From a million and one fragments that the self is….from the dilemma that mind and heart are, we are nothing but a gathering of variables…
Where time is relative and a human construct enabling us to contextualize ourselves and our lives, moments stretch endlessly, moments spin fast out of human hands….
Where did time begin?
The first minute? The first hour?
There is chaos here…right in the middle of daily attempts to find peace and hold onto it…..A balance that disappears little every day. Or a balance that never was?
Discordant lives caught in desires of finding the pulse of the world…
Go…Go find the Flow…...of time, of the universe…in atoms, in quarks…
Things, ideas, people, events….flow all around. In deep circles…in lines that stretch far far back……
I could stand in the middle of it and it would remind me of some long ago learnt lesson in physics about eddy currents and a resistance right in the centre of the current. A stolen moment of individuality…
Battles continue. A warrior who never needed his sleep haunts, coming quietly along with the shadows of a daily existence... no war cries, no blood…a ghost battle? A battle with ghosts?
Type…delete….type…delete…again and again…String random words along together with a blindness that hopes to end in coherence…hit a line of dots when thoughts suddenly fall into pauses.
The break disappears….You start again…..
Some things end before they could even begin…..what you dreamt of nurturing, you kill…..strange attempts to preserve sanity. Births we do not remember and death we seek to forget…..was there one moment of death? Or was it a process? Moments stretched out over death?
You sit and watch from urban windows…..cities never sleep and we run into clichés. From the false safety of your high rise, you sit and watch….people, cars, money, smoke…you see everything creep and crawl…and race furiously by. Blood thumps along those streets….
They wait and watch. They run and chase….that frantic pulse of this city. You want to win it. You want to hold it in your fist….
No. Never.
In thousands they return. Each night. Small spheres of escape you build….home.
Eat. Talk. Laugh. Love. Go through the motions of living. The last hour of wakefulness ends….
Watch from your urban windows again…a city that never sleeps…nights not of inky darkness but of sickening orange glows. City lights brighten the night sky.
No stars to count.
Go sleep….go dream your uneasy dreams………..
G
Sunday, September 19, 2010
In A Defense of Theatrics..........
A nautanki, in the most philosophically possible definition, would be a person with a dramatic sense of experiencing life, people, time and emotions. Those who are self proclaimed dramatical personages or are seen as such by those around them, take the designation very very seriously. And they would all agree with me when I say that it takes a lot of emotionalism to keep up with the demands of the whole thing.
Now the problem as I see it is the way dramatic people are misunderstood. More often than not, these people and their reactions are laughed off and dismissed. What they experience is considered to be nothing more than an exaggerated version of the reality, if not a complete figment of their supposedly wild imaginations. They are at times even accused of lacking the finesse to appreciate the beauty of simplicity. And these to be honest, are really just some of the weird myths wrapping up the figure of the nautanki.
I am attempting only a small defense here.
And so I ask, what is simplicity? Is it not a relative term in itself, as indeed are all others? And then what is an exaggerated sense of living if life itself is an individual experience?
Many think of life as a straight road, living it from one point to the other…but is not a straight road as good as a clichéd style of murder? Like poisoning your victim or stabbing him while he sleeps?
But now take a detour……turn into alleys strange and unfamiliar…look into dingy bars…does it not heighten your experience of time? Does the detour not give sensuality to living? And strangle me if it does not extract grand and extreme reactions from you. A minute on the straight road would go by unnoticed. But if you think a minute in that dingy bar would go by without a mark, then perhaps….you really are much more stoic than I earlier warranted….think the slow tick tock of the old old clock on the wall.....and the glass of horrible beer stands in front. Sweat pours down your back.
And here comes in the drama…for without this particular effect, everything would be a dull and sad excuse for living…..
A flair for a full experience of your environment, a constant desire to maximize the emotions of time and events and the capacity to recount everything with just as color, should not I think be dismissed as wild imagination or histrionics. It is not a finesse they lack, it is the truth of their emotions they are readily sharing with the stone faces around.
Perhaps for as long as we live, drama should reign supreme in this world of soon-to-be zombies people. Theatrics is but the spice of life.
G
Now the problem as I see it is the way dramatic people are misunderstood. More often than not, these people and their reactions are laughed off and dismissed. What they experience is considered to be nothing more than an exaggerated version of the reality, if not a complete figment of their supposedly wild imaginations. They are at times even accused of lacking the finesse to appreciate the beauty of simplicity. And these to be honest, are really just some of the weird myths wrapping up the figure of the nautanki.
I am attempting only a small defense here.
And so I ask, what is simplicity? Is it not a relative term in itself, as indeed are all others? And then what is an exaggerated sense of living if life itself is an individual experience?
Many think of life as a straight road, living it from one point to the other…but is not a straight road as good as a clichéd style of murder? Like poisoning your victim or stabbing him while he sleeps?
But now take a detour……turn into alleys strange and unfamiliar…look into dingy bars…does it not heighten your experience of time? Does the detour not give sensuality to living? And strangle me if it does not extract grand and extreme reactions from you. A minute on the straight road would go by unnoticed. But if you think a minute in that dingy bar would go by without a mark, then perhaps….you really are much more stoic than I earlier warranted….think the slow tick tock of the old old clock on the wall.....and the glass of horrible beer stands in front. Sweat pours down your back.
And here comes in the drama…for without this particular effect, everything would be a dull and sad excuse for living…..
A flair for a full experience of your environment, a constant desire to maximize the emotions of time and events and the capacity to recount everything with just as color, should not I think be dismissed as wild imagination or histrionics. It is not a finesse they lack, it is the truth of their emotions they are readily sharing with the stone faces around.
Perhaps for as long as we live, drama should reign supreme in this world of soon-to-be zombies people. Theatrics is but the spice of life.
G
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