Confessions

Perhaps one of the most corny weeks in these retreat so far, this week was a killer of an introspection getaway. An aisle where canvases were conjured, canvases were defenestrated, and what was sifted through not just in this pensive thought, was formed. A strong opinion, a robust reticule of existence, a variegated tapestry of a succulent life. Finally I am alfresco of my conformational parentage. Yes, the impediments were also parental, and from this tree, on an obscure, nebulous branch I am cavorting, sometimes in simple disbelief, sometimes in a reverie, and some other times in an abject ferfuffle of thoughts, to find a way. To try and crane my emotional self, and look down, even dare to. And as I endeavor to suffice for the endarkenment of my directions, I find the tree goes down, way down, like Jacks' Beanstalk. And its trunk whose apex is beguilingly crowned with this plethora of avenues of my life, its branches. And these sinuous alleys of a chicanery of perhaps my own quiddity, have been swooping all around me, forcing me to accustom my limping limbs, and totter up and down to imbibe the remedials. The trunk of this tree disappears in the daunting mist down that hails an unfathomable distance. What Do I do? What Do I get? Where Do I find my Chainsaw? A Relentless deadlock?
Crouching and fighting, reversals, counter reversals, a double trap, a chasm, a canal, a hole. Each opening into other propositions, each more obscure than the other. All I do is chose.
Where have I come, have I lost or have I won,
Famished guilt of coming undone.
New facades of myself are dawning upon me everyday. A corrigible vehemence, so unsociable and repelling, inadvertent revelations that I cant 'maintain' a conversation, even an argument where I am more myself. A bereaving person out to find culprits of his own shortcomings.
Well, I am a remnant of frustration, breathing a life into this hardened heart of stone, frigid with something devilishly unpalatable. I see my counterparts, or once counterparts, who now have leaped into a fast track of progress and excellence, and all the while I was grappling things that I was never suppose to lay my hands on. Remorse? With an denying mien, an incessant bombination of denial in my head, at loggerheads at reality, I am held in a state of ethereal suspended animation of conscience. The rope is slipping away, my destinations, a castle of my dreams, is falling away from me. Or is this just a rusticating pleonasm. Perhaps all is not lost. I disappoint people who I owe everything I have, have achieved or will achieve. The things that go way deeper and with a more seminal finality that it overrides all echelons of relationships. I have made them incomplete, or am very well in the tryst to do so. An earnest squander. Those words shall echo in my mind until this insipid phase persists, or till I am committed to make this just a phase. I stand in front of the mirror and contemplate on this vicarious being. Talk to myself, for hours, become inundated with wrongs and ghosts of the past, and with this intense carousel of memory, I talk, end the confabulation often on a more retributive note, Lights will guide me home, and ignite my soul, and I will try to fix you.

How did I land up in a such a sludge of predicaments, where the more I save myself, the more I contain the incisive punctures in my protean mind, the more I get dirty and tainted. This quicksand of time, where the progress is a regress, only in the negative direction. And what amounts from relativity is a cumulative loss, loss of mine and the gain of others. My hopes built on the gracious and generous foundations of my prospective capabilities is tilting. The more mentally mollifying analogy, I am in a dizzy state, perhaps my inebriation has me unsteady and unsoliciting. Life's a cruel taskmaster. The abrupt variation in the currents, have got the worse of me. All the beckons of being haunted, of living a gauche component in an array of life, its this. Plain and Straight. An incompletion, a task undone. A sum total of a remainder of an unbalanced equation, and I am carrying it over and over again, till the point of excruciation. Moment of Truth I guess.

I don't know what will this lament be a moments worth to me, or to that matter to anybody. So trifle and trite have I become, dwelling in scanty terrains, already seething with exhaustion through banality. Talk to me and it wouldn't be before long when the quarry is cajoled out of its haven, a scared, ignorant and basically a diffident creature, living dangerously in the swift winds of life, and precariously sailing to be a doubtful recipient of a shipwreck in this torrent of life.
Sorry, you have landed up on a loser's blog, another line without a hook, that is a shitpot of all his anguishes. But on a departing note, say a prayer for me. All I ask you for.

May I be saved.
Amen.