Send your army home,
I won't fight tonight.
Let us sit and have a chat instead.
Tell me your story,
I won't ask you 'why'.
I won't tell you its not sad.
Bring your best wine,
I won't take you to bed.
Let's make talk, and none else.
Stop, listen, don't think,
I don't want you to see.
All the lies we hide behind the honesty.
Close your eyes, and be
Closer to the fantasy.
Yes. The one you never dared to dream.
Let me show you
The darkness you never tread.
Where I roam free, and you will too.
Find that flight of destiny,
And find the soul.
That will take you there.
And in the end,
Let us shake hands and say our bits.
Let's meet at dawn, resume our war again.
9 Feb 2012
7 Feb 2012
Id vs Ego
A: "Its important that you know that what you are doing is incorrect."
B: "Says who?"
A: "Me. Why, isn't what I think important enough to be considered at least as friendly advice?"
B: "But I'm not looking for advice. I'm looking for ....."
A: "Yes. That. I'm sure you don't know what you are looking for, and you want to find out, this is a journey... blah blah. And all that."
B: "Why? Isn't what I think important enough to be considered at least as one individual's interest and curiosity?"
A: "Why are you doing this?"
B: "What?"
A: "Turning tables... You always do that. Its unfair you know."
B: "Unfair. Incorrect. Listen to yourself!"
A: "Are you judging me?"
B: "Are YOU?"
A: "Its impossible to win an argument with you."
B: "Are you accepting defeat already?"
A: "This is redundant. Do what you want. I won't say a word."
B: "Do you think I really care what you want me to do or not?"
A: "I'd liked to think that you did. You don't, and that's my problem."
B: "Do you like walking around with the weight of the world on your shoulders?"
A: "No. Just you."
B: "Why?"
A: "What do you mean 'why'? That's a stupid question."
B: "See. I told you. We don't always have all the answers."
A: "Yes, But I like to think I do. It gives me some peace."
B: "How can you live inside your bubble, and never even look outside?"
A: "What's outside anyway? I have everything I need right here."
B: "You'd do anything to keep that illusion alive, won't you?"
A: "Yes. Its called passion. I'm passionate about the things I believe in."
B: "And if I believe that my life should be a travelogue written about the journey 'outside' the bubble, is that being devoid of passion?"
A: "But if you want to burn all bridges, how can you come back to anything? Or anyone?"
B: "What if I'm not looking to come back?"
A: "Then you walk alone."
B: "I'm not afraid of walking alone. But when I sit down, I'd like to have a nice cup of tea, with some nice people, chat, have a biscuit or two. Then get walking again."
A: "You think life is like what they say in books?"
B: "No. I don't know what life is."
A: "Then what is the point of all this philosophical engagement? Isn't it an exercise to figure 'it all out'?"
B: "Philosophy is just ideas, written in nice words, printed in jacketed covers, and specially signed by the authors, in non-posthumous cases."
A: "Is everything for you a version of theoretical cynicism?"
B: "No. More like cynical theoreticism."
A: "Is that even a word?"
B: "Who knows. Who cares."
A: "I do. Explain yourself to me."
B: "But, I really don't want to."
A: "Well, if theories and philosophies are ideas, lets hear your's!"
B: "If I write a book, I'll send you a signed and jacketed copy. Hard bound."
A: "You live in denial."
B: "Of what?"
A: "Reality."
B: "Reality is relative. My reality seems impossible to you, and your's seems unlivable to me."
A: "SO do we part ways here?"
B: "Why? Walk with me. You might like it. Leave, if you don't want to, or if you get tired, of walking."
A: "And what if 'you' leave?"
B: "As long as we are walking the same road, I don't see why I would just take off and turn another way."
A: "Wake up. There's NO ROAD."
B: "Dream a little. Maybe you'll find one there."
A: "When do you stop, and I begin?"
B: "Why do I need to stop for you to begin?"
A: "Because we cannot exist together."
B: "We ARE, because we exist together."
B: "Says who?"
A: "Me. Why, isn't what I think important enough to be considered at least as friendly advice?"
B: "But I'm not looking for advice. I'm looking for ....."
A: "Yes. That. I'm sure you don't know what you are looking for, and you want to find out, this is a journey... blah blah. And all that."
B: "Why? Isn't what I think important enough to be considered at least as one individual's interest and curiosity?"
A: "Why are you doing this?"
B: "What?"
A: "Turning tables... You always do that. Its unfair you know."
B: "Unfair. Incorrect. Listen to yourself!"
A: "Are you judging me?"
B: "Are YOU?"
A: "Its impossible to win an argument with you."
B: "Are you accepting defeat already?"
A: "This is redundant. Do what you want. I won't say a word."
B: "Do you think I really care what you want me to do or not?"
A: "I'd liked to think that you did. You don't, and that's my problem."
B: "Do you like walking around with the weight of the world on your shoulders?"
A: "No. Just you."
B: "Why?"
A: "What do you mean 'why'? That's a stupid question."
B: "See. I told you. We don't always have all the answers."
A: "Yes, But I like to think I do. It gives me some peace."
B: "How can you live inside your bubble, and never even look outside?"
A: "What's outside anyway? I have everything I need right here."
B: "You'd do anything to keep that illusion alive, won't you?"
A: "Yes. Its called passion. I'm passionate about the things I believe in."
B: "And if I believe that my life should be a travelogue written about the journey 'outside' the bubble, is that being devoid of passion?"
A: "But if you want to burn all bridges, how can you come back to anything? Or anyone?"
B: "What if I'm not looking to come back?"
A: "Then you walk alone."
B: "I'm not afraid of walking alone. But when I sit down, I'd like to have a nice cup of tea, with some nice people, chat, have a biscuit or two. Then get walking again."
A: "You think life is like what they say in books?"
B: "No. I don't know what life is."
A: "Then what is the point of all this philosophical engagement? Isn't it an exercise to figure 'it all out'?"
B: "Philosophy is just ideas, written in nice words, printed in jacketed covers, and specially signed by the authors, in non-posthumous cases."
A: "Is everything for you a version of theoretical cynicism?"
B: "No. More like cynical theoreticism."
A: "Is that even a word?"
B: "Who knows. Who cares."
A: "I do. Explain yourself to me."
B: "But, I really don't want to."
A: "Well, if theories and philosophies are ideas, lets hear your's!"
B: "If I write a book, I'll send you a signed and jacketed copy. Hard bound."
A: "You live in denial."
B: "Of what?"
A: "Reality."
B: "Reality is relative. My reality seems impossible to you, and your's seems unlivable to me."
A: "SO do we part ways here?"
B: "Why? Walk with me. You might like it. Leave, if you don't want to, or if you get tired, of walking."
A: "And what if 'you' leave?"
B: "As long as we are walking the same road, I don't see why I would just take off and turn another way."
A: "Wake up. There's NO ROAD."
B: "Dream a little. Maybe you'll find one there."
A: "When do you stop, and I begin?"
B: "Why do I need to stop for you to begin?"
A: "Because we cannot exist together."
B: "We ARE, because we exist together."
5 Feb 2012
February Fibs
Its 0606 hours, 6th February. I inwardly laugh at my own misfortune. I wish I wouldn't be awake. Mornings are such busybodies. Everyone has something to do, somewhere to be. I don't. Well, I don't want to. I can't stay in bed. I am wide awake. I wait... for something to happen. As usual, nothing does.
Its still that kind of cold, where when you have to leave your bathtub-sized hostel room, to go to the bathtub-less loo cubicle to do your business, the chill runs down your spine like a suspicious lover. And it lingers... also like the fierceness of an obsessed rejectee.
I step outside. I wish my mind would stop for a bit. Let me imbibe the unanalyzed morning air. But how can I?
I see blurry figures flurrying to the damp underbelly of hostel life. I see socked feet walking past me, turning back to see, the strange static state of me standing in the corridor staring at the floor, and then turn back around and resume their incidentally important schedules of all-around-the-year mundanity. Everybody is so busy. All the time.
I am waiting. To see, if I too can fit into the incessantly repetitive routines of my faceless nameless neighbors. I am waiting. But I don't think I want to really find out. Someone not so famous once said, questions should be asked when you have the courage to know the answer. Because more often than not, you already know the answers you seek, but sometimes you want it to be something else, and hence the query. However, that renders all questions as rhetorical.
So, if there be no questions that really have answers, why then do we ask them? Is it the everlasting hangover of the forbidden fruit?
A wise man child told me "man needed something to do between the time his stomach was full and when he got hungry again
so he thought
and took the cake
the dogs lay, the lions snored and the elephants went for a wash
but man he thought
and took the cake"
Its still that kind of cold, where when you have to leave your bathtub-sized hostel room, to go to the bathtub-less loo cubicle to do your business, the chill runs down your spine like a suspicious lover. And it lingers... also like the fierceness of an obsessed rejectee.
I step outside. I wish my mind would stop for a bit. Let me imbibe the unanalyzed morning air. But how can I?
I see blurry figures flurrying to the damp underbelly of hostel life. I see socked feet walking past me, turning back to see, the strange static state of me standing in the corridor staring at the floor, and then turn back around and resume their incidentally important schedules of all-around-the-year mundanity. Everybody is so busy. All the time.
I am waiting. To see, if I too can fit into the incessantly repetitive routines of my faceless nameless neighbors. I am waiting. But I don't think I want to really find out. Someone not so famous once said, questions should be asked when you have the courage to know the answer. Because more often than not, you already know the answers you seek, but sometimes you want it to be something else, and hence the query. However, that renders all questions as rhetorical.
So, if there be no questions that really have answers, why then do we ask them? Is it the everlasting hangover of the forbidden fruit?
A wise man child told me "man needed something to do between the time his stomach was full and when he got hungry again
so he thought
and took the cake
the dogs lay, the lions snored and the elephants went for a wash
but man he thought
and took the cake"
What we do with our time is what all matters to each of us. And no one else. Everyone is just pretending. Just to keep you around. For the sake of their own time. At the cost of being labeled an anarchist, or worse, a cynic, I still want to tell you how being selfish is the only way to be truly happy.
They were misleading you when they told you the story about that big lonely giant who lived all by himself and never let the children play in his big lonely garden. How redundant. Watch my Marxist friends, as you grow thinner with philosophy, hornier with the burden of ideological seduction, and angrier with yourself for still wanting to play in the consumerist garden of our capitalist giant/s. I'm sure a plural is required here.
But,
Be Stubborn
Be Strong
Be Faithful
Be Dishonest
Be Passionate
Be Cool
Be Everything,
you probably never even wanted to be.
But,
Don't be a rebel. Don't be different. Just don't be different.
In a world where everyone talks alike, walks alike, wear the same clothes, go to the same shady places to rid themselves of their shame of mediocrity, drinking cheap whisky, wondering if they'd get lucky tonight, while eyeing the only other pair of eyes that may have similar aspirations.
The romantics of dichotomy is dead.
And it took me 12 minutes, outside in the cold, to figure all that out.
Its 0730 hours now, still today. Like everyday. Is ultimately today.
I come back inside my room. Its a mess. I haven't cleaned in days. I haven't wanted to, either. I look at the stealthy sunlight trying to warm my cold bed. My cold bed. My mind races through moments of the otherwise. I hover for a bit, trying to squeeze a trifle ecstasy. ANd I begin to laugh. Laugh at the sheer irony that the thought proposes. I laugh so hard, that I think I might cry.
But we were trained to suppress emotions. Men more than women, obviously. As a woman, I'm still allowed access to more sentiments. Such a shame. Another mere tool to impose more vulnerability. I see it everyday, everywhere. In everyone.
The lizards are back on the curtain. I think there's something to reptiles and sunbathing. Think about the crocodiles, your garden variety snake and of course our beloved yellow wall-friends. Clutching casually onto the curtain, gently flowing in the morning breeze that manages to get in somehow despite the attempts at closing the sole window that I was blessed with, the creatures rest in the golden warmth of a February dawn. Undisturbed. Unworried.
Free.
I wish I was a lizard. Just to be free.
Just so, I could sunbathe through life.
No, instead, I shall now light my first joint of the day. And then perhaps sunbathe a bit, hanging from my curtain. Perhaps I shall say hello to my real neighbors then.
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