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