Shout, cry, cut or whatever I do won't have any effect your testicular torsion

From Kurt Cobain - Montage of Heck

I try to get out of my room often now, because it’s too tiny and suffocates me to my own death. My roommate is a quiet guy consumed in his own simplicity. But who am I to judge ? What have I done that’s so special to call someone “consumed”, “simple”, or “quiet”. It’s ridiculous how I don’t really know what it is to “live”.

Today again, I’m getting out of my room to take a train and just ride it for as long as I want. I’m free and liberated but trapped in my own sense of realities. Every time I start to think, a voice comes from the inside and says, “Everything is too numb at this moment, time to die, it’s worthless, and more importantly, tasteless”.

I stood on the edge of the door. I do most of the time, and someone spat gutkha. It came from the coach ahead of mine, and I realized it when my right eye burned a bit. It was probably the masala from which I felt the burning sensation. Otherwise, I wouldn’t have even noticed the gutkha in this rain. I said, “Brilliant, you gave me what I am - Dirt”. I got a sudden cooling sensation inside my eyes.

I have been working on this book, which is extremely quiet, melancholic, and deeply rooted in the idea of “theatre”. I have planned it in a way that the biggest clue for the plot twist will be in the preface itself. If there’s one thing I see hope in now is immense success. I know success and fame don’t make you happy, but I want to see if that’s true in my case. I want to defeat the thoughts of finally achieving relief if I become successful and published. I want to really defeat and end up in cowardice.

As someone making money from a very young age, I should’ve been proud of everything I’ve done. But I have always focused on misery more than anything. Misery felt like this boy who would fall in love with me. And, we could live together just like Sid & Nancy. Oh, by the way, “Sid & Nancy” were the most wasted couple in the history of Rock. Sid Vicious, the bassist of the band Sex Pistols, and his Nancy Spungen entered a very drug-led relationship with each other. Waking up drugged and going to sleep drugged. I think I love misery, it’s just I don’t know what, it’s bloody brilliant and a very marvelous feeling to be miserable. Everyone is forced to look down on you.

The book revolves around a 10-year-old kid and the jumps in time. I think I’m going to nail the book. I really want to. I want to redefine what “Brilliant” means in this world. But it’s just wasted ambition.

Got out at Churchgate. My favorite place. Beige street lights speak about the South Bombay aesthetics more than its architecture. Sorry, too much judgmental behavior. I apologize, I really do.

“Everybody clap your hands”, I yelled.

Walked to the shore where you can see the city looking at itself. I came back to Mumbai to walk a lot and become the pale person I imagine myself to be. Mostly walking more and starving myself. But I can’t walk much. It’s mostly because of this weird pain I have in my lower abdomen. God knows what it is, the last time I had my stomach erupt with pain, I begged for help to the doctors. I think I have developed a hernia. I don’t really want to go to a doctor now. The last time was enough.

Found a place to sit alone between tons of families. I like looking at other families; they look so full of joy. Small kids are playing with these rainbow-colored air-balls. I have my heart pumping faster when their ball is almost going to fall into the sea. I stare at the sea most of the time. I don’t feel the void. No one really goes to Marine Drive to feel the void in themselves. They go to feel the void that vows outside them. Eventually, we are heading towards emptiness.

I think I should get way more hate. When I was in Pune, I felt how disgusting a human I am. I couldn’t get out of bed for 1-2 days on a stretch. Didn’t bathe for weeks, thinking why do I clean myself, when I’m so dirty on the inside. And, also, it was hard to do so. Get up, get the towel, undergarments, a pair of fresh clothes, turn on the geyser or shower, apply soap, wash, and dry. So much, why, why do I have to perform so much ? It’s cynical, but

I saw this interview of David Bowie where the interviewer asked him, “What do you worship?” and Bowie replied, “I worship life, yeah, that is what I enjoy”. I love Bowie and his mentality. He’s bloody brilliant. But, probably, he enjoys life because he has worked a lot to improve it. He’s really a starman waiting in the sky. Later, the interviewer looks at Bowie’s shoes and asks, “Wait, what are those shoes, are they bisexual or something ?”

Felt enough of these thoughts and got up to take the last local from Dadar. Churchgate to Dadar is probably my favorite local route. You see the glare of the city only on this line. Every other line is pretty shit. Standing on the edge, I wondered how many times I’ve tried to jump from the moving train, yet I’ve never really done it. I wish, sometimes, I could just stop what I’m imagining. The things I’m plotting and are already in the plot of my life. I’m tired and just exhausted because of my imagination. How would a day be without having to live with pen and papers or keys and locks ?

Got off at Dadar. Oh, and the flower towards the end of the station smells disgusting because of iron ore and rainwater mixed in it. I’ve recently been wanting to write on this title called “My Rebellion as a Boy is wasted, I want to be a girl instead”. But, somehow, I am drowning in self-doubt, but maybe, I’ll write this in front of a group of people and that too live. No hiding, I’m not the only one battling with failure. I won’t fail to fail ever.

I once told a person, “I am so weird,” and they replied, “Oh, I am too, and we all are”. But, this one time when I did something really weird, they gossiped and bitched about how I am so weird. But, then, what did I mean when I said I am weird ? Why normalize it in the first place ? I mean, please don’t normalize everything. As a society, we have become so absurdly dead that we have normalized a deeply melancholic life like Kafka’s. Being at your senses is very important. Whenever a friend or a person is telling me something, I think a lot about whether they are depressed or need some help with living their life. It’s really important.

“Dang dang digilee dang dang, dang dang dang dang digilee dang. It’s time for Big fun, Big fun”. Oh man, “Heathers - The Musical” is brilliant. It’s about Veronica Sawyer, who is a suicidal girl and these three girls, Heather, Heather, and Heather, help her feel uplifted in life. They help her dress beautifully and do her makeup. I love “Heathers - The Musical”, it’s a brilliant and a very dark rock musical.

In the musical, the 8th song is “Yo girl,” and the lyrics are so interesting.

It says, “Where were you ? We’ve been worried sick. Your friend J.D stopped by, and he told us everything.” Veronica says, “Everything ?” Martha says, “Yes, everything. Your depression, your thoughts of suicide. We even found your copy of Moby-dick. Please, honey, talk to us”.

Veronica says, “No you wouldn’t understand”.

Heather replies, “Try me. I’ve been through all of it. Your problem seems like life and death. I promise it’s not”.

And the chorus. Oh man, “Veronica is tripping on drugs now, Veronica is trying to keep the knife away”. And, they keep on repeating this part. If I’d ever go to the USA, I’d surely visit the Broadway theatre.

Amidst all of this, I didn’t realize I missed Ghatkopar Station, so I took a return local from Vikhroli. I’ve rarely gone ahead of Ghatkopar.

After reaching Ghatkopar, I saw this guy sitting on the stairs, and he looked like he was talking with someone. As I walked nearer, I could see that there was nothing sitting beside him. I loved the way he was so invested in the conversation. He was too invested in the conversation. I felt celebrated while going down the escalator. I felt like I should do that too, and I also sang, “Wipe off that makeup, what’s in is despair. If you look in the mirror and don’t like what you see. You can find out first hand what it’s like to be me”.

You could call that man a schizophrenic, but by feeling, I just feel he is normal. What’s wrong, right ? I’d want to speak to someone like that, too. Anyways, talking to a real person is just pointless. It’s not my self-righteousness speaking, but it’s what I’ve experienced from conversations. It’s how humans are made.

I’ll become the most horrible writer to ever exist. Others write polished things, but I believe in writing unpolished things. Most of the artists I’ve been influenced by have been dead.

I want to end this perceptive thinking. But, is it even a word at all ?

I’ve reached home, but there’s one thing I want to say.

“Dialogue will destroy the part in you that someday wanted to just smile”.

Please, hate me more.