Monday, 31 December 2012

Old New Year. How far is the land of happy lot? The world of Forgetting by the world forgot..

As this New Year goes back to the pavilion the Old year arrives.. (Yes, you haven't read it wrong), Nothing seems new, nothing: shattering illusions, stand like bizarre monochromatic rusted purples of attainment of self knowledge. : Let Ibsen explain if he can why the building of happy homes isn't the Ultimate destiny of man!...
 তুই চলে যাস একবার .. ছেড়ে যাস বারবার...      Solitude thrives to be a pedestal towards what "they" term: lack of psychotic neurosis I normality! I am not Unfit, Misfit serves the purpose. Existentialism runs through this freedom craving brain, engulfing yet transcending the self walled barriers of time, place consciousness.. Of the cross roads of counter culture,. Pulsating, brimming. বিষাদ বার বার হাতে হাত রাখো..ভয় নেই হারাবার যদি পাশে থাকো ...আমি যদি ভিড় হয়ে যাই।।
Self preservation and destruction are not merely antonyms, they have a conspicuous camaraderie with my sense of self. I have chosen to learn the second one. I am destructing myself, self willingly; as I say it’s an art. You gotta have guts for that. I have. I have nothing to lose. You can snatch nothing else from me. I am desperate. Lonely, without any hope of Resurrection.
I am lonely, solitary, lost contact with those who knew, Her:

Adrita may be her name. It is the time for self indulgent mavericks of self reflection... I am Solitary.. The way I desired! Yes self chosen, imposed by the circumstantial web. U term them intricacies, I put them as fate. I have blocked the doors that vowed to bring Life; again defined by You. I am indulging in the art of Self destruction. Clinging onto the old desires, Sorry Singular. Only one desire. (In no case you are going to fulfill, why do you need to know?) I just want to shut down. Close up and go away into myself for a while. I want to not exist until I'm ready to be real again. I want to be in a coma, just close my eyes and not wake up for weeks, months

ঘর কেন ঠিকানা হারায় ? কে তা জানে।

"Let us go then, you and I/ When the evening is spread out against the sky/ ---Let us go then through certain half deserted streets.. through muttering retreats." The unravinquished dilemmas do give way to the reinvention of memories. I feel like a vigil idiot at times. A saboteur of unfulfilled aspirations.

The doors won't be opened. Go away! Shoo... I am an outsider, a stranger in this strange world of furious abstractions... abbe-rations, where bridges give way to roads which crosses the lines, yet worlds never meet, roads don't give away to the doors to open up-to me and welcome. Upsetting the status-quo, have had been more exciting than following the well traveled road. Some presence of the loss, of the absence is eternal They reiterate with time. Nothing seems new, not even hopes.

Blank eyes never speak, Life at times is a sea of sounds: records Moments. People. Words. Silence is the new language. Time. Faces. Masks. Gray. Even Language dies every 14 days. I do so!...

And you want to travel with him And you want to travel blind
And you think maybe you'll trust him
For he's touched your perfect body with his mind.

I move into the world of alienation to find myself, one is company, two is crowded. I go out, for me it is exaltation, profuse, and profound. I go in Search of solitude...

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