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 coldest winter.

(exams right now: yay ugh. these ones carry the most significance in my life so far so ye what better way to take some pressure off than procrastinate [wasted far too much time yeesh] here, right?)

[Trice]: And what I had for you was a need,
And to be frank my core entertained it,
I held this need, so much I’m losing me
Again. The elegant touch of this pit
That holds despondent water with my head underneath;
My mirror’s bleeding from its mislead-wrists
But also from its teeth.

Memories don’t fade and the scars still linger,
Goodbye my friend;
Why’d I ever love again?
Memories made
In the coldest winter.

At the end of the day,
A monarch’s just a sinecure,
Equipped but never ready,
Feeling gifted, disillusioned and insecure.

I hate that memories retreat,
Their acquisition being the only
Argument against my frigid feet.
Hell; I’m only celibate, not holy.
But it didn’t stop me from
Crying into my sheets.

Believe me, bestie,
This is in no way an epitaph,
Prithee,
We’re not through; don’t leave, my other half,
Come with me,
Back to being intertwined
And thinking on each other’s behalf;
I’m not leaving.

Memories made in the coldest winter,
Goodbye my friend,
I won’t ever love again.
Never again.

It’s not just me shedding essence,
I hate to admit it but I have to accept
Irrevocably, a searing, dumbing absence
Of you. But;
Who’d I be without you?

(I didn’t mean to sweet-talk in any manner xD BUT HOW COULD I LEAVE THESE TWO OUT HUH? :’) )

well this has been dessicant *cri*.

(to start off with a little clarity, this is a “I haven’t been posting lately I cannaht” – post, yeah :/)

I’ll begin by exclaiming the fact that I really amn’t one for excuses. Honestly.

But it’s been a comparatively barren month, yeah.

I’ve had my preliminary mock exams taking up the largest part of the month, still not a worthy excuse.

*sigh* I’ve thirty-three drafts running and I open several every night but I can’t actually get around to writing anything ugh; it’s like cognition condition-zero here BLEH

Gah so yeah; this post doesn’t serve much of a purpose apart from the fact that it’s a little like a softcopy-slap in the face. That’s because seriously, who apart from myself actually reads this blog?

 

 

bucket hat//arizona // yung lean

All you do is run away,

Think you’re being really brave,

But all you do is enjoy the pain,

Feel it all, staying awake,

All you do is cry your days away,

Assuming your beliefs are great,

All you do is waste your stay in this world that doesn’t pay,

All you do is stay refrained,

Unadhering to the game,

Yet all you do is entangle yourself in the play that’s only humane,

Shift the blame, 

Although it’s not on your display,

All you do is declare

Your heart of despair,

Only to tear,

All you do is plead to be spared

Half-heartedly, and oh, “life’s unfair”?

You’d give anything for a delay,

You in your arrays of decay; you splay clay with grey,

You can’t obey, you can’t weigh,

No beret, no cabaret,

Resort to prayer,

All you do is proclaim that you’re not austere,

All you do is think you’re prepared,

The jacket and hair, feign debonair,

Strut, ex unico fonte fanfare,

Till you swap your lil’ square

For something to wear

Six feet beneath a breath of fresh air.

//werther//byron//chopin//baudelaire//


//murphy//morrissey//cohen//dhanush//


//6ixgod//cudi//yung//


//ROCK//

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)