The Painting of the Lions

There's an Aesopian fable of 'The Painting of the Lion'.

The lion complains about a picture showing a man killing a lion and suggests that if a lion had painted it, the result would have been different.

It is all about perspective and authority, is it not?
I am not questioning authority here and it shouldn't be denied when it's true.
However, authority must make itself accountable to the realities of experience.
The 'truth' of any picture often has more to do with the prejudices and predilections of the painter than the 'reality' of the subject.
This complexly mutual relationship must always be duly noted.

Any way the wind blows doesn't really matter to me...

I have nothing to write, really. Nothing relevant, anyway. But then again, do I ever?

It's 2:38am.
I am wide awake.
Waiting to be struck by inspiration. Or lightening. Whichever comes first.

I'm so bored of being me. It's happened! After years of (almost) self absorption, I want to be P!NK. I see how it's an unlikely choice, but it's true.
Why? 'cause she's strong.
How I envy strength! It's not like I don't have enough of my own.
Only, mine is purely feigned.
What is it about strength that makes it so bloody hard to have?
I would kill to be that girl who walks with her head held high, with her kohl-ed eyes carrying a thousand dreams and her bag carrying her entire world.
Oh wait! I am that girl. Only, that-girl me is an illusion. A carefully crafted illusion for the world to believe.

I think I need love. And till the time love makes it to me, some great sex would be pretty darn good.

For now, I'm going to sleep.
Hoping that I dream about wings on my heels tonight;
about the tattoos I want etched on me;
about the people I want to hurt out of spite;
about him and his recovery;
not about my lack of strength.
For now, I'm going to be that girl who walks with her head held high, with her kohl-ed eyes carrying a thousand dreams and her bag carrying her entire world.
Only, she also smokes like a chimney for no reason, laughs way too much, has a mood swing installed in her backyard, lusts after money, daydreams about drunk dancing in three weeks and continues to be oblivious about all things important and is favoured by all things petty.

Current Favourite Picture Of Me. I'm told this picture 'tells stories'...

Good Night.

People. Places. Faces. Phases.~ @Life Scenes.

People fail to fascinate me. They're so damn predictable with their set manipulations, loves, dislikes...et al. It's boring, to say the least. Why can't people dare to do something out of the ordinary? No, I don't mean the kind that would make them jump off cliffs for adrenal rush, but just something un-ordinary, you know?

Not extraordinary, just plain un-ordinary. I'd always figured that being clones of one another all the fucking time could get tiring, mundane and just plain dull. Not to mention, demeaning. People are too easy to figure out now. 

I could kill for someone to come and sweep me off my feet with intrigue.

Anyone!

Places, for me, are memories. They're like scents. I associate them with people. Yes, that same species that fail to fascinate me, no matter how much of a chance I give them. I have never been a traveler; not even an armchair traveler. I don't go out of my way to explore locales or plan a trip to the hills with nothing but a backpack. My holidays are, preferably, more luxurious than that. More indulgent. Or the beach. Or anywhere not as physically straining.

A little sleep, lots of bathing, some drinks, a few cigarettes, a couple of joints, a night of crazy dancing, straight hair, beautiful clothes...

I need a vacation!

Faces, I believed, faded out the soonest from memory. I believed that for the longest time. It was hard to reconstruct someone's face in the head, if there hadn't been an interaction for a while. But that was back in day; the good old days. However, today is the age of the Facebook. Even if you want to forget some damn faces, it's too networked to ignore completely Anyway, faces shouldn't ever only be about appearances. It should tell stories; and not your appointments to a plastic surgeon.

Beauty is A virtue, alright. But should it be The virtue? 

If only we lived in a world of shoulds.

Real Life Is Boring.

It should have been a sitcom. It sort of is; only here everyone isn't witty and funny and everyone isn't constantly getting laid. Ah! Getting laid is important. I just don't want to reach that verge of wanting to stick (any)things up myself. Baaaah. Back to sitcoms; real life is like sitcoms. Whatever we do is like a scene from our 800season long show, called 'Life', is it not? 

I'm just rambling now..

Here I am, at 3:08am in the morning, in need of a change, some colour, happiness, June;

My phases.

At Life Scenes.

It's almost too late to sleep now. Neverthess, shall go try.

Night.

Just a thought.

Yours truly has been studying. Gasp all you want, it's true!
Studying and day dreaming about what life-after-University-exams would be. Siiigggghhhhh.

Anyway, I was just thinking, if I were to randomly stop posting on my blog, would anyone stop to consider that I might be dead? For real?
Like, how would anybody who reads my blog find out about my death?

Just A Thought.

“Everybody knows how to raise children, except the people who have them.”

Is it just me or is the 'parent-child' relationship sliiiggghhhtttlllyy overrated?

I'm not the least bit ungrateful for whatever they have done for me.
And I thank my stars each day for the mother I have.
But aren't most of these things their duties?

I am not feeling a wee bit cynical right now, no.
All I am saying is that parents tend get over each other over time;
and then subsequently, they get over their kids too. We all grow up, don't we?
Also, it is a little more than little hard to stay with the parents once you're over 15.
Or 12.

Bah.

Need A Prayer?

Someone once told me that my life's greatest tragedy would be each time I am elated beyond belief, but being an atheist, I would have no one to thank.

Bullcrap, I said!

However, it is close to a great tragedy when in all helplessness you seek a prayer but you don't believe in it enough for it to come true.

All my life I have counted on the Universe, if anything, to make things right for me; never a 'god'. We have way too many to choose from, anyway. It's the complexities that make it petty, I think.

The sought prayer is for someone I would kill to forget forever, but won't be able to.

It's a little strange how Facebook has become the link between lives; even those lives that were tangled together, to say the least, only a while back.

"Get well soon"; "Prayers for your speedy recovery"; "Heyy! Snap outta it, bro! We got partying to do! Get better now!!"....

I wasn't worried a tiny bit. I was trying not to be.

It sucks when you call him and his mother answers.

It sucks when the mother has always been fond of you and hence thinks it's okay to cry to you.

It sucks when she says, "Don't you know, Beta? It happened on the 15th..."

No! I don't know! How am I supposed to? We don't talk every hour of every day, anymore!

It sucks when you realize that you hardly have any common threads who'd have informed you any earlier.

It sucks when she tells you that he got hit by a car and it looks bad.

It sucks when you have this little voice inside of you telling you that he may have done this on purpose.

Whatever times I had met him in the last three month, he had been stressing over the girlfriend. Yes, even to the extent of wanting to kill himself.

If I know him at all, I know he's capable.

This is not the best early-morning-news I could have got.

I sit here, with my lack of faith firmly shaken, seeking a prayer.

The 'god' hasn't ever really listened to anything I have had to say... 

So ya. That sucks too.

Get Well Soon, You :'(

Live.

Strawberry Fields.

.... Annnnnd is back :D

Anyone missed me?

No? NO? NOO??

Ok :|

I've been at peace for a while now.

I'm not cynical about my existence unnecessarily anymore. It's good, my existence. Everything is sort of falling into place, almost automatically. Here, 'everything' really means 'everything emotionally'. There are no hang ups for now and that makes me very happy.

I am not a patron of clubbing nights anymore. It's boring, the charade. However, I do want to dress up and dance. Just not grind with strange men. Not even dress up, really. Just Dance!

I am not bothered by most people now. I don't pull my hair out each time anything minutely human ticks me off. I ignore. They say ignorance is bliss. I am in no mood to argue that.

All this and so much more;

I am not bound by nothingness.

I am free.

What makes a person dubious?

I think it's a machinery. A machinery that validates the fact that what you see in people is a mixture of what you want to see in them and what they want to show to you. That, I think, is the root of all doubts.

Completely unrelated, I know. Nevertheless.

All the things I had been running away from have caught up with me. 

So now, I am free! I want to run around in my hot pants shouting that!

If only it wasn't this fuckin' hot...

"Let me take you down, 'cause I'm going to Strawberry Fields.

Nothing is real and nothing to get hung about.
Strawberry Fields forever."