vippik..

post-poesy metanoia, memories and more ✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨ ✉️@ [email protected]

[vippik]

I'd slept with guys but no one had asked me out on a date before. I'd not let anyone. I did not say anything, did not know what to say.

- Nova Scotia House, by Charlie Porter.

[vippik]

My green cats are watermelons,

Floating right where you draw the line between yellow and red, between mangoes and strawberries, like a lonely limbo!!!!

[vippik]

In his underjeans

From a sanitary oblivion

The dogs bark in distance

Chasing the moonball

I hear

And where my lust

Loses its dream

Under the dusty skyline

On terrace of drowsy limelight

I whisper "bye bye"

So is this how

Meditations sound like

Curating every single element

Of cacophony so defined

I attend to all of 'em

But what I seek

And what I take

In between my humane mistakes

They surprise

I wonder during sleepless nights

Once it's done

So is everything else

The magic mourns

The death of dreamland

Don't yawn now

I dare

'Cause I too am too vile

Due to my bodily reptile

Slithering in atmospheric breeze

And often do they sneeze

I run dry

- An Entry From My Hook-up Diary by ©vippik

[vippik]

I sit naked at my study

And drive my body

Into a dizzy dreamland

Where my schedules are followed in inverse

I knew and I promised it would be my last trip

But to no avail, you see

I'm tired for real

From trying myself

Trying my limits beyond stretchability

Exactly where nuclear bombs explode

It's nowhere near Nagasaki or Hiroshima though

As you possibly assumed

Y'all 'literal' freaks

It's where I seek love, even if only in its semblance

It's where I think life sprouts

And clouds sing

I'm tired, take me home

My clogs under my weight, pant

And I, under yours

I hear his voice

Where masculinity booms through

I offered him a seat

In my couch

And he offered me, on his crotch

Who am I then?

A host or a ghost?

I offered him a home

In my couch

Where my worries relax

Every afternoon

Post my gardening

I croon along the summer breeze

And I water my soppy saplings

And they all go to sleep

Except the snake-plants

I shamble around with my sorrows

And I knit them into my winter-wears

And inside our dak-bungalow

I let these silly sorrows play around

With my kittens as they seep silently in

Through my woody windows

I feed them sunlight

And crumbs of my broken soul

And I let them sleep under my

Queen-size bed with no sleep on it at all

- Carry On Carrion by ©vippik

[sadfilmmaker]

“I like “A Little Lost” because it’s all about kissing. I love kissing. If I could kiss all day, I would. I can’t stop thinking about kissing. I like kissing more than sex because there’s no end to it. You can kiss forever. You can kiss yourself into oblivion. You can kiss all over the body. You can kiss yourself to sleep. And when you wake up, you can’t stop thinking about kissing. Dammit, I can’t get anything done because I’m so busy thinking about kissing. Kissing is madness! But it’s absolute paradise, if you can find a good kisser.

Arthur’s music is all over the place, but most of it seems to be about embracing darkness (loneliness) and ambiguity (confusion) with the biggest bear hug in the world. Catharsis! He didn’t give a shit about fads or fashion even as he was influenced by popular music, club music, and all that shitty art music at the Kitchen. He kind of cobbled it all together to create his own diverse musical language, He was funny as shit (a wordsmith, a master of the innuendo), but also dead serious (and blunt) about the deepness of his feelings, unafraid to express affection in his songs, without pandering or cliche. Arthur was real as shit. You can’t fake realness.”

-Sufjan Stevens on Arthur Russell

[vippik]

My mind

Anxious and aloft

In an escalated asylum

Scrapes cutaneous splinters

Off my left index finger

With the blade of my silver fortune ring

It bites me on the left of my right palm

On and off my ambitious equilibrium

But never chews me through

Let alone devour into its visceral depth and depression

I too dogged my dragons

Like how my Sufjan did

And I too walked wet

In my wiggly visual spectrum

Where spectres jive and skate

Along the Ganges

And up a black hammock

Within the 2 kilometre radius

From my pivotal point

At the crossroads of commitments and concerns

I weekended week-long

And sundayed on the rest six too

Yet my pains I couldn't fix

And my saunters still restless

I confused my own iron red

With my savoured grenadine ruby

And unknowingly

I was written by their Bram Stoker

Gothic ghosts are all so loony

Rummaging through the nights

Seeking exactly what would kill me

In daylight

Shining through his showy paradise

Beyond his mercy

And my grasp

- Into the Nights, Juxtaposed along NH 62 by ©vippik

[slfcare]

Do not hide away the part of yourself that’s unhappy, bothered or hurt just because you feel like doing so will make others feel more comfortable. You don’t live to make others comfortable, you live for yourself, which means you owe it to yourself to be honest about your true feelings. The only way to let an open wound heal properly is to take care of it, not to ignore it.

[vippik]

[vippik]

Write no letter for me

Or craft any kiss, prolonged

Your mouth reeks of blood and rum

And mine with lusty disgust

Crack me no beer can

Or hold me no longer in any hug

Neither your wife, nor your girlfriend

I'm just a hobo on tangent

Latex on my lips and in mouth

Been just feasting on cosmic dust

And on my regular diet

I have the memories of universe

Don't be a dick, don't be a jerk

I've had all of it enough

It's so prickly dry inside my throat

Ride through it on a rollercoaster ride

A bunch of lavender, and an army of despair

My memories of elephants

Hid widely in my bedroom carcass

A seashell, a deathbed and

A nameless bastard

Sleep in my arm

Dance in the fallow of mustard

Sun is our closest star

And on hearts are our dearest scars

Making merry and mining melanchoy

Screeching loudly our cimmerian whispers

Into the wild where no spectre trespass

Only marfa lights dance in distance

On those sides where thrive the greener grass

There we were, missing my Oliver

Northern Italian tragedy

You dry hump me, behind the bush forever

I'm gross, I'm Wilde

But nothing you can ever understand

Find Me, there I'm

Go green my capillary carnation strands

- Labial Latex and other latest liaisons by ©vippik

[vippik]

Paste me onto purple skies

And chop me into perfect slice(s)

Never too late to say goodbyes

Mirror mirror tell me I'm nice

©vippik

[vippik]

You are

'Like no other'

But so is everyone else

You never left

But we fell apart

And neither did I move an inch afar

We both were stationary

Fixed in our puddles of thought

Glued to our unspeakable truths

Only our dreams were visionary

Doors were, perhaps, never left ajar

And the threshold line vanished forever

Even before it could have been drawn

By our skittish hands

Never in sync with one another

You never left

But your namesake came in too fast and far

Caringly kept in her tiffin full of curry

And so came our affluence

Transient as always

But this time, only to make my olive green hat

Tattered beneath his fun-like violence

Crunched beneath his cycle tyre

Hidden inside his dimple, so naive

I sat within my realm and

I grilled my breasts and paunch and face

Amidst their rustling graveyard

Yellow and sun-washed, yet soppy and blue

While my friends were still yet to be conceived

I drooled over an omlette crumb long back

That wasn't fried for me

And It taught me where I belong

So I shrank back in

Away from you and your care and love

Nevertheless never for me

And nightly before my bed

I could hear the vent fan

In the loo masturbate

- Irrelevant As Fuck, But Too Direct for Proof Too by ©vippik

[vippik]

My own apophenia

Sees again 

Yet another face of My white sun 

Hovering above in no gravity 

Wafting amidst softened plumes

In my dawn time dreams

Sketching its futility

After last night's fleeting monsoon

Tucking No Cluster of lanatana 

Behind my ears

Since I barely know what blossoms

You love

Not me, for sure

Neither the stars and their constellations

That I adore in the skies of tragedies 

Lying here on your imaginary chest, so green 

Caressing the grasses here and there, so real

It's hard to leave my pigeonhole 

After all this time

Blessed be my romance, senile

- Perfectly Painted Paracosm by ©vippik

[vippik]

He's here again, with his permanent promise of no-permanance, and yet I fell for him, like how I always did, over and over again!!!!!!!!!!!!

[vippik]

I'm half awake, full asleep

Carrying no child in my womb

But a few friends in my head

And one hundred stories

And songs and alibis

On my tongue

Dancing quietly

Like the firing of neurons

In the infernal labyrinth

Of my brain

The weight of time

On my back

Is constantly

Crushing me against

The earth

So

No need to mention it

Again

On my way back home I am,

a constantly changing place, amorphous like aqua,

An Elysium

A utopia

A nightmare

A hope

A promise

Half kept

Half not sure

What has been done

Half unkempt

And fully chaotic

In part a prose

And the rest poetic

A plate of food for

My famished soul

Yet which eats me alive as well

A bittersweet feeling

A passive aggressive lover

Completely familiar

Yet strangely unpredictable

It's a time too

A time

Both good and bad

On my way back to that time lying ahead of me

As usual,

A dimension

That I could never fully sketch

With predictable details

Fuck determinism!!!

A new year as they say

A new beginning

A beginning

To yet another end

Whatever may it be

Whatever might it have been

I miss ya

- The Routine Death of December by ©vippik

[vippik]

[vippik]

Coercion

Dragging a snowball

Down the slope

To my home

In the plains beneath

Out of love

And by the time

It's almost home

It's nowhere

And there's

Only a wet trail behind 

- @vippik

[vippik]

The colours stayed on my fingertips 

Where dwells the nascence of my

Precocious Parkinson's 

The caresses stayed on my skin, and hair and dreams and expectations 

And the frangipanis, tucked behind my ears

The fragrance, Shoksy said still lingered in my cubbyhole till this evening 

The bickers and a few teardrops stayed 

In a corner on the first floor

Untimely knocks stayed few steps away

From your ever-so-drowsy door

And the words stayed aloof 

Within my invisible Adam's apple

And some in my poetry too

Notes they stayed glued to the Chinese white 

Of my mnemonic wall where dates waltz and salsa and jive 

The disowned flipflops, they slumber in the carelessness

Of our janitorial stowage,

The graveyard of grief and many more

My mind stayed lost in the thoughts of the bygones, the ones that could never be touched again for real 

The unboughts stayed stuck in between our unsettled bargains 

The stars, they stay hooked to the complexities between the speed of light and lightyears distance 

This transient western monsoon 

Stayed in the sheer suddenness 

Of an unusually lush greenish dominion 

My ghost remained seated spooned to yours

On the staircase to the neural arboreal rendezvous 

And the memories, they all stayed in the 

Pompeii of our Montauk

- Encomium for All that Stayed Somehow by ©vippik