arani612

[arani612]

Prompt: Modernity (Escapril Day 26)

According to the English dictionary,

modernity

noun

UK /mɒdˈɜː.nə.ti/ US /mɑːˈdɝː.nə.t̬i/

i. the quality or condition of being modern

ii. a modern way of thinking, working etc

According to an unhinged outcast,

modernity

i. tradition and evolution’s love child

ii. a toddler and terrorist

# rumour says, evolution has dumped tradition and now has a kid to raise. we don't speak of the father in this ever evolving household, rather we take shots of technicality and preach on maternal superiority.

why this? why that? why? why? why?

a wee toddler, barely outta womb

a yappy little bastard

this is why your father left you!

poking sticky fingers in closest proximity

on a mission to unravel the enigma of totality

the tiny tot has just learnt to sprint

and now we are all terrified!

a wannabe know-it-all and a terrorist at it

a chronic byte(r), on a chaotic quest

grabbing, pressing, swiping all buttons in reach

hide the shiny screens and gadgets, quick!

wreaking havoc, breaking things

a problem child from tip to end

mother's wildness tugged at father's strings

covered the planet in green footprints!

mother left the key of unseen destinies

said: let him roam, his future’s bright

let him shape his dough, it's new world in rise

we can spare a few ripples in history's sea!

the boldest toddler to ever exist

takes bites of experiment, leaves crumbs of progress

his forefathers’ souls, he sold to the rats

we got the baby fever now, thanks, tiny brat!

— circadeacademia

[arani612]

Prompt: Dark Secret (Escapril Day 25)

hey, tell me a secret, will you?

which one?

a dark one?

from the boxes under my bed?

from the boxes under your bed.

can you take it?

will you make it? until the end?

i can't say. for sure.

promise me. you'll stay.

if i drift away? i take your hand.

break into pieces? i gather ’em all.

reek of ashes? i wash ’em in my tears.

what would you do with a punctured heart?

i’ll bloom lotus right inside.

what of the bruises? that i painted on myself?

i’ll draw maps for a wonderland.

i wanna choke my mirror to death.

i wanna stain my white sheets red.

i wanna scream at the top of my lungs.

i wanna grieve and mourn and punch.

and i don't care who calls me insane.

do you and anything you want

but stay my love. stay.

play with your nails and teeth

for one more day. just one more day.

it does get grayer, less grayer, then gray.

i read the script somewhere.

of everything you said.

my world is blue, not gray.

and i'm drowning every day.

i know, i heard you the first time

it's one body, two crimes.

your scars are still all mine.

you didn't do it. did you?

i did, but didn't make it.

you are a loser. a sore one.

i can teach you too, how to lose.

we lose either way.

sure, but this side just smells better.

our brain is a killer anyway.

on sundays, we can befriend her.

what about sunday? birth-day?

will you stay? i may.

promise? just for one day.

— circadeacademia

[arani612]

Prompt: Unexpected Transmission (Escapril Day 24)

i was born a germaphobe, so i learnt to isolate myself from rest of the world faster than i could learn to spell it. i wore gossamer like my second skin and let the moon sear it just enough to harden the chrysalis. in other story, i was supposed to fly but not in this one. in this story, they boiled me alive and ripped off my skin. in good old flesh, i was cured of my germaphobia, just like that.

the world wasn't a threat to me anymore, so in sheer delight — i gathered all the blocks of antagonism i could find. i walked miles until my feet had permanently stained the road in ruins and decay was blooming in every corner. i was supposed to take the call of humanity, but this greed..this greed had me drunk on a tuesday morning. my mother lent me her favourite shade of trauma to smear on my lips but what can i say? i’m a chronic lip-biter, so i ate it all.

i woke up the other day and identified myself as the mighty lord. i wore garlands of guts stitched together; wrapped femininity like forbidden candy and lit candles of woe to power up the abyss. i woke up today and identified myself as the disease. born a germaphobe, i begged: “come, get me. i cannot save myself. come, conquer me. i deserve this.”

“come, get me. i cannot save myself. come, conquer me. i deserve this.”

“come, get me. i cannot save myself. come, conquer me. i deserve this.”

“come, get me. i cannot save myself. come, conquer me. i deserve this.”

“come, get me. i cannot save myself. come, conquer me. i deserve this.”

— circadeacademia

[arani612]

Prompt: Simulation (Escapril Day 23)

“ Do you want to allow this simulation to make changes to your device? ”

RUN_ CANCEL_

1 pip install human_brain;

2 from emotion_imitation_model import EmotionImitationModel;

3 import class BrainSimulator:

4 def self.emotions = ['happy', 'sad', 'angry', 'neutral']

5 def analyze_emotion(self, input_sentiment): self.analyze_emotion(input_sentiment)

6 print(“emotion”);

# Welcome to Human Brain Simulation

Hello. I am Brain version 140.167.98.

New server “heart” detected. Proceed?

Yes ✔️ Cancel ❌

Processing years of trauma and heartbreak. This might take a while……

. . . . . . . . .

Configuration complete. You may now click on any file to view.

Click to open memories_

Your connection is not private.

Viewers might access your information and react to it.

Proceed anyway _ Go back to safety_

Location: C:\simulation\config\system\memories_ (View Only)

When I was 13 years old

I was taught to fire an arm… or two.

loaded with broken memories,

all I knew— was to aim straight at my heart

and shoot.

years after years, I killed a thousand mes

each time I died a little, but didn't rest in peace.

because each time I was about to bleed out —

I put a bullet in to fill the hole.

so don't come to me now with your tourniquet

soaked in peace;

when my heart spilling poison

and lead’s been flowing through my veins.

brain has always been a war mongering machine

that's how you tell it's human akin

who are you fighting? your body? your s(kin)?

you are thicker than a zombie, that's why they rid it.

Request access to this document?

Yes ✔️ Cancel ❌

…There was an error opening this document. The file is damaged and could not be repaired.

No healing file was created because the simulation encountered an unidentified error.

Uninstall simulation?

Warning: You are about to uninstall human_brain from your device.

Uninstall Cancel

human_brain has been successfully uninstalled.

— circadeacademia

[arani612]

Prompt: The problem of death (Escapril Day 21)

[ An intrinsic study shown through the eyes of the trifecta ]

# Problem 1: I just don't get paid enough to draw these curtains of omnipotence

See, the thing is you'd think I'm well off alone in this strange establishment , with nothing but one show running in the background at times to the power of infinity. Billions of records to format and my computer is stuck at the strikethrough button. I might be suffering from day blindness, all thanks to my 24 hour work schedule, which apparently never seems to come to an end!

I keep getting complaints on customer traffic; petitions to cut off customers from the list all the time — but unfortunately, you are auto subscribed to our service and it can only be terminated at our end. I wish I could be of any help, but we are severely understaffed here. You have no other choice but to wait until further recruits in the manual labour department, because I just don't get paid enough to draw these curtains of omnipotence.

Sincerely,

The deputy

Global Realm of Death and Inevitability

# Problem 2: This is life, signing off from the grave of existence

This is life, reporting live from the heart of existence where the pulse beats the strongest. Recent study found a smaller subgroup in human species who has abandoned the tag of “mortals” and proclaimed to be known as “poets” from now on. Further research is yet to be done on their ever bleeding heart, ink blood, eccentric monologues and voluntary state of melancholy. They fuel on tragedy and thus, have embraced death to be their grand muse. Stay on line with us, until the end of our ephemeral journey. This is life, signing off from the grave of existence.

# Problem 3: My Anam Cara leaves no footsteps

tell a tale, leave the prelude, keep it open with no end / the lore of a naked body, naked heart, naked mind / a silent muse, summoned by these paper cuts in flesh / you're anew every time, old mate / but our dance still the same, for the thousand times / in prose, in verse, in whispered rhymes / raging tempest at the heart of existence / at your mercy, at your stillness / only a tragedy of such greatness would find your trail / the end of path, i know, don't tell / they won't see it coming, won't find a trace / for, my anam cara leaves no footsteps….

« A thorough report by “mortals” of this realm »

— circadeacademia

[arani612]

Prompt: Moth (Escapril Day 20)

Excerpts from a luna moth’s diary…

[a broken human translation for better understanding]

click…| click…| click…| click…| click…| click…

midnight air / is it your {lingering} incense ?

my {stretched} silk dripping darkness ___

i believe / o moon / look at i

{dressed} as your faintest bloom

incoherent, is i / excuse / for i

not the {kind} to have a voice / of my own

atremble, my shimmering gown, in {silver} trails

i, the phantom / flaunting moon's eerie glow

my {birthright}___

i’m way past, the covert haunts

this {ghost} town has its own secrets

bizarre beauty / they say / wish i

had the {guts} to / dispute that

birthed in darkness, was i / hear the flame cry,

“fly / to me / my {alien} queen ___

your curved hind, i beg, bring your ecstasy sways”

swoon, is i / think, i not / o moon

hear me plea, as {cohesive} as i be

let me / my kin / let our eulogy be this ___

once bound/ twice / doomed by {desire}

fire, devour, watch who {burns} the brightest^

~ flutter ~ flutter ~ flutter ~ flutter ~ flutter ~

{ } : nearly lost in translation

— circadeacademia

[arani612]

Prompt: A Reminder (Escapril Day 19)

A gentle reminder: Your membership has been cancelled. 

We are sorry to see you go. 

Dear L(it's)over,

We couldn't process your flashy burst doses of photons shining like obnoxious glitters all over my impenetrable umbra. Your obsession with time — curved me into hourglass, but you've always been the sand running through my fingers…. and I don't remember the last time you mentioned that.

❌  L:\ is not accessible.

The file is corrupted and unreadable.

🆗

and I thought I could read you by the tongue that I owe to my mother. I thought I could predict your pulsating breath, but my brain my love, you betrayed her.

< Curse the me who stayed awake at night so all the stars can be your *morning dew* > < Curse the me who learnt to crochet only for you to say, you prefer flannel over *knitted* stuff > < Curse the me who went to *empty* ocean, so your name could stay on the sand forever > < Curse the me who had a perfectly *bite sized* heart ready to be served in your name >

I named you my oasis, but you turned out to be a mirage after all. Fallen into particles of every cliche awfully similar to happily-ever-after.

A reminder: I needed that.

#syntax error _ we ≈ I 

Restart Membership 

Contact Customer Support ↖️

“ 404 page not found ”

oops! looks like you've run into an error!

— circadeacademia

[arani612]

Prompt: Suspended in air (Escapril Day 18)

mother, i be cloud today for all i want

i want it. i want it. i want it.

soooo bad.

no earth would bring me down, watch it

i be wearing gravity, my favourite crown.

it's worth it! it's worth it! it's worth it!

onnnn my head i swear.

mother, i be balloon today if i need

i’m high! i’m high! i’m high!

hiiiigh on helium.

my dangling feet, suspended in air

i be soaring, to my castle in the sky.

i mean it. i mean it. i mean it.

untiiiil my bubble is burst.

mother, i be dandelion when i can

make a wish! make a wish! make a wish!

blowwww me like stolen kisses.

breeze on my face, i fall apart

i be tiny parachute, in ballerina style

and i twirl. and i twirl. and i twirl.

flyyyy my way to the last beat drop.

mother, i be feather if i may

be lighter. be lighter. be lighter.

aaaand lighter.

lose my wings in exile, i did that

i be floating on the wind, in free fall

and down. and down. and down.

doooown i go headfirst.

mother, i am bird you see

it hurts! it hurts! it hurts!

blueeee my sky out there.

clipped my wings, yes they did

i be rotting in my cage, let my dream rise

i feel it. i feel it. i feel it.

motherrrr i feel it all now.

*it is advised to read the stanzas in reverse order for best results*

— circadeacademia

[arani612]

Prompt: Truth (Escapril Day 17)

i dare you to tell a lie.

her eyes; the world looks 10 times more beautiful with those eyes.

her voice; the world’s greatest lullaby.

the fragrance of her whirling hair; is how I smell and spell it home.

her alluring smile; splashing rainbow to my monochrome.

her blooming symmetry  (my geometry sucked)

her velvet heart  (i’m but running on eggshell here)

her charming, empowering, daring vibe (i swipe left, nothing ever matches my type)

her legacy is that of a prodigy (i’m wasting on my potential)

the world is on her chokehold (i ain't got no lungs for that)

truth or dare? i ask.

her face lights up at the flawless absurdity of dare.

but here's the truth.

my pronoun is she, cause I can never be her.

— circadeacademia

[arani612]

Prompt: So embarrassing... (Escapril Day 16)

You are so embarrassing!

Precisely.

That huge coffee stain on your white trousers

Embarrassing.

Your unsolicited laugh when no one's laughing

Embarrassing.

Your uncoordinated walk like a jarring animation

Embarrassing.

Curry for school lunch that left turmeric stain

Embarrassing.

Your science score below 90?

Embarrassing.

Forbidden bomb, alias sanitary napkins

Embarrassing.

Not being invisible enough that time of the month

Bloody Embarrassing.

“You’re in love?” Embarrassing.

“You write poetry?” Embarrassing.

“Not in love yet?” Embarrassing.

“Children in this economy?” Embarrassing.

“Don’t want children?” How embarrassing.

“You talk too much”

“You don't say much”

“You’re too independent”

“You’re so bloody dependent”

“You’re gold digger, You're homewrecker”

For a woman, you're a little too comfortable

in your skin

And that's EMBARRASSING.

— circadeacademia

[arani612]

Prompt: Beach (Escapril Day 15)

Reasons why I might not be a beach person:

1. I hate it when galleons of saltwater floods inside my mouth (it feels awfully similar like swallowing my tears)

2. The sand under my feet gives me the icks (it reminds me of the stubborn stares and remarks hidden under folds of my skin that I can't just rid of)

3. I'm people-intolerant when in multiples of ten (as a member of the infamous people community, I'm allowed to say this)

4. The sun! Oh god, don't I hate the sun! (I'll tell you in a minute why)

In my head, the sun is a molten lava cake that I just g o b b l e up after dinner. A vampire's dream, to b e l o n g, under the caliginous sky.

But I'm just a witch bound to my tartarian fate. I'm a l l e r g i c to mirrors so I stare at the sun until my eyes pop out of the sockets. I like the burning sensation that burrows under my skin with its sharp pincers. You should see my foundation collection that oddly enough, goes l i g h t e r after each use.

The poets told me, it's good to bask in the sun for my s t o n e c o l d heart — so I lay it bare, where it's 40 in c e n t i g r a d e and watch it disintegrate in the most p o e t i c way possible.

B l u e is my favourite colour that I add after summer to make it prettier. Blue is sky, blue is ocean. But I don't remember asking for all these g r a i n y memories under my feet. They haunt from the last time I was a fish and my blue was precisely one b e a c h away from me.

— circadeacademia

[arani612]

Prompt: A recurring dream (Escapril Day 14)

I'm 17, alone, in this mammoth hall.

My nails full of wood dust / that I've been cumulating off the desk for past half an hour.

The high desk is my hollywood walk of fame; my galaxy of abstract constellations / but I don't dare ruin the pristine sheet with my pigmented thoughts.

I sit in this interrogation room while everyone speaks greek to me / what do I say? / so I stay mute.

The back of my head feels lighter than feather and the front has some nails hammered to it.

I try to break free but I remain stagnant in this shrinking maze / and now my brain is fried.

I have this recurring dream — that I've been disposed of in this world with my factory settings / no pen, no thought, no move, no word / and I'm sinking in the air as the ghosts of my ancestors breathe just fine.

In another dream, I wake up and I'm 17, alone, in this mammoth hall.

— circadeacademia

[arani612]

Prompt: Purr (Escapril Day 13)

when i was 5, i wanted to be an astronaut

i thought i could do anything once i touch the sky.

when i was 10, i thought of being a doctor

i felt that'd be nice for my family's pride.

when i was 15, i said screw it, i'll be a musician

i’ll be famous if i can do it right!

when i was 20, i was nothing but a poet

scribbling my heart out with an empty hand

now at 25, still a poet, my hands are still bare

but nowadays i call myself a long-term wannabe cat.

a cat is all I ever needed to be —

could've ruled the world with a wave of my paws

pride? that would've come in default

and i could've been web's most famous feline!

the world is a cat playing with it's ball

i’ll call it karma when it purrs.

sometimes i think my poems are like cats

driven by mood, ignorant when desired

at times, my poems hiss & growl

clenching apex thoughts in their tiny body —

sometimes they snuggle, rub and cuddle

brushing against my head and hand.

when i was 5 or 10 or 15, as i was 20 and 25,

i wish i could see the world in a dozen pounds

how the leaves fall and how the night sounds

the world is a cat's wonder and we just be living in it.

i don't want medic, no space, no music

i just want soft fur and a tail and whiskers

i wanna be small and i wanna be sharp

i don't wanna do human, i’m a wannabe cat.

— circadeacademia

[arani612]

Prompt: Oh, the light! (Escapril Day 12)

Ruins, beneath and above : I'm floating

Somewhere in between, one body no soul

Immersed throat deep — now bloating

This thickening buoyancy is regurgitating me whole.

O hollow eyes! Oh, the light!

That has abandoned you like sun to the night

O sombre heart! Oh, the looming moon!

Tonight's for roosting ravens and their glorified tune.

The light, my friend : I was blinded

As it filled every corner of this bleak little room

My barren s(k)in — was charred and winded

I was away from hell, much closer to doom.

O darkness! you are so soothing to drown

Take my hands I beg, for my eyes so brown

O grief! my solace, you're heavy like home

Let the rain come hard, let it flood our holm.

The light is now far, far above like a star

All blurry in my glitching vision —

I'm frozen in time, so my body, so my scar

And the quivering sky has stopped for a reason.

— circadeacademia

[arani612]

Prompt: Posture (Escapril Day 11)

¡ Baby girl !

You are kintsugi vase in this plastic world.

Siberia running through your veins

So do conjoined swords in your gaping mouth,

Slicing through tender pieces of warmth.

¡ Baby girl !

Your spine is ivory bracelet in this manacled world.

Stitches after stitches holding your bones

And a giant thinking knot just hung by the thread,

Twisting awful question marks out of S(pine).

¡ Baby girl !

Your skin is bejeweled in aureate hide.

Magnified fire freckles like golden lagoons

Your scars like shooting stars, now tainted by fragile wishes

Baby girl, the world is an elastic hoax

You are but a pile of clay, now ossified in ceramic posture

A masterpiece, you are, in your spontaneous couture.

— circadeacademia

[arani612]

Prompt: Fog (Escapril Day 10)

there's so much room standing in eternity

frozen floor, cold, still

my breath is like an illusive ghost

haunting past the window sill —

the silence is darker than night these days.

i'd write a poetry on the quiet someday

when candle-lit gloom whispers, says

nothing at all.

so much stillness for the words unspoken

the nights are lasting,

laying inert in my tundra bed

will you be terrified when I sing?

and fog resembles my voice?

the days are echoes of a maddening lullaby

aching in solitude, falling apart

for the night won't give when daydreams die

soaking in last warmth of the sun.

once in this dreary night

somewhere a house must've sighed

the muted doors must've heard

just enough to break the quiet.

the rain had come

when the gray sky cried

all the dying trees murmured

i tried, i tried, i tried.

— circadeacademia

[arani612]

Prompt: Bad Habit (Escapril Day 9)

A list of bad habits I possess:

• Profusely biting nails when the butterflies in my stomach transform back into caterpillars.

• Staying up late at night because my brain identifies as darkness.

• Not drinking enough water ever since I'm drowning with my head afloat.

• Slouching like an open first bracket as I struggle to keep the burden off my shoulder restrained.

• Being a woman and (not) utilising my uterus up to its full potential.

#1 confession : my nails often look like the map of sri lanka

They live at the mercy of my incisors, much like slapstick characters next to my mother's precise C-section. I destroy them with the same audacity like butterflies in my stomach go through retrogressive metamorphosis. At times, I think of ripping my torso open like a rotten tree and unleashing the apex predator inside.

So the next time I declaw myself, spare me as a creature of habit. Because maybe if I try, I can make it precise.

#2 confession : unbothered, hydrated and in my lane (?)

3 litres a day, I thought would be enough to just ‘live, laugh, love’ through life. But I'm 7 part saltwater and a pretend salmon. Some days, I also mimic a biblically accurate eye candy : sour & pre-saturated in brine.

Make it make sense, but it's not really my fault if I remind you of a fish, actively drowning while gasping for water.

#3 confession : this rusty old uterus will be my endgame

Bloody hell! innit? You should've seen their faces when I decided to keep the river flowing and leave the barren field for aesthetics. This old hag is in her main character era and will chew right through your nerve endings to prove so. Enough with the uterus talk you say, but old habits die hard.

On a side note, I could've lectured you about the ‘Y’ in audacity, but well, what would I know? I'm just a woman and a woman I stay.

— circadeacademia