Something about me… it takes a lot to freak out someone like me. I’m not a runaway carnivale entertainer with a genetic anomaly. I don’t have a disturbed past, nothing extraordinarily gothic atleast. Neither do I hone psychic skills. The pentacle has been a fascination as a kid, but spirits have always eluded at ouija board sessions, candle lit moonless nights, and even haunted houses we raided in search of a fable. Never sensed alternate vibes or paranormal activity lurking around the corner.
Feared…oh yes! Absolutely. The possibility of an adventure. The excitation of a supernatural experience. The exhilaration of feeling something inhumane, something immortal, something demonic. Fed on books, delved into philosophies, let notes of death pour from speakers, painted my roof black, blacked out all light, propelled into the chasm of pagan worship, sketched the dark …….wanted so badly to believe. But St. Lucifer wanted nothing to do with me. Hades Chariot would never carry me to portals of fire and glory. I would never be Satan’s spawn. I never really wanted to be the Dark Angel. Wanted nothing much… just few stories to narrate of my own. Some freak shows of my own to show.
Not only did I never encounter the dark, but in time my obsession drew the fear out. And when the fear fled, so did expression. It’s strange, but whenever I sat down to weave words, they poured out of pain and misery. Most ironic the fact that the grief was never mine. Deliberately pierced wounds to self to feel forlorn and let the ink flow free onto paper. But when grief was real….. ink froze, pen broke, paper tore and fingers warped.
Friends have found the light in me always. Spent hours emptying souls and healing wounds. Have wept with them, wallowed in their grief, felt those twangs of pain running through the warmth of those tight embraces. Felt paralysed and enraged with despair. But that pain was never mine.
Self grief has been locked in abysmal Loch-ness. Release has never occurred. Strangest part is………….can’t make out if its deliberate or accidental.
Have chased darkness too long. An uncle once made a movie romancing the black. Self imposed the blackness around to feel. Inspired perfection? Yes he did! Won acclaim? Yes he did! But pain of self………….no, never, no story there…. “When pain is not subjective, its beautiful. But when you live it, its ugly,” he told me and that time I knew what he was saying.
I’m in a nation where pain is pleasure. Misery is enjoyable and death an orgasmic release of passion. Have heard stories, documented events, disgusted at cults and rituals deemed to be blasphemy! (pardon the 14 years of Convent education).
At times faith does assume mystical proportions. A sudden revelation struck while interviewing a beautiful eunuch at a congregational ceremony ……..maybe………probably…………crazily………possibly……….Life is not supposed to be dark after all! I don’t belong to this creed.
Could it be?
5 comments:
i guess we are all crazy after all, but when the king and the pawn go in the same box, what does it matter.
i can tell a lot of things that might freak you out but i dont think i will , may be someday if we get drunk together :)
oh lets..........daru party and freak story sharing............when when when???? lets indulge in an evening of blasphemy..........
Black is nothing but the shadow of white, and pain a cathartic stream of joy.... Search for your heaven and you'll know what you are...an angel. But do you want to be one? If yes, then it's fine. If not, then be an outsider, see what separates heaven from earth (read hell, for I think, if it exists, it does nowhere else), black from white and pain from ecstasy. You know all these things, don't you? Well, I'm sure one day we'll find answers to all those unasked questions surfacing the countless layers of our mind.
As lost surfers, we are supposed to keep swimming in the sea of confused waters, and one day, we might find those pearls we have been searching for ever since we learned surfing.... And mind you, you are an adept surfer.
All I can, in the end, say is that I wish I could be as good a surfer as you are.
wow Sam........never had that insight to my own identity as you present the darkness and the light to me.......but an honest confession.....the untouched frshness you present is a rare gift to be trasured.......I only wish i could hold onto that longer....I admire you.......thanks
With that friends of fear, famine came
Of thoughts and words of not a luminous day
Scummed I did to my prying allure
Of the murky melodic recital
erected in Lucifer's name
Plunged my every yearning haze
the vigor of all my adolescence
into an unfruitful serendipity
on a desolate winter's day
Looked far, looked near
I looked to every pier
I did not find a soul divine
that aspired beyond fate
Hence my miniscule odyssey
concluded upon it's very start
Liberate I did my sense of spirit
from the shackles of obscure depiction
this maddening world hath sold off
long before I gazed
Grasped the slab of innocence
I may have buried someday
Walked onwards with my grief
aptly cloaked in my chest
I still cherished all I procured
the amity of many a compatriot
In my search for for darkness, I agree i found nothing but a market full of Images and words with no leverage. But for me the journey was the reason I met the best of my friends and one exceptional person. There's a lot more to life than searching for a creed.
Guess I just turned most of your paragraph's into a bit of rhyme. Seems I'm only inspired to write when I come across some one else's experiences.
But I do wonder how you looked for your darkness, keep writing, you give me something to think about.
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