Criss Cross Rain.
An unfinished feeling...
. . . . . . . . . .
There stood Will and Desire;
In a world where dreams are made destinations and pleasure unlimited stops;
The thought that is cast out loud belongs to you, belongs to me.
This could go on forever. If only it made sense. Be it one phrase or a whole page. There I stood in all of bleakness. For some I would see colors and the unbent will to be different and stand out from a crowd. For others it is a reality of black and white, for good and evil, for sorrow and joy, for suffering and pain, for happiness at the cost of another's misery. But for one person's thoughts echoing out loud; be you the audience, or be you in my moccasins.
It was unplanned for. But at a moment like this I was not to pass a night out on the road. With company I delighted and the ambiance I sought. The speed started accelerating and being at the back seat somehow I felt fear. The power of unchallenged swift beckons fault. I could only pray that the wheel was still sane. But I could not deny that I too felt the angst of the driver that night. Reaching our desired stop; anticipation and observation. And walking with my guard up and feeling all eyes averted towards the moving crowd of four, each step was taken in poise. It was a moment of blending into the scene and of insecurity. It was a moment of stepping into the third person's watch and judging. It was a moment of seeking temporary certainty. If I were to sit and surround myself with conscious walls I would perhaps say that the atmosphere was superficially disgusting. But to be part of the crowd and assert your own existence whether the world around you is shut or whether you stand on a stage is an opposing stance. To be or not to be?
The beats just filled my veins. But consciousness brings me back like awaking from a dream where you dreamt of waking up but you're only dreaming of waking up; and it goes on and on.
. . . . . . . . . . .
10.09.07- Unwell and annoyed. Useless cravings of sweet things; I steal a bite of chocolate but taste nothing. The hush-hush excitement burning anxiety. September breezes and freak wind storms. I have so much and yet nothing to say. I want to be filled with that feeling again. It's so far.
This is one of the many unpublished drafts and incomplete post...heck, bon apatite* There stood Will and Desire;
In a world where dreams are made destinations and pleasure unlimited stops;
The thought that is cast out loud belongs to you, belongs to me.
This could go on forever. If only it made sense. Be it one phrase or a whole page. There I stood in all of bleakness. For some I would see colors and the unbent will to be different and stand out from a crowd. For others it is a reality of black and white, for good and evil, for sorrow and joy, for suffering and pain, for happiness at the cost of another's misery. But for one person's thoughts echoing out loud; be you the audience, or be you in my moccasins.
It was unplanned for. But at a moment like this I was not to pass a night out on the road. With company I delighted and the ambiance I sought. The speed started accelerating and being at the back seat somehow I felt fear. The power of unchallenged swift beckons fault. I could only pray that the wheel was still sane. But I could not deny that I too felt the angst of the driver that night. Reaching our desired stop; anticipation and observation. And walking with my guard up and feeling all eyes averted towards the moving crowd of four, each step was taken in poise. It was a moment of blending into the scene and of insecurity. It was a moment of stepping into the third person's watch and judging. It was a moment of seeking temporary certainty. If I were to sit and surround myself with conscious walls I would perhaps say that the atmosphere was superficially disgusting. But to be part of the crowd and assert your own existence whether the world around you is shut or whether you stand on a stage is an opposing stance. To be or not to be?
The beats just filled my veins. But consciousness brings me back like awaking from a dream where you dreamt of waking up but you're only dreaming of waking up; and it goes on and on.
. . . . . . . . . . .
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