Same old, same old

So, Nitin, I see that you’ve deleted your blog again. What possesses you time and again to land on the obsidian shore of madness where the sky is sickly green, and the air is pungent? Actually, don’t answer that, because if you even attempt to, you’ll once again play a discordant chord in your mind that will make you repeat the cycle.

You’ve already proven that you’re capricious, driven by mad impulse, and quite insane, and so, why induce madness when you’re strangely lucid today? Oh, you wild man of the wasteland! Clothed in the sheepskin of vicious cycles and eating the locusts of trepidation! When will you build a dam and prevent the waves of psychosis from inundating you again! Oh, you bat-shit crazy bastard! Despite reading Philip Roth, Jonathan Safran Foer, Kierkegaard, Camus, Jeet Thayil, Thomas Ligotti, Jung and Eliot, you lack wisdom. And perhaps all the books of this world only give one knowledge without perspicacity, making one expound on the callous thinking of a Raskolnikov, but failing to help him cross a street without a car mowing him down.

So, this post marks a new beginning, huh? An umpteenth new beginning on yet another blog. Your readers have probably given up on you. They must wonder what you’re like in person if you’re this unstable online. So, why don’t you let them into the life of the bearded, modern hermit who reeks of coffee, and lives in an apartment that stinks of stale tobacco? The man who shifts between light and darkness; the defender of the persecuted, but also the voyeur who can’t get enough of tight asses in spandex. The moralist who’s ironically a hedonist. The lover of life who’s also paradoxically, the miserable, little, harbinger of misfortune.

A part of you wants to stop here and wonder about how self-indulgent your writing is. You prattle on about your worthless life, and your self-destructive tendencies. Have you ever written anything that doesn’t stink of self-pity? Pretty soon you’ll cry every time you speak, and answer how are yous with an, “I’m struggling you see! Life is so harsh and unfair!” and intersperse those sentences with a hundred sobs and twenty whines, until the very sight of you (online or offline) appals people and makes them run to the gooiest, saccharine, inspirational message or post out there because they need to recover themselves.

Honestly, Nitin, you’re an anathema – an abomination with tentacles and myriad eyes destroying dreamy languor and casting a wicked spell on Beauty’s seat. A romantic who looks at the stars and wonders what aesthetic hand holds them in place, and wonders what melodies they sing, and dreams of becoming one with that ethereal sonata, only needs to look at you to realise that Autumn is overrated and that the oranges and the reds are just Spring in its death-throes.

But, since every story must have a happy ending, I’ll change my tone here and say that perhaps those yellowed teeth like sorrowed chiclets, that dirty beard and that long, matted hair has its own charm. Most people enjoy the smell of their farts, and if something so rancid is considered a perfume of sorts, then maybe, you have some peculiar beauty that one who admires the thistle can appreciate.

Maybe you possess the allure of a loveable loser or the cuckold, or the educated barbarian or the weakling. Or perhaps you possess no appeal which in turn, draws people. No game-game as they’d call it in the dating world. You often see misfits landing the hot girl because of this. So take strength in that you have something to offer to the world even if it’s only nothing that’s packaged well, and press on.

Okay, enough of this motivational shit! I heard you got cigarettes today. Nicotine gum was whipping you with leathers of anxiety like a dominatrix from hell, wasn’t it? Slapping you, barking, “Sit!” and fucking with your balance. Well, I’m glad you got rid of her. Well, enjoy your cigarette and enjoy this blog while it lasts! And hopefully, your readers do too!

© Nitin Lalit Murali (2020)

Photo by Ian Parker on Unsplash

Essays

6 Comments Leave a comment

  1. Well, I, for one, not only enjoyed this piece of self-loathing (because I think a lot of us have a lot of the thoughts) but also your blog. I just wish you wouldn’t keep deleting your stuff!!

  2. Damn this hit home. Today I couldn’t stop thinking of deleting everything – my poetry account and blog and Facebook and just pretend its 1996. Thank you for choosing to share this, and keeping Soft Rains up so I can read it today. I also feel like everything I write is just another sob story. Do you have any story ideas for like a novel? Maybe you can put all this emotion into other characters. I dont say this to every poet so I do mean it when I say it would be nice to read a book you with your style. I hope you watch a hundred sunsets today ⚘

    • I’m so glad you didn’t delete anything. And it means so much that this post resonated with you. Dear Samantha, we all experience so much sadness in life, and writing it out is one way of coping. So everything you write isn’t a sob story. It’s heartfelt and comes from a deep personal place. I still remember your poem Snowball, and your hand injury saddened me. I hope you are well. I do have some story ideas, but they’re all autobiographical. A friend also suggested that I write a novel today. I want to, but it’s daunting. And thank you so much! I wish I can get a book out one day. I hope you watch beautiful sunsets too ❤️

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