Tomic Riter

Tag: writing

  • Tomorrow again.

    I’ve always wanted to grow this blog of mine. It is now two years and three months old and I do not know the future of it as much as I do not know the future of myself. Had a call from a colleague an hour ago. It has left me drained. Nothing more tiring than a day job. I still haven’t found a way out of it. Another call. Another message. Another distraction. Lying in my bed. Thinking about a million things. It’s worth tonight to keep the windows open. The winds are just so good and so calming. Listening to Mighty Sam McClain. Mighty as ever. A voice so brutal, listening to it you would vomit all the sadness out of your eyes. I am trying to vomit now. It’s hard but I am trying. I am trying. I am trying. It’s well past ten at night and I am trying. McClain, pour me a drink like you’ve poured for yourself. McClain, savour the winds tonight like I am savouring them. McClain, make it rain. McClain, don’t be a cunt yet. Scream into the mike and make the world piss through the ears. I’ve only got today. Tomorrow, I am a free man searching for a new chain.

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  • Travelling light.

    The truth is that you don’t ever quit being what you truly are. It’s something bounded to your core. It doesn’t matter whether you’re good or bad. I think a man gives its best when he is closest to what he truly is. I’ve contemplated many times on the true nature of man. I do not do that anymore. Man is surprisingly simple to understand and at the same time, quite hard to define. Take any other animal. They find joy easily. They find it much easily than any man. Man gets easily distracted with his surrounding elements. I am like any other man. I hardly accomplish anything. My only achievement in the last one month is getting my clothes washed! I took two months even for that. Anyways, soon I am out of this city. Maybe tomorrow. I haven’t packed my stuff yet. Like always, I do not like to carry much. Just a backpack and me and my motorcycle.

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  • Last night wasn’t last night after all.

    Jesus Christ! What was I thinking all this while. I don’t know. I’ve been a stupid asshole since a long time. Time to pull myself out of the pit. Time to be a hell maker. Time to shit out properly all that I can’t keep inside of me anymore. Enough of drinking and fooling around. Time to add a little more red to my blood. Enough of being a loser. Meanwhile, Dan is back. I see him coming back, still singing sad songs in his coarse voice, like he’s been drinking since the Big fucking Bang. He probably popped out of singularity with a can of beer. Goddamnit Dan. Goddamnit. With a voice like that, you could’ve won the whole universe. But you chose to go down silently like me and the rest of our kind. What is this stupidity with good people who are eternally sad. Fools. But then, sadness is the ink that stays the longest on the canvas of true art. Goddamnit Dan. Goddamnit. What are you making write. Shit. I’ve got twenty minutes to catch a fish, kill it, fry it and eat it. Gotta go.

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  • Big things.

    Big things are coming. But they are always coming and they never come. This time, it might be different or it might turn out to be the same as before. Only time will tell. But how much time before we are told what is and what is not. No idea. Usually with these things, it takes a hell lot of time. A lot of waiting for no reason. But then, what choice do I have. What choice do I ever have. I like to keep no options. I am a one road man. I’ve got no wishes to fulfil. I had been away. But I was around. I would like to be back for good. Only time will tell. But how much time. Again, no idea. Nights are spent drinking. Days are spent working. Afternoons, well, who cares about afternoons! It’s almost night Time to drive back to my beloved bar and have a beer.

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  • A life full of downs.

    Since the beginning of birth, it has been like this. I’ve lived in some kind of fear. Today, I can write just about anything but I cannot write a thing about that fear. It’s still there. Only it’s clearly felt when I am around my loved ones – my family. Calling them ‘loved ones’ is farcical. I remember father once yelling at us, ‘We are just four people living together. We are no family. We will never be.’ What he said was harsh but true. Even today, we are no family. It’s better now because I live far away from them and I don’t feel any need to visit them. Sometimes, I make them calls and that’s it. Enough of socialising with the loved ones. There’s no love, just the appearance of it. Haven’t had coffee in a long time. It’s a sunny day and no bird has died since morning.

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  • Twice is better.

    Evening. It was a day off. The second day off in a row. There’s no more luck than that in this life. Day offs are the only gifts I get, because on those days I can waste my time in my own foolish ways. I can write stupid shit. I can interact with the fellow writers and readers. I can listen all day to the music that I want to listen. I can do all that for which on other days, I do not get much time. This is the good life for me. As good as it can ever be. All good lives come at a cost, only some pay sooner than the others. I am paying now, and I do not know if I am late or early. It doesn’t matter.

    Copyright © Tomic Riter. All rights reserved.

  • About other places.

    I hardly go anywhere. I go everywhere. I do not go anywhere in the manner in which most of them go. Oh how they go. Trash people. I prefer to stay away from all of them. But sometimes, things aren’t in my hands. That’s life. Nobody owes me anything. I owe nothing to anybody. I’ve got my own way of living and it doesn’t go well with most of them. I do not give a damn. I cannot always make myself understandable to anyone. Those days are gone for me as well as for them. All they can do now with me is disagree with me. I prefer their disagreements. I prefer they disagree with me and leave me alone. There’s no growth in being with them or around them. They belong in the herd and I hunt alone. Trash people are hard to deal with. An army of trash people is impossible to deal with. The best course of action is to be a patient listener and ignore their trash and do whatever the hell you feel is the right thing to do.

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  • Failures and failures and failures.

    After two failures in publishing book, I sometimes ask myself, how many more failures will come in my way. But I ask that only to myself and that too only sometimes. It’s not a hard question to put before someone else, but no they probably won’t understand.

    The failure isn’t that I haven’t published. Only I couldn’t make the sale that I was expecting. I can tell myself that it was never about the money. But then, I would be fooling myself. Somewhere, it is about the money. It is about the money because all I want to live on is writing. Wish I understood the significance of money earlier. I would have participated more actively in my own endeavours.

    As I write and write, I also look at what is selling these days the most. It’s mostly trash. Trash poetry. Trash YA books. Trash fantasy novels. Trash motivational books. Realism is dead. Brutality is dead. Rawness of the writing tied upside down and screwed like a pig. Their books are made of feathers and foam. Sleep on them and throw them in the bin the next hour.

    But they make a selling. Well, people are the kings. They elect their oppressors, and trash is what they want to read.

    I cater to a small group of readers. The mad, insane ones. The leftovers. The outlaws. The wicked. The ones who are beyond the law itself.

    I can never write what sells. I write what I write. I cannot write like they do, but then, they too cannot write like I do. We can never meet in a common space. That’s a bitter truth and a final one.

    Copyright © Tomic Riter. All rights reserved.

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  • Where have I been.

    Haven’t read a book in two years. Haven’t been anywhere. Haven’t met any artist. Haven’t felt anything exploding inside of me. What will it take to bring me back to life once again. My life isn’t over yet. It’s just torn apart and it keeps tearing up more and more. All these lines probably mean nothing. The sun rises and falls. Our forests catch fire and burn down before dawn. One song finishes and the other begins. The water tank empties itself and fills magically every third day. I am alive by the devil’s grace. I am alive in his heart. I cannot keep track anymore of what all I have lost. He is remembering everything for me. As the night engulfs me, what is left of me, I retire.

    Copyright © Tomic Riter. All rights reserved.

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  • A quiet noon, writings, and songs from the road.

    I remember the day when I made this blog. I am not sure if it has been a year or two here. I have been writing poetry since last five years. I have published two poetry books till now. They are available for purchase on Amazon Kindle store. There’s so much more that I have written in private pages that wait to see the daylight. There’s so much more to write. Every time I sit down to write, I have always succeeded in putting down a few lines. So far, my own mind hasn’t defeated me, at least not in this.

    Around some time last year, I started focusing more on prose writing. I start thinking about what kind of prose would I write if I ever decide to explore it. Whether it’s prose writing or poetry, I have found that it’s easier to write in the moment than to excavate past. I hardly ever wait for the lines to come out. It’s like the lines are all there inside my head and all I need to do is slowly turn on the tap so that drops fall out and down on the paper one at a time.

    Journal writing did help a lot in developing the prose style. I’ve been writing journal since last six months. A major portion of my next book will be constructed straight from there. About the rest of it, well, I cannot say anything. Whether prose or poetry, I want my lines to hit the readers as if they are nuclear missiles. I hate extra words. I hate lengthy sentences unless it’s Dostoyevsky who is doing the writing. Dostoyevsky did it best. The others, not as good as him. His death is a real loss. All the good ones like him died even before I were born. Now, I can only mourn as I read their books. I am nowhere close to my gods. My gods from hell from whom I learn.

    I’ve started reading again here. It will take some time to catch up with everything that I’ve missed in the last couple of months. I am getting there. Also, good to write here again. This place always makes words just fucking flow out of my fingers so effortlessly. I am also thinking about what new I can do on this blog. I’ve got ideas. Started doing a little bit of photography a month ago. Thinking about doing some video shoots. Getting in good shape, the shape I were in four years ago. A lot is going on and twenty four hours seem enough if managed well.

    It’s another burning day in my life. I wait for the night so that I can step out for a while.

    Copyright © Tomic Riter. All rights reserved.

    CLICK HERE TO VISIT MY AMAZON AUTHOR PAGE AND PURCHASE MY BOOKS