The young man and the sea.

When I die, I want my body to be unceremoniously tossed into the Bogmalo sea. Don't forget to pour in a drink for me. And if you can, play Floyd while doing so. Shine on.., if you think I am worthy of it. Its a noble quest, isn't it? Trying to be worthy of a song. Its like trying to return a favour.

Toss me in the sea at twilight. When the sun and the moon both loom up in the sky as the menial lights of the earth witness the change of guard. And their reflections shimmer across the length of her waters and dissolve into oblivion. That is, the ultimate goal, isn't it?

For this is where and when I have been at peace. Among the jutted purple moss layered rocks with a lost lonely crab trying to scuttle back home. With a drink. A friend. Or both.

And there is a small shrine right beside, a stone crucifix more so. Laden with stale flowers which smell of stale hope. The water laps up at your feet like your favourite dog looking for a caress. The distant lights of your favourite shack shimmer homecoming. And Van Gogh paints everything in front of your eyes.

I will never live again like I have lived in those moments. I will never love again the way I have loved here. Now alienated from everywhere I used to belong, I wonder if I am worthy enough to call this place home.

When I die, toss me unceremoniously into the Bogmalo sea. Then, forget about me,just like you forget about the sad demise of a friendship.

Forget about me.

C'est la vie.

Life goes on. Like the son of a bitch it is. One moment you re sitting on the library steps with a coffee in your hand waiting. Waiting for something to happen and the next moment you re still there. Overwhelmingly stagnant it is sometimes. Just to piss you off. And the next moment you re breaking glass windows and cutting yourself with a knife and burning stuff up and holding a lighter against your arm just to make..something..happen. Change playlist. Change bedsheets. Change guitar strings. Change sleep schedule and wake up at fucking four in the afternoon to find that everything was just the way you left it last night. No elves came to mend the shoes, my friend.

Just to piss you off.

So you close your eyes again and listen to the Comfortably numb guitar solo and take another drag and wait for something to happen. Some walls to explode. Some unimaginable epiphany. Someone to slap you across your face waking you up from your stupor.

Nothing.

I don't remember the first time I sat in a train. But all I can remember is my hair blowing across my face as I sat next to my father, trying to read aloud the passing railroad signs. as they swept past me one by one, each with a sharp distinctive swishhh, which carried faintly till the next sign approached. My father calmly correcting my mistakes. Telling me stories about his time in each town that passed. And me, craning my neck in vain trying to read the signs that were gone. Or trying to find the meaning of the lone purple scarf tied to that pole as it gently caressed the passing train.

...Slap you across your face waking you up from your stupor, and you realise that the moment just vanished. Like its countless, seemingly worthless brothers, it passed you by. Swishh. And all that is left is dried remnants, to pick up and lock in your box full of memories.

Life, as you knew it, is over.

Going down to the crossroads, fell down on my knees...

Happy birthday blog. Thankyou for being there. Thankyou for everything. God knows I ve needed you for the past year. I promise to post more paintings okay?

God knows I am gonna need you all the more now.

Kar de possibe.

At this point in my life, I need all the optimism I can afford. And more.

My guitar's been drinking. Not me.

Drunken promises to the drunken night.
Drunken ecstasy. Drunken fright.
I haven't had much. Just a little bit.
I only drank my home. I only drank my life.

Afraid for you. Afraid for me.
I drink some for my pain.
And some for the sea.
But you know, this is not who I am, right.

I chug my cowardice.
I gulp my fears.
On the rocks. The way you taught me to.
And deep inside I raise my glass to you. Everytime.
Deep inside it doesn't help. Everytime.

Drunken promises to the drunken night.
Keep talking, will you? Ease the fright.
I am sorry. A drunken mistake.
But tonight. I am sober tonight.