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Suspended disbelief is only momentary.

The engulfing emotions so temporary.

We fill reality with useless garbage to feel,

Something other than what is real.


Pain is only momentary.

Yet the scars are etched into memory.

We may stop the bleeding,

But the memories are never receding.


Happiness is only momentary.

We clutch at it, fearing the scars we carry.

We may be elated for years , months and days,

While insecurities tell us it’s only a phase.


What then is not momentary?

Casting this poem as temporary.

If I knew I would share that truth.

For now I pretend to forget. To soothe.


It’s all just… momentary.

What helps you escape the difficulties of life? What emotions do you find overwhelming you?


We are! We are!

Our shells decay over time,

Souls trapped in finite casings

Ghosts of a terrestrial plane.

We are, we are, sublime.


Consciousness captured through ingenuity,

Subconsciousness fueling creativity,

Driven by proficiency,

We are, we are ambiguity.


Disparity in human principle,

Purpose defined objectivity,

Time is running out, yet

We are, we are, invincible.


“Death is so terribly final, while life is full of possibilities.”
― George R.R. Martin

Camp NaNo is around the corner. Let’s take the world by storm!


Blue Neighbourhood



Windows shut.

Doors closed.

Feet slap asphalt against darkened starless sky.

Voices murmur.

Thoughts thrum.

Stained cheeks puff cascading tears that won’t dry.

Chest heaving.

Heart palpitating.

Gasps weighed in swirling crushing sigh.

Solitude beckons.

Remorse implores.

My blue neighbourhood where scarlet wrists cry.

Notice Me


Instagram me,

Fake smiles for a like,

Slide into my DMs,

A thousand followers for a selfie.


Dog filter my SnapChat

Ten seconds of fame,

Smiles of grandiose,

Over grey-scaled matte.


Pseduo Facebook friends,

Tweet your dreams,

Pin your interests,

Slanted life through a Tumblr lens.


Notice me,

Not the debris.



Love will tear us apart


Darkness pervaded claustrophobic breadth.

Red-rimmed orbs.

Hitching chest.

Trembling hand raised before bated breath.


“You don’t have to do this.” cries a voice.

Hand reaching.

Heart screaming.

Drowned before grating discordant noise –

Do you cry out in your sleep?
All my feelings exposed.
Get a taste in my mouth
As desperation takes hold
Is it something so good
Just can’t function no more?

He watches reaching hand in pallid light

Cold steel cools.

Shivers still.

Final thoughts before bewitching sight.


The music stops and only silence ensues,

then footsteps

and mono-syllabic cry

For curling finger each hurried step pursues.

Love. Love will tear us apart.

Sweeping Motions

What’s messier right now — your bedroom or you computer’s desktop (or your favorite device’s home screen)? Tell us how and why it got to that state.


Messy? What is messy but an opinion based on perspective, personal preference or (learnt behaviour) from those most influential to us. What may be messy to you may be organized to me. Yes that clutter of paper in the corner strewn haphazardly between the bed and the washing basket is surprisingly organized. Old documents at the bottom, somewhat recent in the middle and very recent at the top. Oh and those books on the shelf, they are falling over that way purposefully. Oh those icons cluttering my desktop are sorted in alphabetical order. It’s all organised chaos!

Okay, okay you are right I’m just lazy or my OCD powers haven’t kicked in yet. Either way there is something about the chaos that makes me feel familiar with my personal items. My drawer is neat and tidy the first week after washing and folding and within the next week its a mess but I know where everything is. That one corner of my room is neat and tidy for a week and then I go rummaging looking for something and I never put everything back where it’s supposed to be again.

The worst, and something I just don’t have the time and energy to do, is clean the mess that is my filing system on my computer. Three hard drives, everything everywhere! Stories, short stories, notes on stories, notes on the notes of the stories. Three different picture folders, three different games folders and various software, documents and other uncategorized “junk” everywhere else. The only reason my desktop is so clean is because all those icons are hidden. Imagine that kind of mess.

So then I pit the very same question to you fellow reader:

What’s messier right now — your bedroom or your computer’s desktop (or your favorite device’s home screen)? Tell us how and why it got to that state.

This Side of Eternity – Daily Post

Lady in Red

Tranquillity rests upon the shoulders of the weary, as fatigued induced slumber lulls the body and mind into transitory bliss. Time is cursory within the expanding dreamscapes painting afresh a new reality within the confines of consciousness.


Slumber, though peaceful, remains perturbed by reaching, prying fingers, groping from the darkness that is reality. Sweet dreams. Nightmares. Each carry the toxic atrophy set to dispel any sense of elation as dreams dissipate into the dark, dreary coldness of reality.


Its tumultuous, the chasm that lies buried below bone marrow and soft tissue. A constant throb reverberates through this dark orifice, in the hope that each beat sews and knits, weaves and stitches the tumultuous chasm shut – forever silencing the beast within. The chasm is a labyrinth, deceitful in its facade, beckoning the many into its walls, hoping to entrap them within its dark passages and endless doorways. Its cries echo within the profound darkness, calling out in despair only to ensnare and be ensnared.


We drape ourselves in the hollow, inconsequential threads of suspended disbelief – we are our own masters we say. Postulation concludes that the circumambient forestry is a shell keeping others out but in truth it keeps us in.  We find joy in the transient, in the passing, in pleasing the now, aware that slumber is just as transient but living in it by it and for it.


It is time we woke up. This life is the slumber, the dreamscape we embed ourselves to in the hopes that the dream is reality. We endure the nightmares of life and revel in the sweetness of it, thinking its all real but waking up, we will find ourselves still in darkness. The question one must ask is…

Are we still living for this side of eternity or are we anticipating our wake on the other?

The answer to this question will influence greatly how you perceive the world and with it, every major decision you make. Why not Live Life in Light of Eternity


In response to:
We all have complicated histories. When was the last time your past experiences informed a major decision you’ve made?

Auburn Part 3 – Unhinging Light


Image courtesy of erez-nusem (

My chest continued to heave even though nothing was coming out, and the viscous splattering on the floor did not help in keeping my lungs in my chest.

I closed my eyes. > What now. <

Death had made himself visible to me, his grip tight around my neck.  My knees wobbled in fatigue and it took what little strength I had to remain standing, moving away from the dead girl and my liquid lunch at my feet. I moved towards the wall where I’d thrown the phone, looking to see where all the pieces had fallen. Despair escaped my lips in the form of a drawn out groan; there was no way that phone could be repaired. I finally let my weakened legs slump and I fell onto the floor, dejected – broken. “What in the world is going on!” I wanted to scream. This is one thing I could never have imagined to happen. The events just happened to so quickly, so suddenly so…coincidentally? Was this all out of coincidence? No it couldn’t be, surely there was a reason to all of this. Surely!

I felt my foot surge with pins and needles, drawing me back to the reality of the situation, to my impending doom, and the sudden sound of a car whooshing by followed by sirens filled my chest up with panic again. As quickly as I could I rose to my feet, ignoring the numbing sensation in my foot as I began to search for my clothes again. I moved back towards my chair, my eyes picking out the scattered items strewn all over the floor. Hurriedly I began to dress, my socks and jeans covering the dark plastic of my “present”. Picking up my hoodie, I saw the phrase written at the back “There is no place like, wondering if maybe the auburn haired lady had thought…but neh it couldn’t be because of that surely. Though the notion didn’t leave my thoughts, I drape the hoodie on and began to look around the room for clues. Something caught my eye under the chair where the auburn lady was still tied , something dark. I hurriedly reached out to take it, cringing away and holding back a scream as her chair creaked but the action changed my perspective and I see something smaller, flat… plastic at the foot of the chair. I tentatively reached out to take it, finding the urge to heave rising up again at the sight of those thickened veins. I took the object and immediately hope began to rise in my chest; its a SIM card. Maybe the man’s phone number was stored on it! Yes! I rose to my feet quickly, stashing the card in my jeans pocket and with one last sweep of the place, rushed out.

I ran through the corridor with its dirty peeling paint, down the stairs and towards the EXIT door. Two things struck me as I pulled the door open and stepped outside: the night was cold and this was not anywhere near the Y Hotel. I knew vaguely where I was but I was not deterred. Sure it was a bad part of town, especially at night, but I felt invigorated by the card in my pocket and the sense that despite the toxins in my blood stream, I could get this fixed. My eyes fell upon the various signs that light up the street, on of them for the Subway but I instead continued to walk down the streets glowing in bright neon signs. I shoved my hands into my jacket pocket, walking towards what I hoped to be the direction of the hotel; that way I could get back to my way home. I began to think about the events that had occurred, the dull throb in my ankle a constant reminder that all this was real…but now what? The man’s words replayed over in my mind “…go back and live the miserable life that you’ve been living…” – was my life really miserable? Quiet maybe but miserable? “…So what will you do with the remainder of your time…” – how much time was there really before the toxin left me cold and dead. I didn’t know the answers to these questions nor did I want to. Who cares how I’d lived my life up till now and why would God care…if there was a God and if there was, why would he let some crazy maniac do this to me! “…you never know if this is all part of God’s redemptive plan…” Redemptive plan? Please.

I was brought out of my thoughts by a group of loud individuals walking down the street towards me, their demeanor playful and somewhat…drunk? I walked further away from them, keeping my head down and avoiding even eye contact with them.

“…and then he said ‘duh its because I’m drunk!’ ” the crowd broke into loud laughter, obviously finding the statement extremely funny. I walked on, aware of how quickly they quietened down as we passed one another. The words “…play with him…” drifted over their hushed tones and without a second thought, I took off running.

“Hey! Come on buddy! Don’t run” They shouted, their footfalls thudding after me, catching up; there was no way I would outrun them with this numb leg. >This is the last thing I need!< I cut through a side alley, bashing into a door that spilled me into the building on my side. I scrambled up to my feet, taking off down what looked like a lobby and towards the back – the place was dim and dilapidated, the tiles gone, rubble and dirt all over the place. I jumped over what remained of the receptionist’s desk at the same time hearing the wails and whistles of my pursuers, bashing into the door like I had.

“Don’t worry, we won’t hurt you duuuuude! Quit running!” Their laughter followed me into the narrow corridor. I rushed on past closed doors, not knowing where in the world I was going but running nonetheless. I did not want to find out what those guys would do if they got to me. I reached the end of the corridor, which turned out to be a dead end and at the same time, the group appeared at the far end. I turned to face them at the same time they all turned to face me. Even from this distance I could sense their demeanor changing from one of mere playfulness to something more…sinister.

“Nowhere to go! Punk” the one in the front shouted. Simultaneously we took off towards each other but I was heading towards the various doors on either side of the corridor trying each one with a turn of the handle and a hard shoulder budge. The first didn’t move. I rushed over the door opposite, shoved. Nothing. Panic began to seep in, slowly, gripping my chest, tightening my lungs. I rushed to the next set of doors. Nothing. The group was closing in faster and I saw a glint of metal that sent me into frenzy. I rushed at the next door, bashing into it with all my might. The door squeaked and yeilded, throwing me into the room. I looked around, saw a window, ran towards it and as the group barged into the door, I flung myself out of the window. If the window wasn’t already cracked, I think I would have hurt myself more than I had as I landed on the pavement with a thud and the sound of glass hitting pavement echoing into the dark street. Screaming suddenly filled my ears but I was already up and moving, only to see bright lights appear, the sound of screeching tires and a familiar face gripping a steering wheel, looking at me with both fear and anger as the car stopped inches away from my shaking knees.

“Hey! You! From the hotel!” >Ah no! Not more trouble!< The older man in the car sure enough was the security guard from before. Not waiting to see what he wanted, I dashed off across the road into the other building, its front doors cordoned off. I heard the raucous laughter of the gang that was following me, followed by the loud yell of the security guard, but I continued on, stopping only when the yell of the security guard became a cry of pain. I stopped dead in my tracks.

“…gaaah…no! That’s…”

“…too late now old man…pay for what that punk….”

“…wait you don’t understa…” My conscience told me to go help, everything else told me to run. I turned back, heading towards the voices and the sudden rush of footfalls heading towards me. I turned a corner and at the same time watched the security guard look up at me and suddenly he was gone. The leader of the gang came to a skidding stop, holding his friends back as they looked down at the floor; a hole stood gaping in front of them. I looked up at them as they looked up at me

“Yo man, I’m getting outta here!” One of the group said, taking off alone. The rest of the members looked at their leader, uncertain, before each one took off leaving the leader standing alone at the edge of the hole. I saw him look down at his feet, a canvas bag of some sort lay there but instead of taking it, the man ran off too.

“Help me! Please!” I heard from within the hole. I ran to it, looking down into the darkness and could barely make out the man. I also noticed that the canvas bag was in fact a laptop bag – the same one that was in my hands not so long ago. Fear, anger and hope surged through me at the same time,

“Hey! I can see you up there! Please help me!”  I looked back down at the man

“This bag! Who?…where…?…How…” I tried to form the question in my mind but couldn’t. Was this man related to the incident with the auburn lady and my condition now?

“Listen, I…I can’t help you but I’m hurt here. Please! Help me!”

“Wait…why do you have this bag!?”

“I…It’s complicated…” I bent down and picked up the bag slinging it around my shoulder, unsure what to do. I scanned the area, looking to see if there was rope or something to help get the man out of the hole. A piece of rope, frayed but steady, hung off to the side so I ran to it picking it up and moving back towards the man,

“Tell me more…who was that lady, why do you have this bag! What’s this all about!”

“Throw down thee rope and I’ll tell you…”

“No!” Anger began to boil as I found someone to point a finger at for this mess I was in “No! No! No! Tell me what this is about!”

“I can’t…he’ll tell you himself…”

“Pass me the rope and I’ll tell you!” I was torn…I wanted to find out who the man was but I was unsure if the security guard would tell me if I got him up here. Finally, with a sigh I dangled the rope over the edge


I threw half of the rope down but as I was, I heard the sound of gunfire. In my shock I let go of the rope completely, looking down into the dim hole to see that the man was holding a gun pointing up towards me. I dodged back at the last second, the moment he let off another shot, a piece of the ceiling above me fell to the floor at my feet. With my rapidly beating heart thumping against my chest I turned away from the hole and ran out the building, wondering who the security guard was and why he was trying to kill me now all of a sudden. With a loud huff I left the building, hearing the man shouting at me from behind and hoping that I’d experienced the last of the drama.

An Escape

Escape - by M Crane (deviant art -

Escape – by M Crane (deviant art –

Writing is an escape.

Escape from what you may ask. Pressures of life steamrolling towards me? Circumstances that pummel down my way? Emotional roller-coasters rocketing me through all the high-highs and low-lows while fears and exhilaration cause my thrumming heart to beast faster with each loop and twist and turn? Gah! Who knows! But guess what!? I’ve added a third page to my Pokémon story! Yay! Its taken a while to write and not because I didn’t know what to write but rather how to write it.

I feel really bad for my character though. I mean he just doesn’t get a break and it seems like everything just keeps getting worse every time it looks like its about to get better. Sometimes I wonder how much of my writing is me writing and how much of it is some sort of rant from my subconscious, only able to finally express itself through these typed letters, forming words, forming sentences, forming paragraphs; forming unintentional introspection.

So then it becomes an escape not for me from life but rather an escape of my thoughts from my passive, seemingly uncaring yet completely aware mind that keeps shoving stuff into the dark unused cabinets of my subconscious and bottling unstable vials of emotions away to prevent me from falling apart. So then this writing works out well, therapeutic you might say, and if life is life, I can be assured that there will be countless tales spewing forth onto this blog.

Be part of it all! Follow my blog, read my stories, check out my pages, leave a comment and come back to see what else my thoughts have been up to!

The Golden Thread


Once again the world is awakened to the rising sun, glorious in its stead; punctual. We glory in it’s warmth and beauty, gladdened by its presence as it overlays the land in gold. Its light washes over the darkness of night and sweeps our fears away with each ray of its golden light; rejoicing in its ability to give life to everything we see.

And yet

Often we are awakened to the rising sun, indifferent to its punctuality. Greet it in contempt and dissatisfaction. At times we take in it’s warmth and ignore its beauty, its presence merely a constant reminder of how fleeting time is in it’s relentlessness; the gold it overlays across the land only illuminates the repugnant inconsistencies and frailties of life. We’d rather wallow in the darkness, shrouding our objectionable desires and motives below the cover of darkness and obscurity, regardless of the fear that rattles our bones. Hiding from the light that reveals our life so no one sees everything about ourselves.

And even then

Is this not so even with God? Each morning we awaken, by His grace. Rising, we should glorify Him for his steadfastness and consistency. We ought to glory in His warmth and beauty, the God of love and creation who has continually blessed us with many things that should bring gladness to our hearts; His presence overlaying our lives in the gold of His majesty. His Light washes over the darkness of our hearts, sweeping away our fears, softening our hardened hearts and washing away our sins. We should be rejoicing in His ability to give life to all that we see but also to those who are dead in their iniquity, disobedience and sin.

Rajat Narula

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