Surrounded by the words and vague little thin layer of air passing through the same thought processes accustomed to the very less purposeful literary expressions. My not so tuned instruments hanging near by my bookshelf are staring at me with distress and discomfort. Books lie down on the floor with such apathy as we call it existential crisis. Even to be less uniformed and less constructive, hypothetically I ought to be directed. Common phenomena that lies within the thirst for true relatedness, ego free relations, deliberately conveys me the purpose and the fragile truth through the medical disorder called 'anxiety'. 
I try and decode the journey called "from being to become".

I fail i succumb, i fail i succumb. Precautionary movements have been idle all the way through. What is going to happen or what has happened matters to me a very little. I am a visionary but not so precautionary. It is quite similar to what economics teaches me. Sometimes you ought to do things which you are not supposed to do or you dont believe in, for the respect of mindless hunger and strife for success; nowadays money. So what? Everyone does! no one cares! no one fears to face the extinction. Like an unstructured obnoxious parasite i survive within the drenched night along with the nightmares.Its not actually what you perceive, its about how you want others to perceive you. Definition matters. I have read ridiculous philosophies over the period of time yet i couldnt gather a single thought or virtue of the literature. Essence of the existence is notabout living the life, its about surviving like an ugly creatutre. Even a phillospher wishes to be read, wishes to be heard, no matter what his philosphy is meant for. We all are part of the dysfunctional illusion where everyone thinks treats themselves as thinkers. We all have somewhere compromised ourselves for the sake of living. May be for the girl we love, may be wife or may be friends. Compromise is not an excuse for the failures and manifested depressions. We live, we survive, we suffer, we admire and pretend to rise. The ugly truth eventually at some random point everyone understands.

as i consider

As i crush my words against the benevolent gestures of the literature, i sense a tendency within me to not to follow my own instincts, very well described by my own words, indefinitely leading my own existence, to the void.

Everything around me whether a thing or a person claiming to possess some sort of existence, scream me from the depth of its tremendous potential. Unlike me, everyone is seeking expression of experience in the mindless hunger of success. Success- a relative phenomenon. If i were to decide the right moment and the right perspective of my life, i would have been merely an ugly creature with no size, shape or face either. Crowd has no face nor do i have any of a similar kind but nevertheless i continue to pursue the undefined. The hot pursuit i enjoy along with my integrity and dignity, it makes me interesting and make me fall in love with me. Yes! Just like a mirror. You see, how you see yourself in the mirror.

Constructive ambush I produce when I am writing is really not a mere show off. I live the moment when it comes to writing. The process of writing which lets me have my time with myself gives the same satisfaction I would get while performing some rock number in front of the listeners. The only difference is now my words get crowded on a blank sheet.

With my karma I feel the speed. I travel, travel and travel. I write I survive I gamble I refuse I reject I contradict I predict and I succumb. I succumb to the literature. I succumb to the power I feel I get through writing. Perhaps I don’t deny this one thing about me but at the same time one shouldn’t underestimate the immense knowledge and expressions of human existence that literature offers. Whatever you do, you make an impression of yourself in your own eyes that you are becoming a part of this unattainable race. All we can do is considering ourselves as void. And enjoy the journey with all possible complexities.  

happy birthday kurt cobain

and I forget just why I taste
Oh yeah I guess it makes me smile
I found it hard it's hard to find
Oh well! Whatever nevermind"
These are the words which echo in my mind almost everyday. Great words by a truly contented song-writer and musician "Kurt Cobain"
Many of us in the pursuit of never ending knowledge of music must have encountered with the truly hypnotic music of nirvana.
Generations to generations Nirvana will influence musicians. The dark lyrics and not so complicated compositions was the X-factor which Nirvana had.
God bless nirvana.
God bless Kurt Cobain. Love peace

Ashwin and Akshay Jamming Session

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