Who Will Stop Me?

Today morning I reread all that I’ve been writing (or probably just scribbling) all these days. It was a terribly sad feeling I touched my heart to, I was such a fool to pen all that; why the hell did I do it? I know this is never a question to be answered though, though I am definitely going to make it appear before me every time I sit down to write. (Truly ironic I still desire to put my life in words.) I initially used to think  (deceive myself) that I write for satisfaction, but I know it is not at all that way; I am not satisfied……no I am not; just that I am happy, for sometime, until I sit again. It is so short lived; …..The water bubbles last longer….so lucky indeed they are (now I know there is no such thing as luck, just wanted to show what I feel for them). I wish I could just keep on writing till the end of my time, but I just don’t get a reason why I should be fulfilling that wish.

I remember very well the day I drew my first blood (now I am not going to give the date…..I don’t want to count it now; I am sorry I am in no mood to do it); it was the letter I wrote with no justifiable reason. I didn’t even knew that I was going to get so much into my next days here. And here I am; today……In the worst of the moods I ever had seen in 19 years (I just don’t know if they were long or short). I clearly know why I am writing this today – just for the sake of it…..just to fill a few pages and get in a new thing posted onto my blog.

But I know that some beautiful day - when God thinks I should get a gift, I am ready to die for (I don’t know what I am writing…..my words are just flowing, just bear with me) – I am surely going to thank that person – the living reason for that letter. I know it’s simply going to be ludicrous to do so; it’s just that I don’t want to take credit for a thing I had done for someone else. But I again know I must be deceiving realty again; that beautiful day is never going to come; until unless I die for it; but if I die, when I am rendered lifeless, how can I thank that person? It’s awfully rubbish of me.

Then came my series of other postings (you see I use the word series here) – usually twice a week – I was just an idiot to do that (right now I feel like hitting my head onto my computer screen). But I do remember very well all that shit I did to scribble that crap – being awake till 2 in the mornings, breaking my head on simple logics I could never manipulate, suffocating myself with the pillow perfumed with the blood of my knowledge. I remember the moments I wasn’t able to complete easy paragraphs – the fear to read what I was willing to pen down was enormous that I just wouldn’t force myself to do it. I remember how rough I felt my hand when I touched my forehead to wipe the sweat – the sweat so salty that I’d have been dead if I had to taste it. And of course the unbearable pain in my head – the think tank. (Even now I feel that thing up in there – as if I am bearing all the weight of the skies on my strength-less neck; it’s pressing me so hard down to the floor that the pain runs right through my weak body up till the toes)

Then after enduring all that…..what do I get? A couple of pages filled with junk words aligned rhythmically and proudly just to be proclaimed as pure emotions? Is that all I get? And by the way, is there anything more I want from those worthless baubles? Ya, I call them baubles…..!

And then of course, the show time; it is read by so many of my (the word here is italicized; it means more that what it can). Some of them praise me and some say nothing…….and lo! I am happy, satisfied. Then after that arrive the words – the words that make me desire deafness (I’ve already told you I don’t know what I am writing; all I know is that I am writing. Yes, I am writing). The words say “have you written this all by yourself?” Damn it! Who the hell wrote them then? I saw pain, I felt pain, to formulate all that and I am being mocked at. (Can’t even use the F-word here!....nuts!) Is this what I was writing for?

But who cares; I have said it myself so many times “I write for myself”. But now…..read my lips (I know you can’t, I am sorry), I am saying something; “I DON’T WRITE FOR MYSELF”. Yes, now you have a question for me, right? Believe me; even I don’t have an answer for that. Interesting, I know it’s very interesting and foolish too.

I have drawn many first blood and since then (don’t ask me since when) my downfall had begun (I got no idea form where I am falling, but I know I am falling). But all I can tell you is that I hate the taste of this blood. I hate what I had drawn out of life. Yes, I know that it’s a rather vague statement, and that the validity that it contains is merely a bunch of words that I’ve spoken before.

I always try to be so much; I ask for the best out of my behavior; I work with tears to become the man I want to be…..what do I get then? Satisfaction, just that…..what do I do with it. I am going to carry that to my grave? I am sick of being so satisfied with these short lived trinkets. I want a life to be with me – not mine – though; and I know it’s never going to be with me. Guess why; because I am something beyond madness. Feel like laughing…..go ahead. Someone has said this to me, and I know it’s true.

Every time I search for a name I get that word in my mouth; every time I stretch my palms, I can touch it’s warm breath; every time I feel my heart beating, I feel it’s presence (for my heart is not inside me anymore). Now I am not going to write a few more examples just to express the fire in my belly. As you can see I am just trying to fill a few pages. I might really be mad by doing so. Actually, yes, I can be a sort of beyond madness too. Nuts!

When I was just deciding what to write today, I had thought of many nice and warm poetic lines; but now they hurt me. They are definitely the lines I fear to read. I don’t want to be a professional writer, writing with an objective of attaining sublimity.

I am definitely happy now. What kills me is the tomorrow I am going to see. I am definitely eager to have it in front of my eyes (may be I am not)…..but what if I see myself as a looser. No, I don’t want to be a loser. I want to win everyday of my life. I want life.

I think I now feel like ending this senseless talk I am typing. I am sorry I had to write this. Maybe you were expecting something else, something like a routine, I always write. Believe me I know I am making a mistake by posting this, but what can I do, I need something to post! And of course, I am going to get back to my regular writing very soon. I like doing it.

And yeah,…. the title, “Who Will Stop Me?”. I just mean to ask everybody if there is someone who is going to stop me from writing ideas hated and opposed by the world. You know that generation gap, clash of ideologies, etcetera, etcetera,…..all those things come up; I am not going to care for them. I’ll be on my own – an individual - irrespective of my wants and desires; to hell  with them. One day I am going to prove myself that I don’t need that thing. Yes I’ll do that, even if it means killing my conscience. I just hope I am not deceiving myself.

The heaviness in my eyes is too much now with tears desperately trying to fall down. But before I close this, please allow me tell you one thing – never fall in love with that TYPE of things. Please, I want you to be happy, very happy.

I am sorry.
(Just felt like saying this.....no idea why I felt that way…..ENOUGH.)