I live in a room that’s both my last meal on Death Row and the Gas Chamber. When it’s the former, I embrace this illusion we call ‘free will’ and enjoy a sumptuous meal according to my desires, but I’m soon dragged away by the guards of tyranny, and a brutal genocidal force, and I’m strapped in the chamber, my fear echoing, my heartbeat an odd time signature that you can use in a Math Rock song, and I’m soon left writhing with apparitions surrounding me, threatening to engulf and envelop me, and as foam drips from my mouth, and my irises disappear, I’m slowly fading, clutching to pillars of delusion that only seemingly held me. Delilah defeats Samson thoroughly here, because he’s denied his strength even after he’s tortured, and his eyes are gouged out. This room’s both pleasure and pain. The unmitigated dark pleasure of the ebb and flow, and twisted secrets kept when I’m with a woman – personifying and venerating her, giving her a place outside restrictions, smashing Time and his infuriating ticks, tocks and chimes. But it’s also the pain of watching her dissipate within seconds and replaced by a deep-seated primal fear of watching dimensions split and cacophonous syllables spoken by a horrific deity slowly inching their way into my mind, scalding reason, and overwhelming and overpowering me. This room’s both catharsis and oblivion. I find here, the catharsis of downers, alcohol, and jazz – the juxtaposition of a slightly loud piano and a gentler alto saxophone, and the ephemerality of sex and fluid, of women entering and leaving, but I also slowly find that with each transient nirvana I’m granted comes a plethora of soul-sucking thoughts, ripping my heart from its place and placing it out of reach, showing me just how vulnerable and insignificant I am. I find that with each orgasm comes guilt, because she isn’t here to stay, and will waltz back to her life the next morning while I’m fox-trotting out my life in click-bait and endless cyber repetitions. This room is many things, but despite the moans and sighs, the false lull of pharmaceuticals, and the chaos and quietude of a mind, it lacks love.
© Nitin Lalit Murali (2018)
You can find more of Nitin’s work at Fighting The Dying Light
Nitin, this is hard hitting reality.
A reality for too many.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thank you very much David. You’re right. It’s sadly a tragic reality for many.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Welcome, Nitin. I look forward to reading your contributions to Morality Park.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thank you very much.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Great piece, I am happy to see you here. I enjoy and hold your work in high regard.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thank you so much. I’m thankful for the opportunity. Your kind words mean a lot.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Welcome aboard, Nitin. I really enjoyed reading this the first time around and it just gets better with repeated views. I see it play out like a short film in my head. Powerful stuff.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thank you so much A.G. I wrote this during a difficult period in my life, and you interpreting the piece that way means a lot to me.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Welcome Nitin,
You sure know how to enter a room. This piece is electric and I’m compelled to lick the exposed wiring.
When we want so desperately to connect we’ll accept a slap just to feel something.
You have a powerful voice that speaks with a flash of brilliance, separating what was knit. I’m so glad to have you here.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thank you so much Maggie. Yes, that’s the semantic. We do settle for anything when exposed. My writing tends to be raw and I’m so glad you resonated with the piece. I’m glad to be part of MP.
LikeLiked by 1 person
You wear ‘raw’ like a hand-tailored suit. I’m excited to see further offering Nitin.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Welcome aboard, Nitin. This is a powerful and effective piece. Looking forward to reading more.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thank you so much Chris. I’m glad to be a part of MP.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Reblogged this on Fighting the dying light.
LikeLike
What a piece of writing. Well written 👍👏
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thank you very much.
LikeLiked by 1 person
My pleasure
LikeLiked by 1 person
Pingback: Room 101 « Fighting the dying light