🛸🏰 thegriotpost.eth (💙,🧡) (🌸, 🌿)i have a disease called "obsessed with hands"
“Geminis are obsessed with hands and I can see it in you”, Anoushka said ever so canonically on a March afternoon at my place. I was confused as to where she was coming from, looking around to realize my hand was in hers without me ever making a conscious call to do it. Apart from the slightly annoying and funny generalization of traits that Anoushka indulged in, it was an unravelling for something that I have been doing for so long. The notes on my phone are an archive of quotes about hands ...
🛸🏰 thegriotpost.eth (💙,🧡) (🌸, 🌿)the end (leading) to a new beginning
Dear Reader, I have been putting off doing this for so long as putting this year down in a time capsule seems like an ambitious task. For this year has been one long lost craving after another, the stories of yearning and longing. A relentless missing. It’s hard to believe that it’s only been a year since the last time I penned something like this, while it’ll also be callous to imply that the year passed away too soon. I can go with the pattern of how these things go and talk about how the y...
The Griot Post -an archive of everything that moves me and makes me want to write; this has been an ever-evolving thing of its own.
🛸🏰 thegriotpost.eth (💙,🧡) (🌸, 🌿)i have a disease called "obsessed with hands"
“Geminis are obsessed with hands and I can see it in you”, Anoushka said ever so canonically on a March afternoon at my place. I was confused as to where she was coming from, looking around to realize my hand was in hers without me ever making a conscious call to do it. Apart from the slightly annoying and funny generalization of traits that Anoushka indulged in, it was an unravelling for something that I have been doing for so long. The notes on my phone are an archive of quotes about hands ...
🛸🏰 thegriotpost.eth (💙,🧡) (🌸, 🌿)the end (leading) to a new beginning
Dear Reader, I have been putting off doing this for so long as putting this year down in a time capsule seems like an ambitious task. For this year has been one long lost craving after another, the stories of yearning and longing. A relentless missing. It’s hard to believe that it’s only been a year since the last time I penned something like this, while it’ll also be callous to imply that the year passed away too soon. I can go with the pattern of how these things go and talk about how the y...
The Griot Post -an archive of everything that moves me and makes me want to write; this has been an ever-evolving thing of its own.
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i just typed a whole thing and the app crashed, and although it wasn't specifically about anything but now it does feel like that I'll never be able to write something that is the same as that. it might be vaguely familiar at best but it'll never be the same.
so instead, let's screw that and start talking about something else altogether. it's been about 3 months since the last newsletter was put out, mostly because of the never-ending struggle with the concept of time as a whole. it's not like I've not had ideas, but like most of my drab and vile thoughts, they are at best — abstract and incomplete.
i find myself thinking about the idea of free will. if my thoughts are my own and the actions thereof my own doing. i've often felt like that my memories and experiences have been a form of fed information and today is all that's real, that could be an easy explanation to the disconnect I encounter with my perception of the reality of the day.
on some days I do dabble in a bit of thinking about an absolute utopia. now it could be the disconnect that helps me imagine the human experience from a distance, but our distress, our trauma and out mourning imparts the same meaning to life, if not more, than merry. the absolute utopia because of a lack of motivations and pursuable goals and purposes, is way worse than the worst dystopia you can ever think of. great shower thought, isn't it? haha. i wouldn't bore you with all the grimy thoughts that come out of the inexorable pit of vanity that is my brain. maybe another day.
now this is just an attempt to get back into the habit of writing these regularly.
so here's this piece called Mourning by Harsh Anand. the man seems like a spirit animal at times.
" I started a poem with,
‘I feel emotionally decapitated'.
Irony at its finest,
here lies a brilliant piece of mourning --
”I feel
emotionally decapitated, today.”
Yesterday,
I felt like skewering my leg off.
Tomorrow,
I don’t think I'll even feel anything.
If I don’t,
my tombstone should say,
‘here lies a brilliant piece of mourning,
irony at its finest,
a man with a name
that means happiness'."
couple of music suggestions that I have for the month:
1. beautiful brain by mabel ye
2. a rendition of aapki yaad aati rahi by deepali sahay
3. a recommendation by rea that I've been listening to on repeat these days
this was an attempt to hold together my crumbling sanity, hope you like it.
to future attempts.
love,
soumya xx
i just typed a whole thing and the app crashed, and although it wasn't specifically about anything but now it does feel like that I'll never be able to write something that is the same as that. it might be vaguely familiar at best but it'll never be the same.
so instead, let's screw that and start talking about something else altogether. it's been about 3 months since the last newsletter was put out, mostly because of the never-ending struggle with the concept of time as a whole. it's not like I've not had ideas, but like most of my drab and vile thoughts, they are at best — abstract and incomplete.
i find myself thinking about the idea of free will. if my thoughts are my own and the actions thereof my own doing. i've often felt like that my memories and experiences have been a form of fed information and today is all that's real, that could be an easy explanation to the disconnect I encounter with my perception of the reality of the day.
on some days I do dabble in a bit of thinking about an absolute utopia. now it could be the disconnect that helps me imagine the human experience from a distance, but our distress, our trauma and out mourning imparts the same meaning to life, if not more, than merry. the absolute utopia because of a lack of motivations and pursuable goals and purposes, is way worse than the worst dystopia you can ever think of. great shower thought, isn't it? haha. i wouldn't bore you with all the grimy thoughts that come out of the inexorable pit of vanity that is my brain. maybe another day.
now this is just an attempt to get back into the habit of writing these regularly.
so here's this piece called Mourning by Harsh Anand. the man seems like a spirit animal at times.
" I started a poem with,
‘I feel emotionally decapitated'.
Irony at its finest,
here lies a brilliant piece of mourning --
”I feel
emotionally decapitated, today.”
Yesterday,
I felt like skewering my leg off.
Tomorrow,
I don’t think I'll even feel anything.
If I don’t,
my tombstone should say,
‘here lies a brilliant piece of mourning,
irony at its finest,
a man with a name
that means happiness'."
couple of music suggestions that I have for the month:
1. beautiful brain by mabel ye
2. a rendition of aapki yaad aati rahi by deepali sahay
3. a recommendation by rea that I've been listening to on repeat these days
this was an attempt to hold together my crumbling sanity, hope you like it.
to future attempts.
love,
soumya xx
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