Psychosomatic Rendition

17^th May, 2014.

Have anyone of you ever felt like living in an eternal loop? Like in a repetitive state, doing the same thing over and over and over, like until it gets stored in your muscle memory, so that the thing you were doing becomes an involuntary action?

It has been over a month that I've written anything here, due to exams, and more importantly, due to the lack of my preparations, though in fairness, I would say, none of us prepare until the exams literally knocks on the door. To keep myself busy, the only thing that I could do was to start studying. Believe me when I say this, its one thing to study, and to study for exams with same repeated topics, it kind of makes your previous actions oxymoronic. The ones who were all about “fuck studies” are now “do not disturb, I am studying”. Its all fine until it becomes a psychosomatic rendition, when you literally start speaking in phases and paragraphs for something that need no verbose, no extra details, and if you start seeing chain mails and muskets and a symbol consisting of a scythe and a hammer in your dream, you are done for. Like a subtle tremor in your limb as a PTSD, you are in need of a good therapy. All of your vanities, veneered by the paint of rosy days and velvet nights turn into banal excrement of a male bovine. I am not saying that we or I am feared of such exams (hardly, the marks are distributed like free alcohol in a marriage ceremony) but if I start repeating things that are bromide in nature, utterly meaningless, it really is not a great idea.

The doodling in the pages of diaries, the poetic attempts to burn out the frustration, the filtered images on instagram that gives a feeling of Andy Warhol, or Ansel Adams or Robert Capa, a drag of Marlboro or a wills flake in privacy becomes your only solace. The static, suspended animation along with the robotic repetition ends only after you are done with inking the A4 sized ruled pages continuously for 3 hours, and then, grabbing a Mc-chicken from McDonalds.

P.s- out of irregularity, café Cuba helps a lot when you are messed up. Hah.. “Cuban revolution” my dear. Obvious really.

Regards.