinks you hate her because of her facial asymmetry.no she dont think that's teh reason you hate her, but THAT is the reason for her thinking so. such people exist, yes.she doesnt, but whatever.and they dont let her fly a kite cuz of that. :[

and she's called asima.


and my life does not exist beyond teh virtual realm, and even that is being curtailed now.
terrific, aint it?

and i havnt learnt to say sorry or thank anyone when one deserves it. so what am i to do now?

same new drug

ive been feeding on darkroom images of
the sin i sought,
modest lust and thought.
my eyes memorising a neon-glow jawline,
collar bone and
there are hollows and ridges i climb up and into
in my sleep,no more
than grains of spacebound tears

music scattered around by those eyes
and gaping nostrils
like the forest breeze in spring,
wild yet soft and the tint.
theres always the tint.

but beyond the grainy hue,
a tide of burning red and the witching
hour gives me
more than thirst or thought.


-----------------
this aint nothing, ho. and ok yes i posted, go me. even though more than half of teh people i tagged in my lastpost havnt done their tag. sheh shoot me someone.

and bytheway, this:


is me and the new oink. ive had enough of virtual pigs, now this is the real shit :D