Riddles and Answers.

So you've been asking. What the fuck is going on. Why the sudden change. What happened?

This is no call for help. Only answers to riddles if not more riddles to the evasive answer.

Going back to originality, returning to the passive, motherfucking earth deems it be that way.

The social introvert will always remain one, no you will not make a difference, you are not of any importance.

The lonely, he curses and utters profanities but lonely he shall remain. Company is not meant for him.

Now you say 'Shush! Your tongue dances away from the truth! You're ill, everybody needs company," with concern and a pat.

To that he smiles and his fiddle belches out more riddles; 'Nay my sweet, my tongue cannot dance and the truth remains intact; though my trunk might sway, my voice never goes astray. '

Paranoia sets in, thoughts of loss floods ye mind. 'I can heal you, let me be the one!' You cry and you pry, the lonely flew away on wings of wax and bone.

The social introvert will remain one. The lonely will die alone.

Let me be. I am me, behold the truth.

Sleepless Nights 27 - You don't belong here.

Yesterday I dreamt that I was walking along some sidewalk and it was snowing. So I took a huff from the cigarette that magically appeared and seriously, I paused and thought where the hell did the cigarette come from. Someone shouts my name from the crowd which also magically appeared. I have no idea why I brightened up, prolly was some friend or some shit. And in the case you don't know, my dreams are in the image of mood photos. Sorry, refer here.

Yes, that, grainy, lack of colours and all that shit. Digression.

So anyways, this friend hollers like a fucktard and I therefore brighten up like a fucktard. Then he runs towards me, like a fucktard, and I await, like a fucktard. Then he stabs me in the gut.

Yeah, didn't expect THAT did you. Neither did I.

So, there I was, frowning (There is no pain in dreams you moron), blood oozing out and my newly exposed intestines freezing. This is what I said to the dot:

'This is getting interesting.'

I was dying and that's what I said. Oh and best part is, my friend was grinning.

But the best part comes next. He/She leans towards me, gives me a hug and right before letting go, he/she whispers into my ear and says;

'You don't belong here, you just don't belong in this world.'

See, that part hit me. I was sure I let happy tears flow; do not the fact that your throat is at a pinpoint distance of being ripped off in the case that you do happen to make fun of this, because I dunno, I thought that here it is, a person who finally understands me. In a way, even if giving me death is a sign of acceptance and I was that appreciative of it...

Then I followed he/she everywhere she went, bleeding non stop telling him/her 'Thank you'. And asking him/her why he/she thinks I don't belong. He/She told me I knew and laughed saying me bottling shit up is okay.

Then Morpheus left. Bitch that he is. When I came to full realization of where I was, I hated it. Same room, same house, same fucking country and same body. Knee fucking malfunctioning, body moving towards a state equal to that of a skeleton... Man it'd be awesome if that fried really stabbed me...

Obsessions.

I have no idea what to fucken write anymore. Damn this rottweiler part of the creative brain.

Anyways, yes, obsessions. Currently-

I have to stop myself. Apart from writing cliche sentences like some corny fucked up geek (no offense to you mate, metaphors, really) I just saw two copies of the same book in front of me. Well not really in front of me but... One is two inches away and the other is uh... a feet away. Still, they are in a way in the line of sight, no? Digression. Damn these ramblings.

Where was I... Ah yes, obsessions.

1) Hindi movies.

No, I have no fucking idea why. It just crept from behind and pounced like some fucked up ravaged mutant grasshopper. Oh and the part where I can understand bits and pieces makes it all the more bearable. Heck even the damn songs and 'Blink-change costume-Blink-change costume' thing becomes bearable. In fact, the love songs, albeit corny as uh... corn, turns out to be actually fucken poetic. Which is good. You know. *Cough*

2) Pissing you off with big words and twisted explanations.

Again, no, I'm not congenitally born with it. Or was I? Sorry, turns out that when you're a day old, it's hard to remember stuff when all you can feel is a fucking gloved hand smacking your ass. Talk about child abuse.

Anyways, it seems particularly pleasing when after a long argument, the argumentee (See, I just made up a word!) gives a Fuck-you-I-give-up-you-know-it-all-fucktard-twit laugh/look/stab. Scratch that last one, they usually don't go that far. Apart from satisfying my huge parasitic ego, it's kinda fun actually. Oh and I'm the argumentor, see, that way it makes sense, me argumentor, you argumentee, we make sense here, no? Oh and it could only be done to full uh... fulfillment in English apparently. Damn those hard to translate Bahasa words.

3) The Sahara

How do I put it so that it doesn't sound as if I have a fetish for deserts. Ah, got it. See, I thought of writing a whole blog post on it but I can't seem to start. See, I look at everything with this sense of 'Is this it?' but as soon as I got in that fucken desert, there's this thing that keeps on ringing in my mind. It says: HOLY SHIT.

Seriously. It's hard to imagine how that massive piece of land could be covered in just sand, sand as far as the eyes can see, sand everywhere; fuck man, I came back to Alexandria and I had fucking sand in my fucking hair. And ear. AND EAR! I mean. Fuck. I was brought upon my knees by... sand. If that wasn't bad enough, the jeep stops and in the midst of everything... There was a fucking huge pool of fucking water. Ice cold water. What. The. Fuck. In the middle of the fucking desert. A fucking pool of water. Apparently, I'm the only one tripping over this. Then night comes and the fucking sky is filled with a shitload of motherfucking stars. That is the first time in my life that I had trouble looking for Sirius. Why?

This.

I'm not shitting you. Those shit aint noise. It's stars. A shit-fucking-load of them.

Okay fine, take this instead.

I think the only thing that would do justice is this.

In the Sahara, everywhere I looked, I saw God.

4) Jhumpa Lahiri.

She's an author. With a fairly weird name. Anyways.

Her material is usually what I kind of stay away from, it's boring reality, predictable stuff ya know. Or so I thought. Oh man, it's reality alright, but fuck man the way she tells it, and that final fucking twist that eventually twists again... That's the shit that makes it real absorbing. And it's all Indian. Jay Hind! Really good stuff. If anyone asks for the reason I miss my lectures, it'll be her name coming up. Among other stuff.

5) Getting into fucking OneExposure.

Go here. And you'll understand. Or not. Either way, I don't care.

For those who do understand, here's a rough sketch of what 1x is all about. Amazing photographers meet and makes awesome webpage. Awesome webpage attracts more awesome photographers. More awesome photographers makes awesome community. Awesome community plans on world domination. Awesome world domination leads to awesome world.

Uh. I think you know where to stop.

Somebody once asked me to my face; 'Do you think you have the talent? Do you think you're actually fucking good enough to be a photographer and make it a career? Do you?'

See, I said something back there in which I had no proof of, no solid evidence to shove back into the other's face. I said 'Yes.' Well, with a bit more aggression and confidence, but you get the point. Later I thought of it I felt fucking stupid. In what position was I to say that? In what fucking base was I standing on? Fuck that shit. Fuck that to the circles of Dante's hell. To this day I regret what I said. Why? Because it made me a fucking hypocrite. It made me stoop down to the level of posers, to the level of phonies and shit. Getting into 1x will be my fucking ticket towards my redemption. That's why with each and every reject I'll feel like a fucktard. An inferior fucktard. It means that what that person asked was true. And I do not like to be proved wrong. My ego is way too big for that.

6) Finally coming to the day when my fucking overdue short stories and fucking novels are done.

Yes, that. Referring to the very top of the post (Yes, begin scrolling up now.) the creative part of me brain is like a... shot of endorphin. It's awesome when you get it, then as time goes on, it fades, then something triggers it and then it goes away again and then the cycle repeats itself. See usually for this trigger to launch, the environment comprises me in addition to some other exciting stuff eg. having a debate on some god knows topic that nobody else could understand, running round dodgy staircases to get to the rooftop, taking long walks in the rain or whatever you know. Here, on the other hand, well lets just say the environment serves no purpose except to cage me in a glass prison and/or fill me with hate. And you people ask me why I haven't been writing as much. Ha-ha. Fuck you.

Oh and if you missed it the first time, those purple underlined stuff are links. Yeah, who could've known.

Genuineness.

It seems to be important since it's part of taking a persons history and all.

See, they defined it as something that's pretty awesome ie; genuineness means the ability to be yourself in a relationship despite your professional role. Then they ruined the whole fucking thing by summarizing that you should just be 'genuine' and try your best to get the patient talking. How bout manipulative? Hmmm, somehow the latter sounds much better.

Yeah, I get it, who am I to talk ey? But fuck, my genuineness means this: I don't give a flying fuck who you are, I just want to know what's wrong with you, and then I want to move on. I don't fucking care who you are, I don't care what position you hold in the decrepit society and I don't care how awesome you'd look without your bra. Wait, scratch the last one, if you're Cracked stock boob chic, then yeah, I do care. Very much so. Wait, where was I?

Oh yeah, I don't care bout you. Frankly I doubt anybody even do. What I'm very much interested in is about how your body fucked up and what caused it and that's it. Treating you is optional. Refer above for Cracked boob chic dilemma.

Of course I can put that smiley face and tell you that it's all going to be okay. I'll take your hand, tell you you're not alone. Tell you that I'll cross oceans and fiery mountains with a gay companion in a quest to rid the world of the one ring- wait. I meant to cure. To cure. *cough* I can do all that but of course, that'd be lying. It'd beat the whole point. I will cease to be genuine.

If I'm genuine, heck, if all doctors are genuine, the world will be a much better place. Why? There'd be a fuckload more dead bodies and more doctors wandering around thinking 'Hey, even if they all died a horrible death, at least I'm genuine. At least I'm true to myself.'

Most of us are not at a level in which we are ready to do all the pure stuff. Telling the truth, preaching, not be a manipulative bastard, preaching, forgiving, preaching, preaching. Uh, you get the point. Everybody wants us to be all this, fuck, even you'd; I emphasise, YOU"D like to be able to do all this but fuck it mate, there's a reason why we have to go through life and make these mistakes. You don't drive in a place you don't know and not take a wrong turning. It's the norm, the secularism, the way it should be. You don't lie about some stuff, you'll end up being this fucktard that'd get fucked over and over because people can't handle the truth. You don't be a manipulative fucker and you end up... uh... well, there are ways to rise but manipulating is so fun, fuck you holy people!

To be able to do all this, it takes a pure heart (Snicker). I mean that not in a sense of religion but in a sense of being human. Pure. And nopes, sorry to hack through your bubble with a chainsaw mate, you ain't pure. Especially when you're a fucking doctor. You've got blood on your hands. Literally.

Therefore, I conclude that being genuine will result in your ultimate downfall. Being me on the other hand, well, let's just say...

Sleepless Nights 26 - World's End 1

Nothingness. Or is everything compressed in a way that it seems like they aren't even there? Is everything in fact nothing, and that it's all in front of your eyes but they're all covered by your blind spot that all you see is a wide plain, as wide as the eye can see, until it reaches the horizon and maybe still continues to a point that your mind cannot decipher; as if you're looking at a galactic filament and realise how inferior you are in the world... Your mind refuses to accept that reality, you shut it all away and you see nothing. A delusion really, just a delusion.

You walk around, your shoes clicking and echoing (Do you even have shoes on? Are you even walking? Or just gliding?). Your eyes look at the emptiness, at the purity of it all, the white walls that stretch to no end, the walls... The walls are huge and towering, like mountains but at the same time meager, perishable, you shiver at the thought yet you know not why. You struggle and you quiver to try and make sense of this whole new depth of perception but you fail, it seems that the harder you try, the more complicated it seems.

So, there's a point when you stop thinking, stop trying, stop making things more complicated then it already fucking is. Everything starts to materialise, the walls crumble and fall, it's a horrific phase when everything is destroyed, everything disintegrates... And everything appears. No more blind spots, no more delusions. Just reality. Right to your face. You enter the World's End.

You scream out of terror at first, oh yes, you cry for Mommy, you close your eyes, trying in futile to shut the doors of your mind, to run, to ignore... Yet a part of you forces you to accept, telling you that once the gates are open, it can never be closed again, that the gatekeepers are fuckers to begin with, reckless too. You brought this upon yourself, you have to handle the consequence.

Slowly now. Slowly.

Worlds collide and fuse together, creating a plane of existence for beings foreign, cities appear; Necropolises, Empires, Fairy Land, Mars, Ryleh, Troy, Innsmouth... It all came out. Your dreams and nightmares. All laid out. You see gods and mortals, celebrities and beggars, all there in their outfits, all conversing, all oblivious to your presence. You see Zeus and Dream making a deal, Azatoth sleeping as usual, John Constantine and Loki having a cup of tea (Constantine has no idea what is in his tea and you find no reason to tell him.), Stephen King meeting his creations and in all this confusion, you failed to notice Cthulhu walking - Gliding? Or was he swimming, you couldn't tell - up to you.

"Got a fag?" he - or is it a she? Or an it? - inquired. You choke. The Great Old One asking you for a fucking cigarette. He had a blindfold over his eyes. You thank god for those little details He remembered to add. In all the time you were on the verge of having an anaphylactic shock, Cthulhu must have frowned - Or something, your brain wasn't exactly in perfect working conditions.

"You don't have to worry, it's not for me, it's for uh... Shoggoth... Really, I swore off cigarettes a millenia ago..." He/She/It seemed anxious. Right then you saw Thor sneering. Maybe it wasn't directed to you because Cthulhu quietly took his leave while muttering curses.

You tried to digest what happened but you can't. It's all too fucking absurd, too fucking far fetched that all this seems to be a dream.

"It's not." A voice chirped from behind. You turned around and came face to face with a fucking spider. A fucking spider. That can fucking talk.

"What?"

"All this, it's not a dream." All you can think of is where the fuck is the Spider's mouth.

"Then... what is it?"

"It's not what, you pathetic little mortal, it's where."

"So... Where am I."

"Glad you asked, been waiting for ages for someone stupid enough to walk in here without knowing jackshit about this place. I guess I should be the first one to welcome you to World's End."

"World's what?"

"End. World's fucking end. I'm Anansi if you really must know." Right then, he lit a cigar. You watch this with a fair amount of amusement and then you realised that you have no idea how it happened. "This is where we all wait for the storm to end."

"What storm? There wasn't even a fucking storm to begin with. And how the fuck can you even do that?" You stare at the orifice where smoke was pouring out. It was both disturbing and amazing at the same time.

"Of course there was. Storms come in millions of ways, from the sky, from the earth, in your dreams, and in your particular case, you created the storm in your mind. You triggered this. That's what made the Gatekeepers send you here. You know, for your own protection. Or so they say. Lazy son of a bitches all of them. I got sent here for no apparent reason. That being said, I've some urgent matters to attend to, hope you get comfy here mate, it's gonna be a long wait, I'll tell you that." He scuttled away, a trail of smoke following him like will-o-wisps.

Mouth gaping open, you start walking.

Prophets preached and sinners laughed. Tentacles and bubbles coexist, Lucifer and Gabriel had a couple of shots of whiskey and checked into a motel in a drunken stupor.

And all the while you're asking yourself what the fuck is happening.

Those damned photographs...

I was on facebook (You fucken addict...) and saw this old friend of mine putting up photos of our last year in high school. Yeah, those days. Those fucken days.

In which I try reminiscing about but I can't think of one fucken memory.

I looked at all the photos and this sudden realisation dawned upon me.

I wasn't in any of them. Zero.

Yeah, okay, I might be a tad bit of an antisocial (A little. Yeah. Definitely.) but to evade the hundreds of shots is... Amazing... The probability of that happening just doesn't fit.

I mean, it was the school carnival. That in its essence should mean that I should've been there. It was the fucking last day of school. Obviously a sane fucker would be there.

I wasn't. I mean, yeah, there's a million reasons on how I could've been absent but seriously.

Where the fuck was I? Whoever went to school with me please fucking answer.

I thought I was pretty social. I mean at my level it meant, talk when talking is needed. I was never the corner-of-the-room freak. Heck, I think I'm a fucking attention seeker at that point.

Anyways, Community Medicine is being a fat bitch with a bad voice.

And to the owner of the blog 'The Velvet Chronicles': Who the fuck are you?

Sleepless Nights 25 - Our Pride.

"Imagine our fucking pride... Thinking we're the centre of the universe... And that whatever created the universe looks out for us and only us... Then u c shit like them filaments (Galactic Filaments)...

Pride... Definitely my favourite sin..."

Pride.

We go around telling people we know so fucking much. When put in comparison with what we know and what we don't, our knowledge is like Earth compared to the fucking Galactic Filaments. We're inferior to the point that our existence is in truth... a negligible error.

Look at the examples of how proud our kind is. We know more about the fucking moon and the celestial bodies when we can't even fucking solve the mystery behind the Bloop.

We tell about how the fucking human body functions when we don't even have a fucking definite answer about the vasodilating mechanism of the coronaries.

Pride. Pride. Pride.

Truth is, we avoid all possible complications and cover it all up by doing something that attracts attention. There's a weird unexplainable sound in the sea? Heck, give some lame ass excuse and tell the people bout life on Mars instead.

There's so many mysteries on earth that's so intriguing, so downright what the fuck material. And nobody nowadays wants to give a damn to even care. Can you fucking imagine the awesomeness if that sound turns out to be Cthulhu instead? I mean look at it. The coordinates of the sound is about the same place as Ryleh, how fucking coincidental is that? And yeah, i kinda am wishing that it's fucking Cthulhu.

I think that of all the things that we say (ZS: Like being superior. ZF: Being awesome.), truth is we're just dead cells of something far greater than us, innate byproducts of some passing entity. While we may come from something great, it doesn't mean we are...

Through all this, I realise that what I truly crave in this world is fucking knowledge. Fucking knowledge. I crave for it, no, lust for it. The very thought of knowing is just so... so... fulfilling... Not knowing is fucking poison coursing in my veins , gnawing at my insides...

Fucking hell. As soon as I have the means, I'm gonna go scuba fucking diving into the fucking ocean. After all, if I am to die, why not die in the hands of the Great Old Ones. That way, I'll prolly go to the afterlife and find Lovecraft and get to say 'Holy fuck, you were right bitch!'.

Whatever it is mateys, I'll see you on the dark side of the moon.