As the World Burns

This world shall burn,

for that is all it is capable of.

There is the ensemble of oil,

All that remains is one solitary match.

This world shall burn,

The seers of yore warned us.

Save what you can, save who you can.

The days of our ending have begun.

When the world burns,

They will look for me.

For I too warned them of the flames,

But then I would not mind the burn.

After the world has burnt,

And only ashes remain.

Pure ashes of impure men,

Let it be heard- I lit the solitary match.           

‘I don’t hate people , I just feel better when they are not around’- Baba Bukowski. 

' Kill it before it grows'- Bob Marley

Gather round ye misunderstood

So , in this post I'm gonna talk about something extremely close to me- metal and what it means to me. Metal doesn't need an introduction. You know , the angry guy in the black band t-shirt who hates all things happy and could yet be the nicest person you've ever met. Yeah that's the one I'm gonna talk about today.
So , metalheads aren't your typical mainstream bielebers. Metal stands for everything against the mainstrean - a celebration of all those who are misunderstood and all those left out. We all(or I hope   all) are thinking human beings . So for those who think, you are bound to be angered by what you see. If not angered atleast concerned. Now some people choose escapism and pretend that these concerns anre not there. Some acknowledge them and voice their concerns. And when voices are drowned, people must growl. And these choices are reflected in musical preferences . The pop guy will listen to songs that make him think of some fairy tale world with imagined dragons or whatever and the metalhead won't be pushed up against the wall( yeah that was testament). So it really is a matter of principle .
Now let's talk demeanor. Metal doesn't believe in dressing up . You look great the way you are . You don't have to try and change anything about it. The metal community accepts people without mascara. Now contrast that against the teenage menstruating girl named Justin who has to hide behind a ton of make-up to perverse every other teenage girls definition of beauty. That's why you see a lot of rockers shirtless. This is who I am in the flesh- like me or hate me- this is my truth and I'm not ashamed enough to hide it behind price tag mascara.
You see metal is about the truth and responses to it - whether you like it or not - without any sugar coating. There is no pretension and all pretenders are despised . If you can't accept the way you are you are not fit to accept anyone else. And yes you can be yourself no matter how messed up you may be in metal. If it's the government screwing with you, or your parents who messed up your childhood , or feelings of suicide and alienation or serial killers , global terrorism - we metalheads are listening - growl on child - we're listening. And aren't these the issues that affect you or is it just the radioactive chick problems as your pop*ahem* artist screech about. The point is metal doesn't set a parameter for its community.  It is a negation of accepted belief . Or as St.de La Roach should say' FUCK YOU I WON'T SO WHAT YOU TELL ME - MOTHERFUCKERR- UGGHH!!' Yes metal sees the truth and is not afraid to talk about it no matter how bleak or uncomfortable it is. It is a rebellion it is about sticking up for what you believe in. And like all tellers of the truth, metalheads are misunderstood . But that does not make them any less truthful and the rest any less liars. And I would rather be truthful than understood.  Being misunderstood yet truthful is a choice that metalheads make. And no, not everyone is strong enough to make that choice. And it's too sad if you aren't. 
Now let's talk musicianship. Your girl named Justin uses the same four chords( invariably Am-C-G-F .... holy shit they know barre chords!). Now have you heard of Mr. Petrucci and his Bb mixolydian sweeps or phyrgian dominant shreds? You don't have to be a genius to say which is superior.  Now let's talk beats. Invariably every pop song is a 4/4. Now you pop ass wipes can go dance with your butterflies to a 4/4 and us metalheads are gonna let Mike Portnoy teach us 23.5/8. How 'radiocative' is that? Not that metal is the only technically sound genre there is. Of course the blues, jazz , classical music require an extraordinary level of musicianship.  But the being a sucky musician seems to be the criteria in popular music. And you'd know this if you've seen a metal gig. A metalhead derives energy from the crowd.  They are sure of their musicianship and skills because they have practiced their craft. And of course our little girl named Justin was bust painting her pony pink so she couldn't find enough time to practice her craft and hence had to lip sync.
Ultimately it all comes down to a choice. You can choose to be truthful and technically sound and intellectually fulfilled by your music or you can choose to pick up chicks with it. And if you choose the latter, Marilyn Manson will haunt your sweet dreams. The point is you can be an artist or you can be a pretender. If you choose the former, you'll be accepted for who you are- no frills no pretensions.And if you think you aren't good enough to be an artist, an artist is not someone who is skilled , he is someone who has a story to tell, and you can always bring both skill and emotion to your expression. But if you still choose the latter.... well what can I say ...' Fuck it , cut the chord'.

Chronicles of Lady Rain

I look from my glassy room,

the rain falling on the moor.

Drops fritter on the glass,

So much more than this mind can amass.

Lady woe, she cries at the rain,

Drowning in the rain ,her tears of pain.

Years have passed , but not much has been gained,

Of all the attempts to hold on-only so much has stayed.

Miss zephyretta lets open her hair,

To her it is the western air.

Youth has brought to her all that is fair,

The rain at her beauty does stare.

The reaper lurks around an old trunk,

Looking for Lady Age with arms shrunk.

One slice of the reaper- no pain.

She will go back to the home of the rain.

The children play in much frolic,

Drenching , innocent – without harsh logic.

The rain comes and goes, but joy to them is static.

Even the rain bows to their deathless magic.

I look upon from my glassy room,

On what was a rough summer’s moor.

Some voices behind the door,

For the summer, against the rain implore.

The voices laugh at every trickle,

‘Nothing as the rain is quite as fickle.

Delusion is the rain’s only sickle.

Hiding the sun for a day does not reduce the summer a mickle.’

Mistress sun showers summer’s bane.

But now all is covered by Lady Rain.

And the mad men laugh at the rain,

Yet the rain falls , drowning their pain.

Covering their pain, the mad men laugh at the rain,

Remembering a time when they were sane.

All the weight of the rain,

Can cover but a heart’s pain.

* There is something incredibly therapeutic about the rain. It is the same for everyone , whether they are in pain and joy. Maybe, pain and joy are but illusions, and the only truth there is , is the beauty of the rain. *

Head vs. Heart

The longest race you will ever run is the race between your head and your heart. The age old conundrum still plagues a lot of us today. There is the cold, rational side and then there is the warm emotional side. So the question often comes down to which one do we follow?

Well a lot of us are inherently very logical and a lot of us are inherently very emotional. And I think one cannot do without the other.

 As far as the logical people(I shall stick to the variety I Know) go , they do have emotions too ( of course they too have a limbic system , hippocampus and amygdala). It’s just that they have grown accustomed to seeing beauty in ideas and concepts since they are absolutely perfect. This is also why you will find such people attached to their science or art very tenaciously. So they just choose to look at a particular side of things. But the best things in life are not things at all. Somethings do need to be felt. I could agree that evolution has given us a large pre-frontal cortex. But the limbic system( the emotional center) persists as well. And the mistake that a rationalist makes at time is to suppress anything that isn’t remotely intellectual. They brand it as irrational and hence unworthy. Yet, the limbic system continues working and that need to connect is always there. If you have read Franz Kafka’s story ‘ The Hunger Artist’ you probably know what I mean. The hunger artist dies trying to fast for 45 days. And the only reason he fasts is that he does not like the food that he is being given. The point being , the craziest of people actually need only the slightest of understanding . They won’t be irrational , they just won’t be miserable. Sometimes it may appear that misery and rationality go hand in hand. But I have recently learnt that that is a falsehood. The purpose of being rational is to see the truth. And the truth is sublime , though sometimes hurtful. But the quest for the truth can never really be worth misery. I think it is more rational and logical that the quest for the truth yields happiness as opposed to misery. Of course as Bukowski said, “ Beautiful lies , beautiful lies …. Al people want to hear is beautiful lies .” But then a rationalist is following the truth because it makes sense and is beautiful. So shouldn’t the truth bring happiness and not misery? Isn’t a rationalist’s  love for misery just another defence mechanism , or ‘ wall’ or ’shield’ from letting people in? Based on my experiences I believe that being rational can never mean being miserable. There are certain moments when beauty presents itself as logic , sometimes it presents as emotion. It would be a shame if one could not experience both.

Consider the case of a doctor . Working in medicine wards for a while has taught me that a government hospital gets the most heart-wrenching cases. Now a doctor has to be rational. He has to not let any emotions cloud his judgement since his job is ultimately to treat. And nothing can come in the way of the right diagnosis or the right treatment. But beneath the white coat , too there is a man. And if you followed the medical jargon in the preceding paragraph , he too has a limbic system and an insula( the centre for empathy). He too naturally feels for someone in pain . So what should our doctor do? Does he become cold and just treat the disease and not the patient ? Or does he get so involved in the patient that he makes the wrong diagnosis? Head or Heart? This brings in the concept of medical ethics-The idea that a physician must be empathetic and understanding along with being objective in his treatment. This naturally allows both head and heart to function. And that middle path is what makes the best of doctors. The fine balance between head and heart.

And on the personal front , there is a time when you have to listen to your heart , even though your mind is not always sure. Because somethings (such as emotion) truly aren’t answerable by a logical approach in their purest form. Sometimes the best analysis is to know when to stop analysing and when to just savour the moment for what it is rather than what it could be.

Ultimately , it should suffice to say that a human ultimately has both head and heart, not just one. The best doctors are those who feel and treat. The best friends are those who you do not have to analyze. After all , every recluse needs a muse. 

The Mirror

*Sometimes people look outwards to escape looking inside*

There is a sacred loneliness,

That many men dare not wander into.

Looking in to the mirror in truthful disdain,

Is better than looking out of the window in feigned awe.

“ Who is in the mirror?”

“Who was in the mirror?”

“What is he becoming?”

The mirror stares in my eyes to blind.

Out of my window I see, ships ready to new ports dwell.

Men in masks, do impressions of themselves. 

Guides to new  vices.

All with paper tag prices.

I see sailors boarding new ships every night,

And I see my mirror every night.

Fare thee well onward sailor!

To stand the mirror needs men of valour.

Fear

Fear in, fear out
I fear what I doubt
I doubt what I fear
Swing such a banner over yonder
until I am forced to stop
I shout
One tear, two tear, three 
drip, drop
I sit on my throne and ponder
there is no "I" in chaos
Who is at the door?
Knock, knock

I answer not