masquerade

A mask you ask? Optional I find!Masks lend appeal of a mysterious kind.

Adam stared down at me, his expression thunderous. __t was you. I know it was you._ My head was rocking side to side before I could stop it. __o._ I wrenched my hand free of his. __ou__e wrong._____ not!_ Anger blazed hot behind his eyes as they burned into me. __ook at me, Kia! Look me in the eye and tell me you__e not her.

Like a Columbus of the heart, mind and soul I have hurled myself off the shores of my own fears and limiting beliefs to venture far out into the uncharted territories of my inner truth, in search of what it means to be genuine and at peace with who I really am. I have abandoned the masquerade of living up to the expectations of others and explored the new horizons of what it means to be truly and completely me, in all my amazing imperfection and most splendid insecurity.

Call me crazy, but there is something terribly wrong with this city.

That__ a stupid name! Whirly-gig is much better, I think. Who in their rightmind would point at this thing and say, ____ going to fly in my Model-A1_.People would much rather say, __et in my whirly-gig_. And that__ what youshould name it.

She leaves my side and heads deeper intothe apartment singing, ___f the spirit tries to hide, its temple far away_ acopper for those they ask, a diamond for those who stay.

I rouse Emily to our guests, as she finishes off our fifteenth snowman by setting the head atop its torso. She stands limp at my direction, pointing out the coming shadows and I cannot help but hear a muffled sigh as she decapitates her latest creation with a single push of her hand.

There is a stillness between us, a period of restlessness that ties my stomachin a hangman__ noose. It is this same lack in noise that lives, there! in thedarkness of the grave, how it frightens me beyond all things.

I can__ help but ask, __o you know where you are?__he turns to me with a foreboding glare. __o you?

Did Bach ever eatpancakes at midnight?

I steal one glance over my shoulder as soon as we are far from the foreboding luminance of the neon glow, and it is there that my stomach leaps into my throat. Squatting just shy of the light and partially concealed by the shade of an alley is a sinister silhouette beneath a crimson cowl, beaming a demonic smile which spans from cheek to swollen cheek.

History doesn__ start with a tall buildingand a card with your name written on it, but jokes do. I think someone is takingus for suckers and is playing a mean game.

Do we not each dream of dreams? Do we not dance on the notes of lostmemories? Then are we not each dreamers of tomorrow and yesterday, since dreamsplay when time is askew? Are we not all adrift in the constant sea of trial and when all is done, do we not all yearn for ships to carry us home?

The food in the hostel mess is worst of a kind. The grief in my words reach easily to those who have "been there and done that" Chapatti in the meal is either so uncooked or overly cooked and you can only expect dal in the ocean of water when you are ready to swim.

Isn't it ironic that a nightmare can masquerade as a dream?

The crucial point in life is: are we living our 'own' life or simply a life for 'other' people. Are we not playing a role on behalf of some social groups and masquerading for fear of being excluded? ( "Quest for the real moment" )

Modern society is a biological disaster masquerading as progress.

A mind is like a puzzle