Culture for the Uncultured

Have you ever seen anything in your life more wonderful than the way the sun, every evening, relaxed and easy, floats toward the horizon and into the clouds or the hills, or the rumpled sea, and is gone--- and how it slides again out of the blackness, every morning, on the other side of the world, like a red flower streaming upward on its heavenly oils, say, on a morning in early summer, at its perfect imperial distance--- and have you ever felt for anything such wild love---

I know that you're calling I'm going to that place where the sun meets my eyes and I feel like the shadows of a hundred and one trees Rufous treepie, your tail is a hand that reaches into the well where i dwell with Jerdon's bullfrog; he might as well be mine. ~ I see when I'm falling, your solitary body but I'm going away- to that place where the grass stretches to the parks of my childhood. Darling, angel do you ever hear me and feel equally elated? ~ The world with its

This city is like a dusty window waiting to be wiped I take my thumb to my tongue and wait for a squeak on the glass Nothing I listen more intently that could be a bird calling out like a big heaving lung from the ribcage of a tree A horn calls back from the long roads carrying us through like intestine This city stretches like its tarpaulin sheets blue and dirty, and full of sand As though the beach never learnt where to end and the people neither; They hear salt water foam

I'll do every cliche Sunday morning Cruel sunlight Crinkled eyes White duvet You're half awake, Lazing I'll make breakfast Something stereotypical Orange juice, and scrambled eggs Bring it to bed I won't care if you spill No, really Spill all over my life The expanse of you pouring indefinitely Monday You ask me to stay I'll cut work Everyday, if you asked me I'll get fired and We could be in this bed for ever White duvet, smells like sleep and your dreams Tuesday You make co

Trilling, squeaking chirping, tweeting Tutting to the trembling trees Timbres of the thrushes three Flitting, sighing Fleeting flying Flapping to the sounds they find Splitting sides in branches nine Cawing - crawing Cooing, calling Pleading to the preening bunch Feeding beaks their insect lunch Droning babblers, Drongo crowds Indian peafowl; Peacock yowl Singing, prancing but yearning now How far they know how much they've come Distant gargles and whistling bells, If it's sh

wrote this years ago but you can see it now

I read 12 books in the span of January to June - 7 Fiction + 5 Non Fiction! Here are my thoughts on the non-fiction books: Book 1 - AZADI: Freedom, Fascism, Fiction ⭐️⭐️⭐️ Short: Compilation of essays on aforementioned topics in India · Started Arundhati Roy’s God of Small Things and paused two chapters in bc idk man, I’ll get back to it - it’s staring at me accusingly across the room · anyhow, wanted to understand her politics bc I admire her takes on Gaza ·

I read 12 books in the span of January to June - 7 Fiction + 5 Non Fiction! Here are my thoughts on the fiction books: Book 1 - Turtles All The Way Down ⭐️⭐️⭐️ Short: Novel on a girl w OCD dealing w grief it was easy to read bc Mr John Green always uses smooth and simple language V realistic portrayal of OCD (to the point of a little personal discomfort) ^ which is much appreciated as opposed to the sort of romanticisation or reductionist portrayals i’ve seen. i really liked

despite hoping to never see you again since I see you in everything love you still while loving others through you loving in them the things I learnt from you looking up I identify the bird by myself oriental magpie-robin love me too in supplementary ways you have taught me when being the bigger person often the smaller one love me still when others I have loved left too love them still you, through them them, me, her, us, us, them, me merging into an indistinguishable, incoh

Red cherry leaves over Peach custard skies These things They do not do well As accessories Or, objects of poems Photographs, the good ones Perhaps.. But. What of the sounds Of birds? Whistles, and chirps — Our inadequate words For the entirety of their language- The vibration of chests and larynx and eyes The pause, the wait, the responding And how would you know The butterfly That is resting Its black upper body, with white columns like Rome Its bottoms Red like pencil shavi

This song. I want to wrap it around you. A shawl; Not a scarf around the neck, nor a hood for your tender ears. I want it to enclose you. Absorb you As it has me, already; I am in it. Join me, dearest We will sit inside this song, a shawl A tent, a world. And wait perhaps. Till it washes over us. But for now, it never ends. Like waves, over and over. Come, let us sit. -samjam (19/02/2026) I was listening to I'll Change for You by Mitski. And idk it's so mesmerizing a song. So

“This is what I think. Addiction is just a way of trying to get at something else. Something bigger. Call it transcendence if you want, but it's a fucked-up way, like a rat in a maze. We all want the same thing. We all have this hole. The thing you want offers relief, but it's a trap.” ― Tess Callahan, April & Oliver I've been dealing with addiction. I've been dealing with the shame and isolation of addiction. I've been going to therapy. “...most Substance-addicted people ar

Lately I've been on the constant verge of tears. Never breaking. I've been blue about the utter lack of romantic prospects, let alone a relationship, in my life. The grand lack of love. I'm sick. The fever makes my heart beat like a gong in my chest. But I went on a walk yesterday, after several days of sick rotting. Nightime. Full moon. I let myself pause, and stand, and stare at the moon. Mid street, see how the branches of the campus trees framed the solitary cosmic spotli

-samjam (31/01/26) College culturals had an event called Cutout Poetry. Basically, they give you a reasonable number of newspaper pages. You cut out words to stick and make a poem. No particular theme. You're given an hour's time. This is what I made. Pretty happy with it. I genuinely think limits rather than absolute freedom prompts greater creativity. Only get out of the box if there's a box, no? Anyhow, I got the runners up award for this event!!! There were around 17-1

new series, diary entries like davis pickett

would you like some air with your advertisements, everywhere a touch of air? with your daily dose of corporate greed? would you like a city with the taurpaulin palace housing you a shower! of paise in your chamber of dust? It's half off, a black friday sale! a hefty discount on idle worship you too can feel the blessing of giving! to someone other than large-scale thieves you see, your eternal kindness from the pits of your blessed, grumbling gut every day fills the needs of

do not drench your nights with a list of things that happen. Read more...

Wrote this in class this week, overwhelmed by noises.

Just a wholesome poem about family and friends/familiarity.

yesterday my room was messy and disorganized and unclean, and I was bothered but I couldn't bring myself to clean it.