What is the meaning of life, or rather madness? Am I going to tell you the riddle of nature? Yes, it is really a big question to ask. But first, I need to be dearly honest with you. Who am I? What are my existential supports to continue into this infinity? Are my values or duty enough to ask this question? Here is the fundamental answer; no, I do not have the authority to take audacity to ask such miraculous questions. So, leave it here for a tiny moment.
In my life, there was time to ask a genuine question for myself; what I really have to do with my life? One thing I am sure of that I had been always concerned about society's view towards individuals and I was always prejudiced towards the societal views of individuals, too. I was not looking for the meaning of life. Everyone has to face despondency at once in their life or maybe more. I had no intention to show a willingness to commit sin, but my mind had chaotic choices all the time. I had to put away that CHAOTIC suspicion, and thus I started to hallucinate my mind with marijuana. It helped me through more conveniently change my consciousness about the real world. So, to speak, from that very moment I understood that the real world is not quite real at all. I got another dimension of reality; a supreme reality where I practically unburden my CHAOTICS. My will was not high-flown fancy but when I realized; real is not real, I started analyzing the idea of reality. I took more and even more hallucinating stuff. The truth is that nature gives men reason and power to contemplate reality. In my case, reality is not mere reality; it is just the harbinger to another reality. I never wanted to plunge over ANOTHER REALITY, but my luxurious mind has brought me into this brink of hostility. I have been captured and tortured and murdered. When I lost all my devotion to life, I question myself, what is this life for? Where we did come from? Where did this peyote come from? Where did that ganja come from?
Morrison was the poet, singer, and dreamer of different dimensions. He sang well to my heart. When my mind dominates the process of thinking, I lose sense; Morrison does awake me. Music and hope are the same thing; it promises you subtle orgasm; a kind of music Morrison had done. My heart orchestrally dances; alone. When your supposition for life or for love stop evaluating your own ideas, there no hope left. I ran, far away. Maybe too far, from my chaotic but still there stands ME. You should not have to touch the beauty; you will ruin it. Indeed, I ruined it. I used to look up to the sky and figure out my abominably. The madness entangled my youth. The words were mad, melancholy. I am awake all the time, birth to death. Sadness enveloped my joyous imagination. I took another roll of hallucination; Nietzsche was there to hold my soul- decisively. He suggested me to dive deep into the abyss of madness- I took his advice coldly; shrewd not enough to kill my sadness yet. I can see the growing cactus in my garden- huge and solemnly threatening me.
Far more than I used to be a humble youth, my heart filled with more and more miseries. The mind went feeble-conscious- that time I used to get more relaxed with a myriad of mind-boggling stuff. I had lost my mind. I was gone mad. And some people say madness is better than begin sanely. I wrote my first novel- depicting my madness- nobody has deciphered yet. Listening Morrison, and reading mad Nietzsche, I had gone too far from my reality. One of my women psychiatric told me to drop off the idea to begin insanely. She was worth watching- her lips parted a bit. I always ignored her possibility- personality too, she was filthy. Her hand used to shake while she wrote a prescription, but I had always a joy to pursuit. Her office was filled with mysterious vibes that I hated most. Anyway, she told me at our final appointment- good luck with your madness. Sigh! She touched my feeling with her warmth, and I adored her body like a goddess. I never met her again. I was bored to finish my writing. I was humming to my last breath-
“I can make the earth stop in
its tracks. I made the
blue cars go away.
I can make myself invisible or small.
I can become gigantic and reach the
farthest things. I can change
the course of nature.
I can place myself anywhere in
space or time.
I can summon the dead.
I can perceive events on other worlds,
in my deepest inner mind,
and in the minds of others.
I can.
I am.”
Morrison's soul beat my lunatic temper.
That night I dreamt of a beautiful murderer. She had pity eyes- mournful eyes I had ever seen. She holds my hand and said of- “Young man! Write. Write your joys. Write your madness but, keep it secret. The world has not yet prepared for this.” And she is gone; gone like a morning dew.
I can remember that night, I had torn off my beloved cactus and smoked at ease. I had been smitten by a beloved vase. I tore her out from the pot and... lost it. Murdered! My balcony had been decorated with the most beautiful stars on the night firmament- dazzling. My cat was there dying. Her body was shivering like a falling show. As far as I can remember I buried her alive. Oh, dear lord! I buried her alive. I can gauge her breath now- her beating heart. I stood on her graveyard, singing the birth of the stars. I have waited for her twenty years. “Forgive me pet! You were dragged and murdered on that cold night. Do you remember the song of Pitter van Dough- the madness of the middle of the night? We danced until the dawn of the next day. Never mind! You were not alive the next day.”
I have told you about my madness. And, please now allowed me to recite my next episode. I finished my first novel Anugami that year.
Like Morrison, I was masturbating on the stages of my life, hiding behind the backstage, holding my fuckpole on my filthy palm. I used to read 'The Birth of the Tragedy' every night before goodnight and used to masturbate on that book. That writing was too sensitive, and vulgar imitation of human life. Life is a slow poison that you would not want to give up. But I never gave up.
Devkota's 'Pagal' … जरुर साथी म पागल!
यस्तै छ मेरो हाल ।
म शब्दलाई देख्दछु!
दृश्यलाई सुन्दछु!
बासनालाई संबाद लिन्छु ।
आकाशभन्दा पातालका कुरालाई छुन्छु… helped artificialization of my serenity at the extent. I have been always opposed to society and the concept of naturalization of humankind. When I went through the chapters of 'The Doors of Perception', I realized that dimension is hoax and infinity is unrealistic. I never cried while reading Huxley; he radiated pity, yet I admired him a lot. Another madman I cried for is hallucinogenic Holderlin. Astu!
In my life, there was time to ask a genuine question for myself; what I really have to do with my life? One thing I am sure of that I had been always concerned about society's view towards individuals and I was always prejudiced towards the societal views of individuals, too. I was not looking for the meaning of life. Everyone has to face despondency at once in their life or maybe more. I had no intention to show a willingness to commit sin, but my mind had chaotic choices all the time. I had to put away that CHAOTIC suspicion, and thus I started to hallucinate my mind with marijuana. It helped me through more conveniently change my consciousness about the real world. So, to speak, from that very moment I understood that the real world is not quite real at all. I got another dimension of reality; a supreme reality where I practically unburden my CHAOTICS. My will was not high-flown fancy but when I realized; real is not real, I started analyzing the idea of reality. I took more and even more hallucinating stuff. The truth is that nature gives men reason and power to contemplate reality. In my case, reality is not mere reality; it is just the harbinger to another reality. I never wanted to plunge over ANOTHER REALITY, but my luxurious mind has brought me into this brink of hostility. I have been captured and tortured and murdered. When I lost all my devotion to life, I question myself, what is this life for? Where we did come from? Where did this peyote come from? Where did that ganja come from?
Morrison was the poet, singer, and dreamer of different dimensions. He sang well to my heart. When my mind dominates the process of thinking, I lose sense; Morrison does awake me. Music and hope are the same thing; it promises you subtle orgasm; a kind of music Morrison had done. My heart orchestrally dances; alone. When your supposition for life or for love stop evaluating your own ideas, there no hope left. I ran, far away. Maybe too far, from my chaotic but still there stands ME. You should not have to touch the beauty; you will ruin it. Indeed, I ruined it. I used to look up to the sky and figure out my abominably. The madness entangled my youth. The words were mad, melancholy. I am awake all the time, birth to death. Sadness enveloped my joyous imagination. I took another roll of hallucination; Nietzsche was there to hold my soul- decisively. He suggested me to dive deep into the abyss of madness- I took his advice coldly; shrewd not enough to kill my sadness yet. I can see the growing cactus in my garden- huge and solemnly threatening me.
Far more than I used to be a humble youth, my heart filled with more and more miseries. The mind went feeble-conscious- that time I used to get more relaxed with a myriad of mind-boggling stuff. I had lost my mind. I was gone mad. And some people say madness is better than begin sanely. I wrote my first novel- depicting my madness- nobody has deciphered yet. Listening Morrison, and reading mad Nietzsche, I had gone too far from my reality. One of my women psychiatric told me to drop off the idea to begin insanely. She was worth watching- her lips parted a bit. I always ignored her possibility- personality too, she was filthy. Her hand used to shake while she wrote a prescription, but I had always a joy to pursuit. Her office was filled with mysterious vibes that I hated most. Anyway, she told me at our final appointment- good luck with your madness. Sigh! She touched my feeling with her warmth, and I adored her body like a goddess. I never met her again. I was bored to finish my writing. I was humming to my last breath-
“I can make the earth stop in
its tracks. I made the
blue cars go away.
I can make myself invisible or small.
I can become gigantic and reach the
farthest things. I can change
the course of nature.
I can place myself anywhere in
space or time.
I can summon the dead.
I can perceive events on other worlds,
in my deepest inner mind,
and in the minds of others.
I can.
I am.”
Morrison's soul beat my lunatic temper.
That night I dreamt of a beautiful murderer. She had pity eyes- mournful eyes I had ever seen. She holds my hand and said of- “Young man! Write. Write your joys. Write your madness but, keep it secret. The world has not yet prepared for this.” And she is gone; gone like a morning dew.
I can remember that night, I had torn off my beloved cactus and smoked at ease. I had been smitten by a beloved vase. I tore her out from the pot and... lost it. Murdered! My balcony had been decorated with the most beautiful stars on the night firmament- dazzling. My cat was there dying. Her body was shivering like a falling show. As far as I can remember I buried her alive. Oh, dear lord! I buried her alive. I can gauge her breath now- her beating heart. I stood on her graveyard, singing the birth of the stars. I have waited for her twenty years. “Forgive me pet! You were dragged and murdered on that cold night. Do you remember the song of Pitter van Dough- the madness of the middle of the night? We danced until the dawn of the next day. Never mind! You were not alive the next day.”
I have told you about my madness. And, please now allowed me to recite my next episode. I finished my first novel Anugami that year.
Like Morrison, I was masturbating on the stages of my life, hiding behind the backstage, holding my fuckpole on my filthy palm. I used to read 'The Birth of the Tragedy' every night before goodnight and used to masturbate on that book. That writing was too sensitive, and vulgar imitation of human life. Life is a slow poison that you would not want to give up. But I never gave up.
Devkota's 'Pagal' … जरुर साथी म पागल!
यस्तै छ मेरो हाल ।
म शब्दलाई देख्दछु!
दृश्यलाई सुन्दछु!
बासनालाई संबाद लिन्छु ।
आकाशभन्दा पातालका कुरालाई छुन्छु… helped artificialization of my serenity at the extent. I have been always opposed to society and the concept of naturalization of humankind. When I went through the chapters of 'The Doors of Perception', I realized that dimension is hoax and infinity is unrealistic. I never cried while reading Huxley; he radiated pity, yet I admired him a lot. Another madman I cried for is hallucinogenic Holderlin. Astu!
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