Saturday, May 29, 2010

things

May has been hard hit by my emotional state of crawling deeper into my shell. Inaction and inexpressiveness have been the defining labels. This blog has not seen much love.
 

The week that just ended was defined by setbacks -

Firstly, the Naxal audacity ballooning, and resulting in several more deaths over the week that went by. Imagining an outcome is scary - for our government would bear these scars forever, economic development will be thwarted, the regions would see intense warfare and bloodshed, there would be more grisly decapitations featured on the news to which people would boast of their disgust during dinnertime.

And then my plans of travels in Europe going into the dust with a fractured Visa process that our governments have fixed upon. It is very irksome, having the resources and inclination, and yet feeling crippled is not a feeling I've come across often.
Now I'm considering agents, bribes, and tearing through these frameworks to see how its done. One last flounder before I give up.
(similar frustration)

Tuesday, May 25, 2010

Am I starting to dislike office?

It is getting growingly uncomfortable avoiding snowclones in daily expressions.
How awkward to trip into the '...than fade away' mode at the start of the week. Well, the concept of a week rarely holds significance when each and every day is a revelation of sensations about things around us.
Observing human behavior soon turns to sorting through litter, as there is rarely something that would make you feel proud of not being the furniture that you sit on... Well, on retrospect, I get more from my chair than I get from my friends and foes around me. Maturity has a new definition - "A state of immutability of finding yourself vegetable existence fulfiling".
Utahraptor, WE NAILED IT!

Monday, May 24, 2010

OMG OMG OMG!

OMG OMG OMG!
What are we doing reducing ourselves to oblivion?
Arguably, oblivion is our fate, as the statistics and much of our timelines prove, but need we force us through the hole?
What will be of us when we are decaying away, eating our own weight in namkeen mix and wiping the roaches off our lips?
It is agreed that physical deterioration is insignificant in today's world; we can burn ourselves away to a miserable light mass of fleshy bones, or a horrid fat monster, but how would be handle the mankind's new bastion - the mind? Do we have enough to keep us hooked? Have we promised ourselves extravagant nostalgia 10 years down the line? Have we created memories that can prove our flourish in times to come?
Just what will we be doing when we touch 40, retired, lethargic, thinking of wading through life for another 50 years or so?
Is there anything to keep us from being defined as merely a reservoir of sexual energy when we turn 30?
Is there anything to keep us from being defined as a mere corruption of excretory functions when we turn 70?

Saturday, May 15, 2010

Halfway being

With his character being scalded by the water from the geyser funneled through the water spout onto his tender and grimy body, he went into thought. His brainy mass started working on several thoughts at once, possibly one for every thin yet firm jet of water that hit him through the spout.

First, as the soap worked around his chest and legs, he saw the thought - one that cropped in his head midway the night - to its entirety. Yes, they were still in a state of infancy, a degenerate bullish existence (ref. Ch1, "Hackers and Painters", by Paul Graham). They still saw much things in the light of 'cool' and 'uncool', and their modus operandi of making acquaintence was immediate confirmation of their validations/invalidations, and a hope for the other person for the same. They had reviewed so much in so many, yet it only seemed to make them worse in their judgments. He wondered whether he should formally approach them and de-commit all the commitments that had been exchanged in the process of mutual acceptance.

Now onto the nape and the back, and he was reviewing his (partial) renewal of zest and activity in life. Weekends always made him mull over that. He saw himself active enough, happy enough, and fit enough for all of his day's activities - nightly ping pong games had it all covered. He had no concern for a cosmetic body, for he was neither in a profession that would require that, or in active physical relationship with a woman who would desire that.

The shampoo negated his thought process, as the surfactants seeped into his eyes and had a burning sensation. The dimension of his awareness narrowed to the hair on the floor, then dirt sediments stacking up around the drain pipe, and the color of his bathroom mug, which he had believed to be green, but in fact, was purple.

Soon, with the bath done, and the drying in process, his thoughts shifted to the immediacies of his crowded life. He had office to be at on a weekend, he had to - definitely had to - take care of his laundry, maybe there was cycling to take up later in the day, he had a college friend to meet after 3 years, he had his cousins to take out for dinner, and help his NGO friends with their website; crowded life. With the fabric of the towel now running softly over his body making gentle finishing strokes, he dreamt of company a girl he'd like to see himself involved with, and let the assuaging thought hold on for an equally fleeting moment.

Cold coffee, sleep, and hopes for a fabulous day in his pending wakefulness.

Thursday, May 06, 2010

K&K

"Books are immortal sons defying their sires" - Plato

So it is Peter Soren Kierkegaard's birthday today - today, if you are still on American time (EST). His 197th one. I had, surprisingly, been reading about him since a day back, stumbling upon his reference in one of the dinosaur comics. The man's gonna be by new fad.

Karl Marx also shares the same day for his birthday. Having been horrified at the continued legacy of his political writings, I have never delved a bit into him. Nobody says I should.
Anyways, both their 200th birth anniversaries are near; I believe there'll be good cult celebrations around those months. Shmoop, probably would hold some festival. Knowing and celebrating these people 200 years since their conception is immortality, indeed.