Oh i'm here...
Wish I could write like that again. Or feel those violent passions once again. Everything I went through . Everything. The loneliness amidst those dense acacia forests and hills overlooking the serene valley and world's greenest technopolis. The dark grotto of virgin Mary and the bougainvilleas above the steps. The nameless yellow flowers bathed in the fragrant morning mist . The dark passage behind the library that darkened sooner than usual the evening before I left. The room that flooded with rain. The coffin covered with yellow roses. Oh, the most precious possessions I have . Those priceless moments. I won't trade it for anything in the world. And I know one day I am gonna write about it all. About everything. Aman. . I owe it to my past. I do. I owe it to all those tears I haven't learned how to hold back . They have to be avenged. Or this life is not worth living at all.
My heart's breaking in to pieces. please don't let me die before I do it. I can't hold up those storms for long. They have to come forth. And kill. And wipe the wounds away.
Watched ulladakkam yesterday. The dark tunnels of my soul are lit in expectation love. Come to me when its time...am waiting with all my heart and soul.
I am extremely disturbed by my conversations with Christian. I just can't accept the fact that behind that sweet innocent exterior there's another, very different person hiding. Whom he laid bare in front of me today. I wish he hadn't. I shudder to think of the things he told me. At this age.., I wouldn't ever want my kids to grow up in this city. I am extremely agitated and unhappy today. I wish he had just maintained that facade of a normal person. And how naïve I had been. How very naïve.
Dear Sylvia.... Constantin is gay. It was so obvious. How couldn't you see it? Its not you, its him.
I am very tired today. I don't know why. It should have been a happy day. I was so very active until I went to sleep in the afternoon. Everything was just fine. Then I got up and it's as if depression is creeping in. Physically I am okay. But I have that vague, indefinable sense of loss, faithlessness and futility. Wish I could do something about it. Haven't written to Taylor yet. Explorer is acting funny.
Last night I had this dream about Colton. It was one of those innumerable dreams I have had about going back to the dept and seeing him. He was apparently happy to see me this time. (He acts differently each time) He even made some remarks to his present batch about me coming back, without addressing me directly. Then there were dreams about hideous men trying to attack me, rape me. I screamed loudly and frightened them all away. Then I dreamt about Mohan lal marrying a blind woman in some movie. It was full of red. Strange, depressing dreams.
I don't know. I am angry at half the world. All men, that is. I hate them for not letting us be. For intruding into our lives all the time, trying to take control, to preach as to what is to be done, casting lusty looks all the time, saying they want to savor us, as if we were all some delicious dishes.
I know I want to write, but I am afraid, I am merely trying to satisfy my urge by feeding it other irrelevant pleasures, mere fluff to fill the void, which collapse very soon into nothingness. Then I am empty again. Then I'll hunt down some long forgotten desire to wear cotton kurtas or drink tang, to cook menudo or study cognitive psychology and fulfill it, trying so foolishly to keep my mind from thinking about the ultimate cure. Delaying it ...until god knows when.
In between, I thought I could write prose. Reading bell jar. It was so foolish. One look at my life Elsewhere which should have actually been named Lyric Age, and I knew my mind can never order itself to yield to the structures and shapes of prose. Oh, I am so typically Jaromil, I know.
Wish I could go to Phoenix. Krishna, wish I could just forget everything, past, present and future, and uncoil myself, all the knots, bonds and tangles that I am. And release everything that's pent up within. Want to erase all memories and experiences. Then I'll open my eyes to Taylor's smiling face. A new start to a fresh, untainted, life. He is an icon still, no matter how much I pretend to joke about it.
Am I mad? Am writing it as if Taylor is reading everything over my shoulder. He's probably not even bothered.
I am the luckiest soul on earth, having been one of Taylor's immeasurable loves.
My heart's breaking in to pieces. please don't let me die before I do it. I can't hold up those storms for long. They have to come forth. And kill. And wipe the wounds away.
Watched ulladakkam yesterday. The dark tunnels of my soul are lit in expectation love. Come to me when its time...am waiting with all my heart and soul.
I am extremely disturbed by my conversations with Christian. I just can't accept the fact that behind that sweet innocent exterior there's another, very different person hiding. Whom he laid bare in front of me today. I wish he hadn't. I shudder to think of the things he told me. At this age.., I wouldn't ever want my kids to grow up in this city. I am extremely agitated and unhappy today. I wish he had just maintained that facade of a normal person. And how naïve I had been. How very naïve.
Dear Sylvia.... Constantin is gay. It was so obvious. How couldn't you see it? Its not you, its him.
I am very tired today. I don't know why. It should have been a happy day. I was so very active until I went to sleep in the afternoon. Everything was just fine. Then I got up and it's as if depression is creeping in. Physically I am okay. But I have that vague, indefinable sense of loss, faithlessness and futility. Wish I could do something about it. Haven't written to Taylor yet. Explorer is acting funny.
Last night I had this dream about Colton. It was one of those innumerable dreams I have had about going back to the dept and seeing him. He was apparently happy to see me this time. (He acts differently each time) He even made some remarks to his present batch about me coming back, without addressing me directly. Then there were dreams about hideous men trying to attack me, rape me. I screamed loudly and frightened them all away. Then I dreamt about Mohan lal marrying a blind woman in some movie. It was full of red. Strange, depressing dreams.
I don't know. I am angry at half the world. All men, that is. I hate them for not letting us be. For intruding into our lives all the time, trying to take control, to preach as to what is to be done, casting lusty looks all the time, saying they want to savor us, as if we were all some delicious dishes.
I know I want to write, but I am afraid, I am merely trying to satisfy my urge by feeding it other irrelevant pleasures, mere fluff to fill the void, which collapse very soon into nothingness. Then I am empty again. Then I'll hunt down some long forgotten desire to wear cotton kurtas or drink tang, to cook menudo or study cognitive psychology and fulfill it, trying so foolishly to keep my mind from thinking about the ultimate cure. Delaying it ...until god knows when.
In between, I thought I could write prose. Reading bell jar. It was so foolish. One look at my life Elsewhere which should have actually been named Lyric Age, and I knew my mind can never order itself to yield to the structures and shapes of prose. Oh, I am so typically Jaromil, I know.
Wish I could go to Phoenix. Krishna, wish I could just forget everything, past, present and future, and uncoil myself, all the knots, bonds and tangles that I am. And release everything that's pent up within. Want to erase all memories and experiences. Then I'll open my eyes to Taylor's smiling face. A new start to a fresh, untainted, life. He is an icon still, no matter how much I pretend to joke about it.
Am I mad? Am writing it as if Taylor is reading everything over my shoulder. He's probably not even bothered.
I am the luckiest soul on earth, having been one of Taylor's immeasurable loves.