Run

I left behind my torn Kolhapuri
They wore out and I needed to
Run. From the monsters crawling out
Of every happy memory I made. Now
I stand here waiting for a new beginning
That seems to be falling in place
Naturally. Maybe my monsters weren’t actually in my head.

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So-not long enough

More ranting and tears after a long break…

I tried writing. Tried. But I really, really badly didn’t want to write. I sat in front of the laptop and wanted to type but didn’t know what to say. Then I picked up my phone and looked for things on various social media platforms to give attention. I even thought about how tacky it was that I wanted to do something just so I could write about it. I never actually tried, tried writing. But I did think about trying to write. It was exhausting. I even made a list of things I’d write about

  1. The movies I keep going back to
  2. TV shows that I’ve been binge watching
  3. then I add something else and forget all about it

Because I was making all these lists in my head… And then I forgot.

But these are things that are…

© Vinay Green, 2017
My work space

I decided to watch Captain America Civil war, finally. Captain is my favourite superhero despite my disapproval of the things he represents at least in the first movie. I love the way his character is developed over the each film and through the series of three films. It’s a great watch and beautiful distraction from my thoughts that don’t let me sleep each night.

My blog has enough substance to have been running by itself for the last few months even without posting its generating 50-100 views a month and none of them is me! It’s something to be proud of but these posts are embarrassing and private thoughts that I put out for the world to see. I’m probably going to wait for the right push and delete the site after backing it up, hopefully. Or just archive it. I finally did manage to do some of the hard ones from my to-do list. Maybe I can finish more of them before I leave the city that I’ve always lived in.

© Vinay Green, 2017
A summer afternoon on the streets of Bangalore

I did a month of superb standard of socialising that I usually seem to muster in the months of summer when the sunshine is impossible to miss. Now the clouds are here and I’ve begun to ware out and my socialising strength is dying and I just want to rot. I’ve been constantly told, “You love to feel bad for yourself. Stop doing it to yourself.” and a bunch of other things that belittled my barley and vaguely existent self-esteem. I have whined through my blog and I seem to whine always and so much it was a joke to call me Whine-ay. Apparently, it’s very funny. I don’t see it because it’s at my expense but whatever. My whining is my call for help and I’ve been childish in dealing with it but that’s what happens when children are indulged.

Being called a creep wasn’t bad enough because I still didn’t stop trying to impress someone who only wanted to detest me. I have always loved the approval of a superior, teacher or anyone in the authority figures place and Freud calls it daddy issues and he’s probably not wrong. I was trying to compensate for all the attention daddy wasn’t giving. These were times where I was very impressionable like I have been my entire life and I meet people that I want to be like or please or am jealous of because they seem to please the people I bend head over heels to please. Now this obviously drives me insane but I manage to hold on to my sanity or whatever passes of for sanity these day to function like I’m normal.

Self portrait
Self portrait- a pink attempt.

To me trying to impress was an epic fail of historic proportion. In the end I was the reliable guy, dependable but not good enough to be what I aspired to be for two years. Moments like these are when my life flashes in front of me and the numerous times I wasn’t good enough or wasn’t white enough, pretty enough, smart enough, rich enough and maybe even upper caste enough. I do want attention and I’ve never had a second thought in asking for it but I was never going to beg for it. When I knew something was over, it was over. I wasn’t going to pretend like it’s fixed but doesn’t mean I’d go around being silly childlike about it except when I’m “Whinay-ing” about it to a friend.

What will it take an individual to realise they are being a bully. Just because you were bullied doesn’t mean you can’t be bully. My degree in Psychology has helped me access information and valid proof that proves a dominant power position is all that takes to make an individual from a sweet, sullen and potentially harmless to a vicious and savage creature capable of monstrous things. And this transformation is so subtle that it’s impossible to spot it even when it’s painted red and right in front.

The beast
A kitty that can claw your eyes out.

I feel heavy at heart because a lot of hate was brewed against me. People who acted as friends were the ones after getting into troubles and graves that I didn’t even dig. I slowly learnt my lesson and by then I had found bigger fish that were taking bigger bites of my soul and flesh. I by now had entangled myself into a web that I had cast to catch dreams but it managed to pick all my nightmares and magnified them to an extent where I only wanted to kill myself because it was the easiest way out of here.

I came to the last leg of the race and I stopped caring, there were too many frivolous complexities that I had managed to build but couldn’t break so I let them all stay.  But I managed to build up so much hate, fear, contempt and just plain sorry for myself that it’s over flowing through me and I need to end this disgustingly heavy weight inside of me by setting on fire and purging this pain.

I’d forgotten what it felt like when a tear rolled down my cheek leaving behind a moist trail. (As it manages to curve down my 12 O clock shadow and jump on to my neck.)

 All the Pictures on this post belong to me.

© Vinay Green, 2017

Our Broken Hearts

Apparently, I last edited this on 10, September, 2016. Couldn’t find it on the website, so here is more depressing Poetry.

​I can’t take this anymore,
Through my cracks and;
Pores, I’ve started to break.

Like shattered dreams, I’m full
Of tears, blood and hopelessness;
Waiting to be purged.

Let the fire of our love set
Me on fire, while the flames
Engulf me, I shall be reborn.

But I was no phoenix, and
My tears could never meand
Our broken hearts.

Apparently I last edited this on 10, September, 2016. Couldn’t find it on the website, so here is more depressing Poetry.

Secret lover

​A lover waits for me at the
Dark end of a green
Road, under a dead tree.

I said hello to a catatonic face
Craving, for a lovers touch.

Walked, into the horizon.

Our demons, bonded faster than us.

Like darkness and light, our fates
Intertwined, to build a nightmare web.

We stumbled into hell and parted
Ways on the end of a highway
Fork, to meet at the next junction.

Losing it

“I wouldn’t be surprised,

In the middle of the night, to

Find Vinay watching me in my room. I’d just say

“Go home Vinay, it’s creepy.””

And she laughed loudly at me, then repeated it

To everyone around me.

We are… were friends, I tried many times to be

Friendly,

And not creepy.

“You’re so touchy!”

Yes, yes I’m touchy.

Because when you stand there mocking me,

Or joking about me or saying something to get a reaction from me and think

It’s “damn funny”

You are pushing me,

From the top, of my self-esteem, into a dark pit of anxiety.

I’m scared, if I stop being touchy

Then you’ll think, it’s okay to punch me;

Then I’ll be in high school again

Getting beaten up by the boys around me.

And I’ll be losing it.

I’m scared to go to high School reunions,

‘Cos my bully’s might want to throw a punch.

Or break my face,

Just for old time’s sake.

But I still met one, he convinced me

That maybe we could be friends, again

Like we used to be.

I met him in his car, we had a nice chat

And then he asked me

To blow him and I started crying.

I was losing it,

Every step into adulthood,

I forget who I am and end up in

My very own hell, inside my head.

Blocks: Writing

Writing for pleasure is coded language forI’m into BDSM“.

There is a lot of joy and happiness when you see a finished piece is a big fat lie, an orgasm lasts longer than that fleeting moment of joy. I’m proud of my work that has been published but I always want to do better or I see a possibility of how it could have been better. I haven’t wanted to write in the last month or so and it has been nice. There was a huge weight taken of me, this probably is the most relaxed I’ve been in the last three years.

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PC: Sad Dareen

But now that this blissful ignorance has passed a month and has turned into a little fear in the corner of mental thinking space and has started collected to go full judgement day on soon and I’m defenceless.

This blissful month wasn’t fear-free all the way, there were moments of pain, anguish and desperation to write anything. I gave and wrote a line or a sentence and sounded like a bag of shit and I didn’t try writing again.

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Vague memories of travel are moments of liberation. ©Vinay

I remember comparing myself to Justin Bieber, he’s 10 days younger than me and has gained the fame and fortune that I’ve wanted since the age of 9. I wasn’t exceptionally talented, I had fairly good oratory skills and a knack to write funny or impressive stuff compared to my group of peers which impressed very few people, if nobody. So the possibility never died in my head and still seems to survive somewhere deep.

Screw JB, I just want to get my degree without having to do a Sirsasana and this is when I regret bunking Yoga classes in Jain College, maybe it would have come handy. The biggest fear I’ve been nursing like my first born is of losing everything. It’s easy to say everything and not mean much, but there is a possibility of losing everything and it’s only growing stronger with every fleeting second.

book
Flowers, books, and incense used to be therapeutic. ©Vinay

My laptop had a bad case of the virus and I lost all the digital data I’d acquired over the last three years. I had a lot of ups and downs in recovering the data and I couldn’t carry my heavy heart anymore and decided to cry; but not a single tear drop escaped my eye. We read narrative reporting in class and the piercing coldness hit so hard it was impossible to hold back my tears.

I’m on the edge, all the freaking time and its better I take things slow rather than trying to juggle too many things because if I blow up, it ain’t going to be a pretty sight. The pain won’t go away, but I can stop acting like a pin-cushion.

Emotional numbness, disregard, contempt, hatred are growing in my heart and I don’t want to uproot them. I don’t want to talk to people, there are a few I want to talk to but a minute or two into the conversation and I want to run. There isn’t anything I believe in, pessimism is my constant state of being and the height to which I don’t care has reached peak. It’s impossible for me to do anything else on daily basis, efforts I put to get through the day are draining me of my, everything. Exhaustion has left me paralysed and with bare minimum.

Hard Skull

Percolate. It feels exhausting, mentally because I have nothing to say about percolation. Then there are little ideas seeping in to my head, like how it takes time for me to do something or ideas to seep or something and then it percolates right out of me. For the life of me, I can’t remember what I was trying to say. It’s confusing, frustrating and annoying.

I’m trying to inculcate the habit of writing everyday, an idea I intend will percolate into my thick, hard skull.

I’m being hopefully, I know.