un•tether

In a time of great vulnerability and feeling exposed to the dangers of the darkness seeping into my uncorked brain;
I tethered my psyche to her through a non existent umbilical cord.
A weak tether for our age, I misjudged the strength. I needed it more than her, thus titling the balance to my disadvantage.
I had assimilated all aspects of my existence and my raison d’être and tightly anchored it to the spiral cage of her hair.

We wrote a manifesto of false promises, agendas of fulfilling unreal expectations, and plans to execute shortsighted pleasure and childish trifle.

Suffice it to say that I was nearly killed.

One shouldn’t be this exposed in the first place. Tender and raw like a newborn, I was visible,
my long face in the periphery of every set of eye balls with a glean of concern over corneas like dripping butter on steel plates- they’d come up to me and say “it’ll be alright.”

-Tanmay

red on green

pleas to sustain and spare the pain

we’re bared to you for your gain

no cloak no quilt

only a mother’s guilt,

watching the glee with which

my green roots and shoots

trembled under your creaky boots;

grumbling old men with jittery teeth

that clatter and grind over beetle leaves

and worms in gums that chatter together

leaving big stains and a cancerous pane

of crimson and brown and blood and hound.

grumbling old men that don’t hesitate

to strike check mate-

and bring my fate,

axes and picks and saws- a dozen

only to kill all millions heathens.

grumbling old men that use the knife

to kill all of their wives

it’s similar to that don’t you see?

I served them too with brilliant tea.

so life is cut and life is eased

life is cut and life is eased

for deserted plains that resemble grey

desperation and dismay

-Tanmay

part

oh how he wailed into the lacerating night

the night he lost his wife

he wailed and wailed and wailed

until the clouds parted and a concerned

moon showed its scarred face

and gave the man a shadow to pour his pain out

of course it didn’t help

what could a moon do except raise some water day in and day out

so our man howled and wailed and cursed the

silent knife of a night

the silent night that let his wife pass away

unceremoniously

-Tanmay

Juice WRLD speaks from heaven

Man, we really lost a gem. I first listened to Juice WRLD (Jarad Anthony Higgins) in WRLD on Drugs a collaborative album by Future and Juice WRLD. The album was about dope and was dope. There were some really good bangers on it, and the duo seemed to produce good sound together. Juice hails from Chicago, Illinois and was signed to Interscope Records.

Juice was popular for his introspective style of rapping and using predominantly mellow R&B beats. Songs such as Empty and Maze proved that he could talk about important issues that every human goes through whilst struggling. It added to address the problem with the general ethos of sadness that is somehow much more pronounced in all public spaces online or offline, (maybe it’s because people are not afraid to express anymore, and Juice made them feel better).

His first posthumous album Legends Never Die, (aptly named) continued his story of dealing with fame at a young age (he died six days after turning 21). Jarad is deemed a genius because of immense maturity in his lyrics despite his age.

Jarad’s death should serve as constant reminder to not indulge extremely in shit that can kill you.

RIP JUICE

-Tanmay

buried alive; logic; reasons

Music and loneliness have a symbiotic relationship. Music doesn’t cut away the loneliness but it sure numbs the pain that arises out of it. I remember in my second semester at univeristy I had my earphones resting on my ears constantly, no matter where I went. In February 2018 I was introduced to Logic’s Under Pressure by a fellow music enthusiast and music producer. I fell in love with Logic instantly. He is revered by a lot of people for his honest take on anxiety and depression, almost as if an older brother is listening to you and your fears. I remember sitting alone for breakfast eating quickly whilst listening to Buried Alive, the memory is etched so clearly that listening to the song again now brings back images from that time and a thump in my body because of the physiological changes that anxiety brought forth were sometimes more pronounced while listening to relatable music. It was mostly a wrenching of the gut- up and down so strong that it would force my hip up if I was on my bed.

There was a dependence that I fostered on certain types of music that helped channel some of my confusion with life into energy to get up and do shit. I owe a lot to the artists whose music I listened to then. The desperation of loneliness demands prompt attachment to anything constant. People couldn’t be there in the way I needed them to be, so an only child was still the only child at steel tables, with two hundred of his peers ten meters away. It was almost necessary, the way my life unfolded then; it made me impervious.

Everything happens for a reason and the reason is made clear after the happening; almost always.

-Tanmay