The Ballads of Gravity

The eminence of parallel existence and phenomenal synchronization or encountering of my subliminal doppelganger with the cognizance of my ubiquitous existence elevates me unto a state of crazy hyperactivity. The penumbra of my clone is mostly like a phantasmagoria, almost completely foreign to my interests and tastes. I think, I’ve manipulated the possible readings of yin and yang. Hahaha!!!     P.S.:   Yeah! I'm laughing out loud like a 'cocaine sniffed Buddhist' floating on the air under the blue moon!  #She's mine, and as the time witnesses she'll be crowned the queen of  Never Never lands !

"How many did you love after me?' "None. You left me incapable to do so. The insatiable hunger and desire i once had for you, there is only one thing i demand now with the same intensity; Death" P.S.:   the Joker said!

"Your sign is everywhere,"  I said. And I kept looking at her—again and again. Each time, she transformed, becoming a celestial body suspended in luminous anticipation. Everything around me was in flux, dissolving and reforming, yet she remained—my constant universe. A constellation of madness, love, beauty, hope, and longing, endlessly arranging itself around her presence. She stood at its center, crowned—silent, sovereign—the queen of that vast, tranquil, and radiant expanse that had somehow folded itself into mine. Time itself seemed arrested, caught in the monstrous vacuum of eternity, only to unravel into fragments—memories, dreams, echoes. Infinity carved her image with relentless precision, and the image began to bleed. My heart, unable to contain it, broke apart—scattered into shards of her memory, into splinters of thought that refused to settle. And somewhere—far beyond the reach of imagination, in the margins of non-being—a zephyr moved softly, carrying the distant...

The ecstatic soul dancing with pertinacious impeccability, of itself and myself, orchestrates my subtle congruence with parenthetically parallel existence. Reserved Epicureanism contends with the extroversive but strange figures drags me towards the unconditioned and enigmatic spheres. Intellectual monomania adorned with the determinism of the universe and the randomness of human intellect injects crazy thoughts into my cognitive hemisphere. The Lone Rider and the Alpha badge I wear upon signal the impertinent tenacity of my absurdist. The way words originate and behave, things occur and enact attract me unto the abyss of inconsistent interpretations of life. Joie de vivre! The BEAuty of life is just like getting lost in the absolute space and flying to eternity breaking the laws of gravity or driving your Humvee alone into the wild or diving from the sky or going to the north pole or Everest. And happiness of it is doing something stupid and laughing about it for w...

Unintentional initiation of an empathetic soul carves a name above the firmament and down the abyss.  As an un-quenched thirst of a gratification, my soul becomes irritant on something never thought, felt, saw, or said.  The vague phantom of gathered memories weaves an absurd image of some   non-existing  non-being.  The self-confrontation of conformity against the predicted possibility of futuristic prospectus and materialization, in terms of swaying credibility,  weigh hundreds on my head and heart. 

Incineration of soul with antagonism often credits the incredible insufficiency of my material sociability. Sometimes, it’s really hard to survive the inessentiality of a stupid “mob” especially when you know incongruous codes of their guises and play.   They are all self-trained thespians of a floating opera; a masquerade enacted for material gratifications. Their lineaments are of folly and their masks are of self-declaring clowns of self-mockery.   Polluted smiles from their hollow façade crucify my existential credos on the 'altar of "Frailty"', what 'he' once called.   It is true that a dead fly causes the ointment of the apothecary to send forth a stinking smell.

mascara defines the rays of her eyes. She's kohl eyed, and is exotic like an Egyptian queen. magnificent and mystic.

I found a space between foundationalism and anti-foundationalism. Here I stand! There's ontology on the one side and epistemology on the other. Me, the new born baby, wonder on their alien outfits. Here they come. Ontology asked first: "What’s out there to know?” Well, not in a micro-nano-micro seconds my receptors passed the waves of the utterance to the brain, epistemology appeared and asked: “What and how can we know about it?” PS.1. Reality is largely light bouncing off particles and into your eye. PS.2. How does dream occur to a 'born blind' person?

I wish if I could arrest the time and melt into one. proposals of future dispose the vivacity of now, I wish if I could find a space outside the realm of time. worries of beloveds, anticipations of unknowns rive my free bird flying high.

I need to break the bubbles where I’m fragmented in to thoughts and memories of her. I’m suffocating, unable to breath I’m dying in her thoughts. I’ve compromised my life, thoughts, words and what else to say, the time became constant and I myself became a non being. Am I losing myself? I’ve almost became a carrier of her memories. What are her memories? The world might have never heard of such a love story! They were memories of a soul I chased anonymously. The dominant and gargantuan presence of silence conceived the memories of a soul. Somewhere in the vast and timeless universe, my soul met her and ever since then she was mine. Memories contradicted each other for the given definitions of their existence in the normalized paradigm. How can one indulge in the memory that has no physical entity? Memory always associates us with the people, things, time, past, with which and whom we have had enough time to spend. However, how can you have a memory of a person you have n...

‘ Wil l y ou re member me?’ I said: ‘I w ill.’ She asked: ‘But How.. .? Oh my god! How would you remember me! You haven’t ever seen me. How will you remember me?’ ‘Your sign is t here ev erywh ere around the globe!’ She asked wi t h pain: ‘Around the globe ? … Why are you flattering me?’ I said: ‘I’m not flatte ring you.’ “Your sign is there everywhere around the globe.” I looked at her again and again. Each time I looked, she became a celestial body of luminous anticipation. Everything else around me was changing , she was my constant universe, and it seemed as though it was a constant constellation of madness, love, beauty, hopes and anticipations; she was crowned the queen of that vast tranquil and luminous celestial universe which was drawn into mine. Time was trapped within the monstrous vacuum of eternity and disentangled into the fragments of memories and dreams. The infinity carved the picture of her and it started to bleed, my heart was ...

Apart from the structural and dual or multiple paradigms of existential life, of theories and definitions, of meanings and of beings I fall in love. I am a little Keats singing the songs of love. A conscious undertake from the self to keep the equilibrium of life and imaginations. My love for her incinerates the credibility of human comprehension over the archetypal images and experiences of love. I’ll never get exhausted writing about her and the unusual affair of love ever told.  She’s beautiful without knowing it. And possesses charm that she’s not even aware of. she’s like a trap set by nature-a sweet perfumed rose whose petals cupid lurks in ambush. Anyone who has seen her smile has known perfection. She instills grace in every common thing and divinity in every careless gesture. Venus in her shell was never so lovely, and Diana in the forest never as graceful as the girl. ‘I figured I shouldn’t talk to you, but I don’t see how that’s going to make any diffe...

The realm of my feasibility struggled itself for a stationed equilibrium of  responsibility and existential credos. The inconsistency of romance often withdrew into her absence of silence. Pastness of the present and presentness of the past along with the absurdity of the future, but the certainty of death made things more vivid, though with a thin frame of perplexities. The universalized-self triumphed over the perceived meanings and languages of humanity. Time was captured within the gargantuan vacuum of absolute nothingness. Sound was trapped, light was trapped, and momentum of the entire vicious cycle was trapped within that monstrous non being of nothingness. Theoretician of mine demanded the theoretical frameworks and critical edges of every existing being and non being, the imagination weaved a web of beauty and absurdity of that chaos and serenity that originated from the absolute nothingness and caused it.