.

...

to someone important,
how many times do you have to realise.
haha this is relatively funny.



your someone.

freewrite.

i can hear you ring.. and outside the window there's a haunted house- roof from where a man and his sister were thrown off by forces-unknown. horrible. truly, i can't mock tragedy. but i don't know about the unknown. i can't explain how you meant the "quoted" paradigm. i am just not awake yet to understand shit from crap. i need tea, i know that. but crows won't feed me their share of thrash. are you lost? keep writing. keep reading. keep listening. keep typing.

so this is it...

i have to write
!

i finished "fuck it" now it's up to matt to decide whether or not he wants to publish my work. i mean... whatever, i don't think it's worth reading.

i will have to critique my friend's work... eppp.. the night is very old...

love's colour.

i want to write again... before i start the "studies".

"a poor life this if full of care" so true.

i want to post carlos's poem there before i drift. i encountered the piece while surfing through AP today...
A Love Song by William Carlos Williams.


I lie here thinking of you:—


The stain of love
is upon the world.
Yellow, yellow, yellow
it eats into the leaves,
smears with saffron
the horned branches that lean
heavily
against a smooth purple sky.
There is no light
only a honey-thick stain
that drips from leaf to leaf
and limb to limb
spoiling the colors
of the whole world—


you far off there, under
the wine-red selvage of the west.

i don't know how wine tastes like... i have seen it from a distance... well, i had to inhale the stench... i say 'stench' because it was stench to me. that simple. but the 'wine-red' is a beautiful colour- so rich and so enchanting.

old english.

i want to go deep into the "language" i am still learning. the history is not as boring as i thought. it is tempting me. i wish we had opportunities like some who had it easy since birth.. hmph... there's always a way. i'll find one.

that's a pretty picture.

noisy talkers lined up to pick; pluck out words to form

shapeless sense--

their echoes were mountains high

and looked for blind substance

blindly

they chatted and engraved their wrinkles

like my aging skin

prematurely raging against conventions:

there was a door

slightly open. i didn't know what to make of it.

the bricks fall in the right place.

you really don't have to read to show your eagerness.



i've been consumed by a newer headache after having the grumpies converted to thawing ice-caps. things are okay for the moment. i have decided not to wrinkle my eyebrows and travel the conversations that occur in my head- these involve too many heads- too many eyes of eyes. am i successfully confusing you- you can actually figure out shit from crap if you are attentive enough. trust me on this.

let's go back in january. what have i consumed from the trip to shantinagar? i am too tired of going over that again and again. smaller houses smaller dreams; people feed off of people; hypocrisy led by hunger; niceness in smallness and God nothing citylike and the ghoststories. i recall everything- do you? i tore all the pages, dear jupiter. i wrote the letters to nobody i figured. but i still have them posted in my virtual reality-- perhaps somehow that will make me come back to this world one day and discard the remains of your image. i am tired of make belief characters. YOU ARE NO LONGER, honestly.

i remember feeling uneasy over matters which were blurred till i came back from shantinagar. it made me draw lines for my own good. someone died inside me. but it was-maybe- worth the journey to the underworld of one's shattering illusions. at least i am not Magritte's shrouded man anymore. well, i would be too offended to be a man in the first place.

i need to rant down everything. i am keeping too much inside i guess. i don't really care that you and you are not going to read an epic blog entry-- that is safer in my eyes.

i killed sami again. he was never there in the first place. i am tired of hiding that fact. i mean it was not my lie to be begin with but i had to lie even after i knew the reality. i am happy that there's no one who would use reverse psychology to fuck with my mind. she was a bad friend to use it. i forgave her eventually but i never told her which and what made me hurt the most... here, now i will... i hope by some twist of fate she reads it. she should know that i don't want her to feel bad but she should be told that i acknowledge her mistakes-sins... because they were deeper than what i actually made it look to her. i don't care if she never considered me as what she said i was-- i can say that our relationship was indeed built on a superficial level. i was too blinded by her words, her delusional world and her hypocrisy. she rebuked my traits and called my naivete hypocrisy-- but dear friend, by the time it all ended, i did learn something. i am never going to trust people so blindly.

it's like everytime i "sojourn" i have to "loiter" "palely"... i am doing justice to Keats's knight... but i am not hurt broken by my experiences. i do know that stand right back up and walk on -- who cares how fast i am walking... at least i walk and i know how to. every experience teaches me something- once i go through a marathon of heartaches, emotions, dramatics... i get a little stronger. the bricks fall in the right place. they always do... but we all point at the sky and make God the scapegoat. "oh what did He do to us? oh oh oh!"

to hurt one's ass.

(google image^)

i am not calculating in numbers now.

i woke up to switch off the ac because it was killing me... it really killed the rear of the bottom flat. i jumped up and fell. ouch.

the incredible pain of the moment-- the grumpies becoming more sore. i hate waking up like this. i wish i could somehow transform the vessel so to salvage the soul- it's not happening anytime soon. i have to disclose to the grumpies about my next year Egypt trip. i am saving money. i really need to go to Egypt. i mean why there-- i wish i knew.

trying to figure out eyes that don't smile.

painting by Shahbuddin... photograph taken by me... haha... who else could be that bad in photography?

all the poetry is sleeping. i have to be the flesh and meat of frosted hands and guts-- they are people o's and i's and vowels cluttered in their throats-- they are like themselves and i am in between. i try to drown in their glass windows... but who could penetrate ice? i am no water, i melt but i am no ice too.

murky.

you know,
it's really hard to dissect simple things. let feelings curve their faces...
think, if the water was too murky, would you put your feet in it and start walking toward the inkbloat bird?
think, in the tiny gaps between words and try to breathe a little. i know you can't.

!y punto!

to prove a point.


i have done something good to feel "alright"... i think i am getting addicted to the process. am i too ambitious? perhaps.

at least we are writing now.

let's be colourful this time.
no wait. that will mean i have to stop writing and change the colours. i can't do that.
is poetry being recognised more important than just expressing it? is any form of art, art, if it is not recognised? is that why we can sell art and be famous and those who don't they ain't artists because who saw them really?
i mean... do we have to shape an image of "art" like we shape a book or a pen or a paper or an eye when we say those words? do we shape word when we say "w-o-r-d"?
these are gibberish right? i never liked crowds but i like company. i like to talk about things i think about--- is that trying to sell my whateveryoucallit. i wanted to "grow" as a "writer" ... clearly i am not one. really as long as i live... the struggle to grow will make my life worthwhile. i don't want to sell my words. i don't try to create poetry to get applauds and admiration... i just write at times... i don't know why.
i hate to suffocate in other people's better opinions of what i do. i like criticisms... but i don't like it when you try to throttle something that my subconscious mind frames consciously...
i also almost always love to stay alone... hide in a room for days. is that normal... will you say that i am trying to hard to be something i am not? really... stop it.
i don't care anymore.
i like my pen and paper. i'll shape my own universe... if you recognise it and call it shit, then it is perhaps shit in your world;eyes or views. if you recognise it as art... perhaps it is art. and aren't you glad it breathes?

?comer algo?

don't ask me about the title.
so this is how it'll be after a year or two. i will have to give up everything i have now and form axis of confinements and build a house out of leftovers... it won't be as bad as the addled sentence. i don't know yet. but i have to give up on everything- the imaginary world and people i only got the chance to imagine and make bonds with that had less expectations from me.
it will be tough- not too fair. i mean it's been days... i can NOT for the fear of being judged write. before that fear had no significance.. now the fear is all i have. i mean it has taken over me. perhaps i was always delusional to think i could "imagine" -- who can't though?
the reculse should be a mouse till she bloats herself to death. but Witty never mentioned such a mouse. he mentioned universe in every mouse, didn't he? but who was i to think he could a prophet?
i will be a fair bargain for my parents' happiness. i won't call a person that-- i mean i will give my full consent to people to do whatever the hell they want to. i think, i am too fearful of breaking their hearts. but in the long run... Allah knows best.
perhaps there is a Jupiter somewhere. i mean, i don't even give anyone the chance to become one. and even if i would, i would be "sacrificing" in the name of my parents. it's better to have NOT loved at all.
dear Tennyson,
i loved the whole idea about Victorian poets. but really i can't be that bold to comply.
sorry, love. things are not so happy inside my universe.
esha.
i talk of freedom and equality. but i am a hypocrite to not fight for something i don't want. i don't want to commit to a "school" and bondage where i would have to completely lose my words. but if that's the only way to keep that one person sane and healthy... the person for whom i stopped myself to attempt something "stupid"... why not?
so i will be cooking? i have never done it though, but i never condescend. it's a brilliant way of expression too. but i just can't be at peace with the idea... but i guess ...yeah, i will be cooking. wearing jewellery perhaps, umm raising children(i would love to) within a confinement (wow shall i raise a finger)...

i can't. no no no. but i should stick to my words "i will never make you unhappy Ammu"... will she be happy if i end up with an incestuous sexist bastard?


dear Ammu,
i can't sacrifice my words.
but i love you the most. i think i have grown up to be a narcissist. i can't school myself further than this, that's a new promise.
esha.

i'll keep this alive.

i promise. i promise.
i need to.

my advance writing course is giving me the chill. "we are going to deal with formal aspects of writing essays" my motherlyfaced course instructor smirked and swallowed the last word. well the motherly part depends on whether she wears professional materials or not! damn that sounded angry, didn't it? not really, i can't forgive her for what she said after masuma's uncle died. forgive was perhaps a harsh word. but i can love Mks for the rest of her(haha)- inconsiderate or not, she is very much fond of us, and i guess like other "good" teachers she wants us to give our best. my best, this time, is threatened, inn't? i mean what is "formal" writing? why do we have to "school" the writing? why can't everything have freedom- like the word "spatial" she used for "descriptive essays" ... "you need a thesis statement for your essay"... yes yes i have heard that before. but the buster gave a B+ because i insisted on sticking to narrative form even though the final paper needed a little "organised" shit here and there.
"oh you gave a wonderful exam. you got the highest in the final! i think you made it to an A-"... no i didn't, liar with a grandpa smile.

it's funny how we use the notsoright words in front of Mks. we repeated in turn- the word "pee" and i explained the process "urination". now she knows where the disjointed fragments come from... we are all retards. she should be happy we are a little "creative" that way... but do we need to create this time?

if only i could answer all my questions...

nothing too serious.

did i not think about continuing this. i had 10000 words to overcome-- look at selfcontradiction.
it's funny how i am not revising what i have read so far and typing this. but like i say. it's a therapy. it soothes the mind. i am calm enough.

consider.

today was probably the worst day of the year.
i can't believe i came back home with the intention of confronting my parents; my mother especially. they are both going through a lot.
i can be so insensitive at times, i feel guilty so very guilty. so guilty that i feel responsible for ammu's sickness right now. she fainted minutes after i stormed out crying over something really silly and insignificant and most importantly untrue. she was asking me not to travel alone when i refuted saying she didn't care about my well being. so untrue and unfair.
i am sorry, dear reader. i am whining now. bear with me.
i have paraded between thoughts of conceptualism and one's own better judgement. i can't still figure out where i am standing at this point of my life; my life is a slow motion movie going nowhere.
there's a sad dying sigh somewhere in the background. consider it as music.

because we are really children and 100 is the largest number.

let's sit around the lazy horizon
and dream like children
let's not sit around
without romanticism
without the eye for a living lie--

let's not confuse white and black
with whiteblack and blackwhite

let's drink tea
without melancholy
consuming us from within

let's kiss the hands of ancient
limits
and languages yet unexplored

let's talk out the tangles
so that the overgrowth
of willows don't weep

i am willing to hand the candle
some light; it's almost night
but tell me you'd be there
to figure out the dark shades of the sleeping earth
with me

because one cage is small enough not to breathe
and one room is longer than most days
and i have tapped the fingers of shadows
100 times a moment
50 times more than second chances.

http://allpoetry.com/poem/5401051

this is what i think

i'll go back to my codes.

hazel and kishor needed sortingthings out. i was one of their inner voices, offered beef shwarma and pepsi and my counterpart who sat opposite to me and he was offered the same food and drink. we sat and delieved our "views" at intervals. it was important for hazel and her kishor. we were important.

i was hoping for the worst, but as the clouds greyed outside; their storm ceased inside. we made fun of crappy music that was being played-- a war clarion after the peace treaty. ironic.

we took a bus and my ass brushed against a lot of people. traumatic; i don't want to recall the gettingoutofthebus.

brown needs to sort things out too. but he is more in deeper water--as he would say, "at the bottom of the ocean." but his heart worries me, i don't think he allows himself to see. he can't rely on a half-real person's words... i hope he starts to realise that.

dear coleridge,

i had no intention to humiliate you. but i think, once or twice, you felt humiliated. i regret doing whatever i did.

esha.

i observed that this season is the season of complete pandemonium. and the people creating it are mostly women; that makes me sad and think... should i re-evaluate my ideas; need i think over this at all?

well at least zephyr is happy. so very happy. so is hazel- but she flares up. rocket is calm for the moment- but she flares up, she flared up at coleridge too when she thought he was being rude to me.

[i worry about rocket. her nest is empty now, finally. she feared this would happen years back. i worry about iron-arms because he doesn't know that he too can have emotions. i wish they find their peace some time soon.]

the sassy women on the other hand are out hunting and baiting.

the drunkards are done moping and now they're all philosophic-- bastards.

the religion-shunners are done blaming God and making excuses. and for the revival of things, they have changed into being loud and detestable.

the hypocrites are thawing.

the recluses are planning and have stopped planning and building up opinions.

the intellectuals have started to talk about stagnance wrapped with sheets of a dying humanity(that was always there i guess).

--

anger brings out the worst; we all know. it does melt the molds of illusion that other people create for the angry.

sometimes it's a good way to realise other people's qualities. i envy patient people. but i am more scared of the extremely angry. i don't want to turn into one.

28th.may.

wouldn't we have a life outside the box; the bricks and the walls? i don't know. i don't know. nobody knows.

the sky and trees look beautiful through gaps- you know how they put gaps in between intentionally... or the artsy bricks with intentional holes in them. holes was not a funny word. why do we have to take things otherwise? i don't know, do you? am i talking to myself, or you, or my words? i don't know.

i enjoyed going out today.

my friend calls herself blind, which she isn't. but i am glad i got to see her face and know that her eyes were perfect. it was kind of a relief to see her alright. i saw her friend today, i hope he doesn't think i plagiarized his thoughts. i do that don't i? write about everything that happens-- advertently and inadvertently. i always say i plagiarize from God. but now, in this case, i am defenseless. even though my intention was not to steal. we had tea... it was wonderful, the place called Goethe Institut Dhaka. i actually would have to write an Event for Ice Today about that place if i had joined Ice a month earlier.

i miss having a job. shh...

i saw krishnochura, i stared at them while picking up kashfia, during our ride to Goethe place and while we were there. krishnochura gives off a beautiful feeling... i have so many fond memories about walks, krishnochuras, conversations and philosophypolitics.

i miss tanjima, her old house, the roof... i miss going to english classes with her... i miss walking...and our rickshaw rides.

note.

goodmorning,
when you look outside your windows, you see a world of workers. we all work-- walking, building houses, selling, buying, riding, driving. so that's what i see when the world is awake at noon. i see you, sun. i see you, rain. i see everything from my room. it's funny how miserably i wanted to become a speck-- a thing that would be there-- "see and hear" and not feel. i truly wanted to be forgotten and forget. i didn't want to hurt anyone.
esha.

shallow waters.

there was a girl named moonlight who was a pretty whore. a boy named rotund was in love with her; moonlight was a ditsy queen of surely sharp a mind. her heart was fascinated with carnal fire and she loved stealing sunlight. one fine day it started to storm the whiny ditsy queen started her whine and rotund figured out that his fingers were thawing down ... he was made of glass- highly fucked ice under highly lowfuck temperature. ditsy queen named moonlight started to ouch and owwh and rotund was desperate; he was stuck to the ground. oh no... it was a bloody quicksand...nah just himself melting! how tragic could life be for the both. moonlight surfed her window; saw tiny faces of hunks and smiled the evil smile and said to herself, "i shall have them all... only a bit more of pretense." so she did. but she was a ditsy queen... who could not sink or swim or float in love... poor ditsy queen and rotund the oceanic water ... only fishes swam in him.

rant # infinity.

i don't know what to write. it's not losing the game that's bothering me. everything else is not helping me either. i hate being in the middle of something that ultimately makes me the monkeyinthemiddle which will be extinct the next day. sunshine sunshine gobble me up or down.
i HATE people's hypocrisy about emotions. their traits are so abnormally repulsive that i would not have enough words to describe them. i am talking about these specific people who talk about their ex's "assests" to other boys to brag. seriously, to brag? is that how low their lives are? also these kinds of boys are always the ones with the best sob stories. they pretend to be some tragic drama queen of a hamlet. seriously brag about your ex's breasts?
also, there is a kind of women i hate so much. who would do anything to be seen and to "snatch" other people's importance. they are so fucking blind; don't they know that there is no "importance"?
i am tired. of self contradiction. of suppressing my anger and staying quiet(not always though i talk back 2 out of 10 times). i have to be the villain either way. i have to be at the core of something... esha this and esha that... why do i get IMPORTANCE? am i a whiny bitch who likes to snatch? no i am just a bitch... perhaps i shouldn't socialise at all. perhaps i should wait all my life until one or two genuine people come and stand in front of me and say, "hey do you need water? i can fetch you a glass."

ambia.

talking about the small things in life.
i saw the eyes of this woman today; she is not our maid, she comes to our house to work with my mother because 1. she likes my mother 2. she likes my mother. she is nice and a warm character, when i stand beside her, she smiles and it melts my heart. God knows how she spends her "rest of the day". i have seen so much of poverty throughout my life, by just looking around. i have never felt the hunger, the frustration but from far away, i mean, from really far away i can tell these people somehow survive. they think of their "each day's". and that's their way of living. remember the small houses in the villages? their dreams are indeed small because they have small houses, a smaller sky- a smaller roof. but most of these people like Ambia, who are not ruthless or exposed to the rougher extreme of hunger and poverty, have bigger smiles.

.

the boy died. my maid just told me.

the things bound to happen.

my hell will let loose. when i won't have words.
i think people come face to face with what they fear the most in life. sometimes they die during such encounter.
can we not talk of death? sure.
but people who are dying in africa, srilanka, pakistan and all over the world should be forgotten because we shouldn't about suffering so that we don't get depressed? just for the sake of feeling one% of security that is probably there because we are unaware. God do we even use our brains completely in the first place. NO. so what's the hurry in the pursuit of happiness, brother? sit down, look at people. they die and scream; they are hungry and dirty and they are consumed by HIV virus.
i think i will stop being schizophrenic.
every thing, every fucking thing is an illusion.

today.

today.
a man/boy fell on electric wires and died. he was working on our neighbor's building.



i read and morality looked more horrid by the hours. it was funny now the sound of his death sounded like a crow's. every now and then a crow sits on an electric wire and dies. i thought of boro fupa and relatives and friends we have lost before him. i thought of the boy-- his family, his mother. i didn't know those people but i could tell all those people died along with him. maybe he was alone. maybe not. and if not a newer set of sufferings and toil have already taken place in the lives of his near ones. i hope he gets peace after all.










he didn't die. he is just suffering alot. my sister just told me.

the thing I should have written earlier.

I thought of keeping up with this. I am making this into a journal as long as my mind doesn't plan anything else.
yesterday.
I woke up early; talked to myself in the mirror, that's my favourite, being schizophrenic has all the best ways of entertaining oneself. I also have superego. Hence the self admiration-- what else could it be, all of a sudden I have decided to just about my life here. I mean how much could one love herself? I think part of my depression these days is sheer hypocrisy-- I have no one prediction for it. Everyone asks, "Esha what's wrong?"
Esha is not as self aware. She is all about the pretense; stay away from melodrama. According to a person whose words people thought were my only resort said that go through a phase like this every summer or perhaps a bit later. He should know it started last summer. There revelation, I am not ashamed of self pubilication, not today. Who would know what I am talking about.
Going back to the activities of yesterday; I woke up early, went to my old school to collect my A'level certificate-- I met old people, newer limestone stone finish on the walls and the old maid who apparently "knew me very well". I sat in the library and saw two teachers and the librarian's assistant sweating over an "apostrophe" that baffled them greatly. I found it a bit funny that they would not use the dictionary, come on there's no shame in making sure. Overcorrectness lead to their over-stupidity. I now know why my principal used to despise all her employees because they are a bunch of asses who would waste hours over an apostrophe without consulting a dictionary.
From school I went to Rohini's. Ro was still asleep, she went to bed at 9am. Her "orange" boyfriend kept her awake that late, I forgave him-- he has two dimples. Ro and I slept for about an hour; then she had "cold" milk and I had my first cup of tea. And I sulked because before I went out of the house yesterday, Ammu was having of her overbearingmotherlyfits. I don't understand why she does those, it only demotivates me and makes me more stubborn, maybe that's her only way of analyzing things. Maybe.
Ro and I went to Farzana Shakil's where I de-female my face (I hate men; hate to resemble one). Then I kept chatting to Ro while she and her mother(who was already there) pedicured their legs. I liked our conversation. It was fun to have Ro around. There's a certain sense of calm when my friends are near me. I get a positive feeling about things.
Next I went to see Preetha; talked to Nabila and planned to go to her place since she can't possibly get out with the "Shits" going on in her life. We understand really; it must be scary and unnerving to be in her position. Then Preetha and I went to Piran, from where I bought the jute bag, whew. Because the thought of having a leather bag hanging from my shoulder was disturbing me for a long time. Then I realised how I have spent 1000 taka in two days and how broke I was and how I really needed a job. I hate asking for things from people. I wish I didn't have to.
Then Saiqua came and met us at Cafe Mango. I loved our conversation inside Cafe Mango. We laughed at happy people-- we concluded that they were happy because they were delusional; stupid to be precise. Preetha has changed for the greater good in her life. See, at this point we all think we have. But I am beyond happy for wherever all my friends have gone and are. They make me proud. Saiqua got into Parsons(spelling?) and I hope the visa "shit" doesn't become too "shitty" or painful for her.
We went back to Preetha's place-- talked a bit with her mom, where mostly Preetha and Saiqua pulled my legs, trying to figure out the secret behind my "beauty". I rolled eyes till I was too tired.
Then we went to Rifle’s Square because Daiyan(Rohini's brother and my friends' friend) wanted to buy DVDs.
I finally came home in the evening. Ta da da. Ammu screamed, "You shouldn't have come at all."
I ignored and told her (inside my head), "No thank you, I have punished you enough for one day". I am just kidding but I did punish her by making her worried. She needs to know she is overbearing at times. I tackled her fuming remarks with my silence till I went inside my room pretending to go to bed.
Then I had depression fits and got yelled at by Matt who was actually being too patient and nice. And finally I slept at around 4am after conversing with Lal. I think we did talk about something substantial... I don't quite recollect, but my mood changed before I slept. Definitely Bipolarity needs happy thoughts for sleep. Did I say I was Bipolar?