specious horizon...

You’ve written the epilogue
You’ve thrown the sand on the coffin
You’ve sealed the window
You’ve crushed dried flowers
You’ve dropped the curtains
You’ve exhaled the regrets
You’ve thrown the key away to lose it
You’ve shut the memories away
You’ve alienated the immediate
You’ve removed the brush from the canvas
You’ve broken your journey
You’ve reached the end of your rainbow.
You’ve discovered your pot of gold.
You still feel hollow….
Why?
Mabbe coz the horizon’s not real.

The horizon is a sadistic tease, seems well within your reach...like spurious search for mississippi muddpie...
A utopian disillusion, but sometimes, ignorance is sunshine. It keeps you warm.

However when you bury this ignorance of the horizon, and know that there is no meeting of the sky and sea; the real seems disoriented.
You are an ardent traveler; thus you continue to pursue other landscapes like the exotic rainbow. You make your way to the end and discover your pot of gold. You’re still not happy.
Are you stupid? Are you fundamentally not a happy person? Are you chasing lost ignorance?
Your fallicious illusions appease to the real world that surrounds you, aesthetically perhaps, yet you pursue the real in your illusions. However, when the real is well within your reach, you withdraw or feel like a sinking ship. It isn’t conscious. You cannot control it.
Are you stuck on your own illusions?
Are you apathetic to the real?
Are you happier pursuing an illusion?
Does the real disturb you?

There’s something incomplete here…
Mabbe coz the horizon’s not real.

so so soooo utterly random - 'in vain'

It began with one thought that a friend put in my head today...Sometimes words fail you.
Led to - Sometimes your emotions fail you. Sometimes your idiosyncrasies seem alien to you. Sometimes your broken spirit betrays you. Sometimes you can’t explain it. Is it catharsis? I don’t know
Is it a turmoil? Mabbe
It’s exhausting. Yes
It’s pointless. Yes.
But can you evade it. I tried.
It caught up.

The world around you doesn’t stop.
You delude yourself into believing, it’ll pass.
You’re stuck in a timeless whirlpool. It sucks you in.
It’s a fierce battle. You and your …I don’t how to address it (words fail me).. I reckon we can call it 'inane shadow' (I don’t know why, just.) Mabbe b’coz it’s an extension and reinforcement of the phantoms inside and is desperate for an outlet. So offshoot it and we keep it as the inane shadow. You could also call it diabolic shadow..coz it sure as hell is viscious and seems possessed but i prefer 'inane' coz it's vague, it's frivolous, it's foolish, it's loony, it's quixotic..it's indispensible. Wtf ..call it wat u want.
It trips you
It fails you
It confuses you
It tugs on your strings
It breaks you down into miniscule atomic pieces. You never gather yourself together apiece again. Ever.

Is it evil? No
Does it revel in sadism? Mabbe

Does it mock you? Yes
Does it nurse your pain? Yes

Is it empty? No
Is it prosaic? Yes

Is it a vagabond? No
Is it wayward? Yes.

Is there any rationale to it? No.
Is it idealistic? Mabbe.

Is it tangible? No
Does it feel real? Yes

It’s not strange.
Yet. It doesn’t seem worthy of existence.
Yet. You become dependant on it. Like a parasite.

Mabbe I don’t make sense.
But it doesn’t make sense.
It doesn’t seem to feel the need to justify itself.

Do you still excuse it for sneaking up on you and throwing you off guard and for failing you? Yes.

There’ll be no better time
There’ll be no better way

Call it absurd. Call it nothingness. Call it figment of my imagination. Call it tedious. Call it my stubbornness. Call it wat you may. You know that YOU too have been dependant on it. Many a times. And YOU will continue to seek it's presence. YOU will continue to take refugee. YOU will continue to curl up n lie there, waiting for it to irk you..again.

I’m still at ground zero. Running in circles. Talking gibberish. Self-deluding. Still indulging in idle chat. Still surviving. Still slipping. Still breathing. Still musing. Still pmsing. Still reading. Still working. Still cooking rhetorical questions. Still making my storehouse of nostalgia. Still faking. Still listening. Still playing weeping willow on a loop. Still fakking coping with monotony. Still choosing…
Still figuring it out.

As an afterthought: (like mint after a complicated meal)
Heh ..even though I still haven’t figured out how to cope with it, I just absolutely absolutely love the way Depeche Mode fakks with this dithering state of being, with our friend, the inane shadow. D. Mode ignores “it’s” presence and continues to assert with nonchalant conviction:
“Don’t say you’re happy; out there; without me. I know, u can’t be. Coz it’s no good.”

If only…

...clueless

I’ll be alright I know
But never felt so defeated.
It’ll fade away they say
But never known hurt this intense
Clarity will reign
But it’s never been this ambiguous
We both broke our mirrors …at last

The impressions will stay...i know