musings

Letters for Love/Being Unwanted (Guest Post)

Before you wonder why I didn’t title this post ‘Love Letters’ or ‘Letters of Love”, I want to explain and ask you at the same time what Love means to you? To me it means so many things, even hate, but this is a letter written for Love, not out of Love, not about Love but just for it. Make what you can of it. 🙂

Oh and also Special thanks to our writer, i.e. not me but someone who I begged to write this for me, since I have been too busy with work. And he hasn’t let me down. I love your writing, I really do. Here it goes:

BEING UNWANTED

So today, I will like to confess one of the feelings that come to me more often than others. I, for some reason, always find myself with people who are facing some crisis. With time this thing rooted deep inside me. I started feeling satisfied with the knowledge that maybe people needed me sometimes even if it was only in their moments of sorrow. Call it a lame effort to be wanted by others or an attempt to hold some place important in others’ lives. Or maybe I think too much. Someone told me that I always look for tragedies, but this is just what I have become. I don’t mind tragedies a single bit because I feel that people reveal their innermost feelings at that moment. I wish I could take those moments of closeness, the belonging to merrier times also but almost always I find myself getting sidelined for someone else who simply makes their way into lives of others when the grass is green and when they don’t have to live through autumn. Then again I start looking out for the next estranged soul. I fully agree that my life may seem tempting to others. Some people have in fact asked me that why do I even get sad, but its ingrained in me. I try to be alone at times hoping someone will ask about me.

This feeling naturally comes, when I see people enjoying with others, I find myself looking at people’s happy faces thinking it would have been so fucking amazing if I would have been the one sharing that laughter, if your smile would have started from your lips and would have stopped at my cheekbones. I always try to find a crevice in people’s conversations to an untold secret which would act like a thread that would keep us entwined forever with each other. I love to gradually fade into the background watching how people react to my absence.

You have been a great support to me amidst all the negativity. As I have said a million times, a lighthouse in the cold wild raging sea, a drop of water in the scorching heat of the desert, that last breath for which a man craves on his deathbed, those last few  of oxygen in a man’s tank on a faraway planet.

P.S. – You are the one who I believe can take me out of this perpetual turmoil. Only you have the charm.

A Reply

I think I am cast in a very different stone. I am the kind who wants to be with people in their good times and their bad. If they choose to be with me only in either one of them, then I carve out a different path for myself, far away from theirs. For me, it’s always all or nothing. The only thing I hope for is that I make you a part of all my seasons. That, I think, could be the best gift I could ever give you.

P.S. Don’t talk about lighthouses, they drive me crazy! 🙂 ❤

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Random Shit: Whatsapp Statuses

So, I am bored and here’s a collection of whatsapp statuses of random people (in my contacts, don’t know how ethical is that 😛 ) and some of my old ones as well. You won’t believe how much time I waste going through these and thinking about what to put next. Earlier it used to be a form of connection between me and a friend who used it to convey messages when we weren’t talking. Ah, good old memories. Now it’s just another blank space to fill.

  • “Conversations are best after 3am. The heavier the eyelids, the sincerer the words and the silence is not awkward, it’s shared.”
  • “Gotta get me some golden earth and blue skies.”
  • “Eat.. Sleep.. Regret.. Repeat.”
  • “What you seek is seeking you.”
  • “To unpathed waters and undreamed shores.”
  • “If not us, who? If not now, when?
  • “Till the full stop doesn’t come, the sentence is incomplete.”
  • “I couldn’t feel, so I tried to touch.”

Mine:

  • “Where your scent is a mist, there is my home, it is not this.” – from a song.
  • Khali raahein, hum aankhei moondei jaayei, pahuche kahin toh bewajah.” – another one from a song.
  • “Turn me back into the pet I was when we met” – this one as well.
  • “Undress your soul.” – title of a song.
  • “Open your hands if you want to be held – Rumi”
  • “Have bag, will travel.” – a blog’s name, I forget who’s, sorry owner.
  • “We can be alone, together.” – from some movie.
  • “Waking life is a dream controlled.” – do not remember the origin.
  • “Beaches, mountains and everything in between.” – written by self
  • “Let me bathe my soul in colours; let me swallow the sunset and drink the rainbow” – Gibran

Podcasts: Harry Potter

So these days, every night before I go to sleep, I plug in my earphones and listen to either audiobooks or podcasts on SoundCloud and there was this hilarious podcast I found about Harry Potter which you MUST listen to if you’re a fan. It has been done by the Comedians Cinema Club. So there were discussions, lame puns (which I totally loved), magic on a podcast, etcetra etcetra. It’s a 33 minute long thing and I dozed off midway because it was a tired and depressing day but one thing that I totally loved was the mashup of Harry Potter and Uptown Funk.

The lyrics go like:

LYRICS:
This Wiz, I’m ice cold
Im Voldemort, That white gold
This one, for that H.P.
Says he hates me,
But what can he do?
Caught the kid, boy who lived
Harry’s outta luck
With the Elder wand, stop the chosen one
Maybe make a new horcrux? (Ha!)

I’m too hot (hot hand)
Call an Auror up to try and stop this man
I’m too hot (hot hand)
Make a headmaster retire man
I’m too hot (hot hand)
Don’t say my name, you know who I am!
I’m too hot (hot hand)
Am I bad ‘bout this curse,
Avada down now

Albus sent ya, hallelujah (Whoo)
Albus sent ya, hallelujah (Whoo)
Albus sent ya, hallelujah (Whoo)
Cuz Dark Lord Funk gon’ give it to ya!
Cuz Dark Lord Funk gon’ give it to ya!
Cuz Dark Lord Funk gon’ give it to ya!
Saturday night and we takin Hogwarts
Don’t believe me, just watch! (Come on!)
Don’t believe me, just watch! (x5)
Hey, Hey, Hey, Oh!

Stop!
Wait a minute
Fill my goblet, put some fire in it
Grasp the hands, make the vow
Come on ‘Trix, seal this now!
We takin Diagon, Knockturn, Hogsmede, Anywhere!
If we show up, we gon’ curse out
Badder than that Devil’s Snare (Ha!)

I’m too hot (hot hand)
Call an Auror, try and stop this man
I’m too hot (hot hand)
Make a headmaster retire man
I’m too hot (hot hand)
Witch, say my name, you know who I am!
I’m too hot (hot hand)
Am I bad ‘bout this curse
Crucio now

Albus sent ya, hallelujah (Whoo)
Albus sent ya, hallelujah (Whoo)
Albus sent ya, hallelujah (Whoo)
Cuz Dark Lord Funk gon’ give it to ya!
Cuz Dark Lord Funk gon’ give it to ya!
Cuz Dark Lord Funk gon’ give it to ya!
It’s Saturday night and we takin Hogwarts
Don’t believe me, just watch! (Come on!)
Don’t believe me, just watch! (x5)
Hey, Hey, Hey, Oh!

Before we leave
Imma tell Harry Potter a lil’ somethin
Dark Lord Funk you up, Dark Lord Funk you up
Dark Lord Funk you up, Dark Lord Funk you up
I said Dark Lord Funk you up, Dark Lord Funk you up
Dark Lord Funk you up, Dark Lord Funk you up

Come on, curse! Just cast it,
If you got the mark, then blast it
If you’re pureblood, we’ll have it
No need to fear the dark magic!
Come on, curse! Just cast it,
No need to fear the dark magic,
Saturday night and we takin Hogwarts,
Don’t believe me, just watch! (Come on)
Don’t believe me, just watch! (x5)
Hey, Hey, Hey, Oh!

Dark Lord Funk you up, Dark Lord Funk you up (Say Whaa!?)
Dark Lord Funk you up, Dark Lord Funk you up
Dark Lord Funk you up, Dark Lord Funk you up (Say Whaa?)
Dark Lord Funk you up, Dark Lord Funk you up…etc 🙂
(Lyrics ©KFaceTV 2015)

And here is a dubstep version of Hedwig’s theme that I really liked.

Taro, I have sprayed you into my eyes.

So I was randomly listening to Alt-J on YouTube and I came across this beautiful song: Taro.

Just btw, this is not the official video.

I decided to go to the roots of the inspiration and you won’t believe what I found.

The lyrics go like:

Indochina, Capa jumps Jeep, two feet creep up the road

To photo, to record meat lumps and war,

They advance as does his chance – very yellow white flash.

A violent wrench grips mass, rips light, tears limbs like rags,

Burst so high finally Capa lands,

Mine is a watery pit. Painless with immense distance

From medic from colleague, friend, enemy, foe, him five yards from his leg,

From you Taro.

Do not spray into eyes – I have sprayed you into my eyes.

3:10 pm, Capa pends death, quivers, last rattles, last chokes

All colours and cares glaze to grey, shrivelled and stricken to dots,

Left hand grasps what the body grasps not – le photographe est mort.

3.1415, alive no longer my amour, faded for home May of ‘54

Doors open like arms my love, Painless with a great closeness

To Capa, to Capa Capa dark after nothing, re-united with his leg and with you, Taro.

Do not spray into eyes – I have sprayed you into my eyes.

Hey Taro!

Long story cut short, Gerda Taro was born into a Jewish family that migrated from Galicia to Germany.Taro is regarded as the first female photojournalist to cover the front lines of a war and to die while doing so. She was a war photojournalist in the late 40’s/early 50’s and died in her line of work when a tank collided into the side of a car she was riding on. Gerda’s romantic interest, and colleague, Robert Capa left his Jeep to enter a hostile war zone to take pictures, during the first Indo-China war. He stepped on a landmine however, which blew apart his left leg. He was taken to a medical station where he died with his camera in his hand.

Here is Guardian’s article talking about their life, the novel published on it and the movie made on them (http://www.theguardian.com/artanddesign/2012/may/13/robert-capa-gerda-taro-relationship):

It begins with a photograph. In 1934 a struggling Hungarian photographer, André Friedmann, living in exile in Paris, is commissioned to take publicity pictures for a Swiss life insurance company’s advertising brochure. On the lookout for potential models, he approaches a young Swiss refugee, Ruth Cerf, in a café on the Left Bank and convinces her to pose for him in a Montparnasse park.

Because she does not entirely trust the scruffy young charmer, Ruth brings along her friend Gerta Pohorylle, a petite redhead with a winning smile and a confident manner. So begins the most iconic relationship in the history of photography, and an intertwined and complex story of radical politics, bohemianism and bravery that, in the intervening years, has taken on the shadings of a modern myth.

Together, André Friedmann and Gerta Pohorylle would change their names and their destiny, becoming Robert Capa and Gerda Taro, the most celebrated visual chroniclers of the Spanish civil war. Together, too, they would change the nature of war photography, reinventing the form in a way that resonates to this day. Capa went on to become the most famous of the two, and arguably the most famous war photographer of the 20th century due to his visceral images of the D-day landings on Omaha Beach in Normandy. His most famous quote would become a dictum by which ensuing generations of war photographers worked: “If your pictures aren’t good enough, you’re not close enough.”

This brave, but cavalier, approach to getting pictures of the action from within the action would cost both Gerda Taro and Robert Capa their lives – the former killed on the frontline of the Spanish civil war in 1937; the latter blown up by a land mine in Indochina in 1954. The myth of Robert Capa and Gerda Taro continues apace today with the British publication of a novel called Waiting for Robert Capa by Susana Fortes, a Spanish novelist and teacher. The book won the coveted Premio Fernando Lara in Spain on its initial publication in 2009 and has since been translated into 20 languages; the film rights have been bought by Michael Mann, the award-winning director of Heat (1995), The Insider (1999) and Public Enemies (2009). Fortes’s short novel is essentially a historical romance that concentrates on the relationship between Capa and Taro. While the historical settings are accurate, Fortes literally puts words into each of their mouths, imagining conversations, thoughts and debates as well as accentuating both the doomed romance and the reckless bohemianism of the times.

With the Spanish civil war as its main backdrop, the narrative is an uneasy, sometimes awkward, merging of fact and fiction, and will almost certainly offend the many guardians of both Capa and Taro’s reputations just as it will no doubt entrance the mainstream cinema-going audience should it be made into a Hollywood film. “I tried to be very respectful of the facts – the biographical data, the locations etc,” says Fortes when I contact her in Spain, where she is on a book publicity tour. “I went through everything I could find: letters, memories, biographies… But for a novel to breathe, you have to build souls for your characters. This is reflected in the dialogue, the literary tension, the humour, the fights, the passion, the sex, the mixed feelings. In other words, life. That’s part of the novelist’s job. One always writes with one foot on the ground and the other in the air. It is the only way to walk the path.”

However, when I mention the book to Jimmy Fox – veteran photographic historian and erstwhile director of the famous Magnum agency, which Capa co-founded with Henri Cartier-Bresson – he says: “I was dismayed by the novel. It was so fluttery and sugary. I think it is wrong to elevate the romance in that way. Capa was a flamboyant guy, a great drinker and a womaniser who had so many lovers, including Ingrid Bergman. Taro found the love of her life in Ted Allan, the man who was with her when she was fatally wounded. But of course that does not fit the big simplified romantic version so neatly.”

The independent filmmaker Trisha Ziff, who directed The Mexican Suitcase (2010) about the discovery of a hoard of unseen negatives by Capa, Taro and David “Chim” Seymour, concurs. “Waiting for Robert Capa is a fiction based on a romance, but it is also a romance based on a fiction. If it becomes a Hollywood film, the myth will no doubt take over.”

If there is one thing all the experts agree on, it is that nothing was straightforward about Robert Capa and Gerda Taro’s relationship. Shortly after their first meeting, the young André Friedmann was sent to Spain on an assignment for a Berlin-based photo magazine. He subsequently photographed the Holy Week procession in Seville and described the festivities to Gerta Pohorylle in a letter that also mentioned how much he was thinking about her. On his return, he spent the summer holidaying in the south of France with Gerta and her friends. According to Ruth Cerf, quoted in Alex Kershaw’s book Blood and Champagne: The Life and Times of Robert Capa, the pair “fell in love in the south of France” despite her suspicion that he was “a rogue and a womaniser”. If the young Gerta was fascinated by his waywardness, he in turn was taken by her independent spirit. “Here was a woman,” writes Kershaw, “who didn’t suffocate him with affection, and who was as unashamed by her sexuality as she was conscious of her outsider status in Paris as a German Jew.” This gets to the heart of the couple’s mutual attraction: their shared radicalism and acute sense of exile. Friedmann had departed his native Hungary for Berlin in 1931 soon after his arrest by the secret police for leftist student activism. In February 1933, aged 19, he had fled Berlin when Hitler assumed power, travelling to Vienna, then back home to Budapest, before departing Hungary for good in September to live in penury in Paris, where he met Pohorylle on that fateful day in 1934.

By then, she too had experienced radical politics, arrest and flight. Born to bourgeois parents in Stuttgart in 1910, Pohorylle joined a young communist organisation and, around the time Friedmann was fleeing Berlin, was distributing anti-Nazi leaflets and putting up communist propaganda posters on walls under cover of darkness. She was arrested by the Nazis on 19 March 1933 and interrogated about a supposed Bolshevik plot to overthrow Hitler.

On her release, she used a fake passport to travel overland to Paris, where she was looked after by a communist network. Both André Friedmann and Gerta Pohorylle, though still young, were already seasoned activists and exiles when they met, intent on forging new lives for themselves while also staying loyal to their radical leftist roots.

Though Friedmann could seldom afford to buy film and often had to pawn his camera to survive in Paris, he schooled Pohorylle in the rudiments of photography and found her a job in the newly formed Alliance Photo picture agency. And she, it seemed, anchored him – at least for a while. “Without Gerta, André would not have made it,” the late Eva Besnyö, another Hungarian photographer who mixed in the same bohemian circles in Berlin, told Kershaw. “She picked him up, gave him direction. He had never wanted an ordinary life, and so when things didn’t go well, he drank and gambled. He was in a bad way when they met, and maybe without her it would have been the end for him.”

As Friedmann’s photographic career tentatively took off in Paris, his younger brother Cornell joined him, developing the photographs taken by André as well as those of his friends, Henri Cartier-Bresson and David “Chim” Seymour, in a darkened bathroom in a hotel that overlooked the famous Café du Dôme. It was there that the three photographers mingled with philosophers, writers and artists, drinking and dreaming of better times. It was around this time also that André Friedmann and Gerta Pohorylle became Robert Capa and Gerda Taro in a shared act of self-reinvention that still seems daring today.

The first anyone else heard of Robert Capa was when the couple turned up at the offices of Alliance Photo and announced they had discovered a famous American photographer of that name. The pair soon found they could sell photographs attributed to the fictitious Capa to French photographic agencies for three times the price of Friedmann’s, such was the status accorded visiting American photographers. Their joint ruse was soon discovered, but the pseudonyms remained in place. In her essay for the exhibition catalogue Gerda Taro: Archive, published in 2007, Irme Schaber notes: “Taro and Capa were not merely reacting to their precarious economic situation. They were responding as well to the antisemitism of Germany and the increasing antipathy towards foreigners in France. And to elude the stigma attached to being refugees, they spurned every ethnic or religious label.”

If their joint self-reinvention was the first significant factor in the dramatic trajectory of Robert Capa and Gerda Taro, the second was their decision to go together to Spain in 1936 to cover the republican resistance to Franco’s fascist rebels. Like many writers and artists, including George Orwell and André Malraux, they went there out of political conviction and scorned any notion of journalistic detachment. The fight against fascism was, in a very real and personal way, their fight, given their history as exiles and refugees, and the Spanish civil war was the literal and metaphorical frontline of that battle.

It was an adventure, though, that almost ended as soon as it had begun, when the plane hired by the French magazine Vu to take them to Barcelona crash-landed in a field on the outskirts of the city. The pair limped into Barcelona to find scenes of ferment and disorder as anarchist forces took over the city. There, they photographed young republicans leaving Barcelona for the frontlines. Then in September they travelled together to the front themselves, arriving in the village of Cerro Muriano near Córdoba, where they found, and photographed, crowds of villagers fleeing their homes as the fascists rained shells down on the village. In one famous series of pictures, Capa captured Taro crouched, camera in hand, behind a wall beside a republican soldier. In another even more famous picture, perhaps the most well-known war photograph ever, Capa caught a militiaman at the very moment of his death from a sniper’s bullet.

In that split second, the legend of Robert Capa, war photographer, was born, and decades later that same image would become the centre of a debate that still simmers over the ethics and veracity of war photography. In Waiting for Robert Capa, Fortes writes: “Death of a Loyalist Militiaman contained all the drama of Goya’s Third of May 1808 painting, all the rage that Guernica would later show… Its strength, like all symbols, didn’t lie in just the image, but in what it was representing.” Fortes also imagines Taro gently probing Capa for the story of what really happened that day, and him replying: “We were just fooling around, that’s all. Perhaps I complained that everything was far too calm and that there wasn’t anything interesting to photograph. Then some of the men started to run down the slope and I joined in as well. We went up and down the hill several times. We were all feeling good. Laughing. They shot in the air. I took several photographs…”

Though the context of the photograph is still contested, the imagined conversation does describe what probably happened that day just before a Francoist sniper returned fire from across the hills, killing the militiaman who was running down the hill for Capa’s camera. “People want the truth from war photography more than they do from any other kind of photography,” says Jimmy Fox, the Magnum picture editor who has worked with the likes of Don McCullin and Philip Jones Griffiths, “but a flat surface of an image is not the reality and never can be.”

In Spain, Capa soon developed a reputation for taking photographs whatever the risk, setting the tone for war reportage as we now know it. Taro, too, was often seen running across the battle lines with her camera, her bravery matched by her recklessness. She travelled back and forth to the frontlines, shooting what she saw, often driven by a mixture of humanity, political commitment and a shrewd understanding of the power of the photograph to shape public opinion.

Throughout 1937, Taro visited several frontlines, either with Capa or on her own. They managed to return to Paris for a short vacation in July that year, celebrating Bastille Day by dancing in the streets below Sacre Coeur and, according to Schaber, hatching “great plans for the future”. Taro then returned to Spain alone, despite the growing concerns of her friends who, having seen her recent photographs of the fighting, feared for her safety.

Defying a ban on journalists travelling to the front, she once again made her way to Brunete with the Canadian journalist Ted Allan, her close friend, travelling companion and soon-to-be lover. According to Allan’s diaries, written later, they spent “mornings afternoons and evenings together chasing stories… For three or four weeks we were constant companions. And finally, one afternoon, we ended up in her hotel room.” She told Allan: “Capa is my friend, my copain,” and said she might be travelling to China with him. “Nothing was settled,” wrote Allan. “Everything was possible.”

On Sunday 25July, the pair found themselves trapped in a foxhole near Brunete as bombs fell around them relentlessly. Taro kept on photographing, often holding her camera high above her head to capture the carnage. Allan protected her with a film camera as shrapnel and rocks fell around them. Then, as republican troops began pulling out of the area, Taro and Allan ran out of the foxhole and hitched a ride on the running board of a car while the planes continued to strafe the retreating convoy. In the chaos, the car was then rammed by an out-of-control republican tank and the couple were thrown into the dirt. Transported to a nearby field hospital, Taro died from her injuries in the early hours of the following morning. She was 26. The injured Allan did not get to see her again. According to Irene Golden, the nurse who was on duty, her last words were: “Did they take care of my camera?”

Gerda Taro’s funeral in Paris was attended by tens of thousands of mourners, including Capa, Chim and Ted Allan. Orchestrated by the French communist party, which claimed her as one of its own, it became, as Schaber puts it, “a spectacular manifestation of international solidarity with the Spanish republic”. In death, Gerda Taro became a hero. Robert Capa went on to become the most celebrated and mythologised war photographer of the century until he, too, died in action in Indochina in 1954 at the age of 40. “He never talked about her,” says the photographer Ata Kandó in The Mexican Suitcase.

Gerda Taro has now fully emerged from the shadow of Capa as an important photographer in her own right. Many photographs attributed to him – they initially shared the byline CAPA – have now been identified as hers. “She was a pioneering woman both as a photographer and a political activist,” says Ziff. “She was very liberated for her time, putting her work before any more traditional female role. She had reinvented herself – but the Capa myth was so strong that, even when she died, some newspapers described her as Robert Capa’s wife. Their lives were entwined, but she was very much her own woman, and he knew that. They both believed that their photographs could change the world and change the way people think. And their photographs did.”

Sober Notes 5: Dreams

I dreamt of five moons in the sky
As if one wasn’t enough
A streak of stars joined them
Like a figure in a puzzle
Where you join the dots
Like diagrams on a sky-map
Where you join the stars
The longer I looked
The brighter they glimmered
The smoke from my cigarette
Mixed with the mist in the air
It rose to the heavens
It brushed past the stars
But before it could kiss the moon
Dawn broke and the mist disappeared
And the dream ended a little too soon

-S.

On Travelling Solo

To me, travelling is one of the best stress busters and also on of my greatest hobbies. I feel like this is the time when I can indulge in activities like these because later it will be too late. I realised that this should be something that I should follow forever because no time is a bad time to travel. The biggest drawback for any girl in India is the fact that it is really hard to travel alone. It is also not a very judicious idea because it will definitely take a toll on your pocket. I have always wanted to go out on solo walks during rainy nights when I was at home. There was no way I would be allowed outside after 11 in the night. When I shifted to Mumbai, I was amazed by the freedom that girls could enjoy. I often walked back home at 2, sometimes even 4 from college to home.

There was an article I read on Thought Catalog about how you could be with someone and yet be alone. That is the kind of travelling that I dream of. To have someone there for when you need them, to make memories and to yet be alone, to get lost in the mountains, in the sound of nature, in the fresh air and the delicious food. On one of my trips I found a friend like that. On our way back from a trek, our group got left behind and we decided to wait for them sitting on a cliff, overlooking the mountains – The Dhauladhar Range. That moment was sort of like the moment of enlightenment for me. I don’t think I can ever forget the exact details of that moment ever in my life. We weren’t talking. It was like the other person didn’t even exist even though they did. It was also the moment I fell in love, with several things at once, mostly in love with life!

I wrote something after coming back:

And it has come to an end, the amazing 10 days in Delhi. McLeodganj, Bhagsunag and Trikund. A time like none other. Thanks to the company.

For the first time in my life I found serenity in solitude even when I wasn’t alone and peace in silence with someone who knew what I wanted to say without saying anything. Those were the days I would want to live over and over again despite the few bitter moments. The good ones definitely overpower them. These memories will push me forward in life. Towards better things and better judgements. It’s the little things in life that keep you going. Those expressions of love and care, the reiterated concerns for your well being.

The moment I was talking about:

Those three stray wisps of clouds among the hills. Mixing and melting and moulding into one single entity. The serenity of it all, the stolen moments of peace. The mutual understanding. What else could one wish for. The sound of water rushing downhill, a cigarette in your hand and the dizziness in your brain, being supported by people you love the most. Staring into the sunset with your head upon their shoulder, the playful atmosphere, the light-headedness, the million shades of the sky during dusk. Another wisp of the clouds lodged in the snow capped mountains. A cup of tea, a pen and a notebook, with the steps towards heaven right in front of me. There’s nothing else I could ever wish for.

An A to Z of Music

Following the previous post which I thoroughly enjoyed writing, here is a similar one about songs this time round!

A – All Apologies, Nirvana

B – Brookyln Baby, Lana Del Rey

C – Counting Stars, One Republic

D – Dog Days are Over, Florence and the Machine

E – Everybody Talks, Neon Trees

F – For the first time, The Script

G – Gangsta Blues, Blaaze

H – Hey Soul Sister, The Train

I – I’m into you, Jennifer Lopez

J – Just can’t get enough, The Black Eyed Peas

K – Kiss with a Fist, Florence and the Machine

L – Love in December, Club 8.

M – Memories, Kid Cudi

N – Need you now, Lady Antebellum

O – One More Night, Maroon 5

P – Parachute, Cheryl Cole

Q – (The) Queen and I, Gym Class Heroes

R – Red Hands, Walk Off the Earth

S – Sway with Me, Michael Buble

T – Tambourine, Eve Ft. Swiss Beatz

U – Umbrella, Rihanna

V – Viva La Vida, Coldplay

W – Wake me up when September ends, Greenday

X – XXXO, M.I.A.

Y – You’re beautiful, James Blunt

Z – Zombie, The Cranberries

Sober Notes 4

Tracing your veins, on your wrist…

Time flies by, with each pulse…

The shadow of the moon, changes its directions…

It’s almost dawn, and I’m still tracing lines…

Random notes

What lies beyond the dark side of the moon?

Maybe a million more suns, a billion more stars.

How do you know then that it is dark?

How would you know the other side,

when you haven’t ever seen it?

Why would you give up on life,

even before you’ve lived it?

The Sea

The sea has a million stories to tell, all you need is to take out the time to hear. The waves of feelings and emotions sweep you away like the water sweeps the shore. All you need is to spare a moment of solitude. The sea will make you its own and you could embrace it as yours, all you need is to open your heart and let it all go.