Bombay Dreams

It is just a flicker of a moment that whizzes past while you bat an eyelid, your heart stops and the emotions come crashing down on the sea beach of your conscience. Certain glimpses of a certain city make you stop short and think about the days bygone. Days spent lone in the massive throngs of a city that spares no one from its magic and cruelty. 

Dreamy is 30 years old

Dreamy is 30 and married. She dusts her bedroom window panes every alternate week, she changes pillow covers, has a bottle of Colin and a bed broom towed away in her room. She washes her clothes every now and then, dutifully hanging out the wet clothes after taking them out of the washing machine. She makes plans about investing in book cases and bedside cabinets. Sometimes she weeps into her pillow. As this happens she tries to listen to the sound of her heart breaking, but its mostly silent and unperturbed.

Not being the kind of person that plans for the future rather than dreaming about it, dreamy is still high strung on a certain version of her future. She knows not what to do because the version of future she still dreams about is the one that won't ever occur in her real life; it might though, it would be mighty sad if that future occurred but nonetheless dreams and visions are what dreamy ultimately thrives on. Its just that she is getting old, and as far as she is concerned, there is no future beyond 40.

Dreamy's Dumb Vlog - 4

Dreamy's Vlog - 2

Minuscule Diary entry

I wish I could scatter all parts of my brain into something vast.  This happiness could spread as far as the sky and beyond; these vast acres of my happiness spreading out large between the different spectrums and hues and grooves and rhythms.  Calling out as my hunger is, as physical as it could possibly be.

So why am I hungry, you might ask? It is because I ate early and will sleep late. This void in between will be filled with pangs of hunger so vast, almost as vast as my happiness could possibly be,

Wow that was some deep shit I wrote. Possibly under the severe effect of you know what. I don’t idolize and celebrate the habit, as much as I used to, when I was younger. I just take it all in. and realize how bloody good it used to feel. Yet, good as it was, it also created this huge hazy illusion of perspectives. Like truths that were created in your affected mind, truths that are far away from the real truth. Things you believe and feel all jumbled up and getting further away from the real thing. Make-believe feelings don’t go that far out, so somewhere you are bound to stumble, like suddenly getting slapped by someone you least expected from.

This feels good. Writing feels good. Things I write down for myself to read later. Maybe I will try and write a paragraph each every day. Maybe that will never happen; maybe tomorrow. 

And now a random picture of me with a waterfall for a background and suede boots for shoes.

Dreamy's Vlog - 1

Overdo

Sometimes, things are so very simple; it takes some kind of an effort to understand them. Especially when it comes to feelings, people tend to overthink so very much; it takes a double effort on their part to see a spade as a spade, nothing more nothing less. He did not love her, and that was that. What she could have done, she did not do. She could have not wasted millions of minutes overthinking, analyzing, overpreparing, and contemplating; she could have just moved on. Instead, she chose to mull. And overmull she did. As much as the  fleshy labyrinths, waves  and sinews inside her mind cried out loud for being worn and torn due to overuse and misuse, she kept on thinking.

She did achieve something out of all of this; she spoke less and lesser out of weariness, because speaking would require the wear and tear of not only her brain muscles, but also the throat. She thought it was best if she did not speak unless it was an absolute necessity, like saying “there is a queue” or “fuck your balls off” or just a simple “do not have change for 7.5 bucks” Of course, her sincerity was overtly helpful when it came to earning a paycheck per month, so it was suffice to say that she did not have much to worry about as long as it was about talent, or a career or bathing a pet on a Sunday, or saving for a marriage. All she worried about was something that deep down inside did not need no worrying, because deep down inside, she knew he did not love her; therefore, in a strangely comical and complicated way, she was very well aware of the fact that she was, basically, wasting her worry.

Humans waste so much; food, money (although THAT is hugely debatable and highly relative) talent, potential (technically impossible; if you have potential/talent you are not wasting it by not putting it to good use; again, by inhaling insane amounts of dope  and just tripping off the colours on the screen of a switched on/off TV or going meticulously through one’s own folders in one’s personal laptop or googling one’s own name again and again or trying to bake butter cookies with leftover margarine; point being, talent is not getting wasted, it is simply not being used to earn money or appreciation or both or to incite enviable amounts of jealousy in other people who ma/may not be that talented) 

This seems relevant now. I had a dream last night. While I was living through this dream, I felt an essence of something that I thought I had left far behind, since its been a whole of three full years. but then, when you experience a feeling in your dreams, you find this similarity that your gut identifies as something you have already felt, you know you haven't quite left that feeling far behind. It has stayed within you, no matter what.