narrative of a classroom
perfect classroom
It speaks the researcher's follies
it speaks
the teacher's gaps in argument
it writes on itself
all the mistakes
and they walk in
thinking that they are not writing in a class
they only speak,
good that they dont know the walls
are like women
embodying that day's
culture

In the end
it doesn't matter
whether you are twisted, trained
shaped outward
or throned
or stoned

Since
 what experience does to you
is changing you,

what matters
is
that
 it does something to you ,.

In my three storied house
She is the one
who constantly move upward
and downward,
creating a mess.

the fact that she is
the noisy one
the hole and thickness
and fresh pain
doesnt really mean much
when it comes to expelling..

Because in my world
there are only a few
who manages
to see.

I stepped in and found steps are full of water..
three ladder
one ambiguous playground

the walls full of abstractions
I have always loved to touch
something concrete.

The third floor full of pictures
was her hallucinations
the downstairs of the third;
the second
the world of materialized agonies and dreams

Then the himalayan burden
of the house of leaves
the ground ,fell leaves.
home to the natives.

I
began to feel
the sensation of a concrete thing
down
from the third
to the second
a smalee gaze spread
of a foe, ofcourse.

her sentence
the touch of their voice
gossips, gazes
the story, he is alive, my concrete foe.

Do you too want to share stories of your personal crisis of...

 Situations where you wonder whether you were in the position of a victim or oppressor,

 It is to know and to tell ourselves that there are situations which are flux. It is to tell ourselves our firmness while trying not to judge others. It is that comfortable zone where you are not necessarily included in the category of the "object" of study.

But simply exist. Oh i desire.. long.. that zone.

Not that i never had such spaces
But these days,
I am bored of people who look into.
Bored of the researchers.

Suddenly...
 all eyes around seems to be
of those who want to know. ( it includes me as well, i am not outside this category)

They want to know.
Knowledge is such a vicious commodity that people do anything to acquire it.
I fear they might kill me
they are strangling me.
I got , in their persistent attempt, thoughtfully attacked.
There could be people and instances that suffered it from me, and i had a recent bad experience with a friend
I think,she raped; i am coming out of its trauma.
She raped many of my relationships,moments,and future.
Her gaze is what i fear of all those gazes in the patriarchal society i live with. 

silenced attempts of
peaceful life

to catch it in a bag as kittens,

i remember
once they did trap them
in bags
and took them to unaware shores
and returned, empty of burden
to their mothers,
my little cats, endless kittens,
she grew large,
many times
and lived a life unaware!

to run away from lodge,

i remember
attempts of fire
and destruction of homes
and lodgings
because they smelt danger
of truthlessness
and smell of vanity,
i carried bags of chaaram
and sooth deaths
all in vain!

to say,

it is not at all
that i never ever believed in
dialogue
i did,
and ended life in burns
and days in smokes
and nights in seeking games
it is not he ways
and sheways
and ways
then, waves

title of stories:

title of stories are stories of my life where i begin to doubt reality of life, truth of life, and try to escape the disillusionment of unreliability to one narration(be it mine, often mine) and try to be affirmative. It is a way of telling myself that it is ok to be in the space of stories and not of reality.

Because, i have reached a stage of life where I can question my own credibility, because I have been constantly questioned and that is a constant state, am trapped in these questions and find no way to fail questions as inappropriate or to pass myself as true.

I am not the only right and most times i may be wrong, so i need a space to exist like that with dignity. This space alters the concept that one needs to judge people on personality and tells myself that I can still speak if it is or even if it is not the reality, the one reality possible of the fact i talk of.
hence stories
hello,
what i talk is my stories and you don't have to take it as the only possible perspective, it is hundred percentage available to unreliability.

Space without the need to take sides,
I seek that space here.

As successfully following one pattern,
as successfully consistent in one thing,
as a space which can never betray
i write a new blog
as a mark of new stage.