Hurt - II

A small chain
A bond you can
Never escape.

A small happiness
A belonging you can
Never displace.

A tiny hope
A big weight that you can
Never embrace

A transient touch
A beautiful sensation you can't
Disdain.

This hurt I can't erase;
And in our strange need for pain
I need this torture now.
Now.
And forever.

Hurt - I

A lonely impulse
Acting on what you
Never knew

A fleeting glimpse
A flash of what you
Never show

A small gesture
A smile and look you
Never share

A small enigma
An attraction you can't
explain

Our eyes meet as we consider,
The strange nature of our desire.
Our ends are as near as we are -
Galaxies apart.

Sermon on the Mount

"What is the meaning of life?", he asked.

"Do I lead your life?", the monk replied.

"What is the meaning of ALL life?"

"Do I lead everyone's lives?"

"Who the fuck taught you the Socratic method? You live on a bloody hilltop!"

"Who the fuck taught you the Socratic method? You're just a stupid urban hippie!"

"What's the point of this?"

"If you see no point, why are you doing this?"

The youth's mouth worked for a bit, but no suitable response came to his mind. He turned in a huff, and walked some distance from the Holy Man of the Mountain. Many of his friends had told him of the learned man who answered all questions put to him, but none had mentioned that he was incredibly annoying.

The Holy Man looked upon the back of the rich young boy and despaired. He didn't know why all these idiots came and asked him questions. He was just sitting up here, begging for alms. He'd sent a little boy to the village after paying him five rupees to entice rich travellers to come up the mountain. Tired of the annoying questions the first time, he'd responded rudely. Apparently, that boy had not wanted to look like a fool to the companion below; he'd pretended to have had an out of body experience and what not, and now these brats came to him regularly. He tried to get rid of them, but they all persisted. It had become so bad that he was considering shifting mountains, but he knew that there were four other Holy Men after his patch, and his stubborn possessive nature prevented him from moving into their hands.

He sighed, and wondered how he could get rid of these damn yuppies. Annoying kids with their flashy clothes. All he ever wanted was some food and alms, and not all these damned questions! He wondered why anyone would imagine he was wise, since he spent all his time on the mountain without doing anything particularly knowledgeable. He sighed, and remembered what this horribly stoned Israeli tourist had once explained to him while being incredibly grateful for the meagre amount of hashish the Holy Man had managed to procure and given to him.

"You! Brat!"
"Excuse me?"
"Stop being silly and listen!"
Despite himself, the youth did just that. All the thought of figuring out a fake story for his friends was exhausting his two brain cells, and he needed the break.
The Holy Man realised he had the brat's attention, and decided to end this properly.

"Take this."
"What is this?"
"Hashish."
"What's that?"
"You smoke it, it makes you happy. Er, Holy, also. Bob Marley said so."
"You mean Hash. You have HASH?! Why didn't you say so before?"

5 minutes later, the brat was quite mellow, in the afterglow of the Hash he'd been given. He sighed, and looked towards the Holy Man. The Holy Man looked extremely confused and perplexed. The Brat wondered why.

The Holy Man didn't know what to do beyond this point. He had hoped the drugs would be enough, but this brat was obviously persistent. He decided to take the initiative.

"What is your problem, basically?"
"I want to know the meaning of life!"
"Why?"
"Please don't start that again, I'm actually feeling good now!"
"Hm. Fine. Let's try again, shall we? What about the meaning of life is important?"
"Well, won't it explain who I am? What I am doing here?"
"What is your name?"
"How is that important?"
"Well, isn't that who you are?"
"Not that who I am. The real me. Who I want to be. Who I feel like being."
"Okay. Why are you asking me these questions? Why don't you know the answer?"
"I don't!"
"Fine. Have you heard of Occam's ... er, what was it? Hm. Blade? Something like that ... Come on, help me a little. Don't you know about this one?"
"No!"
"Fine. There was this Israeli gentleman named Occam, who had some trouble shaving, alright?"
"What kind of trouble?"
"Um. Wait, I knew this one. Yes! After the first time, the razor wouldn't shave right."
"Okay."
"So, he wondered what the solution was - and it came to him! What did he need? A razor which shaved only once. Then, you'd need a new razor. So, he invented disposable razors!"

Brat's drug addled mind couldn't quite grasp the earth-shattering implications yet. He was sailing the clouds, and had trouble grasping the importance of disposable razors, and their impact on the meaning of life. He stared at the Holy Man's earnest expression, and couldn't quite understand why this man was considered wise. As Brat thought about it, the situation became murkier - he didn't use disposable razors, he used those Mach III things, the red one with the hot girl in the advertisement. It was, he had been assured, the best a man could get. Clearly, Occam's Razor didn't have much of a presence in the Indian market; Brat considered, for a second, a business of importing these bloody razors. But a moment more of contemplation convinced him that this was far from the meaning of his life.

He chuckled at the Holy Man. All he needed was the meaning of life, and here this supposed wise man was, dithering about razors. He was so ... stupid and inefficient. Words that he'd learn to despise, while worshipping what he thought were their opposites, through his time in Business School - Wisdom and Efficiency. He chuckled some more.

At this point, the Holy Man was beginning to lose his patience. He looked upon the chuckling bandicoot of a brat with more than a little alarm. Not only had the Israeli gentleman's approach towards shaving problems not impressed the fool, he was now pointing at him and chuckling. The Holy Man realised that the Brat had now begun mumbling about how the Holy Man was Occam, and that he himself was Gillette. Now, the Holy Man was not ignorant of the ways of the world, and was aware of what Gillette was. What he could not understand was why the Brat would believe that he would need any of their products. He couldn't remember the last time he'd shaved, and he was rather proud of his long, matted and dirty beard. It took a lot of time to make it look professionally vagabond-ish. What was especially bothering him was that the Brat was now passing out, and that this meant more time spent with him.

The Brat was beyond cognitive thought now. He drifted off to sleep, dreaming of Israeli women, and wondering if he should go there and sell Mach IIIs, if they were so busy using substandard disposable razors. He giggled at the prospect.

The Holy Man sat on his haunches, in his default Holy-Man contemplating position. He had to make this worth his while, and somehow get rid of the Brat. He thought about it for a while, and considered what he needed, and how he must get it. Then it hit him - the perfect, and obvious solution. It was so simple! He couldn't think of anything simpler. He grinned.

Many hours later, the Brat awoke as the sun rose upon his prone form on top of the mountain. His head felt like several trucks had run it over, and he felt sick to his stomach. Wait, no. The sickness was rising from his stomach. After leaving a patch of the Himalayas bearing a part of his organic matter, the Brat looked around, trying to get his bearings, and trying to remember who he was, and how he got here. He began recalling the events of the last evening. He realised that instead of being on top of the mountain, he was in the valley. He felt his backpocket to feel his wallet - it was there, but it was considerably thinner. He pulled it out and looked at it, his panic rising.

Inside, the only things that were left were his credit cards, liscenses, and a little letter. It stated that following -

You are a brat, and that's what you are;
But for all that, one imagines you'll go far
In life, for it is made of the silly things,
One never knows why this happiness brings.

On the other hand, you feel dissatisfaction;
For you feel the need for immediate action
In life, for there is a lot you want to do,
One never knows why one is such a fool.

Just stop making your life complicated;
Do what you want and stop becoming inebriated
In life, there is little one can do,
But say - the simplest solution is always true.

Fear and Choices

I've been watching V for Vendetta almost manically for some days, now. It made me consider quite seriously human nature and the nature of the fear which is the primary motivator in it. Most human actions are determined by fear. Governments are based on fear - fear is the underlying principle that seems to unite all human actions. Fear of some sort determines every institutional mechanism. Freud tried to unify all human action through the perspective of sex - but sex is about fear, is it not? Fear of not being able to procreate. Fear of not being able to leave a mark upon the world. Fear of not performing. Fear of even talking about it afterwards.

Bertrand Russell, on the other hand, attempted to determine human behaviour and the existence of the myriad of human institutions through the perspective of power. He essentially stated that since the desire for power is the greatest one, individuals and institutions seek power. However, this is incorrect in that power might be desired, but Russell did not actively consider why it might be so. The reason I believe that any entity would seek power is to protect itself or to cater to the fear of being harmed, or the fear of not being allowed to survive, for any number of reasons. All entities are essentially self perpetuating, hence there is a fear that they shall be unable to perpetuate themselves, hence the need for power - to prevent such an eventuality, or at the very least, make it seem less likely.

Also, what seems to surprise me the most is that when I think of it, nearly all human actions are governed at least partially by fear of some consequence or the other. Even when were have "conquered" our fear, we are still doing something which is in fear of some other eventuality. Let me explain this, if I can.

Consider a soldier in a war, who is showing extreme amounts of valour in attacking the enemy positions, and so on and so forth. Think of all the propaganda that has gone into making him that way. Think of all the possibilities of losing the war and what it will do to him/his family preying on his mind. Consider his understanding of what his comrades or commanding officer will say if he isn't brave.

Sex and power are mere manifestations of fear. We glorify lack of fear to person, without realising that the fear has merely transferred unto some other subject, that you care for enough.

When one looks at one's own actions in such a light, they make a lot more sense.

PS: Arbit speculation about my own motives started somewhere through the middle of this particular post. Spent about two days writing it.

Complicated Thought

A maelstrom of extended convoluted thought, that pervades many parts of my extended consciousness. Creating a labyrinth of epic proportions, as I attempt to untangle my many thoughts, feelings and considerations that seem to have no end, no limit and no boundaries that can be clearly understood. My feelings on several matters are rather muddled, and I need to spend some time contemplating the same before deciding to do anything about any of the various events and people that currently seek to affect my life.

Erotic Dreams

A fleeting touch
Gentle sensation
Flooding
With memories
Of love
And reflections
Of affection
Screaming
For attention
Those glances
Burning
Those eyes
Mesmerizing
As they entrance
Confusion is caused
As lust
Overruling
Controls limbs
Movement
Sensual snake
Rustles
Against my body
As I close
My tired eyes
To dream.

Feelin' Groovy.

Ever since I heard the Simon and Garfunkel song, I've been aching to be able to be so crazy as to go out into the world, greet lamposts, keep the fauna growing, and look for fun. In other words, I've always wanted to feel groovy.

It's been a strange kind of goal - one's ever-present desire to be 'cool' which encompasses all else is common, but a desire to be groovy - it means something substantially different to me. It means a more fundamental change in the nature of an individual which allows him to do crazy, happy, insane things without really having to worry about who's watching.

I've met and loved and been with so many different people - and I don't mean love in the strictly relationship/sexual sense. I mean that in the varied spectrum of people I've known, I've been lucky - but that my reactions to all of them has been the same, in the sense that it depends upon a clear and present standard that I apply to everyone beyond a certain point of proximity. Further, I've pushed some people away because of my nascent feelings of a certain type, for the simple reason that I don't want to do anything 'casual'.

Well, why must I take these things seriously? If I can't be happy and enjoy my life now, when will I? Of course, there are some things that must not be done, which would cause harm or pain to others - but if there is no harm, why must I have a guilty conscience? Why can't I live?

It sucks to be un-groovy. I'm trying.

Wish me luck.

Give me as many reasons as you want - I just want to leave.

It's very difficult to explain something to someone entirely self absorbed. In fact, it's impossible to do so entirely. To be able to understand what someone's saying, you need to be, to some extent, in their shoes, and thus begin to construct what they mean by what they're saying, and why they're saying it. For self absorbed people, this isn't possible. It's also difficult to understand self absorbed people - they're so busy making sense to and for themselves, that other people don't matter.

The worst kind of self absorbed person is the self absorbed coward. These creatures don't tell you what they want, but expect you to read something they've written or conveniently left around for you, so you can stumble upon it. And they try to molly-coddle what they're saying, and what they want from you, so it ends up with the other person sitting through a ridiculous medley of 'What-I-Want's and 'What-I-Need's which no one should have to hear. It's torturous to be told that something you say to express yourself doesn't seem to be 'serving a purpose' for her, so it shouldn't be said.

Oh, every word I say is not for the other person's benefit. It's because I want to say something. This is where communication becomes a problem. 'Meaningful' conversations are conversations that the self absorbed find meaningful. 'Useful' things are things they find useful. It's ludicrous.

And to think I've been making an effort to try and be nice. Well, screw that. I can't believe I sat through what she was saying as long as I did. I put the computer away because my mother took one look at me, got me a glass of water, and whispered to me that my look was scaring Ria. It was. I'm just glad I didn't say anything then. And I'm glad I was able to blow her off without saying anything particularly nasty. Ria's been following me around since then, and won't leave me alone.

It just annoys me so much to know that I was making an effort, and that effort was to be able to show someone I care about (can't say any more about it. Don't feel it anymore. For the first time in two years. It's over) that there is a better way to be, and that's she doesn't see it. But it's quite disappointing to learn that my trying to show her these things wasn't 'meaningful' enough, simply because it didn't suit her frame of mind.

There is no compromise. She just WANTS. She just NEEDS. Everyone else is secondary.
Empress of her own little universe. With no one in it. For they're all leaving. Because they can't bear to be there too long. It's interesting that half of the people she mentions as people looking out 'just for her', are people she's called selfish half the time she's known them. Her hypocritical nature is beyond belief. I spent a substantial portion of my time around her listening to her say things completely inconsequential without complaint. And now what I say is meaningless.

That's it - I really don't have to take this. At all. I asked her what she wanted, and she got it. In the beginning, and through the end.

She wants it clean - I'll give it to her.

Times Like These

I am a one way motorway,
I'm the one that drives away,
Then follows you back home
I am a street light shining
I’m a wild light blinding bright
Burning off alone

It’s times like these you learn to live again
It’s times like these you give and give again
It’s times like these you learn to love again
It’s times like these time and time again

I am a new day rising
I’m a brand new sky
To hang the stars upon tonight
I am a little divided
Do I stay or run away
And leave it all behind?

It’s times like these you learn to live again
It’s times like these you give and give again
It’s times like these you learn to love again
It’s times like these time and time again
--------------------------------------------------------
The Foo Fighters - Times Like These


This song has somehow affected me more than I could have expected. I know that I'm at a threshold of my life - I've had to leave some parts of me behind for nothing better than satisfying myself, and because I'd taken a burden upon myself that I couldn't quite carry. It was causing pain and conflict. So I moved out of that obligation. But it does make me feel like an utter coward, somewhere.

Now, I feel more optimistic about life, and its trials and tribulations. I find myself looking forward to things. Looking forward to spending time with that special someone. Finding things and emotions within me transforming - into something new, but not bad or wrong. It's like getting into a new pair of clothes, or looking out at the world from under a new set of pince-nez - it's a revelation to realise that there was more to Heaven and Earth than was known of in my philosophy. (Yes, that's a shady Shakespeare allusion. Deal)

I'm going to learn how to live. On my own. Not have it shown to me. I shall learn, and live. I shall be happy. It's times like these which determine the real character of a human being. I'm going to make my life something greater than it was.

The entire idea of having a hurdle, of having something to climb, is to find that moment of perfection of standing at the summit of your effort, to recognize the beauty from high up above, and live for that moment - before enjoying the 5 seconds it takes you to fall down off that height, and celebrate the death of that which once was.

Some things, you just can't believe.

How can ANYONE be serious when they say that they'd rather go to Roti Park with you than go to Peco's with someone else? :-)

On the other hand, why would anyone stay up nearly all night just to come up with some shitty legal case for some shitty hypothetical woman?

Why would anyone ruin a week of their life for almost nothing?

Why would we stop ourselves from doing what we would really, REALLY like to do?

Why can I not express the love I feel?

Too many questions, and too few answers.

But life is a quest for such answers. And I'm looking as hard as I can.

Open Your Eyes

All this feels strange and untrue
And I won't waste a minute without you
My bones ache, my skin feels cold
And I'm getting so tired and so old

The anger swells in my guts
And I won't feel these slices and cuts
I want so much to open your eyes
Cos I need you to look into mine

Tell me that you'll open your eyes

Get up, get out, get away from these liars
Cos they don't get your soul or your fire
Take my hand, knot your fingers through mine
And we'll walk from this dark room for the last time

Every minute from this minute now
We can do what we like anywhere
I want so much to open your eyes
Cos I need you to look into mine

Tell me that you'll open your eyes

All this feels strange and untrue
And I won't waste a minute without you.
-----------------------------------------------------------------

It does feel strange and untrue. Numb, I'm moving through everyday life waiting for the equivalent of 20,000 tuns of emotional pressure to fall upon me. And the Gauls were worried about just the sky ...

And I've realised that I have enough of CGL boy rubbing off on me that I feel like a self sacrificial martyr for a whole 10 minutes after this happens. But then I stop, and I calm myself down, and realise that I have caused pain, as well as borne it. There is no reason to believe that I am the only one suffering. That'd be idiotic.

I don't have a clear, snappy one sentence 'why' as I used to. I used to be good at making that happen. Waiting until something crossed my self imposed lines, and then punishing it. But this is so different - in fact, beautifully so. It is, as some silly debater would say, a 'sophisticated' argument. That is, unlike a straight assertion of some fact or reasoning, it's an argument of balancing relative needs, and arriving at a compromise for dealing with them.

I'm doing this because I need to. No other reason. Why would there be?

I just need her to open her eyes. Just be aware. Have that long-awaited epiphany.

Love.

Dreams.

Things aren't quite as I wished they'd be. But they're still happy. Things still move, and we still move with them - ideas, hopes, dreams, and memories. All the things that one creates in the mind, but each are things which are so extremely tangible to us that many would give their lives for them.

I've discovered Haiku recently. It's given me the ability to write poetry without having to think. It's too easy. Just spill out three lines, the first and the third being the same length, with the middle line being shorter; and none should rhyme, or be connected. Or, so I was told. I've been writing such silly doggerel all over my notebooks, because it's far more interesting than Administrative Law, at the very least. And don't get me started on my Civil Procedure classes.

I've had the recent experience of being asked out on Orkut, and it has made me question some of my most fundamental beliefs about human beings. My profile clearly lists me as committed. Furthermore, the individual in question stated (on a public scrapbook) that the reason for her attraction to me involved me preventing her from making sandwiches when a group of us had been at her establishment, and the other greedy pigs had started demanding the aforementioned snacks as their right.

Now, why on EARTH would anyone even DREAM that such a thing would create any kind of bond between us? Yet, that is the stuff some dreams are made of. Flights of fancy, great overarching thoughts that we dream connect things that are otherwise entirely different and distant, relative to each other. The connections that we seek to make, we desire to make, are made in dreams. The things we are, and the things we hope to be, and the things we dread, and the things that our waking mind cannot conceive ...

That is the stuff that dreams are made of.

Anarchy.

Antiestablishment: opposed to or working against the existing power structure or mores, as of society or government.

I never thought of myself as an anarchist, or someone who was particularly anti-establishment. I was just, always, myself. Doing what I thought was right. Whenever I do the right thing, I often find myself blocked or barricaded by some authority which purports to have the job of doing that very thing I was planning to do - except that they aren't doing a good job, which is what causes me to try and do what they're supposed to be doing. And at this point, the authority does their utmost to get in the way. Sometimes, I manage to get what I want out of my efforts; other times, I cannot.

I'm currently in the midst of such a situation - I'm trying to help some people, and do something I'm good at simultaneously. But, as usual, the authority (in this case, an activity based committee), is seeing it fit to be about as helpful as mastadons trying to stomp the ants on your lunch at a picnic. They're repeatedly blocking us, without understanding what that means. We're trying to help them do what they're doing. Nitwits.

But I shall do what I want to do. It's not that difficult dealing with people obsessed with power. It's only difficult to deal with those people whose motives are transparent. For when they are, there's little that can be ostensibly done. But it's known but not admitted that the problem stems from ego issues and insecurities.

I'll play on those if I need to.
Manipulate them if I have to.
But I shall have what I want.
Because I can.

Chasing Cars

We'll do it all
Everything
On our own

We don't need
Anything
Or anyone

If I lay here
If I just lay here
Would you lie with me and just forget the world?

I don't quite know
How to say
How I feel

Those three words
Are said too much
They're not enough

If I lay here
If I just lay here
Would you lie with me and just forget the world?

Forget what we're told
Before we get too old
Show me a garden that's bursting into life

Let's waste time
Chasing cars
Around our heads

I need your grace
To remind me
To find my own

If I lay here
If I just lay here
Would you lie with me and just forget the world?

Forget what we're told
Before we get too old
Show me a garden that's bursting into life

All that I am
All that I ever was
Is here in your perfect eyes, they're all I can see

I don't know where
Confused about how as well
Just know that these things will never change for us at all

If I lay here
If I just lay here
Would you lie with me and just forget the world?

-----------------------------------------------------------

This is Chasing Cars, by Snow Patrol. A song that gave me a strange kind of peace in the midst of much confusion and heart-ache. I've always felt strongly on the nature of the division between professional and personal. It seems to be rather awkward for everyone involved for someone to take someone's professional decision personally. Change things around, making them different and difficult for people to deal with. Just ... make life a little more complicated. Leave you caught in a cycle, where nearly everything seems to be as pointless ... as Chasing Cars. The origin of the song name comes from something that was said to Gary Lightbody (frontman for Snow Patrol) by his father, with respect to some girl Gary was after - you're like a dog chasing a car; you'll never catch it, and you wouldn't know what to do with it even if you did.

Well, I caught it. And I thought I'd understand what to do with it. I have continued to have the most amazing relationship and love that can be imagined. It seems incredibly right, and continues to this day - and it's been so long since it all began. I feel old, but that doesn't take away from all that value I give unto it. However, the problem of dealing with the insanity that is any relationship plays upon my mind quite often. I keep wondering whether it's all worth the pain and suffering any kind of dealing with people who are that close to you.

And then, there was last night. Just a serene feeling of being there. Nothing more, nothing less. There was also the dream. The feeling of soaring, of having found peace and understanding of self. Alone, and together.

All that I am, and all that I ever was, isn't within her perfect eyes. They are within my own vision. But those eyes are what all of me wants to be with, and that's all that matters.

Rage.

Idiocy. Bloody idiocy. Stupid acts of stupid, petty people, maligning me. And who I am. The things I stand for. For no better reason than the dirty, selfish, satisfaction that comes from watching a lie pass muster. I hate her, and all she's done. She does this because she's bitter. But she chose. She chose to leave, and I was decent enough to be friendly after. She abuses my trust, abuses everything she ever meant to me; she is the dirty filth of the universe, amalgamated into a human person.

I couldn't have done that which she says I did. I wasn't there. I didn't want to. Everyone who knows me well knows that this isn't something I'd do. Unfortunately, there are enough who do not know me well, but know of me. And they spread this vicious slander for their own purposes. One takes the higher road and ignores this shit. That is all one can do; that's all I can do. Yet, the desire to drain the lifeblood of those who attempt to destroy who you are and what you stand for is great. The desire to take their lives, to destroy them utterly, to reduce them and all they hold dear to motes of dust scattered amongst the winds. They know not my rage, that which I keep bottled inside. They know not what they do. I ask not for my father to forgive them, as did another forgiver in the past; I ask myself to see fit to ignore these base creatures. I know I want to destroy. But once again, I control. I rein in my passions, for I wish to better myself.

The world shall never hear of this again. Nor shall I speak of it. But if I am crossed just once more - ONCE - I know not what harm I shall bring to them or upon myself. But whatever harm that is - so be it. I cannot be expected to control everything. I pride myself upon my need to satisfy self and principle.

My bloodlust threatens to consume me. Why did this have to happen? What did I do wrong? There is no God, nor no heavenly being, nor no fate from some life past. Just idiotic, selfish minds, pursuing momentary pleasures.

Should I tell people of all the things that were said? All the things she sought? All the lies she told? All the words she used? All the passions she begged for? I keep my peace, and my counsel. This is where a man of honor suffers. I don't pretend to be one, but in this I know why they suffer. Because no one holds themselves to the standards of others. And they use the moral gaps to exploit the goodness of other.

Either she shall be punished, or she shall not. Fate shall decide. The future beckons me. Let her die in the past, rotting in the thoughts of what has come and gone.

I am a survivor. I have been through worse. This will make me harder. I'm looking forward to it.

The Life and Times of an Unfinished Melody

They get taken right out of your head. Like drops of condensation on the window. There a second; next, all one sees is a trail against the window, and the world outside looks just a little ... off where the trail is. Small, slippery, treacherous thoughts. The ones we can never be truly be rid of. The easy way out. The lonely path. The way to what might be peace, if you are a coward and scared of doing the right thing.

Sometimes I wish I was someone else. Something else. Just different enough to be in peace. Just happy enough to be real and live. Just for an instant. But I betray myself. Every second that I'm alive, I betray my own desires and wishes to just be. But if I were anything else, I would hate myself. This, I know. Sometimes, I marvel at the ability of my mind to change things about me easily. Unfortunately, the mind is the instigator of this sort of behaviour, and this sort of dilemna.

Talking Don't Come Easy, Now. The Words Get in The Way.

RANDOM FLIGHT WRITE -

Once again, I'm flying. Sitting inside a little pocket of oxygen and several Carbon based life-forms, I fly - a fragile existence; but, thankfully, a temporary one.

I cannot but help but think of the canine face of my near-most precious companion. And it bothers me that she can make me feel so incredibly guilty for going to do something that I have to. My parents - I miss them, but it's understood that I have to leave. They make it easy for me to go. Ria? No chance. Not a single one in hell. She ignores me until I leave. And it hurts. It truly does.

To someone who isn't a dog lover/pet owner, and even some who are, this might seem an odd kind of statement. All said and done, we ARE discussing a dog. A creature. As someone's being going to great lengths to point out, a non-human. Yet, I cannot but love her. And it hurts to leave her. It just does. Some part of it has to do with the way she makes no demand of me other than some attention, for which I'm adequately repaid. And when I say a little attention, I mean a large portion of time spent with a sock worn over one's hand, moving it about to present a target for her, so she can growl, bark, and mock bite it - all the while, her tail wagging so fast it could probably run half a city.

The point I'm trying to make here - there are simple joys, and simple pleasures in life. These come from simple creatures with simple wants, and desires. Yet, their simplicity does not make them any less valuable. In fact, it makes them more beautiful; for there is no deception. In some ways, they are more selfless and loving than any human being. My mother and father have expectations, and wants of me. My dog only wants a biscuit, now and then.

What does that say about human nature? I don't really want to get into it. That's something to be decided by those whose opinions matter. Because I've come to realise over numerous pointless debates online, that there isn't any such thing as a cogent, open argument that can be found. People just wish to be heard, and wish for their points of view to be accepted. I have nothing to gain from such an exercise.

Consider - I say that stray dogs be neutered and resettled outside the cities. The argument given against this? Rapid urbanization means that eventually the dogs will be back. To which, I say, keep them FAR from the cities. To which, again, the argument given is that the city will continue to expand.

Now, what does one say to this? It's retarded. The problem of shrinking natural spaces needs to be tackled, and is being so. People are working to find a means of co-existence. Taking a current problem, and assuming it into the framework of the other as a tool to predict the non-applicability of a suggested solution is ludicrous, at best. This is like saying that since we'll eventually urbanize the entire Earth, we might as well go and fill up the Canyons, dam the rivers, and destroy nature now. Or, at least, stop attempts to preserve these things.

I will no longer raise my voice. My voice, and the way I present it, is honed by an active participation in debates to be LOGICAL. Whether or not it always manages this is another story - but my goal in making any argument is to show that my conclusion and my stance are based on some rationale that I believe in. The attempt is to reduce the assumptions and beliefs as much as possible, such that the solution can be appreciated from the largest collection of starting points; that is, present a solution that logically deals with all the facets of the problem, such that they be solved to the maximum benefit of all parties involved.

For example, my idea of a solution to say, traffic congestion - better public transport. Why? For a bus, carrying 50 passengers, occupies much less space than, say, 12 cars, carrying four passengers each. If we improve public transport, people will no longer feel such a great need to use their personal vehicles, provided they travel in enough comfort in public transport. If the bus can get them there, save them fuel costs, and comfortably enough, they won't need to take the car out of the garage as often.

That's a logical solution. It's not a model - I'm not suggesting HOW to go about improving public transport. That's entirely separate. I'm just showing how logic can be made to endorse a belief. However, arguments are swiftly turning into "... in my personal opinion, I think we should do this. Why? ". What use is logic in the face of dogmatic belief and grandiose statements? It's easy to forget that all of these problems have been created in the same manner - an illogical consideration of an existing problem.

I no longer consent to my participation in that which is a futile exercise in self expression. That's it.

Of random hotness and funny comments.

The world has been playing tricks on me, of late. I watch myself, and reactions to me as I enter a room. I see how people react to me, and how I react to people. Patterns of behaviour and speech emerge that shock and amaze those that do not see them develop clearly. Reactions to bad jokes that are well told, and facial expressions that show wit.

I spent the last weekend in a city that has, since my departure from it 6 years ago, become a new place. Life seems to ebb and flow out of places that I would never have found myself visiting; yet, there, I walked in and felt like I belonged. The sea called out to me with its siren song, and I found myself entranced enough to spend hours watching an unchanging seascape. My mind was in immense amounts of peace.

But how does one describe this sensation? One cannot. The truth cannot be contained in the simple, horrible words we try to confine it to. So when I'm asked to describe an experience that is so intensely personal that parts of me do not understand what has happened, it's a little difficult to put your all into it. You stick to the small things, the shallow things, and hope that they go by without incident.

Oh, hell. Distracted, again. Getting back ...

I went to Bombay looking for memories. And I found them. I made some new ones, too. All in all, it was a satisfying experience. I'm beginning to realise that this is the first time that I've WON something in college. Come first. Not second, not also ran, but first. But these things never mattered to me ... It just seemed worth a mention.

What I did NOT go to Bombay for was adulation. Or generally freaky looks from the female gender. I've been to many extra curriculars, and found that there is usually a male nucleus to female drooling at such events. I've always watched, made disparaging comments about the nature of social relationships, and one night stands (if the drooling was getting excessive and I found myself avoiding puddles).

In Bombay, it took me a while to realise that I was becoming the guy I never wanted to be. I was cracking funny jokes and being myself, and gradually I found people clustering around me. I'd orchestrate conversation. Talk to the people who were interesting, and make them talk to other people. I felt a little like and arranger of music.

I couldn't understand this behaviour, and it makes me question myself and my beliefs about my own nature. I enjoyed it, but I didn't want to. And I despised it, hated it, and all that while I didn't want to do any of those things, either. But I did not behave oddly. I was at ease. I said things and acted like I do when I am in not so familiar company. I treated people like shit, and they came for more. I insulted them with a smile, and they laughed. I questioned their intellect, and they continued nodding at me in faked understanding, proving my point.

I'm growing increasingly paranoid about how I might become someone who uses people. Manipulates them. And somewhere, even though I can find no real grounds for this sort of fear, I do not wish to lose what I loosely consider my own humanity.