World’s End–The Most Beautiful Place Ever

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No one knows, but there is a place somewhere around in the hidden realms of this world–kept well hidden from the local eye. The eye which meets every other eye, which meets every other eye–the common eye. This place is carved out of valleys and shade. This place is atop the most high mountains. The most secret shores. It is a secret well kept hidden. Upon the lake where water meets the skyline and the Sun is born. And when it grows old, it disappears like sound of silence. This place is called ‘World;s End’ and it is indeed the most beautiful place.

Gold is not gold here, it turns into wisp–golden wisp, so that at every Sun dance there is a hue of gold spread in such a way which entwines with the dark only to make it more beautiful. Here light is not just light–but a magnetic and hypnotic force which makes one–happy. An emotion which was never found, always sought and often forgotten. You see, this place is the horizon of everything that was and will be.

Here love is not born. Hate is not bred. Here neither things happen and none are believed in. Love-hate; the lethal combination which are both feared and both so very common. At World’s End, there is nothing like love to e thought to felt and hate  to be known to felt. That is perhaps why this is the most beautiful place on earth.

Where the silver of the Moon breathes unto the Stars all the secrets which were never known to any one or anything. Here whispers just disperse and go about and here the Nightingales don’t sing but are sung to by the most mellow voice. Tears melt into the skin here and thus begins daytime.

Here the hollow voices and the vacant stares and the empty smiles don’t matter because here they all come to rejoice in the pleasant dark which seems so utterly magnificent–like soft velvet which amalgamates with silk.

This is my World’s End. I come here often, to sing to the lake and watch it turn into an ocean–with waves. Lots and lots of waves. This is my secret. Well hidden from the eye which sees the other eye which sees the other eye- the common eye.

Here i come by, in my solitude–which turns into mirth which turns into Tears shed by God. Finally all turns into vapor and disappears along with the smoke which emanates music–spreading.

Here, dreams dissolve but do not disappear. They take root, like the huge tree which gives life and shade. Rocks made of past—steady but pointy yet important. One can always stand on one and jump into the gushing waters and feel each breath as it folds and unfolds. The body struggling to catch itself. The mind–in control.

I come here often, at World’s End. Every time i come by, i see a world turning and twisting. Screaming and struggling. Breathing and dying. Dancing and flying. All of it, you name it, i can see it, feel it, hear it and….let it go. Every time i come to World’s End–The Most Beautiful Place on Earth– the world begins. Once more. Evermore. Always.

 

The People of the Strange Town

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You the people, of the strange town,

who bring strange tidings!

You the people, of the unknown time.

You, the people who are not connected

You, the people of the strange town.

You, the people, in flames.

You, the people.

I do not belong.

Neither do you.

I do not surpass.

Neither do you.

I do not transcend

Neither do you.

I do not fly.

Neither do you.

I do not feel.

You…neither do you

I do not belong.

Yet you do.

I stand, while you spite

I stare while you jeer

I ponder while you remark.

I do not belong

While you, you bond.

I am me, and you…

Are neither me, nor you nor us, nor them

I breathe, while you curb.

I do not belong.

Neither do you.

We are not one.

You! The people of the strange town.

The one’s in denial.

I do not belong.

The Death of SARCASM

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*gasps*

Yes so the inevitable has happened…or more so, begun to happen. Yes. Sarcasm is dying because in simple words, idiots are taking over everything. Including sarcasm. And that is—ironical?

Little girls in pink pony tails will now be seen going on yapping about their Instagram food photos and putting *witty* things as captions and thinking to themselves that this here is the new and somewhat improved example of sarc-wait for it-ass-um!

Silly little insensitive boys will say meaningless things about other meaningless people and challenge themselves into thinking that they are good at something, apart from being total losers and that is sarcasm. Which is apparently so shockingly absurd that one actually starts believing them and THUS ladies and gentlemen–THE DEATH OF THE LITTLE BIRD WITH HARDCORE SHIT CALLED SARCASM.

Let us all mourn the death with tears because c’mon this one is actually sad. Because it entails that with it, cynicism ad humor take the high road. I mean you can not say anything witty to anyone anymore without it fitting into their sad standards. And believe me, they have a sad standard for a reason.

And the things that qualifies as their wit is as pathetic as their delusional wonder worlds.

Yes you may think that i am only being an insensitive meanie. I would otherwise love to prove you wrong. But i wont. Because that is exactly what i feel like being today. After all, why shouldn’t  I!!

I only go back to saying what my favorite thing to say is—it is not their fault they exist. Or that their existence is a sad spectacle of irony or sarcasm. Or that it is a *good one the big guy pulled out*. We just have to deal with it.

But you know what we DON’T have to deal with!? The death of sarcasm. When we see these midgets from inside their heads murder sarcasm, we make sure we take a stand. We make sure we do it with style. And attitude. And most of all brutality.

 

sponge

 

The Grand Illusion

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We–are all, everyone of us, a part of this grand deception. This great illusion. The illusion being that we are not alone. We may have many people by our side. We may have a family. And a million friends. And we may be perfectly bonded and in tune with the nature. But, we are all alone. Each and every one of us. We are all fragile. And we all have this need to grow apart from everything and everyone. This need is the reality. And when we do move apart from the millions of faces and the thousand and one voices—we linger on quietly in a world that is created for the lonely. We sit there and stare and ponder. We are meant to be alone.

This is the grand illusion–crowds.

And so—we hear music.

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It is not even remotely hilarious how the end comes so quickly and how the end comes while being so melancholic–so brutal–so real–so imaginary and so very lonely. How in the end, not a single soul stays by your side–not even those who claimed to always be there… People never stay. Friends move away. And it is absolute nothingness. The birds and butterflies, the silent mountains, the calm skies and the deep waters– nothingness. So in the end, don’t bother to expect..it’ll come crashing down, just like you did. Close your eyes. Sleep. 

Three Layers of Illusion.

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It is okay. After all it all is a blinding illusion. And illusions are like that–fragile. They break easy. Just like people. People break easy as well. People.

It is a strange fact–reality is. It fades and as it goes people become blinded by the glitter. Reality–the first layer of illusion. Millions live in reality. None know what it is.

Perception. The second layer of illusion. But this keeps changing. Like time. Time changes with each tick.

Time. The third layer of illusion. It is dimensionless. We think it keeps going. It doesn’t. We think it will heal. It doesn’t.

We perceive this about time. This illusion breaks. Like people do. People.

And reality. That is another illusion that breaks. Reality isn’t real. If it were, it would keep on going forever. But reality stops the moment people make it stop. And people..they break easy.

People…they are the biggest illusion. And the rest is a part of this.