11 AM

Rising from my bed, with an RIP impression imprinted into my skin, I have resided in peace
Body swaying and toppling, my dreams possessed me, the exorcism of my dream world
Boldly walking the line between fiction and reality, I love the exercise, puffing and panting
Mimicking a gymnast on a balancing beam, hoping desperately not to fall into a pit of reality

I remembered when I was 8, engulfed in the soft cotton comfort of my stuffed animals
I slept like sleeping beauty, however, a simple shove would suffice, slowly recovering
Only to wake up, the crimson eyes of my fluffy friends haunting my existence, fast approached
Their razors licking the cotton of their innocent faces, seeking prey, I stood frozen, petrified

I remembered jumping off the safety of my bunk bed only to lie flat on the ground, nose stinging,
Pride tainted, as my guardians glared at me with judgment, only to find my brother staring at me
As if I had pissed my pants, sadly the embarrassment was equivalent, trying to muster whatever masculinity I had After all I was only 8, but still what a fluffy nightmare

11:30 AM

Smelling the lust of my shampoo as I bathed in peace, I rendered in and out of reality
Every waft a jolt back into time, each drop of water tapping my lush hair an entrance into reality
Poking my cerebral sensors, the aroma of sweet strawberries brought back memories, even adventures
Of the past, and even the future, lurking in my nose as a reminder and signal of the good and bad times

I was sitting in a beautiful garden in some remote place in India 10 years ago, soaking in the beauty of life
When I saw a little reddish berry, which I thought to be a savory strawberry, picking it up as a human does to a little Insect that is struggling to make ends meet, I studied it and only after 20 seconds of analysis I popped the treat into
My mouth, only later catching sight of the infamous sign that boldly wrote, “poisonous berries do not consume”

However before I could write my memories down on paper, they disappeared like a ghost
Once strong and vivid illusions transposed in my conscious, disintegrated without a notice
Squeezing my head from the inside, I force my mind to think, only to be rewarded with a blank slate,
You cannot force memories, they are only unlocked when our senses are courted

1 PM

Devouring the savoryness of my sandwich, watching the old Star Wars movies, I rolled an idea around and


Around in my head, a philosophical question that every Star Wars fanatic has considered
If hypothetically we could create light-sabers in real life, maybe in the future, what color light-saber would you choose?
I already had the force, a trinity education, now color was the only obstacle to enlightenment

What would Yoda say? I guess you could call him the origins of philosophy, the force, our understanding of the truth
However, I feel the process that I would have to go through, similar to Skywalker’s, would be arduous
And I feel my mind would be tortured as horrifically as patients in Zimbardo’s lab tests
Too much effort and too much work, I think I’ll just ponder this enigma a little longer

I always wondered if they were to create a rainbow light-saber would that have more power than the others?
Anyway that's a stupid question, a rainbow light-saber!, Lets get back to the real predicament
Would I be a satanical red, aqua blue, lush green or an eccentric purple? If I was 7, I would be blue (favorite color),
If I was 15, I would be green (obsessed with money), but now I would be purple (unique)

3 PM

Sitting on an ancient plastic chair that sadly was older than myself, I got up, sitting on my knees to touch
Its cheap texture, each touch a different adventure through the space time continuum
Like a cliché boy who finds a time machine, I bounced capriciously back and forth from memory to memory
My brother and I called them our gaming chairs, our ancient gaming chairs, a valuable part of our family

“You are the only survivor” screamed the voice, trudging through the mud, my comrades were dead, even my brother Who had fought besides me, I was alone, three enemies hunting me down, I cornered myself into a ramshackle old Building, using the wall to decrease the access points from impossible 3 to possible 2, that tingling feeling you feel When you are hiding behind the curtains during a hide and seek game kicked in, my body pale, adrenaline pumping

The first assassin walked through the door with swiftness, but I gunned him down with all might, 1 down 2 to go
His friend breached the second door in an attempt to avenge his fallen comrade only to trip my clever little claymore, His body erupted from the inside like a man whose body could not handle his intelligence, I waited ecstatically,

Hoping to end my misery, when the third man came in, the fury of God resonating within him

I fired at him, but he dodged them like the flash, firing back I could see my blood everywhere, I hid behind a crate
And waited, my body was shaking, teeth chattering like it was -50 but it was only 50, I decided to go for it, I turned Around, but he wasn't there, only to see him on the right in my peripheral, but I couldn't turn fast enough, and then it Happened, my body swirled around in the speed of light, the icon “headshot” popping out like a cliché horror movie

I sat there on the ground in my den, the right leg of my gaming chair snapped, I was on the floor at an angle, my
Brother looking at me in amazement, I was astonished I had just won, passing the final level, beating my brother
There, but I always thought that it would be my merit, my skill that would propel me to eternal glory, however, the Gaming chair saved my life that day, I looked at my brother and said, “ I guess I am better at Call of Duty than you”

I realized that these chairs were not just simply for gaming, sitting nonchalantly near my heater like bodyguards
They were guardian angels, supporting and lifting our weight on a journey to gaming enlightenment
Call it a Call of Duty, our deontological duty to the universe, our chairs a medium of success
Symbolic to Atlas holding the world on his shoulders, they bear the weight of our gaming addiction

Year by year games evolve, but these ancient relics have remained reliable and Hercules strong
Aiding us in our war against the mysteries and conspiracies that lay hidden in our X Box
Each game we beat 2 new heads appear, but no matter how hard we fight there will always be more, mocking


Our intelligence, all we can do is pray to God that our plastic amigos are immortal

6 PM

I walked like a shy hungry puppy, hoping that I could get lucky, hoping to win the jackpot you could say,
I was born hungry, but I am slim despite my monstrous appetite that could shock a Mcdonald frenzy monster
Whose love for fries and burgers outweighed his love for his wife, yeah I eat a lot…
Or simply what my mother calls it: A simple excuse to watch TV instead of doing work

Walking through the kitchen, I could track the events in the kitchen over a decade, my memories filling in the
Details, hoping to find a progression in time, the changing momentum of a decade, my rise to adulthood providing Detail, however, I was lost as I watched the timeline of my kitchen unravel before my eyes, getting a front row seat

Of an ever shifting environment, but the actress playing the role in the kitchen remained consistent

Like a cliché swarm of color and swirls, I stood time rendering around me, the air whiplashed my face
A mix of memory and reality, standing, watching as my environment varied with every memory
The pale white paint materialized into a marble décor of green and black, the mind of the fridge emptied and filled, each year the Design and overall niche of my kitchen drastically changing,

But my mother’s movements, like a trained dancer, remained flawless and monotonous, the same 5-step process she
Implemented every day and year, I’m pretty sure 10 years from now it will be the same, it was like watching a great movie and
Then watching it over and over again, slowly losing its once greatness, I concentrated passionately looking for a flaw, but none
Were found, as my mother cleaned the kitchen, her “routine” a vital part of her identity

11 AM

Hugging my father, I boarded the bus, Boston bound, an adventure, an escape from the prison called school
I walked all the way to the back of the bus, every aisle carrying a different story, adventures that I would never be
Able to dissect and study, but I was content with having a crowd of unfamiliar faces, sometimes looking at blank
Images can help you clarify your life and give you better understanding of your past, present and maybe future

Eh, all this philosophical crap, I am just gonna sit down and watch NCIS Los Angeles, Hetty scares me
Only after 3 trips were made to the little crammed bathroom accompanying my 4 hour journey to Red Sox territory,
I regretted the decision, smelling the sterile scent of you know what, I was sent back to my trip in China
Walking into a crappy bathroom where the smell was enough to cause a nuclear pandemic

“You’re Indian”, everyone told me, “you can deal with the smell cant you”? Take a whiff and you will feel like cutting



Off your nose to escape the pain of oriental waste, trust me I have gone to villages in India, I was in Beijing, a sad
Discovery indeed, but I cannot blame anyone, its not their fault, maybe the government has something to do with it,
They control every facet of life in this country, a communistic stench you could call it, Oh my god! I have to leave…

3:30 PM

Commonwealth Avenue, what a beauty, a never-ending avenue of college students and opportunity
I had been here a year ago when visiting BU, but now I was visiting BU with a college acceptance letter tucked under
My arm, I was visiting a close friend, looking around I could see the variance of color and architecture, a rainbow of
College sweatshirts that indirectly boasted pride and a facet of excellence and accomplishment

Brownstones, Towers, and I even saw a hut, When all of that can be seen within a 5 block radius, you are getting a
Historical timeline of a city, its attempt to exceed in this capitalistic and industrialist economy, while at the same time
Relishing its past and promoting its rich history, which makes it so unique that everyone should attend there
What a city, NYC is better, but quite close, respect to the Boston flag, but not to the Red Sox one

As I walked around, the air slapped me, with the determination of a tiger mom, in and out of reality
I would look up to suck in the intricacies of this Bostonian world, sadly not a utopian one though
Then I would render into a balloon of imagination until the air overflowed…
Pop! The balloon burst, the escaped air whipping the fragility of my body back into reality


The convenient train, ran right through the street, a journey of academic excellence you could call it
The color red flashed like the lights of Time Square, a college city of eternal proportion
If I was looking at a birds eye view of Boston, I would shudder thinking every student there was being marked with
A sniper laser, that is a lot of targets and snipers needed, what a crazy thought, I am bored don't sue me

After thinking of all that red, I wondered what colors my college list had predominately consisted of,
62.5% red, I guess Boston has made a greater impact on me than I first thought
In the end, I committed to a Justin Bieber purple, which is way more cooler, thinking I would never come to Boston
Again, but here I stand a year later, like the famous jerking prophet once said, “Never say Never”

8 PM

We walked into this Irish Pub/Restaurant that was famous for their yard long glasses filled to the brim with beer
I am 17, I stuck with two cokes and curly fries, but the sight was, lets say, unique
Sitting on a round table seating 5, my friends and I sat around conversing, only realizing later that I was the only
Purple hearted sentient eating, each of my friends rocked the red that captivated bulls all around Spain

Watching the playoffs, Curry at his finest, Golden State winning by 4, I couldn't stop staring at those yard long glasses A yard, sounds big, but when you look at it you get confused knowing that the Jet’s running back probably averages
That every run, still in terms of alcohol, wow, how do people do stuff like that, is it a genetically enhanced trait that Some have and others so desirably want, I am not speaking about myself, I am only 17 that would be utterly illegal

I saw two rednecks having a chugging competition, ha ha , that got me thinking of that time my friend and I had a coke Chugging competition in middle school, I remembered the caffeine bubbles stinging my nostrils and the back of my throat, People say coke is used to clean batteries, my mother tells me I shouldn't have it, but isn’t it just cleaning my battery, the Electricity flowing through my veins, my desire to prosper academically, more like the flow of ****

My mother shot me a daggering stare, I could see the disbelief in my stupidity in her eyes and gestures
Anyway, I eat pretty healthy, everyone has their poison, mine is coke, I dare anyone to fight me over it
Living a life of epic proportion, the battery of my life, coke the illegal maid that cleans it
A cokeful life as I like to call it, but seriously its not that bad…wait…my mother is not even here, I’m in Boston

12 PM
I woke up, jolted back into reality, or what I thought was reality staring at the clock like a student taking the SAT
My brother was picking me up at 2 and I had to pack my bags, a skill my mother had mastered
What was funny though was that my father used to always tell me waking up at 12 was way too late,
And that I could sleep like a prince once I died












I remembered when I was at that wedding in India this past winter break and had fallen asleep at 6 AM one night,
Sleeping peacefully on the stone slab they called a pullout bed, I remembered my father stomping in at exactly
12 PM, dragging me lifelessly out of my bed, the irony of the situation being that I had heard my friend say earlier That day that his parents should be proud of him because he woke up early in the morning at 12

I rose out of my bed, the air lacking air mattress bounced around like a bouncing castle as I got up
The two cavemen slept through the volcanic eruption that I precipitated, tip toeing all across the room
I seemed to transform from careful to careless in a span of seconds
Dropping things on the floor, my body tripping up and down the room

I remembered watching my buddies water bottle sway around in a daunting circular fashion
Standing in a ballerina pose, I reached to grab Mr. Humptee Dumpdee whose fall was imminent,
Staring in ecstatic horror as it swayed like a basketball swerving in and out of the hoop, and then it
Stopped, I sighed, only to fall face first on the floor, the cavemen waking up from deep sleep…

2 PM

I walked down the perilous escalator to the ground floor of my friend’s dorm
My brother was 10 minutes away and I thought I could get some stars for my bucks before he came
The irony was that I could see a few stars in the sky, it was the daytime, I think I was hallucinating
Anyway, I grabbed my macchiato and sat down on a plump red chair, sipping my sweet nectar

I walked outside and once again saw the train go by, a stunning display, seeing a train outside in the open
Rather than underground with hundreds of people scrunched up, a claustrophobic nightmare,
Well it wasn't that special, but you get my drift, I was happy to be out of NYC for the weekend,
Relishing the moment, looking for something exotic when suddenly a memory materialized in my subconscious

I remembered licking the mustiness as the train passed, an odorous taste that reminded me of my travels on the
NYC subway system, or what my mother hypothesized as being as probable as seeing a unicorn twerk in the Streets, or maybe as probable as seeing Bugs Bunny play basketball with Michael Jordan
As you can imagine, public transportation wasn't my source of happiness

I enjoyed a soft cushion rather than standing, swaying from side to side like an old man trying to dance
I enjoyed the casual conversation which on most occasions was with an Indian man asking me if I was from India
I enjoyed the exotic smells lingering, carrying a snippet of culture from a myriad of countries I never knew existed
And I even enjoyed the annoying little taxi TV that looped over and over again like a hula-hoop

Anyway, it was 2010 and I was standing on the train on my way to some remote place,
I think it was like Westchester, Purchase or maybe it was just New Jersey
Ehh, you get the point, not a flamboyantly awesome New York City, where the lights keep flashing vibrantly
I was looking outside and saw what I prescribed to be a timeline, each building a Lego piece of history

“That one is from the 1980’s,” the man next to me boldly stated, standing right behind me
“Ok… that's cool,” I tried slowly moving away, but he blocked me off hissing knowledge at me
“Take a look you can learn something” he remarked laughingly
“Ill teach you something too if you want,” mumbling under my breath, knuckles tightening all UFC like

He continued to squabble at a pace that would make Jim Carrey proud
We waltzed together, my attempt to escape his presence and his “indirect” attempt to stop me
Every step I made, he cut me off, depriving me from liberation, I guess I was chained
All I could do was look out into the unknown and listen

Stone, bricks, glass, the materials I could see resembled an infrastructural evolution
I watched Darwin at his finest, as the building transitioned, moving through time with speed
A rendering ladder down memory lane was what I deemed it to be
Each mile per hour representing a year in real-time

After hours of dancing, I turned around to find myself waltzing alone, people glaring at me
Staring into the unknown as Columbus did when he reached America,
I was confused, the weird man no where in sight, free from the chains of dance
I turned around and continued looking out as history took its place


8 PM

My brother and I were on our way to Babson when I said something stupid, don't remember what it was, but my Brother stared at me as if I had hit a buzzer-beater, and started laughing, telling me to my face that I was (quote) “ Just a weird kid,” looking gloom after his prophetic words of wisdom, he boldly stated:
“That's not always a bad thing, being odd can sometimes be a good trait”

Sipping the water vapor of life, my thirst had finally been quenched
Deprived of hydration for hours, 127 hours to be exact, but I do not believe him
I have lived in a shell of utopian so-realism, unable to escape the cave that my ignorance has resided in,
Dreaming of water, the shadows on the wall taunting my existence, unable to grab its tasteless texture

I can name thousands who have kept themselves hydrated throughout the years
Grabbing the beauties of the world, squeezing them will all their might, A “Never Let Me Go” you could call it,
Sitting like a cute panda bear on his branch, staring at the world in ignorant innocence
A Pandemic ignorance has plagued me for years, hanging heavily like an overcoat over my shoulders

Watching flesh and warm blood lick the water that the fire behind me construed like a fictitious rainbow
I tried to cup the H2O, but it trickled down my hand, eternally chained for life,
Taunting my utter existence, I felt eccentric, unique, a strange sense of quirkiness
Not a good eccentric though, but a simple “you are just a weird kid,” but only until now I understood its importance

I relished my oddness, something countless hypothesized to be the seed of misfortune
Being normal is cliché, I told myself every night, every time trying to hope my mantra would materialize
I could see as my existence was carved out of the quirky mold that I bought last week at Staples
It was only 9.99$, my mother would call that a must buy, a bargain

Sifting and sculpting, I feel I am in control of my identity now, but then I wake up watching in desperation
As my mold carves itself with an artist’s eye, a tischful touch, spawned creativity from birth
Maybe God is dropping snippets of his ingenuity on my body
God gets a say in my mold, after all he is the creator of man, but what about women?

My body and mind, the David of my Michelangelo, but then I wear clothes and am not 20 ft. tall,
I think I am more similar to one of his unfinished pieces, Renaissance procrastination at its finest
There is still more that can be added and much more that can be removed
Sadly our generation is not the only lazy soul, even Renaissance titans enjoy the binge

Call me a Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle if that satisfies your Nickelodeon fetish
Eccentricity is like the fire that Prometheus so desperately desires
A godly creation that I would offer a liver for despite the painful repetition of a millennial
I am proud to be a Renaissance thinker, and have a body like Davids

All of this philosophical thinking is going to make me sick…
I hope I don't have a socratical end, I do after all ask a lot of questions
Why is eccentricity good, why do I not like public transportation?
Hmmm very interesting, tell me more

Philosophy to me is just the over-complication of the truth
Our need to continue a conversation even though its over
Or our unexplainable incapability to fathom the notion that all truth has been fully postulated
Therefore, we speak in hieroglyphics only to be translated back into unoriginality

What are the working hours of a philosopher, are there any?
If you think holistically, they are just normal people sitting on a comfy chair, sipping tea,
And staring outside into the garden, exaggerating life to a wonderful degree,
So I guess all British people then are philosophers, hmmm food for thought…

I could see Plato residing under the shade of a cave,
Building a fire and making finger puppets on the stone walls
I could see him sitting in the cave for hour habituating himself to literature
Only to come back out, the light blinding his eyes with enlightenment

Some think on a fashionable chair, other think while making smores in a cave,
But I do my thinking in a vehicle in isolation, spotify banging my eardrums in a monotonous rhythm
I guess my philosophy strengthens over time, but Plato’s is like an asymptote
No matter how hard I think and squeeze my head, I wont ever reach his level

Today

I guess here my story comes to a dramatic end…
Perusing the last three days, as if on a long coffee stained manuscript,
I am confused, flabbergasted if you will, at what unfolded in Boston over these past few days
Pinching my arm, I am snapped back into reality, what a dream! Or was it?