Asghar Abbas's Blog - Posts Tagged "krimson"

Did I lose something last year? Looking at you, I wouldn’t know it. You can’t tell right now but I am sad, I am so very sad right now. You are with me; I have no reason to be sad. In this simple moment, you are here and I have no reason to be. To be here, be here, or simply be, or let it be for that matter and it does not matter. It hardly ever does. But you know something, no way, there is no way we could have made music of any kind last year. Nope. We made many nameless things, for sure, nothing that can be added on this page, or to this story. All the music sheets are brimming full of our misdeeds. You can’t read those lines anyway, all those muted staves are deafening. We made other things but not music. It wasn’t impossible, it just wasn’t possible. So I couldn’t stuff you with your own songs, you couldn’t spoon-feed me my words. I hadn’t been able to, you weren’t willing to do that either. That was then though. What to do, what do we do now? Okay. Well. Fill yourself with wonder, lust, stale poetry, faulty magic, and the possibility of all of it happening. All of it happening to you. All of it happening for you. Like what? Everything. Sure, I’ll hug you twice, you are so squishable, I want to squeeze you anyway, you are so plump and plush. Okay, I lie down with you. Of course, you can be with me, we’ll go together, at once. However, one little thing you must do before we do all that. We will do all of it. Leave behind who you are, and what you want to be, and just bring yourself. Come with me now. Stop dithering, why hesitate? Why wait? Why not? You didn’t turn on me, you didn’t go against me, you went up against someone other than me. Something else and it was something. You didn’t mean to betray me; you just fell a little in love with me, just a little bit. It was only a little bit, with only little bits of you, that's it. The thing is, the more you read, the more I wrote, the more you fell, and still, all that is making you fall even more in love with yourself. That’s when the trouble arises. It’s unacceptable, you mustn’t be free, what is there to liberate you from, aren't you smiling, you are so happy, so you are even if you can't feel that. Okay, you can stop now, that's creepy. Your smile is creepy now. So settle down, sit back, relax, and think about how disappointing all your heroes are, how you are disappointing all of them. Heroes and cons, it's not about them, it’s all about the endings. It’s a sharp end, better watch out. You asked me to make you human, you don’t understand. I can’t do that. Here’s the thing, things we do with each other, and things we do to one another are naturally awful, and that’s fine. But the pretext, the horrid excuse, we use to bind ourselves to ourselves is quite unnatural and unnecessary really. Even though people need people. The love that makes us abandon the ones we love is what makes us humane. It is what fixes us and we don't need any fixing but we are fixing to find out anyway, especially if your mouth is involved. Anything that makes us human is plain wrong. Listen, shapeless as it is, unconditional love is unsettling. It is upsetting us. Love is there only to make us monsters, nothing else. These are the badlands after all and this is the only afterlife you are going to get. Not as green as you had hoped it would be, it could not be. And the otherness of the others? Well, what about it. We all abuse women in the language of loneliness. Even other women. Women can be just as bad as men; women are as bad as women. We are all complicit in the fall of men. We felled the remaining trees. But we were talking about one woman. You. With other people, I can’t be myself. When I am with you, I am something else. Look, if you keep looking elsewhere then what we have will never be enough. What we do have, is that not enough? It’ll never be enough for you. I know that. This I know. All this. All of me. Enough. I have got to rest but I won’t forget the rest. Forget all the bad thoughts, you can stop battling your mind, you should, you have already conquered this night. In this silent womb, we can reach out in the darkness to hold hands, we did hold hands, though what we were holding felt wet and globy. But what were we really doing that day other than holding in our crumbling world, or at least trying to, while ceasing to exist, looking for an exit? Cut to now, we can cut some more of this. It doesn’t matter what is on the murder board, this earth cannot bury us, no earthen mold can keep us for long. I am not going to murder you, okay, get on the boat, but we can murder all our friends. Don’t look up, stars die every day where there is no light, dying stars notwithstanding, we are all, every one of us, desperate desperate creatures behind our masks. You are close, but come a little closer, scoot over, not so close though; you smell of dead earth and death. What are we doing here? We are surrounded by these newer ghosts when we still have the old ghosts with us, oodles of them, you are not the only ghost here anymore. When the dreams turn terrible, you know it’s time to wake up. But can you wake up from this? Do you even want to? By the end, we don’t become ghosts. In the end, we are nothing but stories our ghosts would tell. That’s the prayer, the litany we repeat like a prayer we don’t have. We never do. We never have the time to think about anything. We don’t have to. Not here. Still, we must toil. Listen, this small piece of plastic cannot prevent our future. Our future is female. What? Are you walking away? Are you walking off this existence? What happened to you, you were a god. Once and once was enough. Loki didn’t trick you into anything, only revealed you. Where did you go, where are you now? Where will you go. Where are you going? It’s all a mistake. Walk away then. I don’t care. You have to stop being afraid of that last song. Listen to it until everything is logical again. You must, must you? It’s okay, it is going to be alright, all right. It’s all fan fiction anyway. Aurally delightful as you are, I wish you were still fictional. Don’t fret, not to worry. I went away as a writer but I came back to you as a man. Now. Hold still, very still, might be I’ll be able to ease into your song for the final time. And hey, at least, at the very least, we have earned this end.