Posts Tagged ‘mundane’

image of a bald guy talking to a girl

The Bald Guy

Probably why a lot of things stay hallowed in my head is, I guess, because my world still lingers around a lot of undone things. Unsaid words. Unaccomplished possibilities. Gargantuan morsels of hope that ended up getting swallowed by despair. Menial trivial things that could have created a memory, could never make it. Like the time she had wished to stroke my hair. The fact that it never happened left a hole in my dimension. It ended up becoming a skipped fragment that could never possibly attain fruition.

Other petty notions of our talks that could have avalanched into a nervous wreck stay disbanded in space. Broken threads they are, suffering in their own mute misery. No knots find them. They sway like torn dreams. A bazillion “could-haves”, those hidden somewhere betwixt our silent whispers, could never make it. That makes me sad. That shattering incomplete feeling is a consequence of all such figments.

I wasn’t fortunate enough to even have my day. One day! That could have flung us towards unrivalled elation. Not even a seamless graze on a cheek to test those walls of love. Not even melting away in each other’s arms. Not even a hug of tingling warmth, to say so long. Nothing to justify. Nothing to prove all those words of mettle that once echoed to and fro between the media of mundane. Words they ended up being. Spoken and forgotten. Like crude promises. They fell dead like a pang of wretch. Shot down mid-air by a bullet of fate.

We could never even make it to the finish line. All those dreams just kind of fluttered away in time. Lost. Never to be found.

I just feel all of it at once sometimes, and then sometimes never. Hard to explain. Maybe I am all alone in this dead vale. Meant to feel that way. Maybe truth deserves me more than ever, as it sneaks through to speak through from beyond, beyond the holes of my past.

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crazy hopeless reader
Paper listens to me. Talks that never make to fruition, that don’t find an ear, they all lodge in there. So many things that keep hogging my little space of creation, they all end up there. Words that don’t find a good eye, voices that don’t reach a soul, only resound empty in the innate hollows, they all get inked. The meaningful. The meaningless. The general whimsy. The occasional flimsy. Everything goes there.

Sometimes I wonder if I would ever find a reader, or if I have already, will I ever have a glimpse into the world of my sentient admirer, the one who can distinguish each syllable spoken, every letter written distinctively and approve of it to be a magical blend of the extraordinaire. That lover who would hold the genius that lurks in it to a complacent caring heart, and speak volume just like I do with mind-boggling creations of others. Then I am hit by a sudden splash of vexation.

“What if I am not good enough? What if my words weave a mask over my own face to cloud the judgment I give? What if everything that I see is just a lie, and the world really doesn’t give a shit? What if in their menial dictum they have been right all the time? That their crossing me out the millions of times I rose was some sort of poetic justice intended? That what I see is just a feigned globe, and that what they gawk at is aloof from virtual? That I have been wrong all my life? That the beauty I considered beauty was as ugly as a negative vibe? That I shouldn’t have been a dreamer, rather a realist lost in the mundane like a crowd in its din.”

It bothers me sometimes, when I don’t see what others compel me to see. It hurts to know that I am all alone in a world full of people, that it is rare to find a frequency that would walk right by my side. Pretentious heads nauseate me. Lost faces don’t bother me at all. The deficiency of a real connection does. That thread that I have been trying to untangle for so long, I am yet to find its end.

I can’t be like others. I can’t be a shallow prick. If I love, I plunge into the ocean drowning. If I care, I forget myself. If I work, I am conscientious. If I notice, I focus painstakingly at every miniscule detail one is made with. If I live, I refuse to be a bystander rather a meticulous observer to fathom you in a way you have never been. That’s how I have always been. A crazy hopeless reader.

You can put me off as a profound thinker. But I am a poet. That’s how I roll.

The Perpendicular Universe Type Already

It is these moments I feel, kind of empty, when I sit with my laptop and feed my fingers the stiff of the keys, when I have nothing to do, and no clue what to type. There is nothing going on. But I still want to write. Because I love spreading my thoughts somewhere, If not to a keen listener, then to a keen paper. And when I do, it gives me the comfort of a feeling, as if I was able to complete something unfinished. That I just completed a circle. That I am not just half. That I brim with the remaining.

It is one of those hours of the day when I am surrounded with myself. Locked up with my own thoughts, and when I talk to myself through a screen, a keyboard and a paper. I don’t get much of those. Moments alone. Probably because I am always in a company. But sometimes I would like to be alone without hurting people around me. It is not that I don’t want them, but sometimes I want me. It is hard to make people comprehend that I would like some time alone. An hour of solitude is worth an hour of creativity.

May be it is me time. When I talk to myself about how I feel. Even if the feeling reeks of naught. I want to make myself understand, probably put words in my mouth, for an imminent inking, the meaning of life. To put words to a feeling. To put words to things that are mundane and that happen anyhow without me trying. All voluntary acts that we can’t live without. From walking, to talking, to sleeping, to eating, to watching, to hearing, to shitting. Nothing changes. Nothing goes out of the line. The same old routine: to feed the hunger, to scavenge for a livelihood, then at one point populate the earth and fade away. Every single bit we do, we do for survival. That is it. Forage for the extant. Why do we do, what we do? Can’t the world just pass by us while we are lying on the bed? Oh Wait! That happens! It is called dreaming. Then again why can’t it happen when we are awake?

I wish to explore the crazy areas of my head. Where I get ideas that don’t make it. Wish to put them past the finish line. I like the stream of propositions when they go unhindered, in a flow, undeterred by anything living.

This moment I feel free. My thoughts are. I have seen people chained in their mental manacles of thoughts that are mundane, that are either dependent to a person, an outcome of an event, of a situation, of apprehension, of a popular notion, or a wasted reflection of the past. I have nothing to worry about. I wish to stay this way. Wavered by nothing. Don’t wish to create the chain reaction of worldly woes. I would like my ‘me’ time, where there is nothing to write and yet everything to say.

pointless

Often found myself, stuck, staring at meaningless images and pointless propaganda that my screen throws at me. Times when I am not around people, not having fun, and smothering myself with tasks that show no direction, I wonder what compelled me to do it in the first place. Zeroing in on to figurative, a bigger picture strays ahead that expunges the obvious.

Why are we doing this? What are we to achieve?

Our every act is directed towards nothingness, just another void where everything fades to incoherence. Makes me wonder we are just getting by. We are waiting for it to get over one day. If at the end of the tunnel, did we stop and look back for introspection, we would be surprised to find out, that all we ever did was breathe and survive. Created mundane, lived mundane, for the mundane. What did we really do?

You see our lives, our paths, have been defined by people all around us. Each road, each street, we traverse, our choices, drenched with decisions laid out by another earthly meaningless soul walking amongst us. That mortal has thrown a certain way in front of our eyes, and unfortunately our legs aren’t ears. They don’t listen. They don’t reason. They just walk.

No better way to put it than Leo Tolstoy:

The only absolute knowledge attainable by man is that life is meaningless.

The moment we saw the light for the first time, we became puppets. People who introduced us to the world taught us roads they have been following. Our judgments permeated in their perspective. From dropping a deuce, to combing our hair, from brushing our teeth to taking a bath, every act tainting of ‘a way’, we are supposed to blindly pursue. We go to school. We try to learn things, we don’t comprehend. We spend years to do that. All that precious time, just following something, since we didn’t really have a purpose then! We just have to, in simpler words, survive. We were too dumb to be able to sustain an era, or too immature to understand life – so the experts say. Well, we still don’t, do we?

We are walking on lines, our society drew. Do we have a goal? Are we supposed to just survive? Is that all?

We are only trying to earn a living. If there is nothing more to life than the intent to survive, why do we even bother? All we have to do is eat, sleep and repeat! Some say – we should give back. If we are to give the world something, let’s say an invention, why do they need it at all, and what for? So that they can live easily? Why is survival the penultimate truth?

What is the point of societal conventions then? Would it really matter if we ran destitute or died rich? Would it matter if we were caught in a perennial gloom or a sustained elation then? Would it matter if we lived our lives with or without regrets?

If we repeat a day, every act in it, inadvertently, who is to say that we lived wrong? Didn’t we just, I don’t know, survive another day? Besides who is to judge? What makes our creator a judge? Did you give us a purpose to live? Then how do you get to decide what we do is right or not? Then again, we didn’t ask for this!

We are simply sentient entities thrown into this planet to breathe.A small brain to delegate our creator’s work unconsciously. We are self-aware robots with lots of questions but with only human reasoning to overwhelm our doubts.

This life is a limbo. We must have been in a better place before. Now we are just living a lie, without a purpose, without a point with just a half-hearted wish to coexist, mostly following blind guys who claim to see.

Image

I have been meaning to write this for so long. I have been watching ‘creation’ closely. How it pleasures me! How it rejuvenates me! How I feel, I have done something meaningful after an act of creation. Don’t we all jump with joy when we ‘create’?

There is something about creation that enthuses us. While we are in the process, it brings smile to our faces. It is one of the most beautiful feelings on this mundane planet. Glad we never run out of reasons to smile.

Just rein your thought-horses for a while and ask this question, “Why do you think we are here?” There’s gotta be something, that someone wants of us. We are placed deliberately like pawns in a board of chess. We are supposed to move as our master commands. We must follow something. Also our movements are confined. We can’t barge like a rook or gallop like a knight. We are being watched. We can’t escape the chess-pod. There is nothing out there, just death!

What if there is no master up there? What if nobody is playing us? Are we bereft? Are we dropped just because our superiors wish to see us how we behave, without a fixed purpose?

There has to be something remarkable and useful that we are supposed to do. We have been conferred all those Lego blocks (here matter) that we are supposed to play with, who knows what for, could be just to impress our FATHER.

Okay, carrying out a proper introspection of ourselves, we gather the following facts. Here I’ll quickly rant about some of the major body parts meant to incite creation.

  • We have been given hands. Alright! Bam! That’s for creation. Let us use them to build, create and adorn new things.
  • Then there are eyes, which could definitely be meant for perceiving our creation and of course marvel.
  • Ears and mouth would aid a team to communicate while they create, so they share work and eschew burdens.
  • Legs are accorded so that we could move and create things at different locations all across the globe. Just imagine, without legs, how our compilations would pile up and we would fail to acknowledge creation of others.
  • A brain full of thoughts permeates us, so that we never run out of ideas. So far, we have been successful in thinking every possible thought there is. Our ideas will never cease to exist. Our still waters still run deep.
  • Nose to inhale the invigorating fragrance of our artifacts. Also to breathe wonderful aroma of nature’s creation. Don’t we love inhaling the awesome scent of food getting cooked?
  • The act of savoring our creation is taken care of by our rapacious tongue. Let us chew our food properly with our teeth to extract the gist from a morsel and then relish it with the bounty hunter.

If we are here, I am sure it is not just for eating, drinking and sleeping. We are bestowed with hands not just for wiping our ass when we are done.

When I give a good look at my activities, I come up with creation at every step. (Remember this! I am mentioning this not coz of vanity but just to slip you an instance.)

I write.
I cook.
I imagine.
I draw.
I animate.
I paint.
I review.
I code.
I earn.
I learn and produce.
I compose.
I rhyme.
I think.
I fantasize.
I doodle.
I picture.

All of the above mentioned activities are dipped in creation. I love doing them all. Even while you read a book, you create instances and make them happen in your thoughts. You imagine them. It is always the first time with you. It is your thought. It is your creation. Your thoughts might come into synchronization with thoughts of others, but they would still remain yours.

We create at every step. Even if you don’t have any talents, you still create ‘events’. Every day, new events happen. None of the events have ever reiterated. If they have, then you have defeated time.

There is a reason why we are here. Whenever I ask myself the question why, I always end up with one and only one solution : CREATION