"In Me All That Fire is Repeated!"

There is an atmosphere of confession that’s slowly building up inside me. It rushes in with horns and teeth and claws, desecrating my beautiful holy heart. Heart of colour. Heart of improved true lies, readjusting itself from time to time.

I think of you

And then I think of me.

I want you to be like Keatsian lines

Intoxicating

Forgetting

Escaping

Sensual

Dense and light

I wanted you to be like that Ode

In which I have luxuriated numberless times

Aching and aching

Dying and dying

Waking and waking.

Toni Morrison and her The Bluest Eye. Pecola Breedlove and her desire for the bluest eye. Blue Blue Bluer Bluest eyes through which she can view the world which may love and stroke her. Pecola- the tired bird, the drooping girl, the wronged girl, the the black black girl. I wish the blue eyed Pecola could sleep for some time. And then I would sit beside you. Wake up only when your dream is over. And then you would describe it to me. The blues, the moonlight, the silvery air. I would like to mix my memories with yours, to mix my dreams with yours, to mix my love with yours.

Have you ever felt what it’s like to be speaking and never conveying? Have you ever felt what it’s like to be belonged and never belonging? Have you ever been in someone’s eyes, look the same and look different? Have you ever been loved and not yet loved? “ What did love feel like?”  Why are you so certain of a hurt to be hurt and not certain of a love to be a love? Or is it implicit in the hurt itself? 

“Love is never any better than the lover. Wicked people love wickedly, violent people love violently, weak people love weakly, stupid people love stupidly, but the love of a free man is never safe. There is no gift for the beloved. The lover alone possesses his gift of love. The loved one is shorn, nuetralized, frozen in the glare of the lover’s inward eye.” Do you want to love like a free man with no gift for the beloved. Or would you rather be wicked to love wickedly? Be violent? Be stupid? Be weak? Would rather be anyone of these or would you like to frozen your lover with the glare of your inward eye?

Someone told me that my articulation of thoughts here make me look all the more foolish and that one should learn to cover one’s weaknesses rather than exhibiting it with an eloquence which will create an identity that I may not desire. Identities! You seek for it. One way or other you go for it. I wish to come back here to echo my immutable thoughts so that I could avoid some personal differences and fractures by throwing it right away at some of the close gazes. Here there is anonymity even in identities. Safe and excusable to an extend. Yet I demonize some of the bare truths and questions- as if their renderings may be as shameful as being naked. In Frued’s way though I wish to free play my Id here, I still have to bow down to my Ego…No! Don’t do it! Or if you do, do it with Innuendos and clever sophistication or use your innate appetite for metaphors, only to structure it as faint and vague.

“Do you fear to speak truthfully?”

Some times I feel like I am the Holden in Salinger’s imagination of Catcher in the Rye. Oh Please catch those little ones who are about to stumble from the cliff, who are about to fall apart and smash their heads on adult phoniness! Catch them! Save them! “So young and so true!”

I readjust myself and see my reflection on the window glass. What are you writing? Thoughts, I guess?

Do you still believe in the illusion that you feel better after you scartch these letters here? Scratch on your reflection dear, so that the changes won’t be marked. You fear change!

Where is Pecola? Let me not think about fear and change. Let me think about Pecola’s blue eyes. Let me think about the unfavouring earth and marigolds that never spring because Pecola was carrying. Let me think about you. Your blackness and your madness. Let me hide behind you little girl. “We were so beautiful when we stood astride her ugliness”

“We substituted good grammar for intellect; we switched habits to simulate maturity; we rearranged lies to call it truth, seeing in the new pattern of an old idea the Revelation and the Word.”

 Everything in italics are strictly quotes!