poetry ain't an art, it's a state of mind, fool!!

I never gave you the keys,

so i'm confused why you're in here.

I've always kept my door shut,

even if nothing was there.

I never gave you the keys,

yet now there's not 1, not 2 but many of you here.

And truth be told, i really hope you stay,

or come again tomorrow, or even later today.

Cause you all are the light that was sorely missing,

the music that makes my heart go a sizzling,

Fuck keys and thanks to those who ignored my unfriendly signs,

leaving ineffable traces of sweet wine,

cannon bombs of fun,

and flourishing flowers under the sun.

in return, Love, is the best i can do,

expressing and living it true.

just something i wrote right now in the delhi heat cause i had a case of irrepressible beauty, which someone probably left behind, but i had to let it out.  some people quite simply and cheesily, inspire me to become the best, nicest person i can be and i feel so blessed to have met such people. even when times are hard, i just need to remember about these velvet smooth souls, and that'll remind me what i'm living for, velvet. i wonder if my capacity to love has just increased, or people's loving feelings have increased recently. whatever it is there's some mad magic in the air, and i can't stop sniffing it, especially cause i now have wicked yogic breath thanks to india by way of yoga, except sometimes when i have nasal problems which is an issue i briefly brushed upon in my penultimate post.

It's mad hot here...

it's the ma-h-nnnn i can't wait to get a beer kind of hot. it's the is it just me or are all the glasses inadequate and inappropriately sized cause i'm going to need at least five of these hot. the can't i sit in my bed at night without having to drench my shirt in sweat hot and the how many shirts do i need to buy so i still have clean ones by the end of the day hot. the just sitting causes super sweaty thighs, causing sticky clingy clothes, causing let me subtly but obviously grab my underwear and try to extract it from my butt awkward motion all the time hot, the damn have liquids always tasted this good?!?! hot, the sorry earth, usually i don't like showering but now i just gotta take them all the time hot, the how close can i get to the ceiling fan while still being safe? hot, the if you're keeping that bus window to keep your hairdo straight i'm going to punch you hot, the i use my sweat for salt now hot, the if you don't shut up right now i'm just going to have to punch you hot, the "pardon? could you be so kind to help me unzip my skin" hot, the i'm going to punch you because it's hot hot, the punching my self to supplant heat with pain hot, the suns gonna knock me out hot, and it's the, and it's the, it's the, it's the aaaaaahhhhhgggghhhh. naw, it's pretty hot but i think i'm-a-gonna be alright.

but seriously, i'm going to punch if you mention how hot it is again.

What it takes.

Some people go on soul searching journeys, traversing through foreign landscapes to shake off the familiar past that hounds and haunts. Others dive under the cover of a dark heavy blanket that drugs provide, the brief seconds of comfort slithering through their evaporating fingers as they get on their knees and cup their hands to salvage the moment's ease while tragically prostrating to the overwhelming pain. And yet others turn to self inflicted pain, trying to supplant the uncontrollable hurt each breath causes, despondently descending the spiral stairs of melancholy, their wounds a mouth opening towards the sky as if a receptacle loyally waiting for heaven's gifts; the wound only understands the language of blood though, and any opening where joy can whisper its thoughts is oozed over by the viscous wings of blood as it hunts down its weakened prey. Like decapitated chickens, we aimlessly thrash our existence against the throbbing walls of grief's labyrinth, grappling with the pain that dominates the landscape like looming thunderclouds with no end in sight.

For me though, apparently all it took was some pigeon shit to find the exit.

Side note. i just realized this blog has a fair amount of references to bodily gunk. I'm usually not this way, i swear!!

This all happened as I was walking towards the park for my usual, writing, reading and hand-standing session after my 6:30 am Yoga course. As i was walking down the sleepy yet vibrant streets where the pleasant breeze of spring's last breath gently stirs summer's sleepy yawn, I heard a small splatter, a delicate hole opening in the universe, the breaking point of fragility. It was a strangely familiar sound and its irregularity blended in completely with regularity, like a delicate rose rising through the cracks of concrete pavement. As if i discovered one detail that suddenly makes an obscure painting legible, I suddenly felt heavy weights come off my shoulder, the overbearing universe's weight imploding with that pop, and i could suddenly raise my head and get lost in the expansive unconditionally-empathetic sky.

I looked towards the source of the sound and i saw star shaped bird poop resigningly sprawled on the ground. Clenching my hand into a triumphant fist, i mumbled to myself "today is going to be a good day." If i had walked just a little bit faster that shit would have been chilling in my hair, like the ganga chills in Krishna's, only not really at all. I know this sounds weird but in all honesty it felt like a breakthrough in my thought process, the definitive kodak moment, the proverbial cha-ching instant. Not that i've been stuck in a whirling black hole of negativity, but i did see myself pinned to a bad spell that at times seemed would never let me go. I don't know if it was just my mentality but recently i've also felt like i've been a victim to chance's fickle disposition one too many times so early in the year. A recent regular recipient of Timing's unwanted drop offs of coincidences delivered in a jenga-esque haphazard manner, i've found myself cluelessly standing on the wrong side of falling timber. But post-pop, post-bird shit Ian is different; without fully understanding it, at that point i viscerally knew that i had escaped from chance's infinite mischiefs.  Or at least i'm going to try my hardest to believe in the spiritual answer that bird shit will give me, and i will squeeze as much substance as i can out of that thing.

There's still a lot of uncertainty that wafts in the horizon. Just the thought that time and distance's incessant gales blew us apart still gives me the pangs. But in all honesty, i know i'm really lucky and i should just suck it up and appreciate what i have, which is already way more than i deserve anyways. so maybe through this, through the words of friends that help you be, through the birds' chirpings that float on the winds, i think i'm now ready to believe this was all just a kind of reality check, a balancing of accounts that maybe needed to happen one way or another. Kelsey also parted these wise words with me that's given me quite a bit of perspective. She said "everything is going to be okay. It's just going to take a little longer than i thought." well i say, Truuu dat. In the end, time's relentless normality will steamroll over my emotion's stubborn wrinkles and i'll put my ironed suit and tie on and dive into the intimidating flow of people snaking through the city, seamlessly accommodating an astray puzzle piece, all of us quietly following oblivion's footsteps. Broken hearts will somehow be pieced back together, if not in the same shape at least the same odor, and fractured feet will find their dancing shoes. i think somewhere far far away in a dark hallway where gentle sun light leaves its traces intermittently, i can hear my feet already tapping to the rhythm of the city.

PS a ps from my journal of that day.
"an hour later as i shifted to a more shady bench, i heard another pop right next to me on the other side of the 2 seater bench. I still haven't escaped karma's bombing trajectory but i think i'm going to be okay."

How quickly things change

Now i want to apologize in advance to any if this post offends. Especially to those who are eating while web surfing, which you shouldn't be doing in the first place, especially cause then your keyboard is going to get all oily and i don't want to borrow anyone's grimy ass keyboard. Anyways, today i picked one big bugga as i was crossing the street, cause that's how we roll here, and i could suddenly breath sooooo much better, like mountain top fresh air status. it must have been lodged there for a couple days cause i haven't felt this much inhalability for a while. You cannot even imagine how the light shone through my left nostril. I've found the light!! Anyways, more on ian's weird self therapy to come.