How to avoid killing yourself by killing someone else instead

Yeah, that is the title. I'm getting good at this, aren't I? Don't answer that.

Well, suicide is a frowned upon act, and in many ways it is extremely hurtful. Some people say suicide isn't the end of life, it is the end of pain and misery. But well, if your life is full of pain and misery, perhaps you do need to end it. Wait, before you slit yourself, let me make this clear. Suicide is an option. But there is a better option. Homicide.

You aren't the only person suffering. There are starving children in Africa, idiots on the internet blabbering about stuff that takes your attention off the important events, and many other assholes. No one truly deserves to die. But hey, you don't always get what you deserve. 

Don't kill yourself because you didn't get what you want, because your lacking something. You have it in you. You have everything you need inside you. All you need is a little push (not off a cliff).

Before you think that 'I am done. I have nothing to live for...' think again. Perhaps you do. There are people who you think don't need you. You're wrong. You don't need them. Cut them off (not literally). Homicide is illegal. So don't just read the title and murder someone. It was just my way of attracting you here so you would read what I have. Not all you read on the internet is true. But it can and should make you think

We are programmed to follow, not to think. And well, if you follow your guts and kill yourself, you'll be preventing a whole series of events that might happen just because of your existence. On the contrary, if you decide to dedicate your life to saving lives, being a vigilante or just simple social service, well you can do much better. The point is to think. Renovate your perceptions. Sometimes, the darkness is what holds the greatest of treasures. Remember, light did not exist till after a crapload of years. If the world could survive in the dark then, well, we can still do so. Just because the sun shines doesn't mean the shadows are any darker. Maybe the shadows are trying to help you.

Forget about what society tells you. They're nutjobs. Think for yourselves. Open your mind and throw away those suicidal thoughts.

As for homicide, well by killing, I meant cut them off. Let them be dead to you. Their existence shouldn't matter. And if you really want to kill, then kill the people all you want but only in your head. Sometimes visualising murder can calm you down. But if it is getting out of hand, please see a psychiatrist.

I hope I don't get sued for this.

My posts are getting weirder I feel...

May the Darkness guide you to Your Light!

Suicidal

What is the point of all this? It all sums down to bare essentials, and what is more essential than money? Well, social acceptance. It can kill a mother and orphan a child, all the while accepting sexual abuse and religious fanaticism. This is the fucked up society we live in.

I'm just sitting here ranting on but what more can I do? I'm no superman, neither do I have any strong connections. My greatest weapons are my words, that is if they are read. I can simply propagate ideas. And when I am at my lowest, even they might not work.

Seeing this fucked up society, I feel ashamed of being a human.

It makes me feel... Suicidal.

Diwali

Another year, the festival of lights begins. It is a time of happiness, family love, and deafening firecrackers.

The lights in the houses and outside on the streets in this time of the year are simply a treat for the eye. The crackers are simply a medical condition in the making.

Would Ram really want us to induce deafness into our future generation? Who knows?

Yes this isn't the happiest of posts, but the point is to make you think. Is there really any significance in the crackers? Diwali is meant for the lights, for the family and loved ones. To share treats and exchange gifts brought out of love, not obligation. Diwali is yet another commercial festival in India, just like Ganpati, Holi and Christmas.

The essence of it is truly lost. But then again, what used to be a way of life in the ancient times is now simply a matter of tradition. Tradition not followed out of love or excitement, but out of the sense of duty.
Someone should really try and celebrate a peaceful Diwali (and all other festivals) keeping in mind the original idea behind such events. After all, we are the generation of globalisation. Who knows what more waits for us in the future?

May the Darkness guide you to Your Light!

Drunken

The baby was crying, screaming it's little guts out. The father sat dizzy from the thirteenth peg he had just gulped down. He looked out to his wife, nowhere to be seen in the kitchen. He shouted out, adding to the baby's cries.

No Response.

More pegs were made, three bottles had fallen to this man's addiction. His wife seemed to have forgotten of his existence. But his hazed mind was far away from these troubles. His intoxication had reached a new level. After the twentieth peg, his insides gave up. The floor was in ruins.

After a terrible pain in his stomach, he rushed to the bathroom for unknown reasons. Maybe his mind was trained for these situations. He rushed and spilled his stomach out into the ceramic pot, not noticing his wife that hung from the kitchen fan.

After the third gag, he lay unconscious on the floor. The last thing he remembered was the horrifying silence.

The baby had ceased its crying.

The Point of Life

Whether it be a fly thee kill, or be it a monster slain by thy righteous hand,

Death in all it's glory is still a sorrowful thing.

The perception is all that matters.

Who knows, the monster might be the avatar of the very gods thee worship.

God plays a game in the queerest of ways, ways we may never understand,

As for that sword you lift, it may be the bane of those you love the most.

Life is a strange phenomenon.

It is the soul that matters.

The ones that tread in light sweat as the sun tires them,

And the moon sends chills down the nighttime traveller,

Filling the mind with horrors with questionable existence.

Yet, we all tread on.

Maybe that is the point of life, to find a point in this spherical object,

Cyclic in nature and spirit, with nothing to lose or gain,

Except that we believe we are attached to.

Cheesy Words, or Motivation? You decide....

One thing I learned in the last few days is that I fucking love writing. I'd die before I give up. I've risked my future to pursue my writing, and I hope that it would work out well.

Sometimes, treading in darkness can show you things in a much different perspective. I'm experiencing that at a very personal level. I see everyone going with the crowd while they laugh, mock and look down upon me for my decisions. People will never understand.

I'd die before I prove them right. And I know I'm not the only one here. There are many whose dreams are shattered by the critics. I say fuck them all.

Of course, it's easier said than done. Many people quit, but how many are actually working towards it? Before you take any rash decision, understand that once taken a step forward, it'll be a million times harder just to undo that. Tread wisely.

May the Darkness guide you to Your Light

Strange Ending

The wind gushed and the clouds roared. The weatherman said a storm was rising. If he did not reach home on time, he might never. His work had ended earlier; his boss was more paranoid than anyone else. However, his boss had a driver and a car waiting to serve his needs. His colleagues ran just like him, but their buses were frequent. His bus had a terrible frequency.

People were closing shop, others were hurrying home. The homeless tried to look for a tentative shelter. The animals were nowhere to be seen. Smart bitches, he thought. He looked around at the systematic chaos that presented itself. Religion had forgotten its enmity and rivals helped secure each other. Everyone seemed to be prepared, except him.

The road was emptier than before. Isolation seemed to be creeping in. He had to leave.

He decided that he would spend some extra bucks and travel by rickshaws. But as every Indian knows, these bastards never listen.

One rickshaw rushed away. He grew frantic. The skies began to wet the earth.

Another ignored his cries. He abused passionately.

A third said an unjustified no. He kicked the rickshaw as it sped away.

The fourth one's breaks failed.

The isolated road gathered pedestrians to help him, but he realised that the storm wouldn't be his bane. The people carried him to a shelter, an ambulance was called for. The driver of the rickshaw was beaten for his faults. The clouds roared and the rain had finally begun its heavy downpour.

He was convinced that his end would come. Either by the storm, or the accident.

Death had a strange way to find things. A mosquito landed on his wound.

Mental Clutter and Demons

Demons scream with a chill in their voice. Their silence is the loudest one can hear. But why is it that we care only for the babies that cry in the middle of the night? What makes them hungry? Biology?

For all I know, all the sciences that I see are demons waiting for their time to shine. Science has evolved to a level where it is common sense to most of us. Yet, there are large populations that benefit not from the developments of the rich.

Demons at war?

Angels, they say are always looking at us with a happy heart, protecting us. But what about the demons that are so intensely involved with our lives? Why are we so afraid of them? Do we really fear our demons, while looking up to those that rarely cast a blessing upon us?

What kind of god would want to kill non-believers? Maybe they're just people that have accepted their demons. This might seem too satanic to people, but it's only a vague thought out of my random mind.

Maybe I should change the name of my blog.

Nah, my demons won't let me.

May the Darkness guide you to Your Light!

Revelatory Dream

I fell asleep in the stars one night,

When I couldn’t seem to fight,

The urges of the previous day,

To kill them all, If I may!

The crows caw, the mice all squeal,

Desecrate our life’s show reel!

And murder every dream they say,

For good days are always yesterday!

Our perceptions are all but pale,

Hazed out by that branded ale,

Made by TV sets in every room,

Media bastions, mediocrity bloom!

And as I type from memories,

On this machine made overseas,

I realise we’re all but dead,

In a time that has come not yet.

Karma

"What is it honey?" he asked. He thought he'd heard his wife call out to him.

When no reply came, he thought it was nothing. Then it all crashed down on him. His house, his life, all engulfed by the flames inside his mind. Another migraine.

He fell down on the carpet and writhed in pain. The TV show host laughed at one of the gags and the recorded audiences giggled as well. 

Clutching his hair, almost ripping it off he rolled trying to understand why the pain felt different. That is when the crimson dripped down his cheek. He noticed the pool of red forming below his head. There had to be something wrong. How was this possible.

He looked up, and a silhouette stared back at him.

As she bent down, he saw the bruised face of his wife, eyes bloodshot. In her hands, she gripped a spade from their garden.

"HOW DARE YOU?" he screamed. If the neighbours ever found out, his name would be cast down. Their family would be in shame.

In reply, she kept staring at him. He had never seen her enraged. Every time she did something wrong, she would clam up and accept his beatings. That was the way society had raised them. Their parents did it, and their grandparents. But was it true? Or was it a delusion that only he lived in?

"I'm done!" she whispered, barely enough for him to understand.

A divorce was shunned upon in their society. His migraine worsened. And the moment he realised that the migraine was actually the hurt from the wound he had tried to ignore, the spade came crashing down on him.

One hit, his vision was hazy. Second and the pain worsened. Third, and his life flashed before him, numbing his senses. A Fourth and unable to bear the excruciating pain, he fell unconscious.

As life left his body, from the passage between life and death, he heard the faint laughter of victory.

His societal prisoner was finally free.

Mother Darkness?

He looks at us, she looks at us. Mother darkness has been upset with all this talk of light. Father light was birthed by the mother of us all, and through this rose our world. But who is to say for God simply said 'Let there be a world' and poof; Brahma thought and his thoughts manifested, as they continue to do till the end of eternity.

Almost every religion will tell you a creationist story in their own version, but nobody mentions mother darkness. She was the first to exist. Are we so ignorant that we forget our past? But then again, the big bang is only a theory.

Who is to say what truly happened. Devdutt Pattanaik has rightly said, "...Within infinite myths lies the eternal truth. Who sees it all? Varuna has but a thousand eyes. Indra, a hundred. You and I, only two."

May the Darkness guide you to Your Light!

The bias against the Dark

Life and its various aspects do seem interesting. We try to figure out the many metaphors that can be fit into a frame of thought so that we can with ease reflect upon the beauty and complexity of life.

But does anyone talk of death?

Maybe the afterlife comes into the picture, but that too is the after-LIFE. Why can't we call it after-DEATH?

It's simple. People like to reflect upon the lighter aspects of light. The white is always preferred because white can be dirtied and stained with our prejudices and biases. Nobody sees the true colour that is black, kept pure and unaffected by the prejudices. In light, we see all the differences but in darkness, all is the same.

In life, we see so many metaphors, in death?

Why is it that we see death as disgusting? Why can't anyone see the beauty of death?

Maybe with a little more probing, our minds will some day accept that there is this concept that should be dealt with for it too deserves a better understanding. is it because of the people who use the darkness for wrong? Or is it a mere misunderstanding or misinterpretation of the dark? Do we realise that in either scenario, we are kept in the dark about the darkness that we think is so dark that we try to end the darkness with light? Words matter and their propagation matters the most.

Maybe it is this very bias of light and dark that my blog might not appeal to many. Understandable. I will keep hitting the keys on my laptop till the day they are heard by someone. Wonder how many people out there who have such unheard voices because of the technological darkness that prevails in our lives wish to be heard...

May the Darkness guide you to Your Light!

Doomsday Premonition?

Evil reprises as dirt begins to fade

Love and hatred mate on sand

And burn along with sickle and spade

With worms squiggling with dying filth

And the Demons of dawn succumb

To the spreading of the plagues’ wealth

The blood is dripping from mouths platonic

And eyes are gouging with shame ridden low

Satan laughs as Hell crusades on the catatonic

And life becomes the apocalypse we all awaited for

The Gods are no longer there for us

They committed self-righteous holy suicide

The nectars and waters all filled with pus

As blood flies begin to feast upon our eyes

The day has come for madness to commence

As people will all disappear in the day

Life as we know will come to and end as

The dead will return to rule the realms of us mortals

And we will be no longer existing

As the minds of our selves will guide us to our sepulchers

Apocalyptic

The sinister mask of death that stares at my face with hollow eyes follows me beyond every checkpoint of my horrible nightmare. There must be a reason why the iron tree that I saw burning did not melt. Maybe it was the miniature particles around it that the birds dropped. All life shall end. Every angel shall be castrated and every demonic flame extinguished.

When light and dark copulate to populate our wildest fears, that is when we know the end is near. The gaseous residues that burn our world, the chemical warfare that we induce unto our own, that will be the end of us.

Paper wealth is nothing compared to the riches that Mother Earth was robbed off.

This is only but the first cycle of our nightmarish sleep.

Be wary my friend.

May the Darkness guide you to Your Light!

Strangulation

Strangulation. The tepid ropes of the vile education system curled themselves against the Adam’s apple of his throat as he lay writhing in pain from the fever that had engulfed his numb body. He was lying there, sweating profusely, crying silently over the spiritual disaster that was his life. For a long time the potholes of the princely societal acceptance had haunted his smooth ride in life, making every possible bump as painful as can be. Hell cannot even hope to be so sadistic. And his state at the moment was hell. Hell to the truest form.

The ceiling fan moved silently, like a ninja slicing the air around with its assassin’s blade. The air grew old and aged as time passed in the night. Beads of sweat swarmed his face, his body, his hairy legs. The bed seemed too small to hold in his big dilemma. The sheets too tiny to keep him warm to the fullest. He had covered his face, breathing the carbon that he had exhaled only a few moments back. The darkness of the night had only but profoundly bled out dry, only to leave behind dark bruises in the atmosphere that was his room. The same room he lived, no, the same room he existed. Living is a term debatable for this sort of life. An education that has no meaning, pursuing a piece of paper that holds your dignity and walk shamefully if it cannot be achieved. This is the narrow-minded lifestyle that they all lived. His peers. His perpetrators. His parents.

He fell asleep talking to his girlfriend, knowing that he was tired. But the fever that dawned upon him knew not its limits. It wasn’t just a physical ailment; it was much more. The scars and bruises were not left on the outer shell of the human body that was his self, but deeper inside. The scars lay on his mind. The bruises painted his soul. The stink and rot of a lustful craving for self destruction had been clinging onto his back forcefully kept there for a better status in society.

But what would these social bastards know of the pains and penance a little man like him would pay for that unchecked and adulterated dignity? What would his friends know of the agony of anointing ink in the wasteful use of thoughtless words? What would the very non-existent God do if challenged about the pains? There were no answers to these rhetoric doubts that flooded him as he lay, writhing in pain.

Was it the food that sickened him? The tiring day in a disgusting place full of filthy, despicable and tasteless fools who lived only because they had a life, exhausted his living strength? What was it that troubled his soul to the extent that the physical attributes attached had to suffer like Icarus who tried only to fly. It was this. The troubles and times of past that haunted him. Mistakes that had trodden him down before, that were in effect again, at a different pace, at a different magnitude, but mistakes nonetheless.  

The Dog

Ever wonder what dogs think of when they stare at the sun?

Their lost families, their old days of fun?

The time they young and in size they were small,

Protected and loved, a litter after all!

And then one by one, each lost its way,

One adopted for love, another given away,

Some find homes, others remain astray

Like that dog who stares

At the ending of another day

But is the day at end?

Or is it her life?

The sun fades away

The day turns to night...

He had Won

He walked alone, on a desolate street, thoughts of joy churning through his mind. The sky was gloomy but his mind afresh. Filled with emotions of jolly, his feet carried him towards his destination. Stars revolved around his head, as angels and demons danced to salute him. His was a victory of pride and honor. He had earned it. He had been in utter disgrace and now, he had won.

He was a lad from a happy family. No worries or troubles even meddled with his peace. But then came that little idiot of a boy. What was his name? Aah well, it’s not necessary anymore. That Idiot, as he would always refer to him, made his college life miserable. It was his first day in college when this Idiot met him. Idiot was a senior and so, he respected him. But little did he know, that this Idiot, meant to rag him.

Well, that was in the past. That Idiot was dead now. And he killed him.

Yes, this boy who we are reading about, walking towards his destination, well, yes. He killed him.

His destination?

Insanity. Yes, it was insanity. You didn’t believe that this story was going somewhere good did you? Oh well, too bad. He grinned as he walked towards insanity.

A tiny door opened in a house at the end of the street and a wrinkled gray hand gestured him inside. He walked in. Inside was an abyss with nothingness surrounding him, with a silent deathly aura and an aroma of filth and reeking flesh. He kept smiling. He had won.

A million spider webs shot at him, entangling his limbs and body into yielding. He knelt down as huge hairy apes slapped him red and raw. He kept smiling. He had won.

Why they asked. No reply. He kept smiling. He had won.

Was it so bad? The Idiot had driven him to insanity. Yes, it was the Idiot who had tortured his whole living mental state, so much that he resorted to a mind of blood rather than beauty. Can ragging actually take you to such extreme limits?

I don’t know. Ask him! Ask him all you want. All he will do is smile. But of course, what can we say?

He had won. 

Photography Project

So this is my Photography project that I did a few months ago for college. I have used some of these pics in some of my blog posts, but I thought, hey, let this be a a separate blogpost where I can share all my pics as they are meant to be. So here it is.

For the assignment, we had to take up any social issue and make a 10 pic photo essay. I will not say more about it, I'll let my pictures speak for themselves.

Do comment your thoughts.

...The Choice is Yours.

May the Darkness guide you to Your Light!

A Reflection of Perception

I bet you all have read something in your lives. A card, a TV newsflash, a newspaper and of course, a book. We read this magnificent and complex combination of 26 letters that bring out the most beautiful of emotions and vivid pictures in our minds. A simple 26 letters that are placed in several sequences that mean something to someone, yet differ in their effect.

What is beautiful to some is pain for another What is trash to one is another's treasure. What is a murder for one is redemption for another. Perceptions guide us everywhere. Through the Light that burns us and through the Darkness thats haunts us, it is our perception that makes us who we are.

Life is but a Reflection of our Perception.

And this reflection of life in the beauty if Art is what makes Art soulful. If you must refute that art is made without soul, then there is nothing wrong, for that is the way your soul perceives the reflections of every other soul that passes by.

Simply put, a lovely picture is only lovely if you believe it to be lovely. For others, it may be but a pathetic explosion of colours.

Reflect upon what you Perceive and watch how your Perceptions have Refections on your Soul.

May the Darkness guide you to Your Light!

Utilitarian Nugatory

Ever contemplated over the convulsions of a contorting whale that swims in the simmering serenity of the violent waves of an element so beyond the existential understandings of human psyche that the planetary alignments alter the affections and afflictions while vaporising the valiant viles of our repulsive refractory residual senses that are but a part of what we call the whole. Sensibility is but the legitimate tag stamped upon what is understood by the most shallow parts of a deathly abyss that is the mind of human vivisect. To understand the very psychological patterns that we as humans seem to exhibit, try and understand that whale that was once mentioned not so long ago but a few lines prior and you will be mesmerized how senselessly stupendous this all seems, yet your elitist ego will want to find meaning in this piece so bizarre yet so cluttered with random abrasions of thoughts and ideas that may or may not hold a riddle of the eternal truth that we all wish to find but never know where to start looking from. 

May Your Darkness guide you to Your Light!