A dream within a dream

after many days ...I feel like writing today.
No explanations about what I want to do at one particular time,though I sought for one.But its hell boiling down here both in the sense of weather and one more under my skull.And you can consider this article as my stream of consciousness projection, due to the the things I came across in these weeks.
So here goes my thought link, I have this nick..... craziness for the dark rainy nights storms and lone dark places and attraction follows.I always try to describe myself how I feel at the times....I feel like I wont escape from it...I feel this is the last night and sun wont show again....I feel like like thirsty,in the pouring rain...I feel on the edge and lost...and still I like it.The places like Goghs starry nights....or may be the Friedrich s wanderer ...
These places have a mist,they don't want to bother,they hide many secrets, and they swore if you ever come in their way...still they are troubled...try to make solace with our emotions....and we offer them emotions ladded with Gothic horror, depression, illusions, hallucinations..or perhaps the surge of adrenaline.
I found these places in recent time...in some movies,some art,some music...and sometimes in myself.

Forever Damned.

Forever kept in the hold,
that i know,was me.

fearing the unknown
I've written the rituals
to bind myself.
Killing all that was going away,
I stood on my ground,
that I imagine,will be there
forever...

the lust of me for a self,
how can it go there?
there on path of destruction,
they are others.
My love is pure,
I will keep saying this,
forever...

I hated the bodily thing,
its just not sacred.
it may be the reason of my production,
but existence need different things.
i will keep searching for them,
forever.....

Sherlock Holmes and me.

I feel like writing about the characters,who somehow shaped my thought process,influenced me from time to time.It is always good to know your source of inspiration,compare your demons.Who else but Sherlock Holmes to start with..
1.Start of a companionship.
"you will definitely like him..."
That was the first time they introduced me to Sherlock Holmes(I was in class 4th)...and till this day he continues to amaze me.
"he didn't exist in reality he was a fictional character,Doyle created him" My teacher told me.
...... first time my heart broke to cruel reality check(I didn't know then that there are so many yet to come in my life).
And to this day,I am unable to believe.
Sherlock Holmes do exist...in this time...at least for me.

2.Enter the era.
Dark Victorian night, a man in black dress coat, some rain...

Subtly all the adventures of Sherlock Holmes are marked by this specific time accent.The cab will pull back you in the time,when there was a hat on head.Dramatic dialogue, specific mannerism, progressing science of the time are definitive characteristics of all the stories.Its hard to imagine Holmes ,without that erry background and London of the time late nineteenth century.
Its funny we can not comprehend the exact accounts of the London at that time,but Doyle's words are powerful enough to give you a blunt feel of surroundings of time.

3.unforgettable moments
There are many,but least to the account for me,

who will deny the Gothic horror of the hound of the baskerville. Supreme suspense stretched to its full blossom by peculiar habit of Mr. Holmes.The stubbornness of Mr.Steplton, and honest advances of Watson.The story is one of the best of the genre.

Holmes with his monsters in signs of four,relying on cocaine,this definitively pulls him toward more humanity.His intensive psychological struggle with himself,somewhat bending toward masochism is again a track that define his personality.

Holmes with his violin, Holmes working on sampling of tobacco,Holmes doing some chemistry experiments,all these instances gave a insights in this eccentric character.Insight about being a passionate art lover, and a hardworking scientist.Methodical,logical...but at the same time a human.

are we? are we not...

They were falling back into familiarity,into common ground,into the dirty gray.Just ordinary humans in ordinary opaque boiled-egg light,without grace,without revelation,composite of contradictions,easy principles,arguing about what they half believed in or even what they didn't believe at all,desiring comfort as much as austerity,authenticity as much as playacting,desiring coziness of family as much as to abandon it forever.Cheese and chocolate they wanted,but also to kick all these bloody foreign things out.A wild daring love to bicycle them to sky,but also a rice and dal love blessed by unexciting feel of everyday,its surprises safely enmeshed in something solidly familiar like marrying the daughter or son of your father's best friend and grumbling about the cost of potatoes,the cost of onions.Every single contradiction history or opportunity might make available to them,every contradiction they were heir to,they desired.but only as much,of course,as they desired purity and lack of contradiction.
(extract from the inheritance of loss by Kiran Desai)