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KarimpanatharaAs a young child, I was always afraid of something: the neighbors humongous dog; the comb of bees hanging just above my window; sometimes just the feeling that I am inadequate; I could never really relax, as I was always afraid something terrible was about to happen. As I grew, I found safety zones, places where I knew I couldnt be harmed, places where I could shut my Pandoras Box, and just breathe. Some places have a magic of their own, they cease to be brick and wood and become a safe haven. The magic of Karimpanathara, my uncles house in India, is precisely this; when Im there, engulfed in the heart of South India, I can live withoutKarimpanathara
by ~Patrakali
MagdalenaWho did you expect from me? This Magdalena's got too much to confess; Bathed in guilt and sweat, She's torn by every smile.Magdalena
This song plays in her head, And she can't dance in time. And so the taunting voices chime In perfect rhythm every night.
There's nowhere else to go And the trees have lost their shadows. I can't feel my hands now, As they tear up earth around me.
Use me, break me, show me, And when it's over, leave me. I'm ever lacking in your values. Try a
by ~Patrakali
Tired of SundaysEmpty. Great.EKareena stared at the bottom of her pink cosmopolitan. "So ya think if I stare at this long enough, it'lll tell me why he didn't show up?ELike a magic eight ball; except it's accompanied by a major hangover, not those cool glowy messages!E "Karee, shut up and let me take you home. You're drunk off your ass, and he's not coming, so we might as well just call it a nightEIt was exhausting, seeing his best friend hurt herself this way. She seemed to attract all the jerks within a fifty-mile radius of Houston. And each guy was more narcissistic and brutish than the last. There had to be some underlying reason for thatTired of Sundays
by ~Patrakali
Write TrashI can't write those words To tell you how Im tired My skin's a scarred leaf, And the lead won't lend itself to me.Write Trash
You pass by well-thumbed tomes, Breezing by for one of those Cheap Publisher's Monstrosities.
And so you'lll never know The joy of quality, of stories Woven with crystal tears, And with unnerving laughs.
Look past the exotic covers; See the lie of prima donna plots. And as you dog-ear my darkest chapter, Note the joy of my illuminations.
by ~Patrakali
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Devious Info
- Current Residence: House. Home. Place I can call my own. Any of these interest you?
- Interests: Being myself; whatever that is at the moment.
- Favourite movie: Lock, Stock, and Two Smoking Barrels.
- Favourite band or musician: Depends on what kind of day it is.
- Favourite genre of music: Once again, depends. Pretty much anything but honky-tonk.
- Favourite artist: Amy Brown
- Favourite poet or writer: Joseph Heller
- Favourite photographer: Ansel
- Favourite style of art: Um, I favor surrealism, thank you.
- MP3 player of choice: Whatever my dad brings home.
- Shell of choice: SEA!
- Wallpaper of choice: :) The Boondock Saints.
- Skin of choice: caramel colored, thanks for asking!
- Favourite game: Frogger. Old School.
- Favourite gaming platform: PS2?
- Favourite cartoon character: Probably the Animaniacs.
- Personal Quote: "But it's an intelligent laugh, and that's why they don't smile."
- Tools of the Trade: A keyboard, coffee, and a whole lot of bitterness.
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