I say, I save – I think, I ink

If I were you..


Possibilities are kind of reliant on probabilities, it is considered very silly to presuppose or imagine something surreal. Fantasy dwellers, daydreamer, and stupid, you would be called one of these if you imagine or mind-craft something unthinkable. Let me have the guts to voluntarily put my name on the list of these ‘STUPIDS’ by assuming, what if I were you? If I were you, I’m certain that I can not be but still let’s make an expansive start on this assumption. If I were you I would have been colorful and photophilic girl who wants to paint this world into her colors. Smart and witty I would have been, if I were you, whose moods swing faster than any-tangible-thing. I would have been a bit less rude and would have prioritized things in a better way.

If I were you, Hey Adolf! What if I were you? First off, I would have threatened Carley and would have made a song, “Gas me maybe”, with a chorus written by me, “Hey I just met Jew and this is crazy, so here’s my chamber I’ll gas him maybe”. If I were you I would have shaved my mustache and would have given that to a Nazi toddler as a souvenir and most importantly I would have loved apple tarts. If I were Mario Puzo I would have cyber-dated Sidney Sheldon for years, would have married him without realizing that he’s a man, and would have written a book, “Sidney’s Father”. If I were Emilia Clarke I would have painted myself blue so that people can call me Smurf. If I were Him, who walked on water, I would have swum on land.

If I were you, the smartass reader, whose reading it out and drawing some evil ideas from it. If I were you I would have followed the blog so that I can be notified for new pressings. If I were you I would have started writing myself instead of reading others’ writings. I would have sent this blogger a case full of United States dollars and would have followed the blogger of Twitter and every-other-where.



                   Christ on Tumblr
Just so you know it is not transient..

When sinners crawl out of the craters of unholy lands, from the insides of their soul they crave that light, that green flag from him, but it gets harder and harder for them to seek it. Its harder for them to wash out the vileness to give away the lust of ignoble.

They try to run but maybe they never want to leave, masochists they become, then in this darkness they let go this longing, they let go themselves.

A fair commitment between ecstasy of evil and soul is more than enough to cancel your fears and to make you comfortably numb for the world around you. If you think you are smart enough to dodge the ropes of time then it is just pathetic to know that nothing lasts forever and you’re becoming another brick in the wall. Its better if you stop and turn back.

No one can be judged, as we hold no right to do so, this circus-sh society will classify you, it will name you, sometimes as a clown and other times as cornet. It is like grand stage stuffed with mime artists, colorless and impression-less, but still trying to make sense. It depends on how you face it and how strong your urge is to stand tall in front of these illusions.

A person is called weak if he has given himself for this demonic way, a mirror would not be enough to see his real self. He would need to look through the purity of his soul. But,
 What if he never chose it?
What if this was like circumcision? Which he never chose but was done to him forcefully.
Still, try to find the answers to these question because I think we all are sinners who want to rest their lives before eternity.

In The Light Again.


I did not sleep at night just because I could not let go things, it was like I am trying to recover a ruined painting, with colors emulsified together in a miserable way. It appeared smoky to me but I could not find a way to undo this blurry effect. I did not sleep at all for like straight two nights, thinking over and over, recalling every single word, going through flashbacks, and even assuming, just to end this dilemma. Though I do not believe in conjectures I still tried some, but soon I realized that it was something I am not known too and I was more than desperate to figure it out.

Days were passing and now I was becoming a kind of insensible and detached. I gave up on things believing that there is always a rainbow after a fierce storm. A blue sky will appear after a dark one, in every blink I mustered her smile, in every sight I gathered the light. It was comparatively a good day when I came across something good, or at least I presumed it to be good, it could help me in finding out the reason behind those fading smirks.

It was helpful, really helpful, it made me understand the causes behind those inverted lips. I did not expect it at all and now I was regretting the sleep I have sacrificed, the time I have wasted, and everything else I was not present for, but as it was no more a point of gravity and as things were in their places, I am realizing that it was just fine, I tested myself through it. Maybe I was pissed, crossed, or even annoyed but I never reacted the way I always had. So I would say, I was in the dark but now I am in the light again.

Religion is like dragon flies and unicorns : Real and Unreal

6 years old, I was disappointed when I found out that Santa Clause does not exist and that it was my dad who used to slip a box of candies under my pillow while I was busy dreaming about someone mythical, Kris Kringle, from then, I have become vigilant about dubious subjects and I realized almost everything is ambiguous, every case has a gist of precision. Does Quentin exist? Or am I proving a well-known theory? Solipsism, to be precise. Let’s just think he does and enjoy Pulp Fiction because there is a whole lot of concepts needs to be countered in the name of certitude.

Religion, the belief in and worship of a superhuman controlling power, especially a personal God or gods. It sounds superfluous, for you still exist if you don’t believe, then, whats the point in believing?  It is like believing in phantoms and chimeras. They say, seeing is believing.

Why do you trust in something you never saw?

Do you believe in the existence of unicorns as well?

Questions like these are just the prologue, there is a whole book on this vacillation. Is there any god? Or we have created some parameters for the sake of being righteous? To create a never ending lust of supreme positions in the eternal world, which is itself like a lottery ticket, can say, better luck next time you are trolled.

Now I can tell you countless things you trust in, even if you can not see them. I am Sarah Rochelle, my mom loves me more than anything, once she broke her wrist, trying to save my fall from a staircase. I can not see her love, it is not visible. I can not touch her love, it is not tangible but it still does exist. It is still sensible and so are many other things. Honesty, misery, loyalty, peace, and even belief itself, is invisible, but one still has a firm faith in his loyalty towards someone, one is lauded for his honest, and even though we can not see hatred we still hate our flaws. Oscar Wilde had some idea of this fussy world and he said, “The true mystery of the world is the visible, not the invisible” .

God, still a mystery, still a question mark, but can not we believe in it?
We can.

Dia and that painting.

It was her and complete emptiness, for the first time it was serene. She was looking into the face of star-studded sky when she was struck by his picture, endearing its florance and compassion, she decides to fill the canvas. In the vastness of a canvas, Dia was trying to fuse in colors, some shades of glory and passion. She tries to paint her boyfriend, a person who has touched her inner soul. If butterflies were for real, they were over her head, dancing and rubbing off the dust of bliss and ecstasy. She wanted to fly in that moment, set herself loose, levitate in the empty space of wisdom, and capture the beauty of skies and stars.

The moment for her was like a wind, couldn’t touch but could feel it. Dia sways the brush on the space of whiteness and leaves an impression of humor and vigilance, that’s something she wanted her boyfriend to have. Vigilance had some droplets of suave and graceful shades, where humor was merged with the chivalrous hues of gentleness. It was beautiful to her, the picture which had already been wrought in her mind of what was to be the personification of perfection and with every stroke she fell in love with the painting even more. By the time she came to the small details she had fallen madly in love with his strawberry blonde hair and his beautiful electric blue eyes but it was not just that she did not just fall in love with just the painting and the boy inside it but unwittingly she had fallen in love with herself and how her imagination and painting had created something that would make her feel with one glance at the painting what she could not and did not feel with any other man she had ever come close to ever made love to ever been around the painting made her feel so much more than what reality could have ever promised her and the latter was something she knew and it with a second glance at her painting she was filled with an uncontrollable sadness not the one that made her cry but it was a sadness that she could not show it had reached her heart and she could feel the weight of that sadness like an anvil on her chest it was something that was killing her from the inside it was unbearable and yet she sat there staring at the painting she had created a portrait that gives her a rush of happiness at first glance but by the second fills her with uncontrollable sadness. But even in that sea of sadness she had a glimpse of happiness because she knew, she knew that what brought her all this joy and sorrow was hers and hers alone it was something only she could feel while others would see a painting of a boy she saw so much more in it and that was what gave her happiness beyond all measure.

She felt blessed when she touches the painting, it felt like a zephyr has kissed her cheeks. Dia envied herself for so much of passion and rage for the painting, it makes her heart pound and a rush of strawberry color took over her cheeks. She could not resist looking into its eyes, she was giving away herself to that painting every increasing second. There happened a kind of commitment between the painting and Dia, she lost herself to it.