theperksofbeingtheantihero

[camillamacaulay13]

musings

"Let not my deplorable shortcomings be an impediment to my ardent love for you..

My insanity blossoms simply from the wild, unapologetic longing I harbour for you."

[camillamacaulay13]

Eyes Wide Open.

eyes wide open

the walls close in on me

as I watch myself struggle to breathe

the windows are fogged

I can't see

the fire that timidly calls out to me

eyes wide open

the cold within laughs at the snow

what it is to freeze

it wouldn't know

I stare at the fire

and it spreads to my heart

anger and fear, you can't tell apart

eyes wide open

too afraid to shut them

the cold begins to call out my name

safety feels like a flame

what if I get burnt

if I get too close

so I sit in the dark and the cold knows

I wouldn't leave even if I froze

too scared of fire, I've been burnt before

eyes wide open

fixed on the flame

the cold begins to call out my name

darkness, darkness all around

I cannot escape the howling sound

I sit as if death has me in its hold

my name now a lament in the cold

-Qala

[camillamacaulay13]

"I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead I lift my lids and all is born again"

-Sylvia Plath, Mad Girl's Love Song.

[camillamacaulay13]

winter.

the chill truly makes you feel alive as it seeps into your blood, knocks at your bones, stings your eyes. when you feel the freezing blood coursing through your veins and the cold lashing against your red-grey skin and you feel every little stretch as you unfurl your fingers, the cold numbing them into muted, hesitant micro-movements. what a gift it is to feel a breathing body cower under the weather of the dead. what a joy it is to feel the chill of the corpse that lies beneath.

[camillamacaulay13]

existence

and then one day the sky remains the same but your eyes can't see the blue

the grass remains the same but your feet are numb to their touch

the birds chirp like they always do but your ears cannot process the sound

flowers bloom in all their glory but your gaze traverses past them into the vast empty spaces

and then one day you stop and realise that somewhere along the way life deserted your wretched bones and you have sentenced yourself to a cruel, fruitless existence.

[camillamacaulay13]

"In the tangerine, neon light..."

Midnight tangerine

Reality is but a screen

We don’t sleep, we don’t dream

We don’t speak, we don’t scream

Fake daylight gleams 

And midday schemes

We don’t like to be seen

We don’t want a scene

Nothing but midnight tangerine  -Qala

[camillamacaulay13]

Cinema deep dive: part 2

Qala (2022)

Salt in the sea

Sea in my eyes

Withered leaves fall

Fall on my feet

Tree of life

Life robbed from me

Winds wail and warn

Warn me of a storm

Lightning strikes at night

Night gives me light

The days are clouded

Clouded by doubt

My sun is burning 

Burning me to the ground 

[camillamacaulay13]

cinema deep dive: part 1

Bulbbul (2020)

Untangling the character- Binodini

Binodini in Bulbbul represents a woman who has accepted the shackles of patriarchy, conforming to her fate as the wife of a mentally challenged man, Mahendra. Although her marriage is devoid of love or emotional fulfilment, she accepts it because she is married into a zamindar family, which grants her social status and security. Unlike Bulbbul, who resists and seeks freedom, Binodini chooses submission, believing that her position as a zamindar's wife is her only path to survival.  She envies Bulbbul's independence, but her own compliance shows how patriarchy traps women in different ways—either by conforming for security or by resisting at great personal cost. Binodini’s character highlights the internalised oppression women face, often making them complicit in their own subjugation.

[camillamacaulay13]

reeling through the midnight streets

cities have such an odd way of making you feel so lonely yet so full of life at the same time. all of these people, all of these beating hearts, moving around in a blurred haze and so many eyes that you meet on a daily basis, some linger into a gaze while some pierce right through you. all of these stories moving around me, tales I am close enough to feel the palpitating energy of without ever knowing them fully. I am myself one enormous enigma moving around in between these strings of people, carrying my own joy, buckling under my own pain, part of this crowd where everyone is so distinct and so alone yet bound by that nameless, often unnoticed sonder.

[camillamacaulay13]

an evening of grief and rain

And I stood there and watched The sky weeping tears I couldn’t shed I watched your hazy outline I wondered if I were dead

I wondered if it’s a dream Or I’m walking in a scene Drenched I stood, and asked the rain Is this a mockery of my pain

Even now I remember, fresh as a cut The things that were said, the doubts you shut Grief knocks at my ribs, thunder roars somewhere Epiphany of light, parting clouds of despair

I sit in cursed oblivion The doors are shut, pulled down the shades Yet somehow, the rain streaks my face The windowpanes buckle under the trickling weight The clouds are in agony, my room in spate

These eyes grow tired, my beating heart turns frail The blood in these veins grows colder by the day Every night I watch the mirror go pale

I sit and I stare The shades are drawn up The rain floods in, the doors are not shut The streaks on my face, they start to fade Now the sky sheds the tears I locked away -Qala

____________________________________________________________ [disclaimer: this is my original work. please do not repost, edit, or use without credit or permission. reblogs are always welcome, but reposting elsewhere without asking is not.]

[camillamacaulay13]

"if I loved you less, I might be able to talk about it more" silence is the zenith of love

[camillamacaulay13]

beauty is terror

is that why love is so harsh, such a cruel patron? whether we like admitting it or not, doesn't love also stem from a morbid longing for the picturesque? even the purest most genuine form of love has at its core- the longing to be part of something so brutally glorified, so majestically entrapped between black and white pages, black and white reels, our novels and our cinema. the kind of evasive, abstract phantom that seems to exist all around yet is so out of reach. is love really selfless or is it actually an extension of the self, rooted in the desire to be part of something greater, something beautiful?