Category: Uncategorized
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A bar in Helsinki
Who wants to be a fucking writer? Who fucking wants to write? This typing of a sentence is killing me, I hate myself for typing this, I hate myself for wanting to type anything on anything. Why is this blank Word document not a dingy bar in Helsinki where I can sing those old gypsy…
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“I’m the bad guy”
Yes, I know, you are a wonderful writer, and if one were to cut open your heart, nothing but compassion will flow out of it, not even blood – that disgusting red liquid belongs to lesser people – and if one could have access to the innermost sanctum of your unconscious mind, one would see…
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The cult of the family
There is something that I’ve refused to do all my life: to be a part of a family photograph. The idea has repulsed me ever since I was a child, and I consciously stayed out of all such photographs – not because I hated my parents, quite the contrary, but it seemed absurd to subsume…
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Salt, lips
Your lips are chapped, it’s the gift of the leaving winter you eat something sprinkled with coarse grains of salt the salt is now on your lips, and it tingles, hurts just a little, you should probably remove it with a napkin, but instead you take some lip balm and rub it gently on your…
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Coppélia
Franz has fallen in love with a doll reading a book on the balcony. Swanhilda must now remind him of reality. So, she disguises herself as the doll – and starts dancing in front of an almost unconscious Franz. In illusion, there is no space for reality. In reality, there is enough space for illusion.…
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Gold dust
It is indeed accurate that when Frida Kahlo met with the most devastating accident at the age of 19, she lay on the street with an iron rail inside her abdomen, covered in blood and the gold dust that was carried by another passenger. Don’t you want to be that dying girl on the street…
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Rasāyana
Don’t look to the West for any answers, my mother said to me today. Love falls under the Sringara rasa, and thus must include all elements that make it so. It’s simple chemistry, if you change the composition, it becomes something else. In ancient Indian poetry, love without an earthly reality is devotion. Devotion, then,…
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An everyday epiphany
Absolute darkness surrounds me. What is the way, the way out of this, and where does it lead to? One thing I realize is that I am not a true artist: in the sense that I don’t look for incompleteness, the ephemeral, the evanescent. What do I look for then, if not beauty and the…
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In praise of courage
Born in a small village in Rajasthan – so small that the world doesn’t know its name. Forced into a marriage at a young age to an older woman – a common practice in rural desert. Son at the age of 21. Lying on a Sufi shrine right next to his house, where he learnt…
