Posted by: agonysrequiem | May 15, 2011


so, if you come by this way, this is where i am now – :)

Posted by: agonysrequiem | August 16, 2007

Nothing to gain, we lie severed….

Internal Primates Forever


From a long time ago. When we were younger and much more in love with our words and the words of others…..

Death Blooms

Cold seems crippling lame meander through corridors
aroma’s thick with age mark off the day reflections of
my life are fading

Pull me out of body, don’t want it, don’t want in,
Feeble, frail, and rotting descending I’m lost in
Structure that’s collapsing don’t want it,
Cast into maker, take the body, don’t want, it wants me

Past has found its place salvation is no more will god
accept my peace bleached will pardon me reflections of
my life are fading
Pull me out of body don’t want it, don’t want in,
Feeble, frail, and rotting descending I’m lost in,
A structure that’s collapsing don’t want it
Cast into maker take the body don’t want it wants me

I just want to run
fly kites wrestle jump and play
Swim through waves that crash to shore memories in me
cocooned in misery

I’m sick and tired of embracing reflections of past
time receive me or cast me away, god please take me away
resistance futile suicidal ideas I will crucify my own
being satisfy
selfish needs fuck the deities justify my own right to
what’s waiting for me

On the other side the time has come lock and load I’m
coming I’m, coming, I’m coming, I’m coming home

Pull me out of body don’t want it don’t want in,
Pull me out of body don’t want it don’t want in,
Pull me out of body don’t want it don’t want in,
Feeble, frail, and rotting descending I’m lost in,
A structure that’s collapsing descending don’t want it,
Maker take the body don’t want it wants in,
Pull me out of body don’t want it don’t want in,
Feeble, frail, and rotting descending I’m lost in,
A structure that’s collapsing descending don’t want it,
Maker take the body don’t want it wants me

I just want to run
fly kites wrestle jump and play
Swim through waves that crash to shore memories in me
cocooned in misery
Darkness overcomes, soul soars to the other plain
Existence past the door I sail through Purgatory’s bay

I asked a god for poison cradle me
sown to my dreams, soul searching
death blossoms where clouds lie over me
held in god’s hands
Death blooming

Dark for fear of failure… an inner gloom as wide as an
eye and fermenting
Roiling hate… death grip in my veins
unveiling rancid
petals flowering forth foul nectar the space between a
blink and a tear
…Death blooms.

Nothing to Gein

Cold and silent, soiled face I will wash it all away,
With my love,
That’s all she’s ever needed, from me
It’s my time, to mother,
One of my own in my life,
I am so alone, left with no one
In my life, I’m so alone

Life submissiveness,
Hypnotizing the ignorant a little boy’s best friend’s always his
At least that’s what she said,
Life of a simple man,
Taught that everyone else is dirty,
And their love is meaningless,
I’m just a soiled dirty boy,
I’m just a soiled dirty boy,

Sheltered life innocence,
Insulated memories, spark reflections of my head,
Duality in my consciousness,
Caught in the war of hemispheres,
Between the love lost in my head,
Mommy do you still live inside of me,
I’m so lost in my life without any guiding,
Protected me my whole life from everything,
Nailed shut the doors to the shrine,
To screen your dead eyes from me and my sickness,
Mutilate and sew my new clothes for masquerading,
Aprons of flesh corpse scalped hair with skin upon my face,

Deliver the remains from her womb of earth,
Prep the rack and tie up for new love’s rebirth,
Covert understanding of novice surgery,
I’ll focus concentration and only take just what I need
For sickness I’m masticating,
Dancing and masturbating,
Celebrate in fields of night with skin upon my face

If I soak my hands in others blood am I sick,
If I wash my hands in others blood am I sick,
If I drench myself in others blood am I sick,
If I bathe myself in others blood

Blame mother for the sickness,
Mutilate and sew my new clothes for masquerading,
Aprons of flesh corpse scalped hair with skin upon my face,
Dance and masturbate in night light by myself..

Nothing is left for me to gain they’re coming to take me far


Life of a simple man taught that everyone else is dirty and love is
I’m so soiled


And we hide behind,
Lies, anger, Hate
They shoo love away,
Build shells of ourselves outside,
It shelters body from cold reigns of reality,

Come on, STEP OUT, of your rind,
Assemble strength, focus, and release..

And run to me you can never look back to the visions from the
past they fade and wilt in time,
You’ve got to just trust me to hold your hand through,
Then I turn and walk away,

Eclipse you,
Bleed you, strip you of your states of ain soph aur
Eclipse you,
I spit up on my plate, push everything away, from me

And we sever all ties,
It creates disruption midst circle of friends,
I become the sacrifice,
Spare your life and leave me to my misery,

GET OFF THE CROSS, and save yourself, RUN AWAY YOU’LL BE O.K.

Run now get away from me if I can get my grip
I’ll pull you down into the hell I call my head, you’ll never get away
I sit down in my ugly place and build walls out of fragments from my
past of all the people that I needed and loved that walked away,

You’ve got to just trust me to hold your hand through
Then I’ll turn and walk away

I walk under clouds of gray,
Sphere of storms in my head,
I’m trapped again in endless rain

I divorce the thoughts of you in love with me,
I divorce your innocence and my guilt,
I divorce the lying sellout confidence,
I’m divorcing every mother fuckin’ thing
I divorce the love bled meaningless,
I divorce the makeshift harmony,
I divorce the taunting acts of violence,
I divorce the pastime of jealousy,
I divorce control,
I divorce the faith,
I divorce the virtue,
I divorce the rain,
I divorce the excuse,
I divorce the greed,
I divorce the need,
I divorce iniquity in this mother fuckin’ bullshit life,
Just want it all to go away,
Just want to run away to die, take it, myself, my life
Text book fucking mental, off me and pitch me in a hole
In this mother fucking bullshit life, in this fucking bullshit life

I’ll always be your shadow,
And veil your eyes from states of ain soph aur,
I can’t be the hero anymore,
I spit up on my plate and then I turn and walk away,
I spit up on my plate and I disrupt the family,
I spit up on my plate as I sever the entity,
And I feel your warm sun on my face
Separate.. Separate.. Separate.. SEPARATE!

Eclipse you
And bleed you strip you of your states of ain soph aur,
I need you
It’s always been this way, I push it all away,
From me


…I lost you, you were my god thought what do I do now
you were never there for me never there to carry me,
26 years looking back that time is gone it was you I believed in look
what you’ve done to me realize what you’ve done to


I can’t see going on in this darkness I’m blind beneath my cradle the
bough has broke, I exorcise my loss your lie the punishment

It takes time to try to mend the wounds of all the suffering,
What do I do now all I’m asking from you please send me a sign to
guide me through the times that lie in front of me I’ll get by

Look at me now, a piece of shit like you.
Look at me now, you left me so fuck you.

Everybody leaves me, everybody’s gone.
Watch my father leave me, there’s nobody left.
Feels like I’ve never been loved.
Everybody leaves me, never gave a shit about me.
Everybody’s gone, I’ll rot in my head alone.
I don’t give a fuck about you, go the fuck away .

Fake being, inside of my heart you are the liar.
Innocence displaced.
Been left.

Here I stand now and I’m alone,
With no one to comfort me.
One set of footprints in the sand.
No one to take my hand, I’ll .
I’ll walk through as long as I need.
I’ll drift through my life though I’m alone.
Outgrown the cradle that once housed me
And I’ve found that all I need is

Found I’ve never needed you to push through
All the shit that stacks up inside of my life.
Endless plight that circulates through my body.
I’ll keep stumbling, beating, pummeling
Teething on the rind and renounce my being.

I can’t see going on.

I can’t see
I’m so tired, of trying to mend the wounds of all my suffering.
What do I do now?
All I’m asking from you please,
Send me a sign
To guide me through the times that lie in front of me.
I’ll get by myself

I can’t see going on fuck it.


Does your god come in a capsule,
To sedate you tear the walls down,
Headless prison cannibals chew,
to consume you bring the alien,

Halcium and morphine,
5-methoxy-n, n-dimethyltryptamine,
Psilocybin, mescaline, aspirin, histomine,
Brushite, darvaset, Valium, caffeine, cannabis, and LSD,
Ayahuasca, harmine give it all to me I want it

These are just a few of my favorite things [X 2]

Trisolam and zanex, serotonin, mdma, ibogaine, dopeamine,
Tetra-hydro-chloride, atenolol,
Amanita muscaria,
Boric oxide, arrabinitol, psilocin, and flamizine,
Cylotec and harmaline
Give it all to me I want it

Does your god come in a capsule to sedate you,
Tear the walls down, headless prison,
Cannibals chew to consume you,
Bring the alien

You can’t kill me,
I’m already dead
Inside my hole,
Inside my head,
We just beg for any way to be sedated,
It’s all about escaping,
Numb to me,
Numb body from this hell,

I can feel them pushing, I can feel them pulling
I can feel them holding, I can feel them moving,
I can feel them prying, I can feel them prodding,
I can feel them breathing, I can feel them digging
I can feel them stabbing, I can feel them scoping,
I can feel them living, I can feel this,
Consume, take in, plunging, plumbing,
Instruments prying, aliens inside me,
Tooling the machine,
Feel it unfolding, riddles in me

It’s all about escaping, we just beg for any way to get away
Who do you bow down to, does your god come in a capsule or on a
They’re trying to sedate you, swallow self and bring on the alien
You tried to kill me, I’m already dead to this world
I’m already dead to this world
Mudvayne L.D. 50

Posted by: agonysrequiem | March 25, 2007

Straits of Gibberish or My states of Gibraltor

The straits of Gibraltar or my states of gibberish. What follows is a smattering of information and ideas that have no cohesive structure to them. For now. Much like the summer quilt, these pieces will be sown together sometime in the near oppressive future and we just might end up with something that connects A to B. Or so I hope.

When Hercules had to perform twelve labours, one of them was to fetch the Cattle of Geryon in Spain and bring it to Eurystheus. On his way to the island of Erytheia he had to cross the mountain that was once Atlas. Instead of climbing the great mountain, he cut corners and put his mind to work. He decided to use his great strength to smash through the colossal mountain that used to be a colossal giant. Hercules split it in half using his indestructible mace or club (Myths vary). By doing so, he connected the Atlantic Ocean to the Mediterranean Sea and formed the Strait of Gibraltar. One part of the split mountain is Gibraltar and the other is Monte Hacho. These two mountains taken together have since then been known as the Pillars of Hercules or Heracles.

Chapter VI

My cat looks at me and meows every time he wants something. Which is normal behaviour for cats, animals in general. But given that cats are rather smart, what he does is infact, smarter than just meowing. Take the following examples. He sits outside the kitchen door and meows when he wants food. Outside the cabinet door in the kitchen to be more precise. He stands behind the door to the house and meows when he wants to be let out. He sits outside the bathroom door and meows when he wants to drink water. And finally, he sits outside the balcony door and meows when he wants to go sunbathe. From my perspective, that’s adorable behaviour. From his perspective? Well, in his mind the condition, state, solution pattern is rather simple. He’s figured out that behind each door (obviously he doesn’t think of them as doors, he is a cat after all) lies something that he wants at various points in the day. Coupled with his meowing, he knows the door (unknown variable/condition) will open (unknown state) and lead him to food, freedom, water or the sun (unknown solution).

My issue, problem, observation, itch with any of this? Nothing really. Just got to thinking that this would be a very neat way to deal with life in my own chaotic world. A chaotic world of my own doing, thank you very fuckin much. We all have these doors that stand between us and what we want. I felt like the epitome of redundancy when I wrote that sentence. Nevertheless, you get the picture. Just have someone push aside that metaphorical door for you and lo presto. Freedom or cat food. Your poison mate. Smart thing to do however, would be to replace the meowing with something more human. Not everyone speaks cat.


Chapter VII

One day, not so long ago, a man from Gujarat went a little crazy. One might be inclined to believe that he went a little off his rocker. Why, I wouldn’t fault one if one were to say he went fucking ape shit. What happened? Well, the man from Gujarat had a flock of sheep, as is customary for men to have some sort of flock. The nuances of the flock, whether metaphorical or literal, can be argued till the cattle, poultry and other livestock come home. Anyway, the flock of sheep was a pretty obedient docile lot and that is how they should be.

So, what started it all? Well one day, one of the sheep ventured into the man’s house and toppled over a gas cylinder in the kitchen. Due to some unexplainable inexplicable and completely illogical reason, the cylinder exploded and burnt down the man’s house. Now a man’s home is his castle, his fortress, his temple. Usually a calm composed man, this act of desecration, as it were, set into motion some resting cogs in the machinery of his psyche. End result? In a fit of passion, rage and crystal clear thinking, he burned his entire flock. Some he slaughtered, some he skewered. Why some were even stoned. But the end remained that infinitely final dot of death.

Later he reasoned it out with his neighbors. I gave them the best grass to eat, the cleanest water to drink and all the safety they could ask for, he bellowed. I even forgave them their incessant bowing down towards the East! Tell me now, was I not fair to them? They ate off my land, they birthed and raised their young and they died on my land. I watched them grow, I saw them eat, I observed them while they grazed, I accepted their prostrations, I even applauded their ambitious plans of running free. And what do I get in return? They burn down my home! My castle! My fortress! My temple!

His sermons and his reasoning were met with a few nods, but mostly castrated silence. It was his flock after all, people said. He does have the right to do as he wishes, agreed the nodding bobbing heads. He is without fault, said some who had previous experience with erring sheep.


Chapter VIII

I am dead.
Not like rock is dead or love just died tonight.

I am dead like locusts die under heavy boots. Like people with their lives taken for granted, die. Like the final expulsion of air, the falling of the chest and the silence that follows. I am dead like originality is dead.

It was the kind of late afternoon that begs for wistful reminiscence. You look at the clouds slipping deeper into their wispy alcoves and think about all the times you spent smiling to yourself. Telling yourself that no matter how bad things got, tomorrow was infact, a new day. A literal existence that held the potential to resurrect all that had fallen decadent. Tomorrow might start with the sun probing your eyelids, only to have the day end a few minutes later. Tomorrow could also begin with the promise of that defining punctuation mark stapling itself to the paper of your being.

But for me, tomorrow began without the drama or the extravagance of carefully thought out sentences that used up a lot of space, but meant jack shit. No offense jack.

Being young becomes almost synonymous with trying to escape. Escape or run away from the multifarious shackles that bind our physical mental or spiritual faculties. We try to break free so that we can find something to fill that hole inside us. I tried to fill it up by accumulating knowledge, reading books till my eyes felt pierced from within. And what do I have to show for it? A squint, which wriggles its way into my eye socket and has me looking at the book with eyes independent of decent eyeball behaviour.

If you have ever been out on a hot humid day and walked around, you might understand a little of what I am going to say. If you have ever worked off some of that body fat, sweat it out a little and just felt your skin expand and burn. Now imagine that the sand keeps blowing at you. Through you and around you. Sand, dirt, doesn’t matter. As long as errant galaxies of grains particles swirl twirl around you, all is well. Now imagine a muddy concoction of sand dirt and sweat. Now imagine that concoction mutates into a film of black sticky dirt that smears itself across your scalp. The sand gets stuck in your hair, slides all the way down to your scalp and mixes with the sweat. You have a sludge fest right there on your coconut and you weren’t even invited. Bummer.

Now if you have long nails and happen to scratch your head, you will find that some of this sludge fudge gathers under your nails. So far we haven’t really cracked any great mathematical problem, but hold on. The next step, though very obvious yet unwanted, is to smell this icing. What you see and smell is nothing but the youth of today. Now how is that possible? Well, let me act smug in the face of my absolute disregard for your opinion, point, question and canter along. Yes, canter along like a horse that needs to canter to look pretty. An in the entirety of my prettiness, let me paint you a picture. Young people and people in general are those spiraling galaxies of dirt. Even though they are part of something greater, they still enjoy a mobility of sorts. Like electrons in an atom. Part of something bigger, but still maintaining their individuality. Even if only in position and place. Likewise, we have these grains of sand. They come in contact with sweat. Sweat here can be one of many things. It can be religion, advertisements, pop culture, music, label fetishes, brand whores and so on and so forth. When these two entities meet, they congeal. They take on a viscous form that just slimes its way across the vast expanses of your skull. The skull here is of course life itself. Not life as in the big bang dropping to its knees and swallowing the big crunch.

Life, as in, what you and I lead. That is, till we step off the curb of familiarity and launch ourselves into the oncoming lights of inevitability.

Six degrees of separation between heartache and grandchildren. Seven minutes between you and the big kabowie.

The discs . . . The damn discs . . .

The aftermath of any crisis had me on my toes, all perked up and ready to face whatever I had the faith to face. The sense of being born again into a world of chaos after each fuck up had taken its toll, was an addiction of the most visceral nature. There existed the need to fail each time a task was set before me, just to swoon in the thrill of getting up again. The joy of facing life was in the thrill of failing. Because what followed immediately, like taste follows vomit, was the hope of a new beginning. The freshness of the next time, the first time, became the puncture marks on my skin.

She was the last time I tore a hole in my skin . . .

To attain a better understanding of what happened, I tried to type her name a million times in the hope of figuring it all out. I gave up before I touched the paper. Why this gallant attempt at yet again not wanting to go ahead with something? Every time I thought about her I’d cut myself a little. Just a nick, nothing fancy, let alone poetic. So by the time I got to the name writing salvation point, I was a walking talking gaping bleeding flapping in the wind kinda man. My better sense tried to staple me back together again, but all the mothers’ advices and all the friendly jibes couldn’t put flappy back together again.

If you cut down a tree, plant five. For every chicken you eat, make sure you make a few vegetarian friends. For every person you kill, make sure you forget the condom on the next drop by. For every time you lie to her, make sure you bleed into that confessional chalice of yours. I needed to push the guilt into my clenched fist like a street magician stuffs away a hanky into his fist and opens it up a few seconds later to reveal naught but a sweaty palm.

Life seemed like a failed attempt at sleight of hands and I am left staring at my feet. At the hanky draped over my branded sweatshop investments. My feet. The absolute end of me.

I call it stab country. Where everything stabs.
The roads, the ponds, the people, the streets, the sounds, the lights, the silence, the weddings. Everything stabs.

Posted by: agonysrequiem | December 13, 2006

Dirt turns to diamonds in your eyes

I hurt myself today
to see if i still feel.
I focus on the pain,
the only thing thats real.

The needle tears a hole;
the old familiar sting,
try to kill it all away,
but I remember everything.

what have I become,
my sweetest friend?
Everyone i know,
goes away in the end,

and you could have it all:
my empire of dirt,
I will let you down,
I will make you hurt.

I wear this crown of thorns
upon my liars chair:
full of broken thoughts,
I cannot repair.

Beneath the stains of time,
the feelings dissapear.
You are someone else,
I am still right here.

What have I become,
my sweetest friend?
Everyone I know,
goes away in the end,

and you could have it all:
my empire of dirt.
I will let you down,
I will make you hurt.

If I could start again,
a million miles away,
I will keep myself,
I would find a way.

– Johnny Cash , Hurt

Posted by: agonysrequiem | November 28, 2006

Deceleration is also called Retardation

Opened the veins for the last time. Let myself pour into the ground. Looking into the mirror, scalded with the sickly white glow of perverse purity, I find myself wondering if I like what looks back at me. Another face slowly rises from behind my shoulder. My breath does not stop as much as it freezes. The forehead of scabs rises slowly and I find myself staring into the limpid black pools of knowledge. The eyes know me. I can feel the breath on my neck. As unwanted as breath on my neck when all I can think about is going to the bathroom. When the aching in my gut takes precedence over all else. She wants to kiss and talk but all I can think about is release. Sweet uninterrupted release. I remembered that feeling when those eyes picked at mine. Her face, with its splintered shattered chin rested, on my shoulder.

I hate trips to the bathroom at night.

Chapter IV

Wishes *

I wish I were the guy in the ambulance because for once I would be able to beat the traffic lights. Not the driver for he still has to think.

I wish I were the traffic cop because then I wouldn’t need to worry about a license. To drive, kill or rape.

I wish I were the driver of the merc and not the owner. Would never have to lose sleep over the petrol prices or the scratches on my expensive car which I would infact, never drive.

I wish I were the guy in the queue next to mine. I wish I were him in the imitation designer wear and imitation lifestyle. Standing in a queue never had this perspective attached to it before. I wish I were him because his line
moves much faster.

I wish I was anyone but me when my stomach aches like crazy and I really have to go. When the sweat breaks out on my forehead and crackles its way across my back. Anyone but me when the knots tighten.

I wish I were the guy I had seen on the road earlier in the day, scratching himself, when fingers are pointed at me. When fingers shout that I wasn’t good enough for the job, for the life granted to me. Scratching myself in public is freedom. It’s a life outside of reigns. I wish I were him.

I wish I were the friend travelling across the ocean, sea or river. Anywhere but here is what the heart desires.

I wish I were the boy in the train with the smile, as I stand on the platform worrying about the traffic waiting for me on my way home.

I wish I were the bird in the sky right before an interview I know I will have to bullshit through.

I wish I were you before you kissed me, so that I could stop you from kissing me.

I wish I were the words you said because I could see you meant them.

I wish I was the courage and honesty those words carried. And not the smile on my face. A sorry companion to your trust.

I wish I were a passport that had United States of America stamped across it. I would be the single most important facilitator of atrocities, yet devoid of life, thought, compassion or feelings.

I wish I were the wall between water and thirst. In a world porous with apathy, a wall is what I would want to be. Not of my own institution, conception or birth but the symbol of despair, hope, pain and anguish.

I wish I were the dying light of your eyes. Watch with the last sense of being, existing, living; the flies settle on me. For then I would be done with you, with this.

I wish I were the poisoned cradle, in which farmers sowed their sweat and their children’s futures. I wish not to be the bleeding eyes and twisted limbs that they reaped. No. I wish not for that.

I wish I were the sieve between corporations and bamboo sticks that hold up a house for five. I would want neither the polished death of one or the chalice of sickness of the other.

I wish I were the TV gods with their skeletal smiles and chemical perfection, effortlessly covering their scabs of normalcy. Everything they hide is everything that makes them who they are. And everything that they hide from and hide, is everything they have in common with us. I wish I were them, for the allure of perfection has its succulent claws dipped into my skin.

I wish I were the ease with which I lie and not the lies.

I wish I were the ring on my finger and not the pulse throbbing against the ring.

I wish I were the sunlight on my hand. My skin glowing a crisp brown. Warmth on my skin reminding me that breathing in the poison, the beauty, is all that matters in the end.

I wish I were your tears and not my sadness. For your tears find escape. Find purpose when others acknowledge them. My sadness is dinner table conversation and the first joke of the evening.

I wish I were everything I am not. I wish I were anyone but me.

“Star bright star tonight. I wish i may, I wish I might. Have the wish, I wish for tonight”

Chapter V

With only the swaying of the trees and the rustling of the leaves as the child picks his way through the rocks. He can feel the force of something scraping his back and the feeling that something unwanted wants him. Something so loathsome desires his company. He wanders into his little cave, gropes around the darkness and finds little pieces of forbidden thoughts strewn across the cave floor. On account of the fact that darkness can suck anything in to it with just its emptiness was not lost on the boy.

It devoured him.

– – – – – – – – – – – –

She screams at the people while they eat,
She screams at them because they stare at her,
She screams so that they give her food,
She screams while they threaten to have her arrested,
She screams while I watch her.

Every night as I walk throw a sea of Styrofoam plates and plastic cups, I look at the people. I look at them happy and fat in their cars and their clothes. I see the aplomb and arrogance that they savour with every spoonful of their greasy, oil soaked food. They eat their happiness more than they eat their food. They eat their money; they eat their worries. They come in big shiny cars, with god in their hearts, money in their hands and gluttony dripping down their chins. I watch them plod and drag their wealth across the dirty streets. They lurch and slumber towards the manna of this heaven. Of this place.

And then I watch her. She screams. She screams all the time. The people stare at her. They hate being disturbed while they eat. They pay good money to eat good food. Then why must people like her shatter the serenity? Why cant people like her just dissipate into the shadows? Melt into the ground, float away with the wind, vanish into thin air? Why must they be reminded of the fleshy gashes that adorn our world? This society tries so hard to hide them yet they surface over the waters of our tranquility, like distended bodies of the drowned. Why must it get so wretched when the cars and their masters eat?

Ofcourse, she is oblivious to all this. As I watch her, she screams at them. She curses them and she asks them for mercy. She lets her rage seep into the crowd unwanted. She is unwanted. Yet, the harder they concentrate on their food, the louder her screams get. Or so it seems. The sound of your jaws chomping on the offering of the happy goats will not drown out her screaming. She stops for a bit. Looks for a place amongst the crowd that will give her a wider reach. Being the center of attention isn’t her only motive. She needs to be the nucleus. She has to be the nucleus. Look at her closely and you can see the marks on her cheeks. Like sparkling sand smeared across a canvas of sullen black, tears have etched their tributaries across her visage.

But fuck the poetry in her appearance. She covers herself for the fear of god. Doesn’t hit you for the fear of cops and doesn’t keep silent for the fear of starvation. Yes. She screams for her food.

She screams at the people while they eat,
She screams at them because they stare at her,
She screams so that they give her food,
She screams while they threaten to have her arrested,
She screams while I watch her,
She screams as she pulls me to her side,
She screams… My mother screams.

Posted by: agonysrequiem | October 11, 2006

Three points of my Twilight

In that corner of dirt and filth,
I see you standing, aching, arching.
In all moments of release one must find,
One must find peace. Mustn’t one?

In pounding and brushed strings of music,
The sounds of scorched throats, of pulled muscles.
Let the echoes of your screams mingle,
Let them mingle with the taut skin of my fingers,
Let the flow of your anger and the graves,
The graves of guttural whispers and skin, melt.

With the blanket of your grunts and groans, cloak.
Pound pound pound, punish this season of sensation,
Let the needles of thy impotent anger penetrate,
Penetrate my skull, my nodding ignorance.

Let it all implode, let the crescendo build,
Take the seesaw of your harmony and cut through,
Let it slow down to a frenzied frothing of pain.
Let the nails of deceit scrape their way,
Their impish way through and under my nails.
My aches.

Grind and saw, move and groove.
Let the space, space between that sigh and choke,
Mirror my aborted hope.
Skin grafted with reality,
Reality so sacred.
Trembled hither, that sliver of flesh.
Flesh sacred, flesh scarred, flesh cheated, flesh yours.

Say you are lost, you need food, love,
I say, take the stones, take the iron,
Mould it into the faces of your love, your desire.
Mould now, mould fast, mould hard, mould true.
Clench fists and smash thy love, smash thy desire.
Stand raw and watch your bones stones crumble, croak,
Deliciously in your diseased blood they soak.
Fingers skinned, touch the spore of your lies,
Decay and bequeath the pain, your life, your eyes.

Tomorrow is another day,
The sun will come up again.
Rest now and dry your bones,
Your eyes are these amber stones.
But tomorrow is another day,
And the sun will come up again.

Say it now and say it true,
Boiled emotions are my stew,
I drink it up like honey brew,
Let the devil, my heart, pay its due.

Tomorrow is another day,
The sun will come up again.
Rest now and dry your bones,
Your eyes are these amber stones.
But tomorrow is another day,
And the sun will come up again.

Posted by: agonysrequiem | October 8, 2006

10,000 Days

He lived in a world where the sky rained blood before it got really dark. Where the girl was the ghost the boy couldn’t help but love. And as they stood in the alcove of their shame, the first kiss crystallized into the thorny bubble he called his life. He lived in a world where a wrestler could do things that made superman look like a sissy girl. And he lived in a world where being called a sissy girl was tantamount to well… dying. He lived in a world where the sister would always turn out to be the killer, who killed the family cat, just before threatening to kill the rest of the cast. Cat killing sisters were definitely on his list of the scariest not-under-the-bed garden variety of physical horror. Such a bastard.

Let the madness take over. Give into it. Let it own you. Don’t just talk to the walls. Let the walls become you. That is what they want, you know. They don’t want you to hold forth conversations with them. They just want you to be them. Become their paint. Their texture. Their imposing strength bound together by the order they must provide. They must provide order to the madness that will then reside amongst them. These walls. They want you to stroke their length and whisper unto them your thoughts. They will not bleed through like you would expect people to. They won’t talk in hushed whispers, as they sleep with minds planning silent murder. No no no. They will just look back at you and ask you to pour forth all that keeps your mind turgid. Speak unto them my boy… speak. If the confines of your mind give you not enough strength to keep within them these demons, these seeds of your ugliness. Then gush forth the fuckers. Let the seams of your skin, the folds, rip and let it fucking surge forth. You know you don’t believe the lie you spew, those words of passion, those words of love. You want them to be real but you won’t bring yourself to accept that. Because they fucking aren’t. They are real in the only way you will ever be real. Scary part is, you mean every little thing you say but then you mean so much. Bring it in boy; tie it to the harbour of your insanity and just watch them all bob around endlessly. Watch the jagged palette of your feelings flatline, shatter. Absorb it all through the pores of your deceitful skin, as you step off the curb and launch yourself into the oncoming traffic of your redemption- guzzling-conscience.

He called it the age of instant replication. The age of instant gratification. If you let the ugliness of all that is real around you, touch you. Then by god, you are that ugliness.

Chapter I

Looking at the rear wheels of cars has become a hobby of mine lately. However, keeping in mind that it’s a hobby and not a way of life, I pay it its due attention. What does it have to do with anything in life? Not much really. It has a lot more to do with how my perception of success, prosperity and general happiness in life, has changed. All the luxury cars have rear disc brakes. I’d rather not mention the names of these cars since it’s the most exciting thing next to watching your toenails grow. Point is, and I have lots of points, everyday on my way to work, I would look at the rear wheels of cars. Try and make out the discs between the radials. And well. That singular image of rear discs has come to define for me… Success. I love this picture, word association shit. Works wonders for me. Because I don’t have to beat myself up over sentences to best describe how I feel. So, rear discs equal success. Same way monkeys equal progress, barb wire equals Germany, fields equal India, blood equals cranberry juice left out in the sun too long, black and white checks equals Israel, sacrificial goats equal Palestine, porn star with huge dick equals America, being fucked porn star equals world. You get the picture.

I quit my job. Walked back home. Through the streets of our upscale, influential and wealthy neighborhood. My observations? It was a long walk back home. And I believe you should let sleeping poverty lie undisturbed with sleeping dogs. What strange bedfellows they make. More of this soil, this country, this earth. And for having achieved that hallowed status, intentionally or circumstantially, they are rewarded with black water bodies as their own personal Jacuzzis. Well, they are only Jacuzzis in the summer. Winter sees these little pools of filth attaining a glossy shine. But not to worry. Death always leaves a glossy shine. Rich or poor, big or small, white or black, Muslim or rest of the world. It’s not prejudiced. But never forget, mans heart is darker.

Chapter II

Pages with music. Each page has its own playlist. Read it with that particular song. Mp3. That is the skeleton of things.

Let us talk about “personalising” life. Where everything is “custom tailored” to meet your requirements. In the near future, which can even possibly mean yesterday, I am sure one will find custom designed yoga programmes. Where one can find a little ad in the papers. An ad that proclaims, “for half the price of your soul we offer you the most divine, religious, mind and heart cleansing package imaginable! That’s right, just for half the cost of your desire stained soul, you get to be god’s scrotum, snug and warm, in his underwear of cosmic harmony”! And right when you are thinking, how the fuck am I gonna fit that into my button punching, caffeine injecting, polished shoes, corporate whoring, lifestyle? Well. Worry not please. There is a corporate package too!! Yes sireee!! Given the demands of a corporate whore, one has to make sure the tailoring job is purrfect to the last stitch. You will also get a corporate discount. Outsourcing doesn’t come without its price young man! You think we would leave so many people jobless and turn an entire nation into a bunch of keyboard loving, business lingo aficionados, power lunching, zombies, for next to nothing?? Ok. That’s harsh. Zombies don’t believe in power lunches. Dammit. Apologies Mr. Romero. But you do see what I am trying to say here. Don’t you?

Coming back to my skeleton of things. On the topic of personalising, what do you think can be done to books now? We have graphic novels, we have books with maps and diagrams and pictures. Books pretty much have everything on their pages apart from a much-needed chainsaw or flame thrower. So, here is what I propose. I propose that from now on, every book written should have a song that goes with each chapter! You are probably scratching your head, crotch (same thing with most people, hehehe), and wondering, how will that work, Mr. Crazy-angst-ridden young man? I’ll fucking tell you how! Let the writer/author/pretentious motherfucker; decide what chapter is best read with what song/songs. And on the top of each chapter, just mention the name of the song/songs. That is what I would call reading with feeling. He he he.

And as a cool publicity gimmick, you can have all the songs on this mp3 CD that you get with the book. Far cooler than what that bitch Rowling does with the Harry fag Potter books. Which is a whole different set of horror stories, best kept aside for a rainy evening.

Example of my personalised novel :

Song: Wings for Marie (part I), artist: Tool, song time: 6:13, add. Song: Vicarious, artist: Tool, song time: 7:08

Chapter XVIII

The Molestation of Sir Richard Branson and the birth of Virginity


Now, there are some rather interesting questions that were raised by me when I was thinking about this earlier. Each person has his/her/it speed of reading. That’s why it would be safe to assume that the author/writer/pretentious motherfucker can mention two to three songs at the beginning of the chapter.

Furthermore, the song/songs name and the name of the chapter might not juxtapose handsomely. But who gives a donkeys fuck. Apart from a donkey. And here’s a fun way to wile away your life. Think of the different writers and the songs you think they would feature in their novels!

> Back to my mind…

Chapter III

The venom of this age. The instant gratification of this age. This age. Thought does not retain its eloquence as it makes the arduous journey from mind to paper. Or as it has been the trend lately, a blog. If things/thoughts/actions in retrospection seem rather stupid, not to say amateurish, then what of the feelings attached to those wretched things?

Maybe a better, more appropriate, mood is begged of oneself before making that fabled walk down memory lane. Wander off the path and you will find yourself meandering through hills of forgotten and buried memories. And sometimes. You just let yourself go….

Posted by: agonysrequiem | October 1, 2006


The Levellers

One Way

There’s only one way of Life
And that’s your own

My father when I was younger
Took me up to the hill
That I looked down on to the city smog
Above the factory spill
He said this is where I come
When I want to be free
Well he never was in his lifetime
But these words stuck with me

I ran from all of this
And climbed that highest hill
And looked down on my life
Beneath the factory spill
I looked down onto my life
As the family disagree
Then to all my friends on the starting line
Their wages off to chase
and all my friends and all their jobs
And all the bloody waste


I grow up, learned to love and laugh
Circled A’s on the underpass
But the noise we thought would never stop
Died a death as the punks grow up
And we choked on our dreams
We wrestled with our fears
Running through the heartless concrete streets
Chasing our ideas

And the problems of the world
Won’t be solved by this guitar
And they won’t stop coming either
By the life I’ve had so far
And the bright lights of my home town
Won’t be getting any dinner
Though their calling has receded now
Like some old distant singer
And they don’t seem so appealing
To the eyes of this poor sinner



Fort Minor

Right Now

Someone right now,
Is leaving their apartment,
Lookin’ down at the street,
And wonderin’ where their car went.
Someone in a car,
Sittin’ at a signal,
In front of a restaraunt,
Starin’ through the window at,
Someone right now with,
Their finger in their teeth,
Who could use a little floss
Right across the street,
There’s somebody on the curb,
Who really needs a jacket.
Spent half the rent at a bar getting plastered.
Now hes gotta walk fourteen blocks,
To work at a shop where he’s about to get fired.
Someone right now,
Is looking pretty tired,
Starin’ at a laptop,
Tryin’ to get inspired.
Livin’ right across the street,
Just wrote the best thing that shes written all week,
But her best friend’s coughin’ up blood in the sink,
He can’t even think what happened,
Feeling so confused,
And he knows it looks bad but,
There’s nothing he can do,
I wonder what its like to be right there in his shoes.

But no,
I’m just takin’ it in
Out the window of a hotel bedroom again,
Tomorrow I’ll be gone,
I dont know when I’ll be back,
And in this world everything can change just like that,
Just like that,
Just like that that,
Just like that,
Just like that.

Somebody right now is droppin’ his vote,
Inside a box and trying not to get shot in his throat.
For the act of freedom,
Right now somebody is stuck in Iraq,
Hopin’ that he gets shipped back breathin’,
In a war but he’s not really sure of the reasons,
So we show our support when the press mislead them,
Though we more then remain proud and salute the troops,
Get some I know you boys got some work to do

Right now someones 25-to-life-ing
Standin’ on the corner,
With their thumb up hitchikin’,
Stratching off a lotto ticket,
Hopin’ for a real winner,
Sneakin’ through the boarder just to work,
And eat a real dinner.
Right now someone wishes they were you and I,
Instead of second guessin’ fatal thoughts of quiet suicide
But right now,
I’m staring out the window at a fiend,
With holes in his arm,
And holes in his jeans,
He pulled out his cigarette and sparked the light,
And walked right around the corner just outta my sight

But yo,
I’m just takin’ it in
From the second story hotel window again,
The TV’s on, and my bags are packed,
But in this world everything can change just like that,
Like that,
Like that,
Like that,

[Black Thought]
Right now somebody sittin’ in the darkness,
Tryin’ to figure out how to put some heat in they apartment,
But they got a little mattress,
A little carpet,
And they appreciate it,
Cause some people on a park bench.
You seen ’em when you rushin’ to get to the office,
Wife ride by ’em when she comin’ from the market
Right now somebody coming out the pocket,
Tryin’ to dump that rock they runnin’ round the block wit’,
Same time the cops is raisin’ the Glock with aim to fill your legs,
And you’re back with some hot shit
Right now somebody strugglin’ to stop this man,
Who’s kickin’ and punchin’ and cussin’ at the doctors.
Down the hall the child takin’ it’s first breath,
The doctors ain’t even passed him to the nurse yet,
Yo I wonder if he understands what it’s worth yet,
Life, the time spent while we here on the earth,
Yet the answer to the question that we all seek,
Can be found, it depend on how free y’all think
Right now it’s somebody who ain’t eat all week,
That would kill for the shit that you throw away in the street,
I guess ones man’s trash is the next man’s treasure.
One man’s pain is the next man’s pleasure,
One say infinity the next say forever,
Right now e’rybody got to get it together man.

Im just taking it in,
In another strange hotel lobby again,
With my luggage on my back,
I don’t know where I’m at,
I’m in a world where we all change just like that,
Like that,
Like that,
Just like that,
Like that,
Just like that,
Just like that,
Just like that.

I’m just takin’ it in
Out the window of a hotel bedroom again,
Tomorrow I’ll be gone,
I dont know when I’ll be back,
And in this world everything can change just like that,
Just like that,
Just like that that,
Just like that,
Just like that.

Posted by: agonysrequiem | September 25, 2006

Septembers Doom

black white


Ghosts reflected in the barren moors of your tears,
A thousand lies and kisses steal across your eyes.
There it lay… shimmering needles of earthly reflections,
A canvas of sullen blue cradled in the hollow of nature’s chalice.

We walked a path… beneath us life sighed and ruptured forth,
Inside me… you slew all hope for redemption,
Led me through your labyrinth of desires and dreams,
Dragged me through it all, on tendrils of your fragrance.

Under my hands, your breath rippled its silent sighs,
On my skin, I felt the dampness of another’s tears,
They tasted not of you… not from you,
Yet you carried them on you… made them you,
The joy of life you had for me, the truth of tears for him,
Amongst this all, I spiraled into you.

But you stopped me… opened my skin and let it in,
The little wisps of dawn circled my head and you smiled.
What I say and do, sleeps with you so untrue,
Whispered your fingers dancing across my palm.
But you dare not shun me, for I lead you to your god,
That one star in the sky… that lilting breeze on earth.

Maybe I should have broken the accord of silence,
And broken unto you, the voices of my despair,
And not be standing here now, with eyes from tears fair,
Watching you being lowered, into earth’s eternal embrace.

Condemned to this for the love of mortality, for the love of you,
I crave now for the sepulchral tones of the ground,
Lull me into sweet company and hold me close,
For you, my love, my shadow,
Will be mine in this darkness forever more.

Posted by: agonysrequiem | September 25, 2006

… Yet Everything

You find yourself grappling, arguing, fighting with the absolute finality that you call your life. You can scream, shout, whisper, take a cheese grater to your arms. You are still within the walls of your madness, albeit a little bloody and hoarse.

Yet Everything you are and ever will be, is being decided now. Here. This moment. As the Narrator put it. “This
is your life and it’s ending one minute at a time.”

I shall serve 10 to 20 in the straitjacket of my insecurities. Obviously, conjugal visits from slimy sublime ( Ha Ha) conscience will be entertained. Now let us not meander through the notes of these jagged sounds. Let us not hide behind stones of apathy. Let not the light from thy repugnant sun scorch my raspy skin. Skin inlaid with cysts of raw emotions. You could tease them, probe, prod or even cajole them. But by the crusty blood on Christ’s palms…. Don’t ever fucking change the music when I have my eyes closed and seem to be swaying to it. Ever!

This music video shows this boxer. Fine looking Spanish stud. Has everything. A Porsche, a mansion, the pin-stripe-button-down-stick-to-my-chiseled-body suit and the women. So there’s me. Thinking. If I beat up people in a square, to the cheering and jeering of hundreds, will I finally get a suit that makes me look sharp? Huh? Will I? Now, I am not sure how that would work, because I don’t see any of the Israelis in pin stripes and with their shoot-a-second-as-I-fist-myself policy, one would imagine the entire Israeli nation looking like one big piece of cloth. With the stripes!! Good Lord!! Never forget the fucking stripes!!

So tell you what. Ill go around the city. Ill beat up people. Run over the homeless, sodomise the street urchins, stone the women, break in the old, masticate infronta the starving, debate with the mute, whisper my bank account number in to the ears of the deaf, flagellate the rickshaw pullers, take a shovel to the brick layers, throw the countless kids n rags into the holy tank bund, piss on the windows of the Marriott, step on the outstretched palms of the old man at the big signal. Oh yeah…. The old people at those big traffic signals. Those meeting points of so many lives, criss crossing into lanes, bylanes, footpaths, manholes. Let the blood of the sun burnt, spat upon, looked through, wash over our streets. Let their age be the iodine for our wounds. Let their cries be the sound of birth. Let the ashes of their bones be the new cocaine for this age. Let us inhale their sickness and make it our cud. So, that we may chew on forgotten wrinkles and groans and commemorate the new coming.

And I shall help you achieve that. Yes sir I will. And all I ask in return is a spot in a music video that tells children the simple absolute truth about life. Just beat up people, have the corporations dress you up, strike a pose that’s never been struck before (sure), jog down a street where the houses cost more than your Nile and your Amazon, get into a car that was built at the cost of two acid rain laden clouds. And the best part. The best fucking part. Use those hands, those fingers that can tie shoelaces, to rearrange the bones on some guy’s face. That’s all!!!! And people will clap for you; women will wear pads on their knees and stay on their knees for you. Alfuckingways! Oh… Did I just completely misinterpret the sport of boxing? Did I, in my youthful bashfulness, make fun of a sport that has spawned greats like Muhammad Ali and Joe Frazier? Did I? Are you going to come back at me saying that all I know about boxing are those two names? That I would be pussified in a fight? That I have no respect for the lives of great men? That my rantings aren’t even worth a second reading? That I should stick to sticking fingers up my nose? That I am just looking to tear down something because it makes me appear smarter than I claim to be? That I am trying to make up for some inadequacies? Well, if its all the same to you…… Fuck you.



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