getting comfortable in things not spoken or a) rambling on about current feelings b) trying to incorporate something ontologically philosophical in them

it is strange what you may feel; you are intimate with the non-intimate passive-aggression,
I guess this is how bullied will always feel like — that you feel for something that may not
matter in the long run; you feel abused because it is strange…how people hate, how people
can learn to hate…it makes you think…should hate be a form of ambition for them?

you are not alone in the pub. Yet you are one of the few who don’t drink, that is actually not
an outsider thing to do, remember that, you could be designated walker and driver for all that
is mentioned and shared. You have to adhere to what you believe and your beliefs, religious or secular, they matter. Seeing people get drunk with talk is sweet wine for the one who is warmed
by interaction…yet, a small voice says, are you the odd one out? Not for drinking, not for skins,
it’s just you with your eccentric way of saying things — even if your accent is as perfect. Maybe,
it’s just you…have fun…your small confidences light others’ too as Williamson once said. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful, as she said, powerful more than we can measure and sometimes our light, our power, threatens others, who have only lived with their inadequacies, not their light, they fear
to be liberated for that would be the responsible thing to do than sulking in one’s own shame and fears. You don’t have to be responsible for them either, don’t fall into the trap that you need to be loved by everyone…what should you gain from love from people who may not know love? If they willing to learn, teach, but it is also mostly self-taught, so you cannot patronise either. One of those pretty sacred things, nothing profane or impure nor pure in being superiority complex can really reach it…hang around the sun, the moon, the clouds, the stars and any meteors and odd curvatures of light…you will reach places…

and the places you reached, will not have people who hurt you
and the places you reached, will not chart all the editions of yourself you did not want
and the places you reached, will polish you with all the organic you needed sans plastics
you will have yourself in footnotes and bibliographies of nostalgia and you know what
it’s perfectly sane to carry on your past, but it is insane to let it rupture you completely.
You should rupture to regenerate not to lose yourself and feel lost…what can you feel with
putting yourself feeling lost? Is it always the feeling you need? Your destination may be unambiguous
but need not be undefined as in the now-present, feeling a bit sure but having immediate purpose is a good destination for now.

if you feel you have lost enough, then you have, you won’t lose more
the universe does not keep random quotas of punishing you nor does it keep
an incensed brow to spit on your happiness, your sadness may be meant to be fuel for later happinesses or awarenesses, your happinesses may lead to some sadnesses too, however,
not all the time. Your emotions have too much meaning for a simple x and y graph with the vectors all
aligned — you can be good at the things needed to be good at if you try as talent is a cultivated institution as well, not to feel all is haplessly cornered and squared into genetics. Even if you suffer from a condition know that the condition can be transmuted and put into what you are learning or wanting to learn  — it is perfect way to be an original without feeling the need to try too hard. Hard enough and soft enough.—

I  rambled on and may keep on rambling on. For rambling on sometimes is needed. We are too immured at times to the feelings of non-confessions, non-pathologies, isolated simplicities of being a “normal product” — even if normal may just be a few gestures, a few vowels, not all, to the consonant to each person’s abecedarian inclinations and formations.

We must remember we are uniquely shaped even by the same experiences.—

survival via paragraphs.—

How I feel, is not necessarily connected to what I would prefer to think
How I operate, is not necessarily my personality;
I am clueless, a writer’s block in motion
“cock-cunt” blocking my potentials that I did not know
— do not know, how to exactly cultivate…
and I feel lonesome all the time…lonesome in my blood
like some odd sterile-vaccination to another incubation
an incubation that waits in the wings; I am a mouth full
of disjointed feathers; corporeal but not blood-stained
they inhibited the concept of death, in my mouth the feathers
waxen and wane like flowers in bloom and they recycles as
cat-got-tongue sort of feats…I am just sad, I am just lonely,
I lost that person close to me — Abbu, Dad, I don’t want to believe
that you don’t walk beside me — that all these journeys are now
mine alone. And I am not happy always alone. I feel angry.
This month I had procrastinated to daydream — been unable to
fit the home model of me in this new home. And it does hurt.

But who is willing to understand?

Not everyone will get it. They manage. They think you will. The same.
the same ways; nothing new — as the human world forgot the existences
of biodiversity. I have been unmade or made into plankton. Into a unicellular being by ennui and loneliness. I can’t withstand this need to be more as I do not know how the future will be cunning — how it takes my fate with a grain of salt? I will be the Red Sea motherfucker you will see how I wash you with salt and caribous and whales and I am not going to make a whale of and effort doing so — I am lost but have not lost. I feel cold but I am not numbed yet bastards! I did not wish to be trouble but I became trouble because I always yearn for what other people are taught to detach — the search of intimacies, the search of love, the search of sacred sex, a life beyond gendered expectations. I think people use all that is normative as manipulations, as fetishisms, but I do not know honestly how to be honest with those — I could only be me and outlast the lingering eye of discriminatory tastes. I yearn to talk, to think, to not be betrayed by obscene friends who had lived a life but chose to thwart mine.

I know I am no poetry in motion.

That I was chipped from the start, weakened already, I am no IQ wonder no genius in a refrain, waiting for a right chord to strike. I have no serpent’s tooth, no cunning fox with no tale. How I operated was survival and lacking what I needed to survive at best. How I feel is just the dregs of disatisfaction. Nothing in me on this was apt to binary. I was happy too to have heating when the minus degrees struck and food in the fridge. I wished I knew how to transmute disappointments in life as talismans of the future. Or, maybe I am learning the art but have not mastered it enough yet? — I hear distant city-life outside, echoing, wailing, demanding to be heard. Am I demanding to be heard?  — I am wailing on poetry, but the poem was also a soft pinch on your thigh, a flirtatious revenue to ask “look, at me, I am talking, but I also look nice when I breathe.” I am like the existential ugly duckling, waiting to swan and swan dive out of abyss, into it and peripheries and centers and all. Clipped wings may be coined for the so-called well grounded. I rather file them, adjust the bluntness and sharpness, so that walking, floating and flying can be done with chimerical speed. I speed into God; I know God will speed into me…—

confession (i)

I didn’t know that studying abroad would be a lonely experience. I am just into the experience so I am not sure how the entire experience will be; yet. And I notice people have more boundaries than me. There are a lot of cool White and Black people – people of Asiatic origins and such and I desire, hunger to talk to them. Talking and intimacy has always been an integral part of me. My being cannot resist it. It gravitates towards it as its gravitas.  People are just good at hiding or at bearing shyness. I cannot. I do not know silences that stretch due to stranger strangeness; due to anonymity. For me, I feel everyone is an adventure waiting to be explored; a university of individualism wishing to be learned and interacted with. Human to be humanly and humanely encountered and understood. But I know many people will seldom look at others this way. In a sea of bodies I am just well, just another body. Not even an attractive one. I am new. My freshness stinks like cleaning soap, disinfectant, like some form of ripeness that has ripened with the irresistible tug of the green. The men and women here are beautiful and presentable. They look healthy, fit, accustomed to walking. They have developed really clean and well attired aesthetics. I saw a woman from East Asia or East Asian origin with painted full lips – colour of poppies and blood crushed into the metaphor of richness and life. I envied here. I am plump. My skin breaks. I am not a beauty. My hair is the wires of a mess, cables of neural electricity refusing to find sockets or comfortable patterns. The climate here is colder. More foreign. My skin has broken with it. I am a noob. The gamer term encapsulates me and my personhood perfectly. I am a noob and it reeks off me like dying fish on some forgotten sands.  I have no sense of direction. Today, I was a bit in shock at looking at an official registration form that asked for my sexual orientation. It was a well definable space; a well defined definition to a sexuality. That hasn’t happened before. It was beautiful. But also a bit difficult to process. Then I giggled like a teen. I am in my 20’s. I am older than most people in my dorm or my class. But compared to them I am stupid. I am a social invalid. I am always at awe at how beautifully people do day to day things. I can’t do anything like that. Not yet anyway.

I was spoiled. Sheltered unreasonably. But where I am from many middle class or upper middle class people are like this; so are high class people. We don’t count money fast. We don’t know how to cook. We don’t know how to clean a bathroom. It just is. It just was. Imagine me. A sheltered weird creature among people who already know what they want from life. What they need in life. How to carve out their individuality. How to carve soul and identity into both paper and flesh. You may be disgusted by it. Rightfully so. I apologise for being so incapable. So immature. Yet, it was so fostered into me. So ingrained. I knew it was problematic but lacked the means to obliterate it. I do not know what sort of creature I am. I am not aware how to live. I am lesser than a baby. I am like Kyle XY without the brains. I am just me. A stupid. But I love the city. I love the openness. I love the liberalness. Love the scope of magnitude of chaos and harmony. Buildings here astound me. I am from such a backward land. I am not really even acquainted with online ordering. I have had so many privations. They are not so private or public. They just existed. I walk so much now. I love it. I wish I could share the walking with a beau. I wish I was beautiful enough both inwardly and outwardly; more strong enough, more efficient enough to be a proper human being. But I am not. And I am sad I was made into this half-formed thing. This failure. This tragedy. This inconsolable invalid.  I wish I could love more freely. Be decent enough to love.

I am like a carnival attraction. I am so carnivalesque. Maybe I look odd to others. Today I wanted to shake hands with a girl in a lecture. She seems uncomfortable and uninterested; she had bright red hair, coloured as a cherry. She spoke on Jeanette Winterson. On gender. And I didn’t impress her. I was just there. I was just an odd person. The guy who sat next to me just walked away not caring of me. And my flatmates don’t seem to think I am great either. I feel like the fool. The jester everyone encounters but is so scenic that no one would really pay attention to know. I feel so inadequate. In brains. Beauty. Aesthetics. Brains…I just feel kinda lost.

I don’t know if I am good. Or even decent. I just wish that the “me” I am can change, can evolve, can adapt and become better for myself. Also, for others. I just feel lost and the wideness of this urban wilderness both scares me and tantalises me. I wanna be found and rescued by myself. I wanna meet my spirit, my animal, my spirit-animal. I just want to be more than what I am now