Tomic Riter

Tag: writing

  • Something of my own.

    Something of my own.

    ‘Don’t you want to share something of your own tonight? I mean everybody else is sharing something of their own. What about you?’

    ‘I don’t know. Share what?’ I replied.

    ‘Something that you might have written? I’ve heard that you write. Or you might sing a song for us.’

    ‘Oh no. No singing songs for me. I love listening to them, not singing them. As far as sharing something of what I have written, I can’t do it even if I want to. I don’t remember anything of what I have written. I write in the moment mostly’ I replied.

    The man heard me, laid back and continued drinking. A minute later, he said, ‘The reason I asked you to share something is that I’ve been looking at you since quite some time and I think there’s pain in you and you might want to share it.’

    ‘Everybody is in pain. That’s not important’ I replied with a smile.

    – Tomic. All rights reserved.

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  • Rain down.

    Rain down.

    I would like to remind you little bit of what I am. What am I. Let’s leave the question for a moment. Let’s focus on something else. On what? Let’s stop focusing on anything for a while. Let’s sit quietly for a while. Eyes closed. Breathing as normally as you can. Can you hear the faint noise of fresh rain? I can. The raindrops are falling and falling and falling, probably wetting everything. I want to walk out of my room and see. I refuse to walk out. I walk out. The rain has stopped now. I walk downstairs, stand there, watch the floor, now wet, reflecting bar lights. I look around. Drunkards everywhere getting in getting out. I scratch my beard and walk back upstairs and into my room.

    – Tomic. All rights reserved.

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  • Waiting for the night.

    Waiting for the night.

    Every morning, I wake up and start waiting for the night. All of day time is just time wasted. It hurts me but I cannot do anything much about it. That hurts too. It isn’t until late hours of night when I finally get to sit in my space. My very own space. A small room with a table and two chairs and a table lamp and a couch on which I fall at the very end until sleep comes. I put on some music, write a bit, read a bit, just lay down often. A pile of books is waiting to be read. I haven’t read much in the past couple of years. Yes, that’s right. It’s changing now. I’m reading again.

    Yesterday, I read this beautiful line. ‘Illness shortens the distance between a man and a woman.’ The book is Snow Country by Yaaunari Kawabata, a Japanese writer. The line reminded me of my mother and father and an incident from a decade ago. I will write about the incident some other time.

    Night is here. I’m sitting in my chair, typing. My back aches and so do my arms. I’ve forgotten to put on some music. Strange. There are still a couple of hours to kill before I throw myself on the couch.

    – Tomic. All rightd reserved.

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  • Guilty again.

    Cannot help but feel guilty of not waking up early. It isn’t enough to say to myself that the body was too tired to wake up. No. I’m not convinced. It’s a lie. I could have woken up earlier, much earlier. Now, my whole day will be spent feeling guilty. It’s a crazy thing to feel guilty. It’s crazier to feel guilty about losing time. Time lost doesn’t come back.

    – Tomic. All rights reserved.

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  • How it works and how it doesn’t.

    How it works and how it doesn’t.

    You can’t be a writer without writing a lot. You can’t be a painter without painting a lot. You can’t be a photographer without clicking a lot of pictures. It’s never about carrying these stupid tags. You’ve got one life. Just live it. Take experience of your immediate surroundings. It isn’t like you have to do something all the time. Often, you can just observe how things are, and maybe, if you feel like it, record it in some form. You can do it without having any kind of pressure over your head. Do the work. Do the hard work. Do some more and more and more. Just keep doing it. There’s no other way.

    – Tomic. All rights reserved.

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  • New.

    New.

    The cabin is new. The chair is new. The people are new. The strangers here are new to me too. The food is new. The lights are new. The fights are new. The coffee is new. The coffee cups are new. The drinking water seems new as well. This pen is a new pen. This fan is a new fan. The wind is new. The doors are new. The windows new. This sitting is a new kind of sitting. This waiting is a new kind of waiting.

    – Tomic. All rights reserved.

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  • About being creative.

    About being creative.

    How are you creative?

    Am I creative? I mean, I’m trying to understand for years what creation means, and what it means to create. Creating doesn’t mean, for sure, to create a copy of something that already exists. In that sense, does creation mean the act of bringing to this universe what doesn’t exist? Maybe it is so. And if so, does being creative mean being able to bring something entirely new to this universe? Maybe it is so. And if it is so, then I don’t know if whatever the hell that results in any kind of creation. But one thing is sure. Man is capble of creating beautiful things.

    But lately, something has happened to man. I don’t know what. It’s like we are stuck in a loop. We are busy creating copies and copies of copies. Wait. What the hell am I doing. This wasn’t supposed to be a critique.

    Talking about myself, I’m trying to write better pieces and I’m trying to click better photographs. Lately, I’ve been busy more in photography and editing than in writing and reading. I’m trying to balance both my passions. Wait what? Ridiculous. Everything that I’ve written sounds ridiculous when I read it aloud. I’ll stop right here.

    – Tomic. All rights reserved.

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  • No doubt about it.

    No doubt about it.

    No doubt the town is full of sluggish people. Nothing lets me down at work as much as sluggish people do. You can see them wasting time their time, and consequently, yours. You want to kill them but cannot. It’s frustrating at times. They’re getting paid for nothing. No doubt the world has too many sluggish people now, and no one can do a thing about it. Another one walks in. What the hell. Looks like a woman. Fucking hell. I wish I could scream right now. FUCKING HELL! Instead, I’m yawning, slipping down in my recliner, my head in my left palm. I hate a good meal. It makes me dizzy with sleep. I wish I fell asleep right now. I can’t. The work doesn’t seem to end. Too much work. Too much wastage of time and energy. It seems like something or the other has to be done about it. So I tell the woman to shut up and leave. It doesn’t work.

    – Tomic. All rights reserved.

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  • Nobody likes.

    Nobody likes.

    Nobody likes standing in a queue. Nobody likes to labour. Nobody likes to wait. Nobody likes to apologise for no reason. Nobody likes to remain stuck in boring goddamned living. Nobody likes drinking beer after whiskey. Nobody likes to work. Nobody likes boredom. Nobody likes to be stressed. Nobody likes work pressure. Nobody likes to give up on their ill-formed opinions. Nobody hates their opinions. Nobody hates their own stupid mindset. Nobody hates a glass of cold water in summer. Nobody hates lemonade or maybe mint juice. Nobody likes to hate and yet they do. Yet we do.

    – Tomic. All rights reserved.

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  • Waiting for it to end.

    Waiting for it to end.

    The liver seems to be missing. The bladder has doubled in size. The eyes can’t take in too much light. Darkness is my old friend. It really feels strange when I feel my breath. I am alive. Alive! I take a deep breath. I look at you sleeping with a severe headache, your head in my lap. Blues playing in the background. Call me the Breeze. I close my eyes, my palm caressing your forehead. It’s getting harder and harder to focus. I wish to lay down next to you, holding you in my arms, warm. There’s still some time. Night time is the only time I have for myself. What’s wrong with me! Why can’t I have just one dream. I want everything. I accomplish nothing. I’m just a cog turning endlessly in a giant machine. I’m just a slave. Night frees me. Night gives myself back to me. I didn’t realise when the song changed. It happens every time.

    – Tomic. All rights reserved.

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