Only if I had a title enough!

'Hear yourself speak'....ever heard someone say this to you...perhaps yes...but how often does it actually make you think and do what it really means....said to me in a completely different context by an absolutely different person who probably has no relation to what I am talking about (or perhaps he does)...leaving it at that anyway...no direct relation...
But ya....I've tried doing that...speak out loud...not conscious of what you speak...but conscious while you speak those words...its alarming...especially now...
Sometimes you see a little....perhaps a lot of someone brush off on you...so much so that...when you speak those words you can almost hear them say it....jus the way you did...rather just the way they would have (the 'way' aint yours anyway)....like those conversations when you narrate something to someone...and both those involved in the conversation know the third person...its a picture that emerges in your mind...so perfectly imaginable...
Its this that I've been feeling lately...those words come out....and make me freeze the moment they do...and I wish I could say this aloud...but there are things that can't be understood...related to...but I feel like giving myself that lil whack and say....did you just say this?....and didn't it just sound soooooooooo like him.....so friggin like he'd have said it....ah!....this post is probably quite incomprehensible...but what the fuck...now that I've begun I guess I'll finish it to satisfy myself...
its very strange...n then you begin making efforts...to sound like yourself...all the time...and then it makes you try and shut yourself up...which is very very torturous for those like me who'd die without the yapping....actually not so true....but ya...thats how I am with most people...and I'd like them to know me that way....silence is more expressive...and works only wen someone fills it up without actually putting in those words....anyway...these are just diversions...blame my being completely disoriented...with those sudden highs and lows...the times in between these extremes make me wonder what I should be doing...
And again...there are things running thru your mind...like those mental flashbacks...split seconds at a time...n u seem to remember tiny things...gestures...looks given..exchanged...n they seem all muted...the words are a blurr...not all though...the words which felt like you'd remember them for a lifetime...but no...its not those...its those tiny things that remind you...its those things that come to you and make you relate them to every thing you say or do....every visual that your eyes witness...every thing that passes by...your thoughts just seem programmed to pick out of a particular slot and relate every moment to it...its just weird...
you really wanna erase that part of your mind...like it never existed...and skip to another...and start all over again...conscious....speculative...and yet everytime your words sound like its him who spoke them...it makes you smile...and every lil trip back into memory...gives you a rush...and you only wish your memory was more in your control...yet secretly hope it never really was...

To these times

How often do you get to see those extremes in your life?
From the moment when everything came crashing, the brief lonely spell, the most dreaded…to the surge of people, making their presence felt, crying with you, laughing, holding you together, making you realize your worth and much more…
From the lows of losing it all, all that you have ever earned…to raising a notch above where you were placed, giving you a high…
Three days, every hour, every moment, lived, remembered, and cherished, to be etched in memory for time to come…
When you long for yourself, for those reasons, for control, for that rush, when you could die just to feel alive…
cheers to this life…to all these times…and for those to come
This is what it takes…perhaps…just to feel…alive!

addiction(s)

Amongst others pain is an addiction...and unlike others....it never fails to give you that kick

Yesterday

I lay here….just like I did…but alone..
The music plays…the same one that did…it was just yesterday…I miss it already
Felt so complete…them…me…things said…and those unsaid…
The cup of tea lies abandoned…
Bliss he called it…bliss it was
And the emptiness now…

On days like these.

Sometimes I feel like the luckiest person on earth, writing, writing my heart out and having people read it, respond, and at so many times recognize you by it, its a great feeling. Makes you feel on top of the world, the fact that you define peoples’ staple for the morning, their views, a lot of their conversation, times when you make an impact. And at more times than this it feels like a responsibility that you carry on your shoulders all the time something weighing you down, making you feel you just can’t take your life easy. Nothing can be excused, misinterpretations, analysis, bias. Trying hardest to come out with the truth, precise yet complete, there’s a typical low I experience before I put pen to paper, rather fingers to keypad (blame technology for making us lose such phrases). Like now, I have it all, everything in place, the data collected over hours of calls, quotes obtained after having put up with a million tantrums by so many people. All it needs now, is the consolidation, the writing, the (very) little bit of creativity (almost restricted to the beginning and the end) and the flow. Its weird when your mind just refuses to wanna write, flip sides of writing for a living I presume. Writing for a hobby, for expression, for covering up those vocal limitations, is such an inherent yet a voluntary part of our lives, when forced to with a set audience hits differently, a sort of stage fear, when you go weak in the knees at the thought of the world watching you, judging you by it. And being in the field, there’s little liberty, no lack of inspiration, no writer’s block can ever be excused, you, are expected to be like the machines churning out the crap you write, giving out the same quality, the same amount of work, infact even the little personal touch with every story. Such are times when you wanna sit back, relax, read, write perhaps, vague things, everything except what you are ‘supposed’ to write about, like now.
Three stories await my attention, my completion, and the night’s calm, the music, the supple, perfect weather, everything seems so deprived of the power to inspire you, to make you write, the way you are wanted to, those perfectly chosen words, the lack of (almost) perception, the objectivity, and yet again the responsibility.
I want to write, I wanna continue writing, just this way, where I can write what I feel, where I am myself, devoid of the fear of judgment, the demands. Being fed with the right things to say, the way to do so, I am now itching, itching to be heard, as myself, with everything that I wish to say. It’s a game, the one with words, and I am addicted.

Ummm..music?

Music is back in my life…

Perception changing constantly

Feelin the same way

Running through my head…

Feeling the same way all over again
Singing the same lines all over again
No matter how much I pretend
No matter how much I pretend
                                      - Norah Jones