…That is how it looks on the inside, a partially frozen river that flows through this heart with snowflakes, hovering, floating, and a few drenched. These are memories that chime between the rocks. Some are carried forward; some are held back for a while and then eventually carried forward. But none of them has been quite like me, not yet. I may be just another snowflake in this crazy blizzard, but I’m different, painted in a unique color, violet. I’m silent. The temperature of my skin is lower than any of my white friends. And to this heart, as I dive in, I’ll be a memory, colder, sharper and longer.
Me and water, we’re gonna have a fight. No matter who takes the last stand, the heart where this river flows will be the one to suffer. No matter if this river carries me forward, or if I hold it back, it won’t be transparent anymore, nor will I hold my color. No one will ever be able to see through it anymore. And I’m about to leave my mark, about to haunt this heart forever, no matter how far it flows.
But right now, I’m descending deep, barreling through this thunderous sky. With absolutely no trace of the beginning, I’ve been propelled up to this point. It’s not the rattle on the outside, but the silence inside that empowers me. Those around me are staring, frowning, and a few ranting. I’m indeed the strongest of them all. I didn’t choose to be. I’m, no doubt, different than them all, even different than what I could have been. I didn’t wanna be.
I’ll be the one to make a difference, the only memory to cause this heart to feel surprised, obviously in a wicked way. I can’t help it, THAT is what I’m to do. I wonder if I will be strong enough to freeze my dominion, just the way it is for eternity. Though I can see it beginning to grow aware of my arrival, the currents are sharper, the river, agitated. Honestly, I don’t wish to hold a higher ground. Even I want to fade away, dissolving, melting slowly, and leaving behind a trail, a memory of a memory. But that is not the way, it’s going to be. I can see now, I’m stronger than this panicked, frantic and… well, transparent river.
Right before the touchdown, I realize it’s not just me. The river, it’s different, changed not like ever before. I begin to think I caused it to change, even before touching it. It’s pride of victory, and a fear of the final war. But it’s not fighting. The river, engulfed in denial, has refused to even touch any of us. A warrior afraid of defeat and still more afraid of victory has fallen on his own sword. It can’t have me hold it back, nor can it afford to carry me. It’s too scared, too scared of the unfamiliar color.
As I’m about to touch the surface, it retreats, further and further more. The deeper I go, the deeper it gets, the higher the walls become. And after a while they close in, from the top. I didn’t know it could do that. I’m trapped in a bubble with transparent walls. With my strength, sealed in with me, I’m a memory that this heart will touch no time soon. I’m gonna have to wait, wait for this heart weaken, wait for the current to slow down, wait for the walls of this bubble of denial to fall. And I’ll strike again with all my strength. I’ll freeze this river, seal it with its own sorrow. And even if I melt away and dwell in, I’ll change it forever. I’ll drive every last perfectly transparent drop into imperfection, into translucency, into violet.
Friday, December 31, 2010
Thursday, December 23, 2010
The Loudest Whisper
This year was pretty damn crazy, and probably, by far the best in my life. Now that said, it’s not because I got everything I wanted, ‘coz first thing, trust me I didn’t and second, it really doesn’t matter now, does it? It’s more about what changed, and still more about why it changed.
…Too much has changed. Too many minutes have run anticlockwise, skipped seconds, and awaited hours on an incomprehensible clock. Too many things labeled ‘new’, which I would have swore never to crave or cling to, lie untainted in my secret closet. Too many places from “where I’ve been” were unknown, and are unfamiliar. Too many of verbs built up and broken, too many words fluttered half-spoken. Too many seasons shuffled themselves in a day; too many days splashed themselves in a single rain.
I defined, redefined, and re-redefined myself, and am still nowhere to be found in the dictionary. There were times when I made a conscious effort to get distracted from the empty depths of melancholy, and then beat myself up for an inadvertent arrival of an overfed shallow wave of sanguinity. I night-walked the same roads over and over again with friends, with acquaintances, and sometimes, alone. I still am uncertain of the reality behind images that I hold in my head. Do I remember them for what they were? Did I imagine them for what they were going to be? Were they in fact what they were?
There were times when I couldn’t wait to see the end, and then were those when I could have given anything to go back to the start. I made choices that I couldn’t live with, and I lived through choices that I thought I could never make. Well, I guess, that’s how it works, that’s what time does right? When you make a choice, it just inevitably makes another choice for you, the choice for you to live with your choice.
I was flying, and sometimes drowning. If you’d ask me, I’d swear to have never touched the ground until now. Shadow boxing with the curiosity of fate, I made discoveries. With long talks, in monologues, I stumbled upon creations. I probably answered the few imperative, the “may sound stupid” questions.
As I sashayed through, I read too much into some stuff, and the rest, apparently I didn’t glance at. I was, at times persuaded of being precisely where I should have been, and moments later, convinced of being lost. And the best thing, no one else knew about it. I was nowhere to be found.
The things that I missed, I found in the partial reflections on the other side of the mirrors. Only when they held something in the top left corner, something that I didn’t have in my top left corner, I was scared to look to the right. What if something was missing there too? What if everything I wanted was a mirage, a nuance of an unattainable desire, something that the person behind the mirror already possessed.
‘Coz in the end it’s like this, if you call darkness as the absence of light, it’s fair enough to define brightness as the absence of darkness. And THAT is indeed as it should be defined, ‘coz at last THAT is what we remember, the opposites of what things are, and rather what they could have been. And someday everything will be different, everything will then be remembered for what it is right now, not for what it’s going to be.
…Too much has changed. Too many minutes have run anticlockwise, skipped seconds, and awaited hours on an incomprehensible clock. Too many things labeled ‘new’, which I would have swore never to crave or cling to, lie untainted in my secret closet. Too many places from “where I’ve been” were unknown, and are unfamiliar. Too many of verbs built up and broken, too many words fluttered half-spoken. Too many seasons shuffled themselves in a day; too many days splashed themselves in a single rain.
I defined, redefined, and re-redefined myself, and am still nowhere to be found in the dictionary. There were times when I made a conscious effort to get distracted from the empty depths of melancholy, and then beat myself up for an inadvertent arrival of an overfed shallow wave of sanguinity. I night-walked the same roads over and over again with friends, with acquaintances, and sometimes, alone. I still am uncertain of the reality behind images that I hold in my head. Do I remember them for what they were? Did I imagine them for what they were going to be? Were they in fact what they were?
There were times when I couldn’t wait to see the end, and then were those when I could have given anything to go back to the start. I made choices that I couldn’t live with, and I lived through choices that I thought I could never make. Well, I guess, that’s how it works, that’s what time does right? When you make a choice, it just inevitably makes another choice for you, the choice for you to live with your choice.
I was flying, and sometimes drowning. If you’d ask me, I’d swear to have never touched the ground until now. Shadow boxing with the curiosity of fate, I made discoveries. With long talks, in monologues, I stumbled upon creations. I probably answered the few imperative, the “may sound stupid” questions.
As I sashayed through, I read too much into some stuff, and the rest, apparently I didn’t glance at. I was, at times persuaded of being precisely where I should have been, and moments later, convinced of being lost. And the best thing, no one else knew about it. I was nowhere to be found.
The things that I missed, I found in the partial reflections on the other side of the mirrors. Only when they held something in the top left corner, something that I didn’t have in my top left corner, I was scared to look to the right. What if something was missing there too? What if everything I wanted was a mirage, a nuance of an unattainable desire, something that the person behind the mirror already possessed.
‘Coz in the end it’s like this, if you call darkness as the absence of light, it’s fair enough to define brightness as the absence of darkness. And THAT is indeed as it should be defined, ‘coz at last THAT is what we remember, the opposites of what things are, and rather what they could have been. And someday everything will be different, everything will then be remembered for what it is right now, not for what it’s going to be.
Tuesday, December 14, 2010
…Anything, anymore…
…And as I land my first step, as my left foot touches the very first grain of this red sand on this very ground, my mind is flooded with innumerous believable names for this place. But of course none of them stays too long. Each one fades into a more complex, and grows into a more erudite one.
There’s snow on the leafless trees, trapped within crystals of ice, but none on the ground. The sun is just over the horizon shimmering like a fireball, refusing to go down. Something real paranormal seems to be holding them off the ground; something or someone, probably that silhouette that I’ve been pretending not to have seen, since I got here. What else would explain its motion precisely symmetric and conflicting to mine, fastened hard to the sun, which sure does look like a halo behind it?
I remember being told that whoever steps in here, steps in a world of his own, invulnerable and impenetrable to anyone else from the outside. So I continue to ignore that figure, I walk on in search of what I came for. But how long did you think I could go on? It’s a glass wall, a freakishly tall glass wall, extending endlessly. As I touch it, I realize that its ice, weirdly dry and transparent leaf of ice. And after all this, the figure, the silhouette didn’t stop this time, it continued to walk on with me stuck behind the wall.
Well, what else was I to do; I locate something bulky and strong enough to consume the wall. I bolt it up against the wall, and no different than my expectation, it fractures, but holds up straight. Everything on the far side appears to be broken; it’s like looking out to the world through a shattered windscreen. But the figure holds on, and walks back to where it should have been, had it not kept moving forward. Well, the wall, it crumbles into splinters of ice, which once again do not touch the ground are blown away indefinitely by the wind. I stop to wonder if I could call it snow, but no longer could the thought keep me from noticing that everything on the far side still holds its cracks embedded. Everything, including the figure is still fractured.
The figure leans back against a grey brick wall. Does it expect me to follow? Yes, I do hesitate, I do try to betray my own instinct, seems easy for a while. There’s a war raging within me, a battle between the two longstanding rivals for prudence, my instinctive nudge and my experienced, incorrigible self. Another time, another overflow of thoughts, another overspill of feelings; does the figure see my world as fractured too? Why is it still waiting? What is it waiting for? Does it want to fix it? Do I appear broken too? Is it just me or someone else really there? And a few million more like those… I stay, I wait to wonder, and then contemplate the irony of the wonderment. Is it too late now, too late to walk, too late to talk? I feel jammed for some reason, unable to think clearly and with no desire to let go, unable to leave, and not wanting to stay.
The figure starts there, and I take my first step for the second time. I start to feel cold for the first time, but somehow manage not to care, not now! It has started to snow again. The pure white flakes touch the ground to turn red, and then melt away. This place confides in me for the first time, it beheld white sand all along, tainted by the blood of everyone who had ever been here. But I ain’t gonna bleed, not now! I brush against one of the trees in rush and find it not cracked anymore. Everyplace I go, everything I touch is not just unbroken but also tells me that even if, on any level, it’s a dream, I am not to wake up yet.
The dissonance, with a flicker, with a touch dies away to dwell into a deep silence instead. I remember having heard that inspiration always comes cloaked, and tantalizing like this, but I don’t remember being here before. This is different. I’m not looking for anything anymore, but something, I hope, is looking for me.
Monday, November 8, 2010
The Masquerade - A scene from 'Miracles'
[Don't wanna reveal names yet. Bear with me please.]
She was cold, choked in the pungent air that filled the miasma. A feeling that had silently perpetuated over the past year deep inside her subconscious was all geared up to surface any moment. She was trying too hard, too hard to shove back the mere thought of losing control. If only she could figure out the precise moment that led her there. Though she had walked down her blurred memory lane, driven through M’s glib and vivid dreams and glided up the myriad of possible futures, the present or anything tangible for that matter seemed to have left her with nothing but uncertainty.
J had caught a glimpse of this saturnine look on E’s face, the last time, right before she vanished into thin air, leaving behind a musty bubble of air.
“Don’t you think this party is a little too low profile to admire your paranormal performance of disappearing? Or going invisible… what was that again?” He said, as he sashayed up to her.
She was always annoyed by these subtle sarcastic comments that J instinctively made. But right then she could use some reconciliation. Her demeanor, by then, had grown too mercurial to pull off a consummate pretence.
“That certainly is disappearing, going invisible would cause people bump and crash into me. It’s a party, your party, remember? And anyway, nothing is further from mind as of now.” She grew defensive and stood on her toes as she spoke.
“Wearing masks as a theme doesn’t seem such a bad idea now. Does it?”
“Not bad, just stupid enough. I don’t understand why you would want to wear masks in a party. Isn’t the entire concept about celebrating, and getting to know people?”
“It indeed is. And I’ve given my guests just that, an opportunity to be themselves and get to know people as they are, not as they would have been. By making them secure of their identities, I’ve given them a chance to leave behind their mundane expectations and apprehensions.”
“That’s not true….”
“…Not everyone can read minds, remember?” J interrupted.
“I wonder if a mask would have taken my mind off M’s untimed visits.”
“I’m sure, you’ll grow habitual. After all, it’s a perpetual masquerade, you see, the kind where everyone is the architect of his own disguise and even the genius of his own malaise. It’s Life.”
[I'm gonna leave you at that.]
She was cold, choked in the pungent air that filled the miasma. A feeling that had silently perpetuated over the past year deep inside her subconscious was all geared up to surface any moment. She was trying too hard, too hard to shove back the mere thought of losing control. If only she could figure out the precise moment that led her there. Though she had walked down her blurred memory lane, driven through M’s glib and vivid dreams and glided up the myriad of possible futures, the present or anything tangible for that matter seemed to have left her with nothing but uncertainty.
J had caught a glimpse of this saturnine look on E’s face, the last time, right before she vanished into thin air, leaving behind a musty bubble of air.
“Don’t you think this party is a little too low profile to admire your paranormal performance of disappearing? Or going invisible… what was that again?” He said, as he sashayed up to her.
She was always annoyed by these subtle sarcastic comments that J instinctively made. But right then she could use some reconciliation. Her demeanor, by then, had grown too mercurial to pull off a consummate pretence.
“That certainly is disappearing, going invisible would cause people bump and crash into me. It’s a party, your party, remember? And anyway, nothing is further from mind as of now.” She grew defensive and stood on her toes as she spoke.
“Wearing masks as a theme doesn’t seem such a bad idea now. Does it?”
“Not bad, just stupid enough. I don’t understand why you would want to wear masks in a party. Isn’t the entire concept about celebrating, and getting to know people?”
“It indeed is. And I’ve given my guests just that, an opportunity to be themselves and get to know people as they are, not as they would have been. By making them secure of their identities, I’ve given them a chance to leave behind their mundane expectations and apprehensions.”
“That’s not true….”
“…Not everyone can read minds, remember?” J interrupted.
“I wonder if a mask would have taken my mind off M’s untimed visits.”
“I’m sure, you’ll grow habitual. After all, it’s a perpetual masquerade, you see, the kind where everyone is the architect of his own disguise and even the genius of his own malaise. It’s Life.”
[I'm gonna leave you at that.]
Saturday, November 6, 2010
Drops of Coincidence
Call me crazy, should you now for I am here, and I don’t know how.
Two drops of water, not too far away
chimed through the rocks, got stuck in the way.
Two 'strangers' slipped on the damn 'nuisance'
And for all they knew, this was just a coincidence.
Talk, they could for they had a lot to laugh at.
But then, they thought, “Where’s the fun in that?”
Like glaciers, they could melt away, leave behind this moraine
And they did try, it’s just that they slipped again.
Call us crazy, should they now.
For we are here, and we know just how.
Friday, October 29, 2010
The Face of True Emotion
It was a face, a face of the feeling, an emotion that exudes from the rest of the body in slow motion, deceptive as a hologram, and convincing as an incorrigible fact. The face was placid as the whites in rebellious piece of art, but evasive as the skipped words of a love song. Defied, denied, thrown away and then picked up. Caressed, embraced, and with a mask then covered up.
There was an unidentified, unfamiliar, exceptionally rare power, a magic abiding beneath the mask. The mystery, an insatiable black hole as it seemed, collided with the brightest comet. Another face, the one sure of itself went right through the mask, crashed into the face, and with a flicker in the top left corner of its left eye pulled the eyelids closed.
As the eyes opened, the mask disappeared. It’s envied, the face of emotion, that particular deceptive, convincing one. What has remained is the power, the now identified, familiar, still rare power, the magical face, the face of true emotion, the face of true feeling.
There was an unidentified, unfamiliar, exceptionally rare power, a magic abiding beneath the mask. The mystery, an insatiable black hole as it seemed, collided with the brightest comet. Another face, the one sure of itself went right through the mask, crashed into the face, and with a flicker in the top left corner of its left eye pulled the eyelids closed.
As the eyes opened, the mask disappeared. It’s envied, the face of emotion, that particular deceptive, convincing one. What has remained is the power, the now identified, familiar, still rare power, the magical face, the face of true emotion, the face of true feeling.
Sunday, October 24, 2010
Her second 'first encounter' with confusion : A scene from 'Miracles'
As the day broke, she imitated the smile effortlessly as her dream wryly smiled at her memory. The memory that had conceived the dream last night, and had rolled the ball too far to return, was not ever to fade away. Her mind, the cradle for both, the dream and the memory, was in fact a little too preoccupied to be called awake or even to fall back asleep.
Not just preoccupied. Entangled, as a matter of fact, in a wreath of thoughts and feelings. Thoughts, that were transparent, some invisible and others impenetrable. Feelings, that were vivid, some incomprehensible and others inexplicable.
Her ears could still hear a melody, a euphony rather, having more words than music. Like the shell that carries along with it the sound of ocean, the air had held on to their words. Everything in that room ricocheted one or two words towards every other thing. Everything fell in place, in time, in order. She could virtually touch the dominoes falling around her to complete the mosaic, her life.
The thought scared her a little. A world beyond her own but she was there, a momentary stay where she never wanted to be, and an unforgettable memory that was once forgotten tantalized her. She had been unknowingly dwelling on the things, that she was convinced could never be.
Leaving would be easy, but then she never had a knack for the easy things. Staying would be just as hard, but would it be worth the effort? It was her first encounter with what others recognize as ‘confusion’, for the second time.
Not just preoccupied. Entangled, as a matter of fact, in a wreath of thoughts and feelings. Thoughts, that were transparent, some invisible and others impenetrable. Feelings, that were vivid, some incomprehensible and others inexplicable.
Her ears could still hear a melody, a euphony rather, having more words than music. Like the shell that carries along with it the sound of ocean, the air had held on to their words. Everything in that room ricocheted one or two words towards every other thing. Everything fell in place, in time, in order. She could virtually touch the dominoes falling around her to complete the mosaic, her life.
The thought scared her a little. A world beyond her own but she was there, a momentary stay where she never wanted to be, and an unforgettable memory that was once forgotten tantalized her. She had been unknowingly dwelling on the things, that she was convinced could never be.
Leaving would be easy, but then she never had a knack for the easy things. Staying would be just as hard, but would it be worth the effort? It was her first encounter with what others recognize as ‘confusion’, for the second time.
Friday, October 22, 2010
Alix and Alex: Creating Coincidence
[The northwest corner of Schmagen library echoed with their whispers. Alix got up from across the table in a rush, walked over swiftly, but sat next to Alex rather limply.]
Alix: “Listen close. What I’m about to tell you may not be absolutely candid, but as of now, as I speak it is going to burn the very last cell in my body.”
Alex: “One of the few skills that I excel at- listening ‘coz you see… I know when to stop talking. You go now.”
Alix: “Yeah, you’re gonna have to be just a little more serious this time.”
Alex: “Consider it done. Go on.”
Alix: “I haven’t been myself for a past few months. You see, I’ve been trying to discover, define who I am. But all I seem to be doing is losing bits of myself, transcending them from perceptible to more self conscious with every attempt.”
Alex (interrupting her): “Since when are you so fond of defining things… and yourself? “
Alix: “I’m not a sound believer of defining things, but for this once I feel like this is the only way even to fumble through. And moreover it’s not about ‘defining’ defining, it’s…”
Alex (interrupting her): “May I dare ask the context of the vaguely candid confession of yours?”
Alix:” It’s more about the creating firm projections, the way you, and others see me. That, I believe, is not to be played around with, not in numbers far beyond comprehension. It’s beginning to scare me.”
Alex: “So it’s more like experiencing something for the first time over and over again.”
Alix: “Yeah, sometimes. All I know that even if I can or cannot change someone else’s perception, I myself should be aware of who I am.”
Alex: “Do you believe in coincidences?”
Alix: “Are you even listening to me? What does that have to do with this… Well! Yeah maybe I do.”
Alex: “Yes, and that in itself is a coincidence. So anyway, what I’m trying to say is that there are so many things around you happening in a breath, that most of them go unnoticed. But only those that are of interest to you get labeled as ‘coincidence’.”
Alix: “Yeah, okay, okay! But how is that even remotely related right now?”
Alex: “Well! You are like that breath. Only the parts that are of interest to others will get labeled. They’ll never be able to see what lies inside. The violet beneath the blue, the ghost behind the curtain, the eyes in the twilight, they all go unnoticed.
Alix: “Are you suggesting me to give this up then?”
Alex: “No. I’m suggesting you to confront them, the decisions that you made against yourself, and the choices that you made under the impression of self defiance. Betray the search for reasons, befriend the alibi.”
Alix: “As powerful as it sounds, I’m not sure if it makes much sense.”
Alex: “Let the moment pass… It’ll make sense.”
Alix: “Uh huh. Then perhaps I’d be able to label call all this a coincidence.”
[The northwest corner of Schmagen library, with only two of the six seats occupied, was quiet, reminding them of just what they both had grown to be for each other.]
Alix: “Listen close. What I’m about to tell you may not be absolutely candid, but as of now, as I speak it is going to burn the very last cell in my body.”
Alex: “One of the few skills that I excel at- listening ‘coz you see… I know when to stop talking. You go now.”
Alix: “Yeah, you’re gonna have to be just a little more serious this time.”
Alex: “Consider it done. Go on.”
Alix: “I haven’t been myself for a past few months. You see, I’ve been trying to discover, define who I am. But all I seem to be doing is losing bits of myself, transcending them from perceptible to more self conscious with every attempt.”
Alex (interrupting her): “Since when are you so fond of defining things… and yourself? “
Alix: “I’m not a sound believer of defining things, but for this once I feel like this is the only way even to fumble through. And moreover it’s not about ‘defining’ defining, it’s…”
Alex (interrupting her): “May I dare ask the context of the vaguely candid confession of yours?”
Alix:” It’s more about the creating firm projections, the way you, and others see me. That, I believe, is not to be played around with, not in numbers far beyond comprehension. It’s beginning to scare me.”
Alex: “So it’s more like experiencing something for the first time over and over again.”
Alix: “Yeah, sometimes. All I know that even if I can or cannot change someone else’s perception, I myself should be aware of who I am.”
Alex: “Do you believe in coincidences?”
Alix: “Are you even listening to me? What does that have to do with this… Well! Yeah maybe I do.”
Alex: “Yes, and that in itself is a coincidence. So anyway, what I’m trying to say is that there are so many things around you happening in a breath, that most of them go unnoticed. But only those that are of interest to you get labeled as ‘coincidence’.”
Alix: “Yeah, okay, okay! But how is that even remotely related right now?”
Alex: “Well! You are like that breath. Only the parts that are of interest to others will get labeled. They’ll never be able to see what lies inside. The violet beneath the blue, the ghost behind the curtain, the eyes in the twilight, they all go unnoticed.
Alix: “Are you suggesting me to give this up then?”
Alex: “No. I’m suggesting you to confront them, the decisions that you made against yourself, and the choices that you made under the impression of self defiance. Betray the search for reasons, befriend the alibi.”
Alix: “As powerful as it sounds, I’m not sure if it makes much sense.”
Alex: “Let the moment pass… It’ll make sense.”
Alix: “Uh huh. Then perhaps I’d be able to label call all this a coincidence.”
[The northwest corner of Schmagen library, with only two of the six seats occupied, was quiet, reminding them of just what they both had grown to be for each other.]
Sunday, October 3, 2010
The Fall
When I was finally standing on the moon’s smoothest surface, its gravity started to disappear. And somewhere in between my conscience was entangled in the persuasion of a star that for sure, looked closer from up there. I walked around the entire equator several times with the night sky in my eyes and the star in my mind.
Never did I feel the need for oxygen, ‘coz every time I looked up, the star took my breath away anyway. Never did I want anyone to talk to, ‘coz then I would have to listen to what they had to say. Never did I want anything more than nothing, ‘coz everything I needed was in front of my eyes. I wasn’t afraid if I would fall down, ‘coz then, maybe I’d be another star in the skies. Never did I try not to get lost, ‘coz I knew that I didn’t want to be found by anyone but the star.
I’m hanging from a faint mnemonic vapor trail of the fall. Now that the gravity has entirely disappeared, the moon’s leisurely falling down on earth, the vision’s blurred. The star’s brightness resides inside of me, more intense than anything, inspiring me to stay far from who I thought I was, closer to who I really am. But a splinter of stardust also lies in me. I can simply dwell into reality and let go of it. If I do, I can land safely for it is the only weight I carry.
Saturday, October 2, 2010
"weapon of choice- words" or "words of choice- weapons"
Things that I say or things that you listen?
Things that matter or the things that still matter?
Overtaken sarcasm or undertaken euphemism?
Articulated tranquility or incoherent chatter?
Who think they know or who you think know you?
Senseless sensitivity or sensitive nonsense?
Creative magic or magical creation?
Innocent stupidity or stupid innocence?
Things that matter or the things that still matter?
Overtaken sarcasm or undertaken euphemism?
Articulated tranquility or incoherent chatter?
Who think they know or who you think know you?
Senseless sensitivity or sensitive nonsense?
Creative magic or magical creation?
Innocent stupidity or stupid innocence?
Thursday, September 30, 2010
But then, will you?
You remember how you got here. Don’t you? You remember being entangled in a muddle of emotions. Don’t you? Your head was hanging backwards from your shoulders. Wasn’t it? You mouth was too tired to utter another word. Wasn’t it?
Too far from reality, a sole resident in this world, not your own, sinking in quicksand. Weren’t you? Reading between the lines. Were you? Found something interesting. Did you? The lines have grown apart now. Didn’t you want them to? The voices have grown faint now. Didn’t you want them to?
So inadvertently convinced that you’ll “get there”, you’re not moving at all. Are you? With a mere glance at every next colour, you’re having a ball with self conceived rainbows. Aren’t you? You say you don’t know what’s on your mind. But you do know what’s not. Don’t you? You seem trust your intuition, but appear to believe your counter intuition. Don’t you?
You declared to have found beauty in everything “just as it is”. Didn’t you? You claimed to have discovered content in silence. Didn’t you? But the crazy circus outside still tempts you. Doesn’t it? But this obtuse spontaneity still entices you. Doesn’t it?
If not waiting for anything. Why the hourly countdown? If not longing for something. Why the daily count up? You’ll figure this out someday. Won’t you? And when that day comes, you’ll leave here. But then, will you?
Too far from reality, a sole resident in this world, not your own, sinking in quicksand. Weren’t you? Reading between the lines. Were you? Found something interesting. Did you? The lines have grown apart now. Didn’t you want them to? The voices have grown faint now. Didn’t you want them to?
So inadvertently convinced that you’ll “get there”, you’re not moving at all. Are you? With a mere glance at every next colour, you’re having a ball with self conceived rainbows. Aren’t you? You say you don’t know what’s on your mind. But you do know what’s not. Don’t you? You seem trust your intuition, but appear to believe your counter intuition. Don’t you?
You declared to have found beauty in everything “just as it is”. Didn’t you? You claimed to have discovered content in silence. Didn’t you? But the crazy circus outside still tempts you. Doesn’t it? But this obtuse spontaneity still entices you. Doesn’t it?
If not waiting for anything. Why the hourly countdown? If not longing for something. Why the daily count up? You’ll figure this out someday. Won’t you? And when that day comes, you’ll leave here. But then, will you?
Sunday, September 26, 2010
Prologue to 'Miracles'
Most of you must know of only three universal divisions – Hell, Earth and Heaven. I have spent decades of my life in the fourth.
I’ve not been a part of your world for quite some time now. My thoughts are always almost clear before this swirl of memories hits me from nowhere. And then suddenly, somehow I don’t know what’s on my mind anymore.
I try to figure out what's wrong. But my heart has been glued to something unseen, something unknown, and unfamiliar. I search the past to find something to compare it to. But everything is blurred, tainted with a desire, deeper than my own, to grasp firmly to the fragility this reverie. I try to look into the future with no higher hope than to find something relevant, something related. And as I do, I find it ironic that everything is related, originated from now, from this unseen, unknown, unfamiliar feeling.
They say that in order not to remember something, sometimes, you have to give up trying to forget it. I’m giving up, ready to confront the choices that I made against Michael's aspirations.
We all do believe in miracles at some point in our lives, not because we have witnessed one but because we want one for ourselves. Perhaps when I’m done telling you this story, this swirl of memories will fade away.
With closed eyes,
Breaths louder than sighs
It makes me wonder,
Somewhere down under
Would I still be me,
If us would still be we?
Had I done what I could
What you said I should.
- - Elizabeth Phyn
I’ve not been a part of your world for quite some time now. My thoughts are always almost clear before this swirl of memories hits me from nowhere. And then suddenly, somehow I don’t know what’s on my mind anymore.
I try to figure out what's wrong. But my heart has been glued to something unseen, something unknown, and unfamiliar. I search the past to find something to compare it to. But everything is blurred, tainted with a desire, deeper than my own, to grasp firmly to the fragility this reverie. I try to look into the future with no higher hope than to find something relevant, something related. And as I do, I find it ironic that everything is related, originated from now, from this unseen, unknown, unfamiliar feeling.
They say that in order not to remember something, sometimes, you have to give up trying to forget it. I’m giving up, ready to confront the choices that I made against Michael's aspirations.
We all do believe in miracles at some point in our lives, not because we have witnessed one but because we want one for ourselves. Perhaps when I’m done telling you this story, this swirl of memories will fade away.
With closed eyes,
Breaths louder than sighs
It makes me wonder,
Somewhere down under
Would I still be me,
If us would still be we?
Had I done what I could
What you said I should.
- - Elizabeth Phyn
Sunday, September 19, 2010
Alix and Alex- Part 2
{Alix giggles as the two walk down a mildly crowded sidewalk.}
Alex: “You know that no one likes it when you do that.”
Alix: “Do what?”
Alex: “That. When you make someone believe that you have something to say and then pretend that you don’t.”
Alix: “It’s just something I read somewhere. It has my mind working overtime. It had an intensely ironic central question. A part of it goes like this,
My persistence would tempt the curiosity of fate to sway
If only an insistence of fate would let my persistence stay"
Alex: “Are you making fun of me again?”
Alix: “I am not, if you tell me what was it that you were going to write after that.”
Alex: “I can’t. I don’t have the entire thing figured out quite yet.”
Alix: “Oh! Come on Alex. I know you don’t write unless you have a complete tangible idea in mind.”
Alex: “It’s a sensitive matter my dear. And given my articulacy, I do not allow myself the luxury of discussing it verbally, not with you at least.”
Alix: “Are you scared Alex, scared that the dexterity of your sensitivity will render it unreal in some way?”
Alex: Tell me something. Will you be convinced if I stated it factually that people, you and I for instance, live in different worlds?
Alix [interrupting him]: “Is that a question for me to answer or are we already inside your secret topic?”
Alex: "Both, I’ll have to say. And that an individual is only capable of fancying or despising someone else’s world, not his own.”
Alix: "Maybe… If it’s the ‘trying to be someone else’ saga you are referring to, yeah absolutely."
Alex: “Like they always say, ‘Be yourself’ and most of us reply by 'how the hell could I possibly be anyone else'. But then one day when you stop running and look back and all you can come up with is- ‘Oh shit!’”
Alix: “It is agreeable to some extent. We all have been in depths of melancholy when a longing exists and in paralic waters where our mere existence feels shallow.”
Alex: "Yeah exactly. That was the entire idea."
Alix: "And what about the two lines I accidentally stumbled on?"
Alex: "That life always brings you back to yourself. You get out of bed one day watching your dreams come to life. But it’s only when something knocks you off-track, it occurs to you that you are still dreaming, just sleepwalking instead…"
Alix: "…And you stop trying to be anyone, but just accept who you really are."
Alex: "Yeah, right. So now, in just less than 15 minutes you have officially stolen its essence."
Alix: "But it wasn’t a waste of time. Was it now?"
Alex: "Maybe not."
Alix: "That’s good to know."
Alex: "Would it have been bad if I would have said ‘maybe’ instead?"
Alix: "Then, my dear Alex, it just would have been ‘not good’.”
{A calm smile takes over any other noticeable expression on their faces, as they walk down the mildly crowded sidewalk.}
...click here for Alix and Alex part 1
Alex: “You know that no one likes it when you do that.”
Alix: “Do what?”
Alex: “That. When you make someone believe that you have something to say and then pretend that you don’t.”
Alix: “It’s just something I read somewhere. It has my mind working overtime. It had an intensely ironic central question. A part of it goes like this,
My persistence would tempt the curiosity of fate to sway
If only an insistence of fate would let my persistence stay"
Alex: “Are you making fun of me again?”
Alix: “I am not, if you tell me what was it that you were going to write after that.”
Alex: “I can’t. I don’t have the entire thing figured out quite yet.”
Alix: “Oh! Come on Alex. I know you don’t write unless you have a complete tangible idea in mind.”
Alex: “It’s a sensitive matter my dear. And given my articulacy, I do not allow myself the luxury of discussing it verbally, not with you at least.”
Alix: “Are you scared Alex, scared that the dexterity of your sensitivity will render it unreal in some way?”
Alex: Tell me something. Will you be convinced if I stated it factually that people, you and I for instance, live in different worlds?
Alix [interrupting him]: “Is that a question for me to answer or are we already inside your secret topic?”
Alex: "Both, I’ll have to say. And that an individual is only capable of fancying or despising someone else’s world, not his own.”
Alix: "Maybe… If it’s the ‘trying to be someone else’ saga you are referring to, yeah absolutely."
Alex: “Like they always say, ‘Be yourself’ and most of us reply by 'how the hell could I possibly be anyone else'. But then one day when you stop running and look back and all you can come up with is- ‘Oh shit!’”
Alix: “It is agreeable to some extent. We all have been in depths of melancholy when a longing exists and in paralic waters where our mere existence feels shallow.”
Alex: "Yeah exactly. That was the entire idea."
Alix: "And what about the two lines I accidentally stumbled on?"
Alex: "That life always brings you back to yourself. You get out of bed one day watching your dreams come to life. But it’s only when something knocks you off-track, it occurs to you that you are still dreaming, just sleepwalking instead…"
Alix: "…And you stop trying to be anyone, but just accept who you really are."
Alex: "Yeah, right. So now, in just less than 15 minutes you have officially stolen its essence."
Alix: "But it wasn’t a waste of time. Was it now?"
Alex: "Maybe not."
Alix: "That’s good to know."
Alex: "Would it have been bad if I would have said ‘maybe’ instead?"
Alix: "Then, my dear Alex, it just would have been ‘not good’.”
{A calm smile takes over any other noticeable expression on their faces, as they walk down the mildly crowded sidewalk.}
...click here for Alix and Alex part 1
Wednesday, September 8, 2010
Stolen
The time has slowed down, and so has the rain. I can see through every drop, I can hold it, stop it from touching the ground if I want. I decide to stay a little longer in this gazebo, for this rain is no ordinary one. As I gaze through the droplets, I look into another world, memories trapped right at the center of every sphere, images so clear that I seem to be losing the sense of reality.
Everything else however, seems to be running at its normal pace. Most faces that pass me by don’t turn back, and the ones that do, are cloaked by the closeness of my vision to the drops. A peculiar ricochet from each droplet suppresses every syllable of theirs.
An irrefutable desire takes over me, drowns me and itself into one of the few drops right in front of my eyes. There’s no ground in here, a rather mixed, combined sensation of walking underwater and flying. Time once again seems to have returned at its ‘normal’ speed or maybe it’s just an illusion as I’m inside this droplet that appears too tired to descend.
I go over, in, out, in again, and out again from drops to drops, memories to memories. The times from when I could have blown away the sun, to when I would have pulled the moon a little closer. From when I would climb up myself and scream from the top of my head, to when I would crawl down under my foot and hide silently.
I try to hold on to some moments, literally hold them and slice through some others with a butter knife. But I end up turning the diamonds into puddles, the former ones, and somehow two smaller drops falling at my feet from the later.
Just as I begin to think whether I should leave, comes a drop and I’m pulled in without any self-control whatsoever. This can’t be. I’m looking at a figure just standing and starting out in open at the falling rain. Another figure appears into the picture. It appears to be looking straight at me. I’m sure, as they’re the only eyes that I can see.
The figure holds up its hand, shapes it somewhat close to a claw, and starts waving into the rain. I witness a rearrangement of drops, it causes them to hold up, rise and fall slower or faster, virtually defying all that is known as gravity. It says: “you have been stolen from the time scale”, and one of the pillars, closest to the figure bubbles up, splashes down into the water underneath, as if it was made of water and wrapped up in a fragile envelope.
The figure turns right, the claw, the waving, defying gravity, and another writing appears: “Not to be bound by anyone, you have chosen to bind yourself, here”. Another large splash, the entire gazebo quakes, but holds itself through.
The figure appears to be rushing, looks back at me, the other me, staring at the rain, and then looks down. I see that we are not too far from hitting the puddle at the bottom. After all, the drop was falling at whatever speed, it had to hit the ground. I look up again, another scribble for me: “I know you from the past, and you’ll know me in the future”. The entire gazebo now stands on one central pillar. Wait… not the entire, one half falls down.
The figure steps away from the swamped area, and moves close to me, the other me, who is still staring in the rain, ignorant of what is happening. As the other half is about to turn into water and splash down, the figure starts running out, towards me. It splashes into me, pushing me out of the drop.
I’m dry. The gazebo still stands. The time and rain however keep changing their speed, high, low, high again, up to the normal and back to slow. I think of stepping out, I decide to let go of the control, to let the rain fall on my skin, to let the diamonds hurt and flow through me.
The mere thought causes the pillar upright to ‘bubble up and splash down’. And then the others, in the same sequence ‘bubble up and splash down’. I decide not to walk out, not right now, to let the roof ‘bubble up and splash down’ on me. And so it does.
Time and rain return to their normal speed. Most faces that pass me by, turn back.
They see me, hear me. I observe them, listen to them.
Everything else however, seems to be running at its normal pace. Most faces that pass me by don’t turn back, and the ones that do, are cloaked by the closeness of my vision to the drops. A peculiar ricochet from each droplet suppresses every syllable of theirs.
An irrefutable desire takes over me, drowns me and itself into one of the few drops right in front of my eyes. There’s no ground in here, a rather mixed, combined sensation of walking underwater and flying. Time once again seems to have returned at its ‘normal’ speed or maybe it’s just an illusion as I’m inside this droplet that appears too tired to descend.
I go over, in, out, in again, and out again from drops to drops, memories to memories. The times from when I could have blown away the sun, to when I would have pulled the moon a little closer. From when I would climb up myself and scream from the top of my head, to when I would crawl down under my foot and hide silently.
I try to hold on to some moments, literally hold them and slice through some others with a butter knife. But I end up turning the diamonds into puddles, the former ones, and somehow two smaller drops falling at my feet from the later.
Just as I begin to think whether I should leave, comes a drop and I’m pulled in without any self-control whatsoever. This can’t be. I’m looking at a figure just standing and starting out in open at the falling rain. Another figure appears into the picture. It appears to be looking straight at me. I’m sure, as they’re the only eyes that I can see.
The figure holds up its hand, shapes it somewhat close to a claw, and starts waving into the rain. I witness a rearrangement of drops, it causes them to hold up, rise and fall slower or faster, virtually defying all that is known as gravity. It says: “you have been stolen from the time scale”, and one of the pillars, closest to the figure bubbles up, splashes down into the water underneath, as if it was made of water and wrapped up in a fragile envelope.
The figure turns right, the claw, the waving, defying gravity, and another writing appears: “Not to be bound by anyone, you have chosen to bind yourself, here”. Another large splash, the entire gazebo quakes, but holds itself through.
The figure appears to be rushing, looks back at me, the other me, staring at the rain, and then looks down. I see that we are not too far from hitting the puddle at the bottom. After all, the drop was falling at whatever speed, it had to hit the ground. I look up again, another scribble for me: “I know you from the past, and you’ll know me in the future”. The entire gazebo now stands on one central pillar. Wait… not the entire, one half falls down.
The figure steps away from the swamped area, and moves close to me, the other me, who is still staring in the rain, ignorant of what is happening. As the other half is about to turn into water and splash down, the figure starts running out, towards me. It splashes into me, pushing me out of the drop.
I’m dry. The gazebo still stands. The time and rain however keep changing their speed, high, low, high again, up to the normal and back to slow. I think of stepping out, I decide to let go of the control, to let the rain fall on my skin, to let the diamonds hurt and flow through me.
The mere thought causes the pillar upright to ‘bubble up and splash down’. And then the others, in the same sequence ‘bubble up and splash down’. I decide not to walk out, not right now, to let the roof ‘bubble up and splash down’ on me. And so it does.
Time and rain return to their normal speed. Most faces that pass me by, turn back.
They see me, hear me. I observe them, listen to them.
Monday, September 6, 2010
Partial Reflections
And as I look up, I see mirrors, thousands of indistinguishable rectangular pieces that form the walls, the floor, and the ceiling up above. Thousands of mirrors form millions of reflections. Every single me, slightly different than any other me.
At a length I recognize a white door, I try to count, four, no eight, no twelve mirrors in fact are replaced by a white panel with a crystal knob on it, confirming that it is, indeed a door. I’m not sure if there’s a ground beneath the glass floor, or if it will break by the pressure when I walk. I ask myself whether running through will help leave the shattering glass behind, or should I walk, careful, diligent slowing down at some steps and pacing on others.
Anyhow, I decide to walk. Funny thing! Only a few of my reflections are following me, I gaze at them all one by one, right in the eye. It doesn’t take me much longer to figure out that as I accelerate, more of me start to follow. I wonder if there is a scientific explanation to the phenomenon, but end up even more bewildered. The floor seems to be stable enough so I speed up further, but I see no more additions to the legion.
I reach the door. I try to push the door open, rotate the knob otherwise, and again try to push. I hear a mocking giggle in the background. One of my ‘non-followers’? What the hell! I think. I try to pull the door this time. It opens and I can figure out the laugh.
Soon the reflections that had been following me, start to frown, some show a hint of anger, some of disappointment, and some of pure despair. They don’t say anything. I convince myself into thinking that they can’t.
There it was. Another room of mirrors and mirrors and mirrors all over again. And another door, again forced me to wonder, sixteen, no twelve again! This one was closer, maybe that’s why the door appeared bigger in the scenery.
I understand, or at least I try to. I pretend to feel for them for I have to leave, never to see them again, for I don’t believe in “looking back”. Reassured, I run towards this next door. A smaller room beholds but still millions of new reflections. Once again not everyone follows. It takes me less time to get through and even lesser to figure out that what is there on the other side of the room. I knew I had to pull the door this time. I choose to ignore the frowned, angry, disappointed, and despaired faces. And so I did. To my surprise, I wasn’t wrong. Another room full of mirrors, still smaller.
I go through hundreds other such doors. Somewhere in the middle hence I get stuck, my followers however pass me by up to the end. I look down. I wonder if the mirror under me has melt down, or I thought the reflection underneath has held me. It’s neither.
I was holding me. The part of me whose reflections were never moving, walking or running with me, was holding me. He steps out of me, stands in front of me. He looks me back in the eye, and then at his, our reflections, billions of them now. He starts walking the other way, running the other way.
Now I stand here. This room of mirrors, rooms rather. All of them having two doors, entry and exit as I recall, they’re called. Now I stand here. My imprecise intellect starts to see, realize, and appreciate. A smile on my face tries to betray the sense of regret in my eyes. Now I stand here. “The door was in fact meant to be pushed. The entry was the exit, and the exit, the entry. For when I looked up, I just looked up, for I don’t “look back”. There must have been a way out, a door behind me in the first place.”
Now I stand here. I decide, choose, under my own influence to turn back, to retrace my steps exactly the opposite way. I’ll run first, and walk later. Maybe the floor will crack this time, given the opposite pressure and fatigue from the previous time. Maybe the “first” door will lead me to another, larger room. Maybe I’ll get frustrated of the increasing size of rooms, and my decreasing speed. And maybe after traveling through another hundreds of rooms I’ll decide again at some point to head “back”. Maybe I’ll be back at this same point some time in the future. But I have to take this chance, I want to, for I have nothing to lose.
The new reflections, just formed, have started frowning. I choose to meet their tranquility with chaos, and their interest with apathy. And so, on this day I begin, again.
At a length I recognize a white door, I try to count, four, no eight, no twelve mirrors in fact are replaced by a white panel with a crystal knob on it, confirming that it is, indeed a door. I’m not sure if there’s a ground beneath the glass floor, or if it will break by the pressure when I walk. I ask myself whether running through will help leave the shattering glass behind, or should I walk, careful, diligent slowing down at some steps and pacing on others.
Anyhow, I decide to walk. Funny thing! Only a few of my reflections are following me, I gaze at them all one by one, right in the eye. It doesn’t take me much longer to figure out that as I accelerate, more of me start to follow. I wonder if there is a scientific explanation to the phenomenon, but end up even more bewildered. The floor seems to be stable enough so I speed up further, but I see no more additions to the legion.
I reach the door. I try to push the door open, rotate the knob otherwise, and again try to push. I hear a mocking giggle in the background. One of my ‘non-followers’? What the hell! I think. I try to pull the door this time. It opens and I can figure out the laugh.
Soon the reflections that had been following me, start to frown, some show a hint of anger, some of disappointment, and some of pure despair. They don’t say anything. I convince myself into thinking that they can’t.
There it was. Another room of mirrors and mirrors and mirrors all over again. And another door, again forced me to wonder, sixteen, no twelve again! This one was closer, maybe that’s why the door appeared bigger in the scenery.
I understand, or at least I try to. I pretend to feel for them for I have to leave, never to see them again, for I don’t believe in “looking back”. Reassured, I run towards this next door. A smaller room beholds but still millions of new reflections. Once again not everyone follows. It takes me less time to get through and even lesser to figure out that what is there on the other side of the room. I knew I had to pull the door this time. I choose to ignore the frowned, angry, disappointed, and despaired faces. And so I did. To my surprise, I wasn’t wrong. Another room full of mirrors, still smaller.
I go through hundreds other such doors. Somewhere in the middle hence I get stuck, my followers however pass me by up to the end. I look down. I wonder if the mirror under me has melt down, or I thought the reflection underneath has held me. It’s neither.
I was holding me. The part of me whose reflections were never moving, walking or running with me, was holding me. He steps out of me, stands in front of me. He looks me back in the eye, and then at his, our reflections, billions of them now. He starts walking the other way, running the other way.
Now I stand here. This room of mirrors, rooms rather. All of them having two doors, entry and exit as I recall, they’re called. Now I stand here. My imprecise intellect starts to see, realize, and appreciate. A smile on my face tries to betray the sense of regret in my eyes. Now I stand here. “The door was in fact meant to be pushed. The entry was the exit, and the exit, the entry. For when I looked up, I just looked up, for I don’t “look back”. There must have been a way out, a door behind me in the first place.”
Now I stand here. I decide, choose, under my own influence to turn back, to retrace my steps exactly the opposite way. I’ll run first, and walk later. Maybe the floor will crack this time, given the opposite pressure and fatigue from the previous time. Maybe the “first” door will lead me to another, larger room. Maybe I’ll get frustrated of the increasing size of rooms, and my decreasing speed. And maybe after traveling through another hundreds of rooms I’ll decide again at some point to head “back”. Maybe I’ll be back at this same point some time in the future. But I have to take this chance, I want to, for I have nothing to lose.
The new reflections, just formed, have started frowning. I choose to meet their tranquility with chaos, and their interest with apathy. And so, on this day I begin, again.
Friday, September 3, 2010
Alex and Alix
The original creation was done using different names so I've removed the portion wherever anyone was addressed by name. Let me know what you think.
Alex: Do you come here often?
Alix: Just when I need to get out, and I need to get out alone.
Alex: You mean when you are sad.
Alix: Not exactly, but yeah, when I’m quite a bit below the line and I can’t even remember why.
Alex: You’re aware that time has an amazing feature by which it keeps flowing…
Alix:...and instead of wandering around the city, if I would just go to sleep, there’ll be a new morning, a new beginning waiting for me. Is that what you want to say?
Alex: Not just that. I get your point, I know that everyone is aware of what’s right. The point is to stop running, step out of the path, jump off the tripod, and stumble on a different sight altogether.
Alix: Tell me something, if you were to photograph one thing tonight, here, what would that be?
Alex: I don’t know… Oh! Wait, I don’t see anything more beautiful than the moon at this time of the day.
Alix: Even though you know that you might get an exact same view, possibly in a fortnight and maybe a thousand other times in your lifetime?
Alex: Probably, yes. But how is that relevant?
Alix: You talk so condescendingly, so proudly about looking at things differently that you’re unable to recognize the beauty in the things so obvious. You oblige yourself to look for something different, something better in the very same things over and over again. THAT in itself is another obsession.
Alex: It’s so not true. If I’m trying to review a particular matter so as not to, as you said, ‘forget what I’m sad about’, it doesn’t mean that I’m unable to see other things. It just means that I choose to ignore other irrational things for the time being…
Alix: That is what an obsession is my dear, you know, you feel distracted when you are distracted. You haven’t chosen to ignore other things, you have grown habitual to you obsession, just because it’s easier that way.
Alex: Perhaps, you’d have noticed, given such philosophical knowledge of yours, that you have a tendency to project your feelings as facts. Not everyone is a fan of such acuity.
Alix: So considering this ‘everyone’ of yours or anyone for that matter, you’d rather prefer to be an object of appreciation than to be a subject of admiration.
Alex: No, it’s not for me or for you to be or not to be. It’s about how the world around sees me and the very creation of me as of now and any other time is affected by it. Self-righteousness as you know it can be most dangerous of all its kinds and life is, trust me a luxury for those who accept this.
Alix: A concept and an idea is all it takes to create something or someone, and if and when you set out to create something, you discover more than you could ever create. That is what, in fact materializes your mere being to what you want to be or to what the world around has made you. And then what most of us do? Choose the ‘luxury’ and deem ourselves as the reviewers of any other of such discovery.
Alex: I completely agree with what you’re saying, but just because something is easy it doesn’t have to wrong. The concept, the idea, the creation altogether is meant to be realized. Isn’t it? All I’m trying to say is that anyone, sensible, will choose realization over absolute abstraction.
Alix: Absolutely, indeed anyone will, but it’s going to take quite a few visits to this realization to actually part the half grown grass from the half diminished one, or a day will come when everything has faded away and you realize that nothing was ever growing. You however took an extra step each time to reach there and find everything somewhere in between…
Alex: And by then you’d have convinced yourself that the matter is out of control, and if only there was another line of sight to this. Oh! Wait, that is what I’ve been doing so far, and I haven’t been ‘sad’.
Alix: Yes, to some extent you are right, it does help. But there is always a tradeoff between the time you spend manipulating the situation for a desired ending and preparing for an unexpected one.
Alex: And whatever comes up, afterwards at certain point we always realize that it is never much different…
Alix: … from what we expected?
Alex: Yes exactly, not much different from what we expected.
Alix: Isn’t it vividly easy to disagree? You can disagree with someone, even if you haven’t formed an opinion of yourselves yet.
Alex: What can I say? I guess we are just two tough people who have a knack for easy things.
Alex: Do you come here often?
Alix: Just when I need to get out, and I need to get out alone.
Alex: You mean when you are sad.
Alix: Not exactly, but yeah, when I’m quite a bit below the line and I can’t even remember why.
Alex: You’re aware that time has an amazing feature by which it keeps flowing…
Alix:...and instead of wandering around the city, if I would just go to sleep, there’ll be a new morning, a new beginning waiting for me. Is that what you want to say?
Alex: Not just that. I get your point, I know that everyone is aware of what’s right. The point is to stop running, step out of the path, jump off the tripod, and stumble on a different sight altogether.
Alix: Tell me something, if you were to photograph one thing tonight, here, what would that be?
Alex: I don’t know… Oh! Wait, I don’t see anything more beautiful than the moon at this time of the day.
Alix: Even though you know that you might get an exact same view, possibly in a fortnight and maybe a thousand other times in your lifetime?
Alex: Probably, yes. But how is that relevant?
Alix: You talk so condescendingly, so proudly about looking at things differently that you’re unable to recognize the beauty in the things so obvious. You oblige yourself to look for something different, something better in the very same things over and over again. THAT in itself is another obsession.
Alex: It’s so not true. If I’m trying to review a particular matter so as not to, as you said, ‘forget what I’m sad about’, it doesn’t mean that I’m unable to see other things. It just means that I choose to ignore other irrational things for the time being…
Alix: That is what an obsession is my dear, you know, you feel distracted when you are distracted. You haven’t chosen to ignore other things, you have grown habitual to you obsession, just because it’s easier that way.
Alex: Perhaps, you’d have noticed, given such philosophical knowledge of yours, that you have a tendency to project your feelings as facts. Not everyone is a fan of such acuity.
Alix: So considering this ‘everyone’ of yours or anyone for that matter, you’d rather prefer to be an object of appreciation than to be a subject of admiration.
Alex: No, it’s not for me or for you to be or not to be. It’s about how the world around sees me and the very creation of me as of now and any other time is affected by it. Self-righteousness as you know it can be most dangerous of all its kinds and life is, trust me a luxury for those who accept this.
Alix: A concept and an idea is all it takes to create something or someone, and if and when you set out to create something, you discover more than you could ever create. That is what, in fact materializes your mere being to what you want to be or to what the world around has made you. And then what most of us do? Choose the ‘luxury’ and deem ourselves as the reviewers of any other of such discovery.
Alex: I completely agree with what you’re saying, but just because something is easy it doesn’t have to wrong. The concept, the idea, the creation altogether is meant to be realized. Isn’t it? All I’m trying to say is that anyone, sensible, will choose realization over absolute abstraction.
Alix: Absolutely, indeed anyone will, but it’s going to take quite a few visits to this realization to actually part the half grown grass from the half diminished one, or a day will come when everything has faded away and you realize that nothing was ever growing. You however took an extra step each time to reach there and find everything somewhere in between…
Alex: And by then you’d have convinced yourself that the matter is out of control, and if only there was another line of sight to this. Oh! Wait, that is what I’ve been doing so far, and I haven’t been ‘sad’.
Alix: Yes, to some extent you are right, it does help. But there is always a tradeoff between the time you spend manipulating the situation for a desired ending and preparing for an unexpected one.
Alex: And whatever comes up, afterwards at certain point we always realize that it is never much different…
Alix: … from what we expected?
Alex: Yes exactly, not much different from what we expected.
Alix: Isn’t it vividly easy to disagree? You can disagree with someone, even if you haven’t formed an opinion of yourselves yet.
Alex: What can I say? I guess we are just two tough people who have a knack for easy things.
Sunday, August 29, 2010
Inertia
I've seen no piece of land, my inertia pulls me further.
Amid oceans I've ridden cyclones, I've seen no zephyr
My inertia pulled me before I could label them as friend or foe.
Amid the ocean, riding cyclones, once again I can only feel vertigo.
Amid oceans I've ridden cyclones, I've seen no zephyr
'Sorrow' clutched my hand, "Stay. You must not seek bliss.
Its brightness blinds, I'm bound to leave you stronger."
'Bliss' had waited for me, "It's your call, not mine after all.
I can bless you with the perfect ending. It's me remember?"
'Expectation' couldn't wait. "Extremist for you travel on water,
You must know sorrow and bliss are lies, just parts of me."
'Dream' came along, "My perfect beginning never ends.
I'm where your worries fade. Here you can forever be."
My inertia pulled me before I could label them as friend or foe.
Amid the ocean, riding cyclones, once again I can only feel vertigo.
Saturday, August 21, 2010
A detour
If appearances were indeed deceiving, would you deceive me?
If I were to give myself, would you or would you not receive me?
A place you have never been, the lost shall know the locale better
I've just arrived here, I know not the way out, neither the vicinity.
A choice made is not just the one, choice to live with hangs beside
Slide under and your head gets stuck, can't rise over in vertigo city.
I know not how to swim. A boat shall get me through the waterway
"What if the boat sunk? Don't you know I can't swim?" you'd say in vain
"I would walk underwater then, I don't mind carrying you along too.
Even if the Gods were to cry at the shipwreck, we'll never feel the rain."
Tell me, if appearances were deceiving, would you deceive me?
If I were to speak my heart, would you or would you not believe me?
Monday, August 16, 2010
A fragile reverie
A bubble in a bubble, from inside and outside, stressed double.
And it's a dark spell, a common impression, a false expression.
Embarked on, with a sword of glass in hand, searching shapes in clouds,
you swirled around in tornadoes around the circle to see it as a sphere.
Listen now, to the echoes of sound, see through the reflections of light.
collect the cannonballs, as they collapse down from the skies so clear.
A fine crack on the cornea of left eye crushes the view as you know it,
tried and failed to trace the sparks to the depths of the deepest ocean.
Lead self to the 8th dimension again, counterfeit a relinquishment again,
Reconcile with the lights, sounds, for all have already been set in motion.
A bubble in a bubble, I know the feeling, you are stressed double.
The spell need not a wizard, breakout, now, crack the walls outward.
Saturday, August 14, 2010
Denial of the devil's advice
"Let yourself be carried away, as far beyond reality, on a devil's advice
I said, "as far you would let go of self on the rhythm of an angel's sighs."
Seven minutes past midnight, indistinct, defensive, he pushed me in rush
Wrote down and tore off, one thing and every other, he hadn't done yet.
He woke up the next morning, sensed an indecorous tranquility in the air
He climbed up a tree, and wondered whether to forget or rather to regret.
"Don't let the very last idea you possess be corrupted by that single desire"
I said, "walk with me, rule the ground for now, when you still have a chance
It was an illusion, a dream, where what you watched, saw, observed, inferred,
were all the same." Intense was his face, with his mind lost in its own romance.
I said, "let yourself be carried away, far beyond reality, on a devil's advice."
"No", he screamed. Too bright was that shade of black, the one in his eyes.
Monday, August 9, 2010
Thoughts and Words
To everyone, anyone in that room would seem well articulated
Still Alix lately believed, entire concept of "talk" to be overrated.
To everyone, anyone in that room would seem well articulated
They really were Alix's thoughts that did need to be navigated.
Still Alix lately believed, entire concept of "talk" to be overrated.
Tangled up in the petite loops of a long chain, falling off a metal skin,
every word without a thought, pulling another after, just made noise.
She had witnessed it all, rationality wrestling away the sensibility
With each word sonic scribbled over previous, emotion lost its poise.
Do away, she wanted to with the calculations, with the science of trust
If only the intuition and the inspiration were still anywhere to be found
In nuances of color in raindrops, in haphazard waves of snowflakes
Her silent thoughts claimed words, just like a dance would, to a sound.
To everyone, anyone in that room would seem well articulated
They really were Alix's thoughts that did need to be navigated.
Saturday, July 31, 2010
The face on the bent
The percussion in my head and the shimmer of the sight,
A lot of the first, a bit of the second made me walk the night
Soon after the night was no longer there to be called mine
As I moved on, I witnessed the moonlight touch the sunshine
A lot of the first, a bit of the second made me walk the night
A lot later, after only a few steps, I saw a face too tired to smile
Carrying that face was the rest of the body standing in the bent
Earlier he said, in the paralic waters, he was angry , he had yelled
Funny, how I could only see regret and a little disappointment
Said, his day had been red and the night was running blue
And of course, If I could have I would have painted them each
I paused; Let my vivid imagination run wilder than ever,
yeah!! the night in a deep purple and the day in a light peach.
Soon after the night was no longer there to be called mine
As I moved on, I witnessed the moonlight touch the sunshine
Friday, July 16, 2010
The white wavy ghost
The disappointed, white wavy ghost whom I couldn't understand
spoke to me in a voice so sweet, as he sat on the back of his hand
"For the times you don't know what to say. Accept this from me to you."
The disappointed white wavy ghost left my house, took his first flight.
As he left, he spoke to me in a voice so sweet, "oh!, Is that why you write?"
spoke to me in a voice so sweet, as he sat on the back of his hand
High in his hopes, deep in his expectations, he sat next to me
scared, in fact petrified he went up and down his unsung song.
despite his blurry words, regardless of his being a ghost,
his melody left me wondering- "What could possibly be wrong?"
Pretty soon, bored of reading his expressions, I asked him to write.
"I'm afraid of ghosts." evidently bizarre, made me ask why it was so?
He paused for a while, shrugged twice and wrote "I can't wait anymore
They are just too busy haunting humans, getting their own ducks in a row."
"Aren't you afraid of humans?" Clearer than crystal, this time he spoke.
Speechless. For he had asked me a question, I didn't have the answer to,
I picked up the pen and the paper he dropped, handed them back to him
The disappointed white wavy ghost left my house, took his first flight.
As he left, he spoke to me in a voice so sweet, "oh!, Is that why you write?"
Saturday, April 24, 2010
'Gravity of this land'
Unknown is who stood up first and who will make the last stand
if it is the gravity against me or is it me against the gravity of this land
One day I'll not even care "how come this is exactly what I planned"
was it the gravity against me or was it me against the gravity of this land.
if it is the gravity against me or is it me against the gravity of this land
If this gravity should ever disappear, should I be ever left floating
will I endure the risk, will I move forward, faster than ever
will I keep my promise to myself, deluded, will I rise higher
or will I still hit the ground without a sound, be there forever
I have walked the promenade in and around my palace with dozens
and yes, I have scoured the sea under my fortress for miles
I have watched over the world from the top of my citadel for hours
I have driven through the shortest highway, crawled the longest aisles
One day I'll not even care "how come this is exactly what I planned"
was it the gravity against me or was it me against the gravity of this land.
Wednesday, March 24, 2010
The idea behind "Full Moon"
I'll always be the full moon of your starless dark night
and just like always, just in time, I'll let your sun shine.
And as the dawn breaks, as you soar higher,
I will look forward to look at you look for me.
Wrapped up in frenzy, with wind brushing off your senses
lost in surreality, but you will be captured by a desire to flee.
Slowly I will turn, still keeping an eye on you
from a distance, watching you trying to push open the door.
Smiling as you smile, for the top of the door said "pull"
I'll then return, I will catch you before you hit the floor.
I'll always be the full moon of your starless dark night
and just like always, just in time, I'll let your sun shine.
Friday, March 19, 2010
something that you already know............
I was just reading something and I came across Beck's cognitive theory, really helpful to those.... actually to all of us, after all we all are down for a while in our life.
So..... this process involves emphasis on reality based interpretations of information and actively seeks to minimize the many ifs, buts, ands and maybes that may haunt us. We often tend to ‘read into’ situations, things which in reality are not there, it is our own interpretations which are faulty.
So..... this process involves emphasis on reality based interpretations of information and actively seeks to minimize the many ifs, buts, ands and maybes that may haunt us. We often tend to ‘read into’ situations, things which in reality are not there, it is our own interpretations which are faulty.
He advanced 3 basic strategic questions to a process of cognitive restructuring
What is the evidence supporting the current conclusion ?
What is another way of looking at the same situation but reaching another conclusion?
Its funny that it'll take you to lose something to notice that someone else is missing something else. And the funnier thing is that this can be easiest to digest at times, and hardest to swallow at others.
I'll follow what i think is right, and if u follow what u think is right, we may no longer walk together, but we'll meet again at the stage called "happiness" .
All I have to say was best quoted in a blog i came across,
Thursday, March 4, 2010
Choices....
A spark in my nerves, a thought in my brain
I may choose to talk, or I wait for it to be read
Its then, when I say "I don't care" too many times
that I care the most, and all of it is left unsaid.
scared of a frowned face and a bruised heartbeat,
comes out a comment on the weather, instead.
If I take you for granted,when I dare to share
minutes will shrink to seconds, I'll jump ahead.
I may not even notice that you are not smiling
already lost, we both are once again misled.
Now, its up to you to listen and see,
crossroads to somewhere, voice and depths of silence
or a road to nowhere, noise and heights of words.
You are exactly where I was, Its your turn now.
A spark in your nerves, a thought in your brain
You may choose to talk, or You can wait for it to be read.
I may choose to talk, or I wait for it to be read
Its then, when I say "I don't care" too many times
that I care the most, and all of it is left unsaid.
scared of a frowned face and a bruised heartbeat,
comes out a comment on the weather, instead.
If I take you for granted,when I dare to share
minutes will shrink to seconds, I'll jump ahead.
I may not even notice that you are not smiling
already lost, we both are once again misled.
Now, its up to you to listen and see,
crossroads to somewhere, voice and depths of silence
or a road to nowhere, noise and heights of words.
You are exactly where I was, Its your turn now.
A spark in your nerves, a thought in your brain
You may choose to talk, or You can wait for it to be read.
Wednesday, February 24, 2010
The four stages of "Growing up"
A simpler thought, for all those who had trouble understanding previous ones ;)
The four stages of "Growing up"
The kid...
Just a kid, i don't have a special name for this category.
You are enclosed in two shells of crystal with water in between them, and that's precisely how you see everyone else.
You never try to understand what you can't comprehend. You think out aloud. You listen to statements literally not figuratively. And the water inside your shell always protects you from the "unexpected" radiation of any unknown feeling.
The Grown up kid ;)
The bully.
Something just drained out the "water". Its new, a feeling that everyone else is still inside their shells, isn't it?
To you except a few others, everyone is still a kid. You think out even louder. You don't listen at all. Now you don' have a choice. You can not go back to being a kid. Soon you'll jump to the next level.
The grown up
The fader... that's what I call them.
This is where the fun begins, here you have a choice to go back to being a kid or a bully. You can identify and even understand why a person is a kid or a bully.
Understanding this makes you a face reader (fader :P). You know exactly what the person opposite to you is going to say and precisely what he means. But you care way too much about somethings, and way too less about the rest to do anything.
You think a lot, say too less. You obviously listen both literally and figuratively.
The over-grown up
The Player
The wicked stage :P. Now you don't just have a choice to being anyone, or not just the understanding but also the capability to play around a little with the rest. You can make a kid transcend into a bully, you can manipulate a fader into being anyone of the other two.
Now you just can not read expressions but change them. Now just about everything concerns you and you will anyway swoop into it.
You think in excess, you talk in excess too. You listen figuratively.
So where do you place yourself?
The four stages of "Growing up"
The kid...
Just a kid, i don't have a special name for this category.
You are enclosed in two shells of crystal with water in between them, and that's precisely how you see everyone else.
You never try to understand what you can't comprehend. You think out aloud. You listen to statements literally not figuratively. And the water inside your shell always protects you from the "unexpected" radiation of any unknown feeling.
The Grown up kid ;)
The bully.
Something just drained out the "water". Its new, a feeling that everyone else is still inside their shells, isn't it?
To you except a few others, everyone is still a kid. You think out even louder. You don't listen at all. Now you don' have a choice. You can not go back to being a kid. Soon you'll jump to the next level.
The grown up
The fader... that's what I call them.
This is where the fun begins, here you have a choice to go back to being a kid or a bully. You can identify and even understand why a person is a kid or a bully.
Understanding this makes you a face reader (fader :P). You know exactly what the person opposite to you is going to say and precisely what he means. But you care way too much about somethings, and way too less about the rest to do anything.
You think a lot, say too less. You obviously listen both literally and figuratively.
The over-grown up
The Player
The wicked stage :P. Now you don't just have a choice to being anyone, or not just the understanding but also the capability to play around a little with the rest. You can make a kid transcend into a bully, you can manipulate a fader into being anyone of the other two.
Now you just can not read expressions but change them. Now just about everything concerns you and you will anyway swoop into it.
You think in excess, you talk in excess too. You listen figuratively.
So where do you place yourself?
Saturday, February 13, 2010
Ironically Ironical
Said the moon to the wolf,
know it, if you really want to
know what's inside my head,
tell me what I want to listen,
not what you'd have said.
but then to know what to say
you have to listen to the unsaid.
ohh, its a stupid damn circle,
and its so ironically ironical.
replied the wolf to the moon
staring at the hourglass,
i thought time was like sand.
waiting since the last spring
i had it all planned
but then no one told me,
this was no ordinary sand,
ohh, on the inside i saw drizzle
and its so ironically ironical.
said the talker to the listener
let me narrate you a story
I'll commence whenever i want
Do not interrupt in between,
whenever i'll feel like, I'll halt
but the talker didn't realize
its not easy holding him there
ohh, it should have been simple
and its so ironically ironical
Still, silent was the listener
observing the observer, he thought
whenever you start, just remember
Anytime I can stop listening
just like i did in the last September.
The story had already ended,
The undeniable power was all mine
ohh but i never wanted to control.
And its so ironically ironical.
Standing tall on the Alps I thought
some are scared of the future,
Some of the past, some of the stall
Did you really forget about the present.
Life isn't all fair after all,
Ironies will make you hallucinate,
Ironies will make you sway
But I'm no easy to get,
My friend, I'm here to stay.
know it, if you really want to
know what's inside my head,
tell me what I want to listen,
not what you'd have said.
but then to know what to say
you have to listen to the unsaid.
ohh, its a stupid damn circle,
and its so ironically ironical.
replied the wolf to the moon
staring at the hourglass,
i thought time was like sand.
waiting since the last spring
i had it all planned
but then no one told me,
this was no ordinary sand,
ohh, on the inside i saw drizzle
and its so ironically ironical.
said the talker to the listener
let me narrate you a story
I'll commence whenever i want
Do not interrupt in between,
whenever i'll feel like, I'll halt
but the talker didn't realize
its not easy holding him there
ohh, it should have been simple
and its so ironically ironical
Still, silent was the listener
observing the observer, he thought
whenever you start, just remember
Anytime I can stop listening
just like i did in the last September.
The story had already ended,
The undeniable power was all mine
ohh but i never wanted to control.
And its so ironically ironical.
Standing tall on the Alps I thought
some are scared of the future,
Some of the past, some of the stall
Did you really forget about the present.
Life isn't all fair after all,
Ironies will make you hallucinate,
Ironies will make you sway
But I'm no easy to get,
My friend, I'm here to stay.
Saturday, February 6, 2010
I'm permanent....
Opinion.... everyone has one about everything. That's where the fun begins, no matter how predictable or how spontaneous yours is, its always the best :P.
And amongst the innumerable of them, there are 3 things you can do. Not every time, but as an instinctive act, most of the time one will be chosen.
1. Give up, be convinced
2. Deny, convince
3. Weather right or wrong, gather more like yourself
Now, lets jump to somewhere in future. Lets see where, or rather how are you.
1. The one who got convinced more often.
A little confused, maybe dissatisfied, envious!!. Your opinion does matter. Its just that the person sitting next to you will be thinking "ok.... bring it on ". Trust me, all this time trying to find a common ground, you have done the best job.
2. The one who convinced more.
You yourself maybe dazzled by your genius, and so maybe some others. But there will be people, a few, waiting for, expecting trouble. Thinking "I knew it."
3. The one who was busy gathering!
Assuming that majority is always right, you are everyone's favorite. If you can, this is the best thing to do. But the question is "Okk... the best!!. Is it the right one too??".
Enough of this crap now.. lets get to the point.
Wherever you place yourself, wherever you place me, I wouldn't let these categories overrule the way I see you. And I believe you wouldn't even.
And amongst the innumerable of them, there are 3 things you can do. Not every time, but as an instinctive act, most of the time one will be chosen.
1. Give up, be convinced
2. Deny, convince
3. Weather right or wrong, gather more like yourself
Now, lets jump to somewhere in future. Lets see where, or rather how are you.
1. The one who got convinced more often.
A little confused, maybe dissatisfied, envious!!. Your opinion does matter. Its just that the person sitting next to you will be thinking "ok.... bring it on ". Trust me, all this time trying to find a common ground, you have done the best job.
"convince" whenever you will, you will strive for the next.
2. The one who convinced more.
You yourself maybe dazzled by your genius, and so maybe some others. But there will be people, a few, waiting for, expecting trouble. Thinking "I knew it."
Willingly surrender, you will sometimes "be convinced" , just to fit in.
3. The one who was busy gathering!
Assuming that majority is always right, you are everyone's favorite. If you can, this is the best thing to do. But the question is "Okk... the best!!. Is it the right one too??".
realize, if you could, you are a headache to the other two
Enough of this crap now.. lets get to the point.
Wherever you place yourself, wherever you place me, I wouldn't let these categories overrule the way I see you. And I believe you wouldn't even.
"When you think that you’re all alone
And all you know seems so far away and everything is temporary,
Rest your head
I'm permanent....."
And all you know seems so far away and everything is temporary,
Rest your head
I'm permanent....."
And if you are reading this I'd love to know what you feel. Whoever you are, feel free to comment.
Wednesday, February 3, 2010
Concentric VS EcCeNtRiC
It seriously intrigues me, and i really never could understand, why? Why are people so scared of the unconventional. Don't they ever get sick of the conventions and want to make their own rules, so as to break them too some day.
Yes, accepted, there is a "reason" behind everything. Ever thought that there might have been another reason behind the "reason". But then why do I need to, when I can simply walk away, deny, follow the "convention". Easy. Isn't it? Who knows, if it's a wise denial or just a fear deep inside an insecure mind, who would give anything to be certain. Now a hill on your left doesn't justify your assumption of an infinite abyss on your right. Does it?
"Sometimes it's the risk of getting hurt that's beautiful,
and worse is being numb and feeling nothing at all."
'Perspective' is the word.
What do YOU want to see?
But before I get all tangled up in ignorance, I would prefer to observe for myself. Observe and believe that something/someone can't be all bad. Maybe, I'll turn off my headlights to let you unfreeze. Time spent trying something, time spent talking to someone will only get me somewhere.
"Sometimes the words may not get through. But trust me, most of the time, they do."
But then again, Its my perspective.
So next time, around me, be sure that someone's watchin ya.
I know what you are thinking. What is all this about? I'll tell ya.
This is a reflex of what I see around. Or maybe I'm just as scared as you are. Who knows?
Yes, accepted, there is a "reason" behind everything. Ever thought that there might have been another reason behind the "reason". But then why do I need to, when I can simply walk away, deny, follow the "convention". Easy. Isn't it? Who knows, if it's a wise denial or just a fear deep inside an insecure mind, who would give anything to be certain. Now a hill on your left doesn't justify your assumption of an infinite abyss on your right. Does it?
"Sometimes it's the risk of getting hurt that's beautiful,
and worse is being numb and feeling nothing at all."
'Perspective' is the word.
What do YOU want to see?
But before I get all tangled up in ignorance, I would prefer to observe for myself. Observe and believe that something/someone can't be all bad. Maybe, I'll turn off my headlights to let you unfreeze. Time spent trying something, time spent talking to someone will only get me somewhere.
"Sometimes the words may not get through. But trust me, most of the time, they do."
But then again, Its my perspective.
So next time, around me, be sure that someone's watchin ya.
I know what you are thinking. What is all this about? I'll tell ya.
This is a reflex of what I see around. Or maybe I'm just as scared as you are. Who knows?
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