A person who writes #4

I don’t know. the last time I wrote on the blog feels like when Augustus gave us the Calendar. Never mind. I think I’ve lost all the people who used to read this blog. I really wanted to write and share it right now. So, no drafting. Only, typing and Publishing.

I’ve felt this urge to write after watching a lot of movies over the past few months (years!). But, couldn’t push my lazy self enough. Then came this one movie that talked me into it. If I wouldn’t obey, I would be the meanest human being who does not deserve a place on this planet. People are used to me fanboyying to certain movies. (My Editor clearly told Fanboyying isn’t a ‘legit’ word). I tend to do that only to movies that personally mean something to me. This was one of them. Well, if it could get me back to writing after Nov 2018 I guess, you know how much it means to me (I’ve been doing some shredder-worthy academic writing).

*Drumroll* *Jazz Interlude*

The movie is “Liberal Arts”. You could imdb, RT the fuck out of it. I don’t care. It won’t justify the way I related to it. Going by one of the many amazing dialogues in the movie, I am refraining from using a “wild hyperbole” by using the phrase the ‘Best of all’ and the other phrases in that cult. I am not going to do that ever again. It just was beautiful and relatable (Like 100s of other movies). I haven’t even shared the most beautiful dialogues as I want the characters to say those to your nose.

Talking about movies. I don’t feel satisfied with movies where something I expect happens. I’d feel happy if it happens that way and that’s definitely a good feeling to walk out of a film with. But, that’s not the only emotion out there. There is this intense feeling that comes from movies that surprise you at the cost of sadness to its characters. All the characters including the ones who get a lot of screentime to the ones that just flash on the screen and give you dreams for days. The movies that stay in my mind are the ones with such ‘Surprises’. I won’t say that I’d feel a million emotions with those movies. It is just the right amount of sadness, the right amount of wretch and to get them in the right amounts is really hard when you have a long list of good movies and books (I know you do! Don’t feel special, bud. Everyone does).

An example for such a situation would be, when a character you loved dies in the course of the story and the director-writer uses it well. Sadistic and distanced and anti-social of me to tell this, you think. Well, that’s how I was able to watch a lot of movies I’ve watched. You don’t know my side of this story completely.

Liberal Arts made me sad in the right amounts and that’s a huge compliment I can give to a movie. There are countless movies (Just exaggerating!), that could have made me feel that way in this long hiatus that I took from writing. I dedicate this post and this compliment to all those movies as a mark of gratitude for being an integral block of my life’s jigsaw puzzle that I am solving (reference to Daniel Sloss’ standup special).

Life’s crazy and feels good, fuck it Legen…DARY to have written something.

‘A person who writes’ is a random series I write when I just want to write and share a movie along with as a custom. I fucking centered a whole piece on a movie if you haven’t figured out yet. And I usually don’t share it with people I usually share my blogs with. I am going to change that rule for now.

If you’re in this part of this long piece. I thank you with all my love and if you scrolled right to the end and is now shocked at the length of the writing, do English Literature Honours and then we’ll talk my brethren.

auf wiedersehen! cheers to an imperfectly beautiful life!

P.s.- I changed the name of the blog. I am grammatically and dramatically getting better. I am doing Liberal Studies. Hence, the movie! Thanks to the random FB post by Diluckshan that made me watch this movie now. He is an amazing photographer. Do check out. LINK

Unnamed avenues

Take a minute off of whatever you are doing and look back. Look back at everything you left behind. If everything that you carry on your back is hiding your vision and disquieting, in both positive and negative ways, then this writing is just for you. Lend all your senses to this rant.

I am just a traveller. I travel from one heart to another. I do not stay anywhere and I know with more effort, a little luck.. I might find a heart that comes close to giving me a feeling of ‘home‘. There I would stay. I could have missed it or I could be missing it right now. Leave that to me. I am a walker, never a runner. When I am inside your heart, there’s a possibility of me either walking slowly to stay a little longer or me strolling around unnamed avenues and wondering about the mystery that you are.

“The unnamed avenues of the heart are the places where people fall in love and fall in hurt, in no particular order. The unnamed avenues are the roads that your parents asked you to stay away from when you were a kid. They are the crimson boulevards that look beautiful during the autumn to everyone and during the winters only to a few who are okay with nurturing it when it has no leaves. They are the streets that smell of champagne and whiskey. You know who begins with the champagne and who ends up with a whiskey. They are the roads that have broken window panes. Window panes broken because of the crumpled papers thrown at them Not a stone, not a fist, a crumpled paper with an unfinished rant. Don’t tell me you were lucky to find the crumpled papers that belonged to a duffer!”

Do you think I can find a way through all these? Have I been a good guide? Let me know. Because it is with this blind hope against hope I am inside you now. Trying to walk through! I am not listening to your directions, I am listening to your songs. I am not waiting for your promises, I am waiting for your stories that are going to keep me awake. Why do I want to be awake? Because I am not time-bound inside your heart. There’s no night and day. It’s thought-bound. I exist when you think about me and die when you don’t. And that’s one more reason a traveller like me believes that death is never the end and a million stabs can wound you but, never ground you.

I would like to make a toast to all the people, who might not be reading this now.

“All the ways I took lead me out of your heart. Do you still think I was lost? And does that qualify as a reason for everything?

…”

Thanks for lending me your senses, fellow travellers!
Auf Wiedersehen.
(Signed)
just barath.

Shooting Stars

What did the shooting stars do to deserve a moment of glitz

in the Infinity of time and sky?

A moment nothing more than

A spectator sport.

A crowded theatre.

A symphony short of the conductor.

 

Was it because of the burns that make it beautiful to the by-stander so far away?

Was it the friction?

Or was it the never ending falling out of love it symbolized?

 

I couldn’t really write or tell.

 

Even after being such shooting stars in the past,

Sharing the same core with her.

After all the burns that left me with only love and little common sense.

After all the black holes we believed we surpassed.

After all the scars,

A numbness for all but the pain of longing

A burn that is giving me a crushing pain that I’ll get used to.

 

A burn that will glow for the world,

Make no noise,

Meddle with sanity.

 

For it is

A spectator sport.

A crowded theatre.

A two-piece symphony short of the conductor.

A person who writes #3

For those who don’t know!

‘A person who writes’ is a series that I write when I am crazily angry, sad, tired or in combinations of these. It starts randomly and gets posted without any editing(little editing). This is little too real. And these posts will also help me as indicators of my journey. I laugh going back to the posts in this series all the time

It’s frikkin 3 AM here! Remember the scene in ‘The Social Network’ where the Zuckerburg character types something called a blog after he’s dumped by the Erica Albrecht character?

“Erica Albrecht is such a bitch”

This is something like that. It doesn’t really matter if it ever happened in his life. That’s just a really good film from Fincher! I’m not going to call on anyone. I just mean that, for a better understanding of all my blogs, all you have to do is read these posts. These posts do not get shared with my friends or gets posted on any other Social Media Networks. So, if you are reading this now. You are a really good soul reading it on the WP Reader or coming straight to my blog(You’re so cool).

I am seriously fucked by this thing called the writers block. I am looking for inspiration. But, nothing’s inspiring. Should I just wait for the word to come out or cut open the layers and get it out?  Should I look out for something that’s inspiring or just cry out loud to the Goddess of Wisdom?

After finishing this one poetry series called “Autumn”, life was a very crazy ride and one really high moment got me write this poem called “A white paper needed ink” and after that I could not write any more poetry. I mean ‘whatever I was writing before that’. Then, I thought it was because of the structure and wrote rants. I mean one rant. It was good. But, then that is gone too. I have two really good concepts to write, but getting really stuck somewhere. You, the person reading this line is a really important person, so if you come across this line of a rant that is just there, I would value your suggestion a lot. So, comment it right away! I need to write. It’s a necessity now. These few months ahead of me is going to be setting things up for many years of my journey. The words that I bleed now will fill me up with experience and love(I am not good with medical words).

Also, note that I am going to be self-hosting soon and going for a different theme. But, the canvas is not as important as the painting is one thing I believe in totally. My plans are just big-ass. Butt, it just ends there.

I am too confused to handle this shit and also life is really complicated and slow moving. If you totally understand the confusion in this post, stick around. Because that’s exactly how my mind is now. There are rays of Sunshine now and then, that’s how I am surviving. Hope to get a little clarity among this confusion. I don’t want this to totally clear out and have a dream run suddenly.

And, everytime I leave behind some movie at the end of these posts, this time it is “SING STREET“.

Cheers to an imperfectly beautiful life!

 

The Fallen Angel

Dear you,

You are the fallen angel. The sinner who fell wounded on my paper. And thanks for not acting like you’re the embodiment of innocence.

I know hell would be better than this. By the way, Did you know your sin? Your sin was not being real. Being a shadow of sorts; Being silent; Never reaching people on time; Never being simple. You were too complicated for heaven. They threw you out from that height only because you had wings and you can survive. 

You’re not going to be chained to darkness because, you are the brightest light we’ve ever seen.You are going to be chained to my ink. Your scars will become art on my paper. Your blood will be the spectrum for million colours. I don’t want your blood to fill up oases. Oases mostly become mirages. I just want you to reflect.

I know your wings are heavy and I know that broken wings are the heaviest. Hold my hand and learn to walk. You need to go away very soon. But, find the ink stains you left behind and get back to me if you wish. Just telling..

A day will come when I will not be holding your hand. So pick thyself up soon. Stand with me in my worse. I mean Verse.

For I have a destiny created for you. You will be remembered as the Fallen Angel, the sinner, the art I created. You’ll never be human, you’ll never be one among them, because humans don’t do forevers. You’ll stay in the form you fell down. A word. Not a Satan, not a monster, not a comet, but a Word.

Just when you became mine, your sins have become mine. Don’t Worry! I’m used to those confinements. And we’ll be forever. Fuck the muse, she’s lazier than you. I am not writing to her, until she comes. Okayyy! Don’t give me that look, I’ll write to her only having you around. You’ll be my messenger.

But, if this be the day I celebrate you, should I tend your wounds and let you fly?

Will you take me to your world once and for all, if I let you fly? Because, I am cold and I could use Two Wings for a Blanket. I am crying, I could use the headwinds to wipe it off.

– just Barath©

image

ஒரு பனிப்படிந்த பைனாகுலர்

“ஒரு வருஷம் எப்படி போச்சுன்னே தெரில” என்று சொல்ல வாஞ்சை கொள்கிறது மனம். நிமிட முள்களுக்கு இடையில் இருக்கும் தொலைவை கடப்பதில் வியர்வை வழிய, மூச்சிரைக்க நின்று, நின்று நடந்தது இந்த சட்டைகளை ஈரத்தால் கனமாகி விடுகிறது. ஒவ்வொரு நிமிடமும் ஒரு வருடமாக தான் கடந்துகொண்டிருக்கிறது

 

அப்படி இந்த ஆண்டில் என்ன கிழித்துவிட்டோம் என்று சந்தோச தருணங்களையெல்லாம் எண்ணிப் பார்க்கையில் நான்கு விரல்கள் மீதம் வந்துவிட்டது. இந்த ஒட்டுமொத்த வெறுப்பிற்கும் ஒரு பெரிய வில்லன் தான் காரணம். அவன்/அவள் நான் பார்க்கும் சினிமா’க்களின் வில்லன் அல்ல. நான் பார்க்கும் சினிமாக்களில் பல வில்லன்கள் நான் விரும்பும் மனிதர்கள் என்ற பட்டியலில் அத்தியாவசியமாக விளங்குகின்றனர். என் வில்லனின் பெயரை நான் கூறிவிட்டால் நீங்கள் பர்சனல் கேள்விகள் கேட்க தொடங்கி விடுவீர்கள். நானும் practical-ஆக பதில் கூற வேண்டும் என்ற நிர்பந்தத்தில் பொய்கள் கூறும்படி ஆகிவிடலாம். நான் பொய்கள் கூறுவதில் இருந்து முற்றிலுமாக பின்வாங்க முயற்சித்து கொண்டு தான் இருக்கிறேன் என்றாலும், பொய்களை எழுதமாட்டேன்.

உண்மை நம்பர் ஒன்: உலகின் ஆதிப்பெரிய சோம்பேறி அடியேன் தான்.உண்மையாக எழுதப்படும் ஒவ்வொரு எழுத்தும் உலகின் உச்ச இலக்கியங்களை விட ஒரு படி மேல் என்று என் வில்லன் சில தருணங்களில் கூறி நான் கேட்டதுண்டு.

இரவுகளின் நீளம் விளங்க தொடங்கும்போது, தனிமை தான் முதல் புரிதல் ஆகிறது. தூக்கம் களைந்த நிலையிலும் எரிச்சலுடன் இருக்கும் கண்கள் எதையோ கேட்கிறது. சிரிக்க சில தருணங்கள், மறக்க சில தருணங்கள், பிய்த்தெடுத்த றெக்கைகளுடன் பறக்க சில தருணங்களை கொண்ட ஒரு திண்ணிய நாளை பொழுது! இதை நோக்கி தான் செல்கிறோமா? அர்த்தப்பட வேண்டியது தானே வாழ்க்கை? அது அடுத்த பாகம் என்ன நடக்கும் என்பதை பற்றி மட்டும் நினைக்கும் ஒரு பனிப்படிந்த பைனாகுலர் ஆனதில் ஒரு துளியும் களிப்பு இல்லை.

நிச்சயமாக மரபணு ரீதியாக வருவதில்லை எனது இளநரை என்பது புரிஞ்சாச்சு. மருத்துவர் ஸ்ட்ரெஸ் என்ற பொதுச்சொல்லை குறித்துவிட்டு என் 2017-ஐ மேலும் கனமாக்கிவிட்டார். 20 ஆண்டுகள் பழகிப்போன சென்னை தண்ணீரினால் இப்போது முடி கொட்டுவதும் தொடங்கிடுச்சு. அடி மீது அடி வாங்கி 2017-என்னும் அம்மியில் அரைக்கப்பட்ட, எந்த அளவுக்கு தனிமை விளங்கியதென்றால் நிம்மதியான உறக்கத்தில் இருந்து டாக்டர் சொன்ன ஸ்ட்ரெஸ்-ஐ விட்டு விலகி நிற்பதற்கு பதில் “சொன்ன சொல்லை தவற மாட்டான் இந்த கோட்டைசாமி என்று டயலாக் பேசிக்கொண்டு மேலும் சில காயங்களுடன் 2017-ஐ முடிக்க நினைக்கிறேன்.

சினிமாவை போல, எழுத்துக்களும் என்னை காக்க ஏதாவது முயற்சி எடுக்குமோ என்று அறிந்து கொள்வதில் ஒரு நப்பாசை.
என் எழுத்துக்கள் அர்த்தப்பட தொடங்கும்வரை எழுதிக்கொண்டே இருக்க விருப்பம். முடிவென முற்றுப்புள்ளி இடமால், இந்த தொடரை முடிக்க நான் இடும் அரைப்புள்ளியினால் அந்த பிழையை திருத்தவாவது மீண்டும் எழுத வருவேன் ,

TUESDAY, 26 DECEMBER 2017 அன்னிக்கு நைட் எழுதுனது.

A white paper needed ink

 

My words shall be dark
Dark enough to brave shadows.

 

Let the soul that reads find light,
Let the soul of the works light up lives.

For the pen of the writer
Saw nothing but a white paper that needed
a darkness that exudes deeper than black ink.
For the pen of the writer
was filled with tears and not ink.

Let his tears not be seen.
Let his papers never have a word.

For his words could tell the truth about love.
The truth that was little too real.

Let him cry in solitude.
Let him die in between the first few lines.
Let his poetry be the moon on a moonless night
Let it never shine.
Let him be.

For he is walking back his path,
He is looking at traces of his own shoe marks,
For he is cursed with memory for the worst of all things.
For the muses of many greats,
 All Cry, Chant, Sing, Plead, Command,
Beg for him to write a happy word.

But he the man felt absurd.
For he could not write lies.

Sometimes,
The muses of the darkest days prayed,
For him to be blessed with death.

He could write,
but a sad word.
He could confess his love for love.
He could teach some lessons to the writers.
The writers of happy verses,
“Thy words should never stop.
Thy lies runneth the world.
Thy lies keep the sand inside the clocks.
Thy lies in the name of gravity refuse to give man wings.
Thy lies ask a man to believe in Hope.
Thy lies are blessed.
Thy lies keep a person alive.
Thy lies are God?”

He had some other lessons,
He could tell to no one but himself.
Some things.

For he feared death.
Death that would stop a dark soul from writing the truth.
Here, the words,
“My words kill belief,
My words cause dearth,
My words be safest companions to loneliness,
My words maketh immortals and change world order,
My words which are due to the muse
be heard by too many, but understood only by few
Few from the early winter’s dew
My words be me in spite of the cups of tears filled”
He should be dead, Right?

Let the failed heart find some more tears to write.
Let the hope stabbed by him find heaven’s sweetest spot,
Let the writer in him search for more love.
Let his love be mere mortals in the next times.
Not a winged charm.
Let the love he finds not be an impostor of
Persephone, Diana or Aphrodite herself.
And let him find love, after love, after love.

The order of the world needs his love more than he needs it.
And his words need love in some tense.
The balance of the world for him was on Art’s lyre
and flowers that were born to decorate her crown

Let him find water of Styx around every corner,
but let his thirst never quench.

Let truth win.
Let him lie everywhere other than his paper.
Let him lie to escape from reality.
Let him lie as he is a human and then a poet.
Let love let a man live.
Let him have lesser pains in touching wounds.
Let him forgive every second.
Let him listen to the music that keeps secrets.
Let him dwell on every word and world.
Let the world feel sorry for his luck.
Let the world not laugh at his poetry of failed love.
Let the world love cliches.

Oh! Reasons that maketh pieces into puzzles!
Oh! Seasons that change for him!
Let him write one beautiful, smitten elegy
for every day that dies to get him closer to death.

-just Barath

To dusk

It’s hard to stand when the shadows are tired

And the eyes bleed tears.

It’s usual that trees grow old for the season

Giving out fruits just like I do.

 

So, before pushing a rose into your Garden

and completing this Octave,

I need to ask, but don’t answer.

Will a Goodbye get me closer to you?

Will hope save me from lies?

Will the darkness writhing in my words steer away?

Because,

In this darkness,

My feet find its way to you.

 

It will take a lifetime to realize failed love

And the other side

is not the right place to learn this.

 

So, this tree battling

Winds of the dusk,

Losing every last leaf,

Standing in its own shadow, alone,

Can wait.

 

For it has seen all the

Shades of Clouds and People.

Grey and Black,

Wounded and Victorious,

White and wine,

Sober and the kissed.

Waiting for the winter

It could fathom out that,

 

The only problem with love is,

We are humans.

 

– just Barath (C)

To catch up with the entire series kindly visit this link-

Epilogue- An Epilogue to Autumn

Winter is Coming Soon..

 

An Epilogue to Autumn

Hey, Oldsport!

The fall ends here.

I mean the poetry series(READ: Ramblings, musings, rants, poems) I have been working on since 3rd August. This caught me amidst a wave of Happy and smile-filled moments. Just like many people out there, I too started with the hope that I am going to write frequently, whenever I can. Fill my blog with the most beautiful words in the universe. But, it did not happen. Yayy!

So, If you’ve started reading this blog only recently, I’ll let you know what I’ve been working on. I planned on writing a poetry series for the season Autumn. I wanted all works to hold elements that make Autumn, Autumn. I worked up a story’s opening and wanted it to be sad to the core. Yayy!!

To Miss.Autumn was all confessions and everything she knows and what he feels is the reason for her leaving him. It hurts when you know reasons, it hurts equally when you don’t know reasons. Either way, it does hurt. Let it hurt, then let it go. The guy started writing as he felt through writing he could let it go. To my Fall is everything that he wanted to tell her, almost everything. To my St.Martins Summer is self-realization. The hardest part to write down because telling yourself that everything that you banked on was a mistake is not that easy.

We drifted apart before that wave hit our sail.
Such shooting stars we were.

-To My St.Martins Summer

This is when reality got the better of me! I landed somewhere near the Writers Block. After a really long time ‘To Maple printed curtains’ and the one night that he could feel love run their clock of life and stand with them in spite of all the Irregularities. That’s when it hit him hard and locked him down. To Do List is something special because of its Meta-Poetry Nature. It’s in this work you see him along with his mind. I(not the character!) had to write down To Crimson Boulevard because man I was lost and it was so dark. I felt the more I embrace the dark, I’ll stop myself from getting back to reality. I needed to shed it out and bring some light to the words. This is when I thought reading can help me write and I read so much. Crimson Boulevard was a result of the reading. To Universe was the strongest in terms of the concept I had in mind. It still is! I’ll rewrite if someone really wants to know.

And the seven notes of this piece ended and Autumn became dry. There was no wind to move the trees. Did you note that I mixed up the Character with me all along! The character took over sometimes, but it doesn’t mean I went through this in life. I lived this on the inside.

How does an Octave look?     C D E F G A B C.

I’m down by seven and the last note C, the coda of this piece will come in sometime today. Autumn ends for now and its time to get the Salt-Sack ready because

Winter is Coming.

The final piece- To dusk

Did they get together? Why the fuck did she leave him?

Ok! Why do ‘you’ think she left him? Let’s start asking her!

I’ve linked all the poems in this Epilogue kinda post, Do read and let me know anything you feel. Thanks again to everyone who walked with me through this. You are all soooo cool! Words, Strings and White hairs are all I have. I’m giving it away. Wish me luck! And Cheers to the beginning!

Do drop any suggestions or advice or queries in the comments. I’d love to learn from the person who has read such a long post on my blog!

Auf Wiedersehen.

-(C) just Barath

The pen kissed the next paper. 
Its cruel to ask the pen to move on too.
Let the kiss last.

-To Do List