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PurpleKnickers : Wet Mud, Warm Roses and Amazing Grace.

Posted by Purple Knickers On July - 6 - 2010

What is it that scares you most?
Is it the infinitude of black that will consume you in your death?
Is it the realization of your utter dispensability in the larger scheme of things? The realization that the world will continue to spin without you, the universe- continue to hum, your friends and lovers continue to live, regardless of your absence? I understand this fear because I have seen it- precipitated on the pale foreheads of the dying, their  clammy fingers holding on to yours, in a desperate attempt to grasp any last wisps of life.
But for inexplicable reasons, I was never afraid. Not for them, not for myself.
Ever since I was a child, my understanding of death far superseded my understanding of life, but I wish I had more of a grasp of the latter. And yet it eludes and I am left, always, with the scent of miasma looming over my waking self; with wet mud, warm roses and worms- more real in their decadence than the six senses of a blooming life.

I fear that the only real permanence in life is death; not love, not roses, not beauty. I fear that that there is too much beauty, and my body- too little to contain it.  I fear that it will all escape me, like each syncopated breath that leaves my mouth, like grains of sand that slip through my fingers.

I fear that I will live a little less because I do not fear death at all.

So I do what I must- I run; not away, but alongside, so I can stay on par with what is already fleeting.  Life. I fear life, because it is more magnanimous, more mysterious than death, and yet there is nothing within in that will not crumble to dust. There is nothing that will remain untouched, untainted- not even love- the very purpose of my existence. And like all other mortal facets, I find my memory fleeting, I find myself forgetting even this- my fondest memories that I must love, and hold on to my love until I am lying in my casket, as only providence for wet mud, warm roses and worms, only another crumb of dirt that you will tread upon, someday, in your fearful walk towards the end.

They begin the same- our life, our death- with a tunnel and a brute force, an intermittent dance of shadow and light that delivers you into a vacuous unknown.

So why is it that I was more scared to arrive than I will be to depart?

PurpleKnickers : Don’t Have A Cow, Be One.

Posted by Purple Knickers On April - 30 - 2010

Remember all those weird, pointless quizzes we took as kids?
‘What colour are you?’
‘What animal are you most like?’
Well, today I saw a lonely cow standing on a pavement in the city.
She was so bizarrely out of place, so oblivious to her alienation, so bolted to her spot, that I thought- fuck yes, I am most like a cow.

Read the rest of this entry »

PurpleKnickers : The Wall.

Posted by Purple Knickers On March - 12 - 2010

As I watched you
Walk into my soul,
I knew it’d be hard
To give you away
One day,
Like I had to give
Everything away before.
I fought you,
I fought me.
Coz I didn’t want to know
What you already believed,
Coz I didn’t want to touch
What you could already feel.
I was afraid,
Of what? You asked,
Of you and me.
And of all the things
That you couldn’t see,
And of all the people
That I could never be.
So I shut my eyes
And ran away,
I ran and ran
And went astray.
But I came back
One day
Just for you,
Only to find
That your love wasn’t true.
And you had changed
And you had gone,
And I was still standing
Perfectly torn.
So, I stood and watched
As you walked out of my soul,
Leaving the door open,
Burning a black hole.
And I stood there
Letting you go
Watching you leave
From my glass window.
And when you had left
And all had gone,
I looked around to see
That I was all alone.
So I got up and left
And walked to the wall,
Holding it against my body
Cold and tall,
And I pressed myself,
Pressed and pressed
Till I was nothing
But just another
Shadow on the wall.

PurpleKnickers : Passé Exposé.

Posted by Purple Knickers On March - 5 - 2010
I went into a self-imposed solitude -a modern day adaptation of hermitude, a hiatus of sorts. A social stillness. I’d steady my breathing and pick fights with the universe. I’d brood over the transgressions of the human race, the consistent disappointment, the selfish fucking assholes that they all are. I’d coerce myself into a frenzy of figuring out the world and figuring out myself. I was angry at everything. I think somehow, what I was most upset about was that the world carried on without me.
Ah, emo me is so boring.

We derive so much of ourselves from our primary circle of friends. We absorb them, saturating our souls with the essence of everyone we care about. But what if you aren’t loved in return? Would you dry up and blow away? Or would you find yourself -and find fortitude and tenacity?

I used to pride myself on my easy introversion. I attributed it to my happy-by-default personality. But is a personality trait enough to get me by; and how long could that last anyway?

Me? The frightening find is that underneath the cold bravado I attempt to exhibit, I’m more alone than I’d like to admit. And I can’t do it, I can’t do life on my own. None of us can. It is why I can admit without shame that this hiatus was a failed experiment. That is why I’m getting back to life. It’s why I’m going back to the people I love. The ones I’ve pushed away so far I can’t even see them anymore. It’s why I’m telling them, through this post even though they probably won’t ever read it, that I love them immensely and I need them more than they could know. This is to tell them that I’ll always be grateful that they were in my life at all and even more so if they continue to be.

P.S : This is a special shout out to LiL’ Godfather, Dolly, Dolly senior, Papa Roach, Mr. Grumpy, Filter and Brudder Stonner too.

P.P.S : Smoking pot gets me senti. Vaat To Dooo.

PurpleKnickers : It’s A High Knock Life.

Posted by Purple Knickers On March - 2 - 2010

Last year Papa Roach did a little piece about “Bhaang” and how in my part of the world it’s used to get high on festival days. One festival day was celebrated yesterday with people on the streets throwing water, splashing colors, running riot etc. It’s a little ball that is mixed with dried fruits and milk which doesn’t really hit you until you realize it’s too late.

I was woken at 11.15 am on a public holiday and I was FURIOUS ! The conversation went as follows :
Friends : “Hey! Yo! We’re down in your building. We have some bhaang”.
Me : “Are you out of your mind? I just woke I’m not coming down”.
Friends : “Well you have milk anyway for breakfast at least have some milk that will get you high”.
Me : “Good point. Wait”.

I walk down only to be greeted by two idiots with a huge bucket of water but they did have the promised bhaang. By 12 I was buzzing. We ran around drenched, I was rolled around in the muck, had eggs broken on my head etc. As we sat around smoking ( the hash was the size of a tennis ball ) we decided since it was an occasion, we need to bring out the Italian custom made Chillum.

We now reach the HIGHLIGHT of my story which is , for the first time in my life I smoked a chillum last evening. A chillum is like a bong. I watched with fascination as they cleaned out this chillum like they were making sweet love to this piece of art. I took my first hit and actually tasted the difference. Not much tobacco, the mix was done perfectly and the high was insane. After 5 hits I could feel the munchies creeping in so I somehow made my way home, ate and passed out ! 😀

PurpleKnickers : Because I got high…no seriously !

Posted by Purple Knickers On February - 23 - 2010

Sometimes you tend to do stupid things and other times you tend to do things stupidly. After smoking a biggie with some friends I hadn’t seen in a long long time. Super stoned I decided to go and check my mail before heading home as my computer was being fixed. To my bad luck, the internet place was right at the side of a tattoo parlor. So in my high state I’m contemplating on getting a tattoo. I go into the internet place, check my mail and in 10 mins I was out and staring at the tattoo place like an orphan child waiting outside for some food. It doesn’t help that I know the owners so one of them comes out and we’re talking and he goes “Hey ! Long time what’s up”. I go “Nothing man, just smoked some and thinking of getting a tattoo but I’m too high but I definitely want to pierce something….just got the kicks of it”. He goes “Okay, come inside, I’ll show you all the places of your body you can pierce and then you can pick one”. So I go in, still high as a kite and I’m sitting on the chair I’m like “Okay let’s do this. Sharpen up your needle and LET’S DO THIS !”.

I got high. Then I got pierced. Unnecessary. Ah what the hell, at least it didn’t hurt much.

PurpleKnickers : I Fought With War, War Won.

Posted by Purple Knickers On February - 13 - 2010

Spirals split from the lips of a stranger,
I inhale, I choke,
But not from the smoke,
It’s from the promises I scream,
The realities I dream,
The clarity I need,
The chance to be free.

Far from the prism of your life,
I’m colourless glass,
And I won’t respite,
Despite your attempts,
To adore, cure, restore,
Hearts in motion,
The sanctity’s broken,
A girl has woken who won’t settle for less,
Caress, Impress.
But will tease, weave,
A web of diseased love.
You’re caught in a trap, Led by a map,
The truth or the prize,
I’m the easiest lie.

Rehash, Clash,
Smash the binds that hold us together,
I won’t subvert,
You can’t coerce me,
Into rekindled love,
To hearts as one,
I’m far above.

Vapid, vanquished, valiant or vile –
Words that describe you though you’re in denial.
You back your naive needs, with pallid pleas,
You tug, you pull and plug the leak,
In my fissured brain,
But my cranium’s drained,
Of thoughts of you,
Imprints from the past,
It’s over at last.

PurpleKnickers : My Unwritten Life.

Posted by Purple Knickers On January - 24 - 2010

As a writer my job is to bring to the surface all of the thoughts that a common average person thinks but cannot express. I formulate the sentences that would relate to what someone is experiencing but cannot find the words to lay them out on a platter for the world to see. I do that. I write roles for people, I write situations, I write the problem and I write the solution.

My life is a set of well orchestrated words. My blogs aren’t filled with my shenanigans on how much pot I smoke or how often I do it. It’s more the thoughts that run through my head when I’m at that high. Sometimes even when I’m not.

I wonder why I’m still blogging here. I haven’t in sometime because I don’t usually just blog for the sake of me having to say something. I just do it when I have something to say. I’m writing now because I think I can say in the past one month I’ve lived more on the edge than I ever have in my entire life and I love it.

I’ve always been the kind of person who needs to know what is happening, where it’s leading to, have a backup plan in case my initial plan fails and then go one step further to have a backup plan in case my backup plan fails to work. In another term you could call me a “Control Freak”. But I’ve finally learned what “letting go of your inhibitions” actually means. I’ve lived in a bubble wrapped world my entire life. Shielding myself away from people, not wanting to get too close, not wanting to give them the power to hurt you but if there’s one thing I’ve learned is when you build walls you not only shut people out, you also fence yourself in. Sitting alone in a fenced world is a lonely place to be.

Sometimes you meet people who are nothing you’ve ever wanted but everything you ever need. People who are your tug out of the lurch. People go through life making plans. At 25 I will be married. At 30 I shall have my dream job. At 40 I will join an exclusive club. People are always trying to write out their own destinies. It’s my job to write and after a whole lot of trial and test methods I have realized that there is nothing known as a perfect story. Just badly written ones. The ones you don’t write about are the ones worth remembering. It’s a tad hypocritical since I document close to everything but now I’m not going to document what I want, just what makes me happy. All I needed was the tug out of the lurch to realize that you are special, precious and don’t let anyone make you believe otherwise.

Yes I was burned but I called it a lesson learned
Mistake overturned
So I call it a lesson learned
My soul has returned
So I call it a lesson learned
Another lesson learned
.
–                                 Alicia Keys.


PurpleKnickers : Tick Tock!

Posted by Purple Knickers On January - 8 - 2010
I’m a junkie for love and I’m assiduously looking for a fix.
It used to be as easy as a heartbeat.
Expand, contract, expand, contract, expand.
Like clockwork, 72 times a minute.
That was all it took to keep me alive.
Now there’s 5 ft 4 inches of me and not enough life pumping through these tiring arteries.
Not enough hope. Not enough courage. Not enough passion. Not enough tenacity. Not enough spirit.
Now I’m bleeding love into every letter and every playlist.
Out of the multitude of people who cross paths with me, so few will have a lasting impact on my own. As it is with all things, people come and people go.
Now there’s love, but never enough.
One of these days, I’ll find what I’m looking for. In the interim, I search relentlessly for the next love but in that search I’ve come across my temporary  drug – the next perfect high.

If I close my eyes long enough, will you appear?

Or w0uld I just fall asleep waiting?

If I sleep long enough will you appear?
Or would I wake up from waiting?

You used to know a girl who had wind swirling in her hair when she laughed. You used to know a girl who knew the words to every song they played. You used to know a girl who was as porous as the pages she filled.

Life hit. Hearts split. I’m not her.

PurpleKnickers : Earthquake.

Posted by Purple Knickers On December - 29 - 2009

You need to count the cracks.
You need to keep track of them- where they came from, how big they’re getting, which parts they’re touching.
But how do you do it? How do you create a population census for cracks you never knew were there? Those borne and conceived in the darkest corners, those that never registered upon your waking self. Those that slink around the corners, like illegitimate daughters you never knew existed- that showed up at your doorstep, without you knowing when or how they came into existence. Cracks. Like undetected tumours, like growing leakages behind the couch, like dirty old perverts waiting in the shadows.

You need to count the cracks, but you can’t. You really can’t. So you wait for them to arrive, to really arrive. You wait for something to blow, to break and then you try to figure out which crack did it.
Was it the crack of your parents’ broken relationship? The crack of unrequited love? The crack of your own broken heart, of consumerist society, corruption, poverty, the crack of your heart not being as ready as your body? the Gen X crack, the Indigo crack, the crack of Ascension, Living Death, dying gurus, dying pets, dying friendships, the crack of loveless lives, your ailing mother, karma or the lack thereof?

Or maybe it’s a crack that was always there. Bigger than all the others collectively, bigger than you, bigger than the universe, than life itself; a dark magic that possesses you more than anyone or anything ever could.

Lick, Roll, Burn.

In our little pot world, we can safely remove our happy faces, the pretend masks that sometimes we have on for so long it’s who we think we are.

It’s time to return to my concrete jungle now, but I’ll be back.

Every little earthquake,
Every little heartbreak,
Going unheard,
Every little landslide,
Catch it in my hand,
I won’t say a word.

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