radioactiveapeman.blogspot.com
Radioactive Ape
http://radioactiveapeman.blogspot.com/2012/03/it-is-true.html
Thursday, March 8, 2012. It is true. I am bad with colours, literally and figuratively. I is the fountain frm vich all ledges leap. March 30, 2012 at 11:22 PM. Dis oedipal mimesis reminds 1 of a certain blind greek king.or was it a castrade? Vudnt wanna b trapped in his xiztntial shoes. March 30, 2012 at 11:27 PM. Dude,well all die eventually.sry 4 da dude.dnt normally use dude.but u r it cms quite a clever dude.lyk ur blog,dude,sum of it is insitful.hear hear,dude. March 30, 2012 at 11:38 PM.
thelifeofdreams.blogspot.com
Purple Gaze: August 2011
http://thelifeofdreams.blogspot.com/2011_08_01_archive.html
I snap. A little less here. Monday, August 8, 2011. There was something strangely reassuring about vanity. About scoffing at little boxes of shimmer and colour women hover around in shops. About chuckling in silence as friends fussed around the pub washrooms. There was something strong, quietly comforting about not having to seek love. Or miss it. Links to this post. Subscribe to: Posts (Atom). Sense and Non Sense. Random thoughts from a confused mind. View my complete profile.
thelifeofdreams.blogspot.com
Purple Gaze: August 2010
http://thelifeofdreams.blogspot.com/2010_08_01_archive.html
I snap. A little less here. Tuesday, August 17, 2010. There isn't much to say. Or maybe, there's a lot. Squeezed into chinks and corners. But I no more fancy broken, bloodied nails. Just because they have scrapes of soundless, dank nights on them. Some day, I'll come scurrying for words again. Till then, I'll be greedy, restless and wide awake. Links to this post. Subscribe to: Posts (Atom). Sense and Non Sense. Random thoughts from a confused mind. There isnt much to say. Or maybe, theres a lot. .
radioactiveapeman.blogspot.com
Radioactive Ape: January 2013
http://radioactiveapeman.blogspot.com/2013_01_01_archive.html
Monday, January 21, 2013. The Prince (or call it the primary ape, or just x or perhaps give the gentleman his due in dignity and agree to call him The Prince) was riddled by the recurrence of the trinity. Brahma, his essence? Vishnu, his projection? How can he be one without the other? The Prince runs out of his chamber to the outside. He then leaves his earthly body and swims into the ether. And he is lost. They say that the riddle of three got him. I am how you paint me as. Subscribe to: Posts (Atom).
songs-from-the-road.blogspot.com
The Little Grey Squiggles.: April 2012
http://songs-from-the-road.blogspot.com/2012_04_01_archive.html
The Little Grey Squiggles. Saturday, April 21, 2012. The desert sands can do strange things to a person. The grains burrow deep into your skin to lend your face a timeless quality. The old man squatting opposite us was around ninety, but he looked older than anyone I had ever seen. Underneath a pair of bushy eyebrows, his eyes still retained sparks of a long forgotten fire. 8220;We never had enough water in those days. There was only one well, many kilometres away. People would walk there and sta...8220;...
songs-from-the-road.blogspot.com
The Little Grey Squiggles.: Home, sweet soul
http://songs-from-the-road.blogspot.com/2012/04/home-sweet-soul.html
The Little Grey Squiggles. Monday, April 16, 2012. Home, sweet soul. The city is lies, deceit and pretend humane. It is a complex machine of sorts, masquerading with a human face, a familiar place. It lulls its unknowing people into a complacent nap. Everything is alright because I am a happy place with a smiling face. Believe in me and the buildings that you see around you. You are mistaken. Behind those shut windows are not soulless souls who pretend to live. Subscribe to: Post Comments (Atom).
graveyardofroses.blogspot.com
graveyard of roses: July 2008
http://graveyardofroses.blogspot.com/2008_07_01_archive.html
Saturday, July 19, 2008. FUCKING DARK- JOKER'S SONG. In the dank cavern. Of the endless fuck-ups that make up life. An ordeal and a purgatory. With its smudged frieze. Like the soiled lipstick of a hooker. Of mold and mildew running along. The cracked whitewashed walls. Stains in every hue. Of the excremental rainbow. Which derived no light at all. From the slits of the grime clouded glass. Like the eyes that stare out from. Beheaded bodies bubbling blood. Spiraled malevolently up from. Into which I Puke.
thelifeofdreams.blogspot.com
Purple Gaze: January 2010
http://thelifeofdreams.blogspot.com/2010_01_01_archive.html
I snap. A little less here. Thursday, January 14, 2010. Roughly ten years before I discovered how fashionable or intellectually uplifting it was to be a soul lost in bowls of all sorts, I discovered Backstreet Boys. If there is anything that could compare to my first tryst with the then rebellious lyrics (. Am I Original, Am I the only one, Am I se-x-ual. Links to this post. Subscribe to: Posts (Atom). Sense and Non Sense. Random thoughts from a confused mind. View my complete profile.
graveyardofroses.blogspot.com
graveyard of roses: May 2008
http://graveyardofroses.blogspot.com/2008_05_01_archive.html
Monday, May 19, 2008. THE BALLAD OF THE LITTLE BOY LOST- LINES WRITTEN UNDER MIGRAINE. It rained and it rained and it rained. After years of my long relationship with it anyhow. My soul had been so parched that its surface curled black. Like a dried tongue and exposed red bony gums of erosion. But now when the world had came to document its supposedly dry misery. It had apparently grown bored of being a desert. And decided to turn itself into a long shallow lick of lake. Ran away in apathy and disgust.
