the nativity

that’s right; your not-so-favourite, not-too friendly, not-in-your-neighbourhood, pretentious nyctophile turns a year old!!1!1!

(Oops, can we overlook the slight cynicism ^ we’v ebit of an occasion here haha)

Around the same hours of midnight – between eleven-thirty-ish, the evening of the tenth till the early hours, perhaps four on the morning of the eleventh of April, twenty-sixteen – a slightly more idealistic, self-assured teenager than myself of today found this blog.

Well, to be a little more truthful and copious; He’d found TheMonarchofMidnight several months before that in his own head, a little under two years ago from tonight. However, it hadn’t been christened then and so the boy – going through the most despondent and defining times of his life – had to put on hold any idea of beginning a blog for a bit.

Now as for the origins of his idea; they’d all come together swiftly and convincingly. It was truly fascinating how in the matter of a week, I’d revisited a defunct old Blogspot domain (my first blog :’) ), had my father explain in what way and to what extent a blog or YouTube channel of my own would affect my applications for further education and most significantly – I’d discovered three of the four most influential personal blogs in my life:

equivocal
thezaphnathlink
themaskedpharaohgiphy

Curated by my own friends a couple of years older than me, these were
people I already looked up to. And the material on their blogs cemented it – they’ve been some of the most influential people in my life and most definitely for TMoM. Apart from the fact that many a time their words gave me drive through challenging times, they indubitably set the stage for fledgling TMoM.

And for many months, after times had lost the roughening in them and I’d envisioned a blog of my own but being the perfectionist I was; I’d needed an idiosyncratic name, which the others seemed to have nailed in very genius fashion ^ xD like, for re
al.

It genuinely took that long just to figure out a name that sufficed to stand for me 😂

I’d really wanted this to be on the quieter side though; and so this is the only person, even to date, that I’ve discussed a blog of my own with in person.

[ENTER BEST FRIEND]

Which’d be Queertastic :’)

“Oh I have a blog too, I’ve just began actually” xD

She’s been everything these last two years. There’s nothing I haven’t shared with her and there’s been nobody in my entire life that I’ve learnt more from. The angel’s kept my engines running.

I’d actually introduced the the aforementioned blogs to her before that and to have another figure that I’d already looked up to, precede TMoM and even give birth to it – was incredibly valuable.

And soon enough of course, the four-word conglomeration that I’d been considering rolled off my tongue and Queertastic thought well of it too.

The only thing left to do:
A WordPress registration, early morning, 11/4/16 :’)
And hence, the impressionable Pikin‘s idea had now become his mantle.

The genesis of TMoM was symbol of me at my best; it came at the right time. And hence, this empowering, liberating blogspace is my Patronus against the Dementors of quotidian life (which I’m probably just too weak to handle).

Here’s to more from Midnight’s Very Own; au revoir 🙂giphy1

ode to anti-hero everyman.

(wowww it has been a while, hasn’t it? I apologise. I’m horrific under a workload. I often convince myself I have an XXL one as well ugh xD)
(on a more post content-related note; open your eyes because you’re almost always gonna find an anti-hero everyman, almost everywhere. always. everywhere. almost.)

Oh blind-side plus,
Won’t call someone outright “beautiful” or “intelligent”,
But you still know how to treat us.

Oh boy never-next-door,
You’ll say we’re “not-dumb” and “not-ugly”,
No wonder everyone thinks of you an extra bore,
But they never got to know you more.

Oh classroom anti-hero,
Not even you know
That you’re the quotidian key-role,
The bridge between the feel-good that grows
To make us feel-great, us undeserving minnows.

Exploited blind-side plus,
Angelic boy never-next-door,
My purposeful pulse,
Oh classroom anti-hero.

the art of misconstrual.

(been on my mind for a couple of hours, this has)
(again with us humans being funny-weird xD)

Now this actually came to me as I sat in a library with some English Literature assignments sprawling before me. Well no, it had nothing to do with the literature though xD
Atleast not this one 😉

Well my untamable thoughts spread to Death (no don’t worry, I’m neither nihilist nor suicidal 🙂 )in one direction and to the undeniably catchy song, ‘The Sound’ by The 1975 which has this one line;

There’s so much skin to see, A simple Epicurean philosophy

And this is aallllll about transient pleasure and sex kay
Okay? Yeah so it got me thinking like wait a minute but the Epicurean perspectives on not fearing death definitely don’t comply with the terribly common understanding that anything ‘Epicurean’ advocates sex and hedonism.

Truth is; Epicurus never really vouched for these, atleast not explicitly. As a philosopher, his ideologies lie in happiness, life and contentment.

Now that’s quite a bit of a misconstrual.

(Well do expect more on the art of misconstrual 🙂 Definitely gonna revisit this in serious detail sometime it’s quite banter really xD)

ranting.

(Oh My Gosh I don’t know what this is ._.” Bear with me xD I am trying to write regularly though so I may come up with some absolute BS often soz)

Ranting.

40364959

Oh. My. Fucking. God.

(At this point I’d like to add how you shall very appreciably witness an inglorious event; I’m ranting about ranting. charming.)

I’m cringing so much right now. (How much am I going to disgust myself this month; that’s such a commonplace, small-talk thing to say oh gosh)

Yeah um I’ll just persevere to complete this post without succumbing to include any of those ^ anymore. *sharp, determined exhale*

Okay so nearly every blog out there (Okay fine, not every but a heck of a lot) is
predominantly a rant database; a microphone for giphydistress.

Blogging Norm, it hath become.

And every single time someone complains or anything
similar these days, what ensues does not do without a mention of the word, “rant“.

Right so um

Basically; it bothers me. I just inherently don’t take to the word ‘rant’ all that much.

I find myself repeating this maxim of mine increasingly wearisome, but I will continue to if the situation calls for it *sigh*:

Every word and every phrase, has its purpose, has its place.

*groans* Ohh-ah this post has been an absolutely unnecessary and an all-too-badly justified rant about rants.

Revolting. Absolutely Revolting.

crass repetitive perversity

(this didn’t start off a poem.song/whatever but it just transfigured itself into one in the process of writing eh well xD)

During exercise, a muscle is stretched and strained and taut and tight and degenerated and what not.

Especially in cases subject to strenuosity.

The common, tried-and-tested go-to method for effective muscle recovery after strenuous muscle exertion we’ve got

Is Cold.

 

Cold Press, Hot Press

Sure there’s warmth in heat packs and all that.

But none of those are applied for the purpose of recovery.

Only for relief. Up next; the slats.

 

Now the heart is a muscle.

Going cold after your heart’s been rippled or ripped is equivocally discouraged, of course.

 

But that’s only because the inherent human pursuit of happiness

Or rather; a pursuit of a paucity of negativity

Has convinced our vain species that

Warmth is the only plausible eventuality.

 

Let go of love and forget looking forward

Because that undermines all your recuperation.

Us soup boys;

Symbols-Ambassadors of the Southern Tamil Nation.

 

Bent, Clawed

Beaten, Flooredtumblr-love-36

Trashed, Slashed

Crashed, Gashed.

 

One thing unites us;

It’s this induced, justified misogyny

And a heart gone bust.

 

But even smokers keep going

Although they know they’re their own agents of killing.

 

(I have absolutely got to add that the premise of this post – as it popped into my steamy jet of rumination under a hot shower – immensely surprised me; perhaps beyond anything else this entire calendar year. Why? Because I’m no misogynist nor someone who dis-advocates love despite his celibacy backed by reason and heavy thought. I may never want to ever fall in love but I sure do keep that to myself – usually. I’ll add that the whole recovery, HotCold thing may come from the fact that my very injury-prone muscles and a couple of ice baths were put to the test following my school’s Annual Sports Meet a week ago)

sucker.

(in the true spirit of The MonarchofMidnight, this post will keep expanding, so do feel free to come back and check up on any updates as frequently as you wish :D)
(this happens to be my first poem/song xD I amn’t taking into consideration that one vain, clueless four-line, twenty-word attempt in fifth grade xD)
(I believe an apology is in order for about four months sans blog activity :/ )
sucker for art
sucker for thought
want a restart
I’m a sucker always fraught
sucker for perfection

sucker for irony
test my comprehension
I’m a sucker for my rivalries

so much obscurity

I don’t do sororities
try to tame my polarity
pseudonym-ed temerity
sucker for my backseats
Ashley
Nicolette
Frangipane
she a genius
just like we
sleepless
striking uniqueness
king and queen
ayy you’re sixteen
‘pparently I’ve a smokescreen
the greatest of us contravene
off the beaten track
don’t fear attack
daily throwbacks
walk with this colourful megalomaniac
phase out
faze out
this hedonist
knows his ways out
sybaritic, that’s what this man is
no emotion, that’s what business is
approach me at your own risk, mortal
I could quiz your biz
can’t run away from schisms
creating rifts everywhere I go
shifts in paradigms and lore
man’s such a whizz, such a prism
all you bourbonists
rests for your wrists
while you tresspass her frists
why make me clench my fists
sucker you’ve scheduled our next trist
beat yo’ ass greased
I still ain’t appeased
maybe should’ve remained a priest
what a beast
pissed and unpeaced
peeeved and pieced
my fea(s)ts are cannibalistic