Stillborn Selves

 Within this puny flesh, there live sentient pieces of aborted selves that are at constant conflagration with one another aspiring to steal the limelight of consciousness: a poet, a mechanic, a philosopher, a sociologist, a psychologist, a cultural critic, an artist, a chef, a writer, a filmmaker, a film critic, a cinematographer, a philologist, a linguist, a historian, and an orator, densely condensed into an unwitting flesh and of frail spirit...

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Notes of Soliloquy

      I cannot remember the last time I wrote to you, it must've been ages since our last correspondence. Forgive me for having done so, believe me when I say that it has always been a great priority of mine to write at the earliest convenience, but still, I chose to refrain from writing anything that has nothing of substance and form for I know better than be a nuisance on your part.     Once, I tried to write...

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Masterstroke

 Casually languishing about this limbo of which I am the sole master and maker; treading lightly and carefully so as to not singe my soul from the fires of my undoing. For what it's worth, a masterstroke is not born from the comforts of heaven but from the gates of he...

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VII

 Might I say that I do find you too lovely a woman to have walked upon this land of trolls and thieves?Dare I cross paths with you when I have only defiled the cavities of this land?Should these scheming lips brim of candor?Should these eyes be all over you?Or should I simply resign quietly into the night?Alas! Not even the redeeming touch of your hand could ever wash the soot in my arms! Woe is me, I lay in agony!But lend me an ear, and I shall...

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"Where are the apologists?"

       At the very onset of the election period, everyone fancied themselves to be a political analyst par excellence: somewhat along the lines of a seasoned thinker whose range spans the spectrum of nuanced political philosophy. They were more than willing to die and barter their soul to the devil such that all their moral integrity would blur and fluctuate periodically for the sake of their chosen political candidate, who,...

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Glare

Dark were the shades of your eyes that would leave my spirit in a perpetual quandary as I strive to find an exit from its damning allure.Pale was the color of your skin, as radiant, and as white as the harrowing snow of an intense blizzard ravaging these long winter nights.Silk was the composite of your hair, inextricably fine under the tint of the sun, refined and complemented by your all too lucent visage, juxtaposed by your fancy for manly garb...

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Apotheosis Of Despair

    We who lie awake until the early hours of dawn, dead, and at once wary of the morrow, lethargic from the gushing forth of incessant and despotic thoughts abuzz our sensitive ears, yearning to resign freely as one would to a lost cause; where do we run when these infernal nightmares run abound within our heads --- ticking, turning, writhing in agony as we turn our backs to sleep?     Oh, what foolish incantations...

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Disquietude of Love: The Beauty of Punch-Drunk Love

     Punch-Drunk Love (2002) is thus far the underrated gem of Paul Thomas Anderson's entire filmography. It is an ode to the anxiety-inducing feeling of being under the grips of romantic love, as well as a phenomenological deconstruction of emotional vulnerability as a core strength in an altogether foreign territory known simply as love.         The masterful crafting of cinematography, soundscape,...

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