Everyone of you, angels, who made the mistake of falling in love with me, started by passionately loving this blog and then – when everything went wrong (and oh so quickly!) – hated it virulently. “Delete that blog of yours!”, you screamed, as I stared and trembled helplessly, dumbed in your tirade of unadulterated love which I never deserved and invited, gazing blank at my satanic pages. Promiscuous, promiscuous words…
You felt that I was writing you, giving you language. Words after words, phrases after phrases seeped under your skin and my pen started unearthing you, untapping your abyss. I never meant, I never meant, I was a blind miner…I was writing myself, I never knew you called me ‘myself’. When I was writing myself in I never knew that I am screaming you out.
My fingers trembled when the cursor was poised over the ‘delete’ button. Warning: this action cannot be undone. I have done it previously. I have seen the sad, serene white page: “The authors have deleted this blog. The content is no longer available.”
The authors. I never knew it was me and you.
It was so sexual: the act of reading and writing. So sinful. here I am: selfless sinner, Casanova without confidence, the Juan who never wanted to be, me what you have done to me! My sin: I write. I write myself feminine, and you read it masculine, virile. That’s what anger is, masculine, and that’s me: sad at the damage I have wrought in you. I wrote myself out and you suffer when you discover that the words are addressed to the Woman and suddenly felt that you are not that singular noun. Suddenly my written language is rendered stranger when I start speaking. And Love seemed to be so real, yet so illusory. It is the real beyond, Love is.
I continue trembling. Head hung, tears flow and I redefine silent anger towards myself and you. I tremble in trepidation, seeing you being so bare, minimally woman…when love means ‘why are you not what I desire and mean you to be’? You asked me: how long will a woman love so thanklessly? How, how long? And I am telling you dear, you loved long, so long, but it was not me you started with, you are just continuing someone else’s story in my wrecked body. If you can do so, why my words can’t address all other loved ones of mine when it is addressing you? Past continuous; love is cursed while it will remain so.
But your ensuing eruption of rage, the sky is teared from the end to the end as the sunstreak flares and writhes out.
I give up love. I falter, I halt hurt. And I will continue to write my satanic verses because I am condemned to do so…until I find me and me only in those words which I know, that simple sentence which I will arrive…bodyless head, Orpheused. The sentence I won’t utter now.
So sinful. Let me turn narcissistic and have my plunge. I will love myself the way I never was. Moi un Noir…
You are plain presumptious.
Life’s Elsewhere: You mean “presumptuous”? Excessively forward? No, sometimes I am impulsive. And sometimes plain straightforward in a self-damaging way.
We are all only human. As soon as you had written yourself, you had penned down each one of us. It cannot be avoided.
Life’s Elsewhere: Thanks brother. To say it, everything in this blog is true and factual except where they are not. I know that’s a joke, means nothing. Yup, something happened and I never report what exactly (that’s banal). No one is wrong, at least not she who was angry. Only I need to go into introspection. It’s not easy Ritwik to be a writer, to write myself in. Problem is, after I know what that long introspection tells me, I will pay heed to nobody but myself.
But to me, this is not something personal…there are theoretical questions involved: what do writing do to us…
ur words hit at the right places….u think….& u say…& then u p@use for @ moment to think &then u say it agn……..Ur NOT being presumptuous @t @ll …..u’r being unre@son@bly re@son@ble…..c@rry on……….three cheers to n@rcissism….
Life’s Elsewhere:
The angry young woman is back again! Yup, three cheers! Because I have just started it: being narcissistic…and I had to! Otherwise, too much pains…
Sorry, that was misdirected anger.
Your post just pricked a very deep scar.
“Presumptuous”,” Excessively forward”, “impulsive”,” sometimes plain straightforward in a self-damaging way”, “narcissistic”……… after all is said and done, it’s all only words and You’re just YOU anindya.
Prospephone, no need to be sorry about. Absolutely no need. I am practising a way of self-expression, you know how I have to behave in a strait-jacketed way each day, so its a new way of expressing which I am not also sure of. Your reactions are valid. And the scar is very personal of yours, it means, though I am writing about myself I am articulating others too. Its possible.
SOM, thanks.
Very interestingly done. All these images, yet I still feel I’m missing part of the story. However, I had to read every bit of it because every word kept me on the edge of my seat…