She wakes me

Every night that I fall exhaustingly to my foreseen death, I’m resurrected by some wicked creature wailing in misty morning. This creature of unfathomable charm that in the first place, by its indifference, almost inspires the free soul out of the physical dimension – now transpires to half-wake his solemn sleep of apathy. 

Dearest, I’m content in my perseverance but I lack direction. I’m at length with my indignation but I am short of anger. Of love songs I’m aware, of love I lack understanding. For love does the world struggle yet I so appear to be incapable of effort in love like the day itself - I fall and rise every day, much like the day itself passes through the event horizon time and again.

But then I ask, what purpose is of love if it were to require effort in breathing. And of what purpose is love if all is – to the indignant man – a result of devil’s interest in mankind or perhaps god’s disinterest? What sort of war is this where the warrior is at the mercy of a sweet disposition of the enemy? 

Why does she wake me then from my sombre grave? Why not, indeed, let me be fallen forever for I will no longer falling when there is no space below. Why does she fail to understand that in such futility what purpose is it to wake – to stand bare feet, with a half-naked mind in front of a door to nowhere - on a road that stretches from nowhere to nowhere? Or to stare at the man who prays out of a barred window – into the air and question to yourself – why is he even alive. What fate had decided on his deserving? 

Remember, this is the door to austere madness that lures the peaceful mind – through its flirtatious ways – the half-naked mind into the world of worldly desire – the world of physical awakening – that perhaps depicts a metaphysical carnage! Here, men are put still – still as stones – between fear and sadness conveniently ignorant of the direness of such door. You speak, dearest, what escape is madness out of sadness for man nurses man for both! Of what purpose is such passage that allows a temporary ignorance – an illusion of attainability? 

Thus answer this, dearest, of what purpose is my awakening to such world where war is prevalent warriors are not, where dreams are prevalent – dreamers are not, where stardom is prevalent – but stars burn!

But she wakes me, and my conscience to her reflects my persuasive innocence. And she is convinced or perhaps conned into believing that I deserve to live – that I deserve to suffer. And with her best intentions, in her completeness and most ardent love, she wakes me.

This near-completeness, this almost perfection is in a way treacherous for the artist as it almost inspires – and I must stress upon almost! It almost inspires the poet into a distressful negation of his wits, the painter into murder of his own precedent – his bare pattern upon which he would lay the caricature. And it could also almost inspire the scientist into questioning the methodology of nature – into how despite the principles of entropy can such simplicity and such iridescence coexist in one form? And at last it will almost inspire the philosopher into wondering why does anything – anything at all but she - exists?

I lay an immense importance on a rather miniscule imperfection – for I fail to see this imperfection. This is why all her beauty and effortlessly blatant completeness only almost inspires the artist – and in actuality fails to inspire. It must not be doubted that true inspiration lies not in perfection or flawlessness or idealism but rather in the unlikely marvel and in the unexpected magnificence in cause of and in spite of its flaws.

So as the day ends, I earnestly rise up to her betrayal to speak for the last time again. I say, “Your perfection fails to inspire me” and that “Life’s astuteness succeeds to inspire me to swoon.”

Freeman

For now they stood in peace,

A million warriors, the soldiers of a condemned race,

They stood in confrontation to one - in the greatest battle

And before that to the greatest chase

to annihilate the last freeman and his despicable rattle.

They were wise men once, driven over the edge –

Pushed through the wall of insanity

Which, as it flexed

Left the most virtuous in that dire vanity -

 Men of steel, melted and resurrected - eternally convexed.

This was no war of blood and fire,

And yet be fought on conventional terms

As both beheld their weapons and armored;

They – with balls and chains and raged tantrums;

He – with his bare feet and his prudence garnered;

They had fought and lost against every freeman,

Millions against one, and yet lost against each

As they pushed each into a corner, they were

Blinded by ethereal gleam; deafened by vociferous screech

As each found his wings and flew northwards!

Wouldn’t they be furious now?

Behind songs of valor and insurgency ,

In that late summer afternoon,

As I, the last freeman rode my dreams of redundancy

Swore to live free of war, or else to swoon!

‘twas hard for them to tug me to this ground

Despite their hordes of ghosts;

Hard, indeed, for such gravity to hold me down.

Yet it was harder for me to surrender on such ruthless coasts

Harder indeed for me in infinity to stay around.

They fail to understand - to grasp onto this singularity

That to be bound is to be free of freedom,

And I’m condemned to a crime – addicted to a thought,

Conditioned to this paradox - existent in abandon -

That by nature – freedom from freedom is much sought

They fail, and yet hail victoriously as war is waged

 - Wise men who once knew that it is essential

To not just live, but to know life

As a mistress of autumn, to consume its soul –

Hail upon me - and my freedom – my precious strife.

I watch the battlefield crumble;

And it seems almost beautiful – the view,

And the sound of carnage –almost amusing;

When it happens – that what I always knew

But never quite believed – so confusing!

The wings find me, and I’m airborne;

To my unfailing choice as freedom’s vice

For once and at last it chooses to rhyme

As every curse would save the cursed, I realize

That I belonged to freedom; freedom was never mine!

Illusion of True Power/True Illusion of Power

“I have been dancing to this insane silence for a while now. Those – the cynics who used to sing of the perfect world turn inward to silence as I being to dance. It seems rudimentary to me, their state of mind. I could create a universe. But then why would I when I could dance around, splash about, spoil someone else’s.”

They came from two different worlds – the authors of destiny in this universe. They went around looking for echoes of voices that according to them should have existed – but were instead seamlessly drowned in a metaphysical carnage – a murder of every day everyday. So they decided to turn it around. They decided - because they could - that they would engage themselves forever in an inescapable servitude. To me, they came and whispered, “we’re going to be the gods of this universe. May you wish to live in exile, you’re free to leave – attempt and create a new world just like us – but we cannot offer you a stake in this – this one is ours. May you choose to stay – you’ll never again have the power to question us.”

Just as often it happens, the wiser do perform the most stupid of moves. Still a stupid move is better than a foolish one. I, along with a few others, made the right decision and the wrong choice. We were all stupid enough not to let any single person take control. We were now exiled from the world you know. Now, we were stuck in eternity – free as anyone could ever be, ageless – condemned to freedom indeed – condemned to power too. We could have done anything we wished. We couldn’t make a decision off infinite choices.

After about 3 centuries of pondering we landed at a consensus. And as we did, I burst out in laughter. This laughter was of utmost significance. But no one seemed to pay attention. They all just stared with scorn. The most complicated of the problems have the simplest of solutions – but we often doubt their efficacy. Why, you ask! It’s simple – because it’s simple. 

We decided to create a new world – an illusion of a new world to be precise. The greatest democracy in the cosmos since its creation – a universe where no one would serve no one and yet everyone will be the most powerful. We decided to let each one of us create a world with the rest of us as humans. We made everyone everyone else’s god. It was decided that we would all fall asleep for eternity and would lucidly dream of a universe where everyone else was a mere projection of their memories. It wasn’t easier for everyone to accept this. Some even chose to remain in exile and come up with a better solution. 

Since then we have been resting peacefully – asleep in a sweet surrender to the illusion of being a god. But recently something unexpected happened - one of us – well, I - woke up. I woke up because I had served my purpose as god – in my universe I had nothing left to do. What is the purpose of a god, you may ask. Let me explain.

To begin with let me introduce you to my own little paradox of ultimate existence. It is a silent war between submission and absolute freedom. How did I come about this? I myself was the one to suggest the solution to the ultimate problem of each of us being gods. But I was the one most against it. I could not stand the idea of being a slave to all of them, in all of their worlds. I despised the thought. I abhorred the concept – and that is why I put it forward – because I knew it would be accepted – and for that I abhorred them all. 

I was the last one to fall asleep – I saw all that they dreamed of. Some were overridden by idealism and attempted at creating a peaceful world - Some on the other hand, tyrannous as they were, dreamed of everyone else at their misery. But what do most do with absolute freedom – they dwell into the ordinary, become complacent – even if they are gods. So most just went on imagining a ‘normal’ world – just like the one you know.

I on the other side of general conceptualization of power, remembered something from my human life. I knew that power unless seamless, and effortless was no power at all. I decided to create lawless perfection, a world of crystal - flawless and yet fragile. I had to. 

I imagined a universe tantamount to eternity. I figured out a way to deceive everyone into believing that they were still living outside time. In my world, where I was god – there was no one god. In this sublevel of cosmos, in this method of existence – once again I made everyone everyone else’s god. 

I imagined a world of infinite gods – where no one was more powerful – in a way that everyone was ultimately powerful - where anyone could do anything. I burdened everyone’s projected conscience with the ultimate responsibility – the choice from infinite options. In this world my personal projection was in no way superior. This was the only way I could achieve my purpose. In this world of gods, to which I was the god, I was in fact just a god. 

So, while all others thought of a world of humans with themselves as superior to everyone. I contained and locked away my true imagination, my instinctual drive in a box of black. I imagined a world of gods – a duplication of how the cosmos was really meant to be. I created a perfect world by imitating the most criticized and yet the most fundamental design. How this world would survive, you may ask. It wouldn’t. 

Now that I have woken up, I stand in eternity – where all other gods lay motionless, entrapped in their personal wills, influenced by me. In the humanistic understanding of power, you could say that I have established my control everywhere, forever. Where all the gods of the ultimate reality fell to the simplest trick – where they were so overtaken by the idea of ultimate power that they mistook my laughter of wickedness for mockery, I can claim to be the ultimate god. 

And for the world that I created – that I imagined – no longer needs my presence, I would leave it to itself. I have left my imagination to linger in eternity to test what it is capable of. Let them figure out a solution for what they would do in a world of infinite gods – which in fact doesn’t even exist.

“From the diary of a god who thinks his world exists”

-          The ultimate god.

“Uh...  wait a minute..”

TO BE FOLLOWED BY THE NEXT BIG BANG.

Zukzwang in prose

(Zukswang - A state in Chess, when the only viable move is not to move)

What do you see when you look into the future? A world of realized dreams, of possessions, of possibilities? What is human existence all about? Why do we all struggle until the end? Why do we taper our conscience with endurance? Why do we go out into the wild only to tame the self? Why do we chase the material, only to be inevitably drawn, and inescapably stuck in it?

The answer is implicit in our views of the future. We all collectively strive for a single thing. Each one of us is suffering all that one is suffering to pursue that one thing – something that no one else has. It is in itself pretty ironic that what we look for is in essence the same, and yet must necessarily be dissimilar. We’re all alike looking for something unlike everyone one else’s everything. We suffer, kill; we indulge ourselves in a mockery, a horseplay that eventually turns into a game of life and death – as if we could outrun death by the virtue of that sole possession.

The idea of death as a concept is conspicuously inevitable, and yet so mysteriously imminent that one can at the least attempt to flee and at the best persist in vein.

Often, as it happens, this vision, this thing of ultimate covet leads one farther and farther from oneself – towards a cognitive event horizon – the point beyond which there is no return. What happens when one reaches this place, this point in time? I have no answer!

What is that one thing for you? What is that one of the many possibilities that would constitute a window of perfection in time? What is it that you wish to have which no one else has?

When I leap into the future, I see not a world of possibilities but of impossibilities. There are infinite boundaries that prevent me from reaching out to the wish of such possession. How do you live through convinced of the impossibilities? Does it set me free then, of the race against time, the race against everyone else, or does it chain me to myself?

“Where would you go, if you could go anywhere” is indeed one of the hardest problems, one that poses a threat to individual freedom – a choice. Even harder is “Where would you go, if you could not go anywhere” – what sort of trickery is that? A choice between impossibilities!

So I ask myself, question my very existence, my purpose – Why am I here? What am I doing without a purpose? And most importantly – who am I? Am I still me, as I would be had I not my life but the will to be anyone but me?

If you must run, run faster. If you must stay, stay still. Blindness is fundamental to fearlessness. If you must see, you must doubt. This implicit contingency of awareness will not let you be convenient nor arrogant. You must only be confused, fearful!

This is the state when to find a purpose becomes the purpose. There is no end to this battle, no peace to this war.

I don’t wish to die a warrior. I don’t wish to live in a battlefield. I wish to live in peace. I wish to die in peace.   

Zukzwang

I’m surrounded by things, deafening

Distant, detached, with nothing to kill for

No one to die for, not angry, reckoning

Things! Not mine, things nonetheless,

I’m surrounded by people, clamouring

Surrounded, and yet lonely, scared

Longing to be alone, at peace, with myself

People! Strangers, people nonetheless

I dreamt of dreaming a dream, real

Asleep, of a world of no more than a few

My world, my personal little crew

Dreams! Unattainable, dreams nonetheless

End 1

Gonna stay in this reality, profane

Rebel, go down fighting ghosts

A loyal warrior, an unreasoned battle!

Reality! Wicked, reality nonetheless

End 2

Gonna run free, without no one, with me

Tired. Leave the ball and the chain

Gonna laugh, cry, scream, lie. Give up.

Freedom! Guilty, freedom nonetheless.

Erebus

I have found myself - found myself to be lost.
I have discovered myself - discovered myself to be infinite.
I have fought myself - fought myself as invincible.
I have seen myself - seen myself as only a dream figure
So I shaped myself - shaped myself to be fluid.
And I bound myself - bound myself to be free.
And so I define myself - define myself to be indefinite.
I am no longer what I have been, not yet what I am to be. For now, I am only an evolution - an evolution of someone - someone I'm yet to meet.


"And there came the devil to the insolent child,
on wings of savor, singing of love, to him so wild.
The guardian angel had just fled sight
for he, in an uncanny pretense stood upright
for no good reason, fearless, with all his might
... he stood upright for the first time again,
by death's side, aware that life wouldn't remain."

Reply to a suicide letter

 Alix  Stradon

 I must have read your letter a hundred times now. I know it by heart, especially the part where you speak of all your dread. But I waited until today to write back. You must wonder why. I’ll tell you soon. I hold the least of interest to empathize or to find a legion in those hordes of yours. Be not relieved, I have not re-found the respect or love that I once renounced to rot in an unidentified corner of an unfamiliar city. In fact I wish to contest, no! defy your last thought, confront your departing words, and if possible race you in your run for death.

In our last conversation, I remember, you looked exhausted, vulnerable and powerless, like a soul overborne with loss. I vaguely remember all that you said, because honestly, I could hardly get past the fright in the sound of your voice to pick on the words. It burned like an eternal splinter in my heart, your drift to the other world. 

I had questions I could have asked and danced off my victory over your silence. But it would have done no good. To refuse life is indeed a decision of as strong a disposition as it would be to return to life afterwards. Sooner or later, you’d have had it your way. You had let go of me, your gravity, as you wrote. You were floating in an empty white space where the clock didn’t tick, where it didn’t rain. In such a space you were lifted. There, only death could be your companion.

You said to me once, “If a day spent with you could bring me to life, I wonder if a lifetime of companionship would make me immortal.” So what was it that made you fear life more than death itself? Why did you choose to believe in  a future so full of anguish, so inspired by your dark past that you were blind to the celestial bright of your dreams? What would go wrong with the world if everyone understood the minimal of their responsibilities? Nothing! More importantly, what gave you the right to act like you were the only one left alone, abandoned, closer to the worst than anyone else? 

Perhaps if you knew the answers to these questions, you’d not have left here in the first place. But this is not the time for questions, not anymore. But I do wish to tell you something. It is this – where good can’t stride, evil stands up with pride. 

I don’t, and believe that I never will understand how men could leave this world, if at all by their own hands, in the moments of undeniable despair. How would their souls contain any life ever again knowing that the last ended in such disgrace? How could anyone find a purpose, a longing satisfaction when their last memory is so filled with terror? What is it that makes us not live for the things that we claim, are worth dying for, by forsaking life itself?

I’d rather die in the happiest moment of my life, embrace and contain that ecstatic memory for an eternal bliss. You may argue though, that this thought is itself rooted in fear of a tomorrow worse than today. But I know fear too well, as well as I know pride. While the former has scrounged my very life form, I have practically survived on the latter. 

One thing I know very less of is love, although I have experienced emotions of unnameable nature, far superior to it. And by virtue of something similar, I feel happier than I have ever been. 

I’ve heard that knowing how ignorant you are is the first step on the path to wisdom. I believe knowing how ignorant others are, must be the last. I guess this will just be another of the luxuries I’ll have over you as far as life is concerned – you left it in an outspoken gloom and I will in a secret elation.