{Of all lies, art is the least untrue - Flaubert}

Friday, April 29, 2005

Against all.

There are times you find yourself against all, all of them and you have every valid reason to be so. Such times are even more painful than those having of emptiness of nothingness. There are times you fail to relate to people uniformly, its not that you fear them or they fear you but the basic laws of gravity defy itself and you fail to attract or get attracted. This of tremendous consequence because coldness begets itself in a big way. You tend to do things that are not unique but those that have the maximum inertia. The will or desire to do stuff keeps you going but then you realize that 'that' doesn’t work for you, your power of thinking is in all time high, but you think of nothing more than nothing. The conscious self struggles hard to get out of it generating a nauseating discomfort. Even best of things show horror of being shallow and act of following them looks an act of phenomenal stupidity. You want to write to express but like always ideas flutter making sounds of banality. You think that you have done it all and seen it all, why again the same thing, I want some new discomfort to experience. All newness seems to deconstruct in same atomic pain. Things go hazily microscopic and stay that way. You see life and people from the bleakest of perspective and get the expected in return. The world is waiting for you to do a comic act and you fail to make them laugh. Go off the stage!

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