Serpents in my mind/ Looking for your crimes

Serpents in My Mind

  • When did I decide to treat this space as my personal diary? God. Fuck me.
  • I think I started reading a bit differently, knowing I would want to do a post on the book. There are so many written pieces, need to edit them is all. I decided to be super impulsive about this one because that’s almost the mood of the week. That and being depressed af.
  • Currently reading Rimbaud’s A Season in Hell ( for like the third time) and Leila Seths’s On Balance and listening to Sharon Van Etten and other stuff. I cannot get enough of Your Love Is Killing Me.
  • Anyways, today has been the worst. I think I spent an hour in the bathroom crying. I have my project due day after. It’s pathetic.
  • Also, I have been wondering, a lot, recently, alarmingly, about death and dying. I can imagine having already committed suicide, I imagine myself hanging, noose around my neck and all. It’s pretty generic. But it’s difficult to imagine actually doing it.
  • I think about what Virginia Woolf was thinking of when she drowned herself.
  • About Sylvia Plath, and her head in an oven and children in the other room, and her book, which I absolutely love.
  • About, Anna Karenina and Vronsky and people flinging themselves in front of a train. I couldn’t fling myself in front of a metro. I remember reading Anna Karenina, and I already knew the ending, and every time I used the metro, then, I imagined an imaginary Anna, in love, mad in love, drunk in love, lost in love, jealous in love, jump. Sometimes I was in love with Anna and other times I was her. She had black hair, tied in a messy ponytail and she always wore white. I had to stop using public transport for a bit to preserve my sanity or whatever’s left of it.
  • I read, Yukio Mishima’s Confessions of a Mask, it’s beautiful. I think about the concept of a ‘brave hara-kiri’ as opposed to a defeatist view of suicide. This I comprehend even less. To die with honour, for honour, honour could go shove something up its ass for all I could care. God.
  • ‘Jesus Christ is coming soon.’ I read that, in a plaque of sorts, in a small café of sorts in Darjeeling, called Mother’s Recipe or something like that. We had had tea and momos and thukpa. The momos were real nice except ‘Jesus Christ is coming soon’ is stuck in my head and its getting real creepy. What dies that mean? Maybe I will let that typo be.
  • But I remember reading somewhere, about someone saying that they would like to kill themselves in a bathtub and fill it with flowers and I thought that was beautiful in a fucked up sort of way and it has haunted me since. I imagine if I had to do it, I would fill a bathtub with water that would be as blue as that German girl’s eyes, who had visited us in India, in school. I would slit my wrists and the blue would be with the red and the red with the blue and there would be yellow flowers, I can’t decide which ones, just that, ideally they would be yellow, maybe daisies and sunflowers, floating on top. There would be a sweet smell in the air, the smell of flowers and the water and the blood and the death and the died which would all dissolve into the earth. It would be a bit too sweet. Obviously. I had dreamt this once, except the tub was in a white room in a white room in a white room, none of which had doors.
  • But I think I would want a sudden boring death. I would like to be remembered, if at all,  for having lived. To die in my sleep or be hit by a bus while listening to Kanye West seems the most favourable.
  • I think I need to stop romanticizing shit. Not just the idea of death but also living.
  • I remember, in school when we were asked to read Anne Frank’s diary (I tried finding the quote now, and ending up reading a lot more excerpts, and am now crying again, I forgot how beautiful and inspiring and everything it all is, humans are monsters capable of such beautiful things, but I can’t find it now, will put it in later, maybe it was some other book?), she (or was it someone else? in someplace else?) wrote about the courage to go through the little things that happen every day, and to face them head on. And I find that so fucking annoying and difficult sometimes, and maybe I am privileged or spoilt or something to be able to complain about the small things. Either way, some times, most times, it becomes not very easy to be, when these small things consume you, I imagine them, these small small incidents which I keep repeating to myself don’t matter, smother me to death. Brick by brick they form concrete walls and trap from within, trapped within their absolute frivolous existence, they make the air heavy, the wall, sometimes, my head seems to be on the wall, and it’s as if I were walking upside down, and everything is pressing up onto my head and weighing me down, but more accurately, I think it would be about being pressed between, in between the wall and the ground and waiting to not be.
  • ‘It doesn’t matter. It shouldn’t matter.’ I imagine this on a banner on loop, like the ones they teach you to make in them IT classes about designing websites or programming or something in fucked up colours, like a really bright yellow background with a red banner or vice versa. Except, sometimes it does matter and most times it does hurt. Someone make it stop please.
  • I feel a little dizzy, its almost as if someone’s lit a cigarette inside of me, and its never ending, the smoke, I choke on it, I ask that someone to stop and they stub it on the inside of my lungs only to light another one, again, I burn. I almost get used to the smoke, it’s so familiar, I could miss it, if only it gave me the chance.
  • I used to speed skate when in school, and a friend of mine and I we had this competition, whoever would get more scars would win. I wish I could wear my wounds just as proudly now.
  • I read on someone’s Instagram today, ‘Sometimes, things need to break to be able to glow’.
  • I need to stop behaving like a sixteen year old who has just found tumblr. Also, I would like to re-read When Veronika Decides To Die and Anne Frank’s Diary. That’s the agenda of the week, that and going through that stupid scam of a project without breaking down.
  • Hope you have a better day.

Looking for Your Crimes


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