Nothing left to lose...

Yesterday, I don’t know what time it was, but I had the desire to throw away some things. Not just discard them in a bin. Throw them from my sixth floor apartment. Watch as the air circled them and they choked for breath and then finally crashed. It is possible that there would be a passerby who might try to save an object thinking it to be precious. I want to throw away what is precious. Because the precious causes the greatest pain.

I gave up the idea when I thought of someone bleeding with a cut from some glass candle stand. I don’t want anyone to bleed. That is my territory. I want the glass candle stand, with a little flame, to burn me and then crash in my face as slashes of red form criss-cross lines like a maze. I shall then find my way through it.

My attention was diverted towards my book shelf. I wanted to throw away the books. All of them. I don’t know what to do with those volumes. I should give them away to a library…maybe to friends who like reading…but I want to get the pleasure of throwing them. Books that have kept me riveted for years; books purchased after hours of browsing; books from roadside stalls; books written by writers I have loved; books that were always there when I was alone. Books. I am alone. But I don’t want them now. I want to tear pages off and see whether anything makes sense after that.

You know what I mean? Are you with me? How does it feel when you tear away parts of yourself, take away bits from your personality, your life, when things go away, just like that…will you be the same? Tell me. No? You won’t. Because you are sane. You don’t think I am?

So, nothing remains. Nothing. You are a wisp…an image through a curtain that has not been dry-cleaned, a body beneath a blanket that has not been washed for days. You are clinging to yourself. You. I. Clinging.

My books are still there. All those little thingies, so pretty I want to smash them, they are there staring at me. I don’t have time to waste. To throw them would take time. I don’t have time. I am free. Time binds you.

I can’t even read me…


  1. "I can't even read me"
    I am sure some others can. But is that really of any help? Or is help not even what you are looking for? Or you are not looking for anything at all?

  2. I don’t want anyone to bleed. That is my territory.
    Whoa...easy there...

    Something's in the air tonight
    The sky's alive with a burning light
    You can mark my words something's about to break.

    Mat Kearney, Nothing Left To Lose

  3. Just in case you decide to throw your books out of the window, let me know beforehand.

  4. Atul:

    One is looking for nothing, which is the most elusive thing to get.


    Easy? Tough...nothign even breaks quite so fully as to be finished.


    My impulses move faster than speed...how fast can you reach?