Surfing Civil Society

There is the urge again. The addiction will not leave, it is back and dangerously close. And this time as the full moon swings into view and the howling starts in the distance he feels the urge again, to run amok among the wild birds, skimming the treetops, an obsession with freedom.

An obsession with gut wrenching exhilaration. He lives for it. He dreams about it. Yet he does nothing. He is careful when he drives, and he never cries, he doesn't have a wife and he is alone. He doesn't know what he is thinking most of the time and these days even his dreams are hazy. And life threatens to pass him in a despairing cloudscape blurring everything from pain to bliss.

How to stop this? he doesn't know. He believes excuses are not the way to go. There should technically be no excuses because nothing is impossible. That is his idiom, his very own idiom. He knows it has been wasted and overused since the beginning of time but to those overused words, he bears a kinship that is unique. He knows that they are true. He doesn't believe in them as one would believe in some abstract concept. He truly, honestly believes that nothing was impossible.

Of course, there are reasons why everything is not possible. There were the limitations cast upon by the laws of physics for example, which are hard to beat. But that is not to say that in some universe somewhere there exists a scenario where gravity was such that the norm was for people to be constructed in loosely attached particle like forms, flowing from place to place randomly and in any direction, including up.

Humans were too naive to actually believe that anything was impossible. Their knowledge did not expand to everything, so how could they dare to make such an audacious assumption to the affect that something in their purview could be deemed impossible! It was nothing less than absurd.

But at the same time while thinking all this, he is aware that he has sunk into somewhat of an abstract concept. But then his mind wanders into the question; what is abstractness? Is not reality another illusion? isn't reality simply called reality because it is the illusion that most people seem to have in common most of the time? Reality is the vision of the majority, the collective dope of the diasporas, the colors of a collective conscience.

But his world sometimes teeters on the edge of this perceived reality. His world is on the edge where colors are not colored the way they are expected to. People do not think the thoughts they are expected to, its a world where human achievement pales in comparison to the natural, a world where poverty, sadness, elation, wealth and despair are all constructs of society invented by the disaporic illusion and put in there as a sort of control mechanism to ensure no one steps out of line. An opposite of an insurance policy and an insurance policy at the same time. And no one really needs insurance to survive, insurance is a trap to false senses of security and therefore an ideal world will not have insurance policies; an ideal world will not have poverty, sadness, elation, wealth or despair.

He liked his little world, and found it hard when it clashed with the much bigger and harsher 'real world'. Usually he was tough enough to withstand. But he barely preserved his balance and therein was his adventure, riding the thermals of society. Preserving his balance and trying not to fall. Plunging into new challenges like a bungee jumper seeking a new truth. A new edge to taunt, a new rope to test. So there, that was his sport. He called it surfing.

B side chronicles

There are times i feel not too unlike the character from Dostoevsky's Notes From the Underground. Paranoid, schizophrenic. Schizophrenic! People are out to get me damnit! are you listening?

The realization hit me full force just now. Schizophrenic, Its official. I don’t know whether to feel good about it or bad, because previously i thought i was simply egoistic. Cos that was the only word i could think of to explain the situation, seeing as i thought the world revolved around me, modern astronomical discoveries notwithstanding.

When I’m in the bus i can feel them staring at me.. judging me by my clothes and actions. Looking at me reading BBC while holding on to a seat back and i can feel them resenting me. for what? i don’t know. But they are about to mob me! so i look up and cast an appreciative glance around the place, just to let em know that i am also a humble traveler and there is no need to hit me.

At work i am constantly narrow eyed if colleagues are gathering around the tea table and talking, a sharp ear is cast in their general direction to discern what they are saying. If the boss has a meeting and most of the other team are there or they are looking generally shifty, all sorts of conspiracies never cease to go through my mind when i look in their direction and with good reason too! oh yes, they are all out to get me!

Sometimes the threats become too much and i can’t take it and so i come to depend on apathy. Sometimes and really this is true, the whole world conspires against me and tries to bring me to my knees. I get a painful feeling in my crotch and my gut starts to feel like its full of hot uneasy gas. And then i fart. No no of course i don't fart.

Interesting thing about asking girls if they fart? Some of ‘em will avoid the question like the plague. And some will straight up admit it and say yes. Then you're left trying to figure out a whote new set of psychological phenomena.

There is a swamp inside me and it’s called The Mind. And I’m stuck somewhere bogged down with a useless motorboat in the middle of the night and there are alligators circling me and they are getting closer bit by bit. And the closest one is called ‘Confusion’, while 'Paranoid' and 'Schizophrenic' are somewhere close behind. And behind all of them, circling in the widest circle, moves the biggest, most dastardly alligator you have ever seen, 'Defeat'.

Boy meets girl, boy eats girl

Girlfriends. There. I am coming to this elusive topic that has been causing me to stop, stare and hyperventilate every time i sit in front of my screen to write something. and i cant fucking handle this. when i cant write, my work suffers, and we all know how much one should care about one's girls work.

I haven't had any sex in months, I mean im not a exactly a bed hopping charged battery-bull but you know, i like the occasional roll in the grass or more like the pavement you know. But you can't even get laid in this land without undergoing torturous psychological trauma where the girl will give you no end of hell accusing you of knocking her up and jumping the gun.

I am sorry, i may be offending a lot of ladies here but to my credit, i really don't care. I almost suspected myself of turning into a homosexual for goodness sakes! i have been for so long removed from womankind by choice that there are points of time when i am seriously concerned about the true nature of my sexuality, this is a serious, serious problem.

This all started ages ago, along with my first experiences with women. I have always been careful not to be too sexually involved with a woman that im emotionally involved with and my list of encounters of the close kind have mostly been with causal flings. But then again this is not a very telling point seeing as i've only really been emotionally involved with about 3 women (and only two of them anything close to serious). But the thing is, sexual experiences in my book feel nothing as good as when there is a bit of emotion involved.

Casual flings are great. but there is a reason they are casual and pretty soon you get bored and move along yeah? and the more time you spend in casual flings the more you tend to start wanting something more real and more exciting and then poof! before you know it, you are treading the Menstrual Swamps, with bitch fits, hissy fits (apologies to DQ whom i met over the weekend and whom i thought was very nice), underground arguments waiting to grab you by your feet and drag you under, and the occasional extremely dangerous surprise landmine that will explode the moment you keep your foot in the wrong place.

It takes a long time to navigate out of the Swamp, and its a tough, tough process. There will be many vines that grab you. Many zombified 'other people' who will involve themselves and perform slave rituals in trance like dreams to make your life even more of a living hell than it already is. The swamp itself will play mind games on you, it will make you believe that you don't really want to leave! it will try and convince you that it is in reality a paradise, and it will actually show you a some wonderful times to prove it. But these wonderful times will soon be few and far between and one must know to get out whilst one still can. One must be strong and determined. And immune to the temptations of the flesh.

Such drama and torture is not worth the sex on tap that is probably the sole benefit of the whole operation. Oh of course there is love and understanding and caring and all that, but that's nothing a guy can't mostly do without, cos it all comes at such a great price see? And like i said, sex in a relationship is different from just plain old sex. No, to me its more intense, more thrilling, much more of an experience than just a wham bam thank you m' am at Big John, Dehiwala. Sex with emotion is truly ecstatic. And the other kind simply pales in comparison.

So what do we do then? this is quite the perplexing conundrum (not the blog). Here i lie frustrated the fuck out, wanting to get laid but pooh-pooh-ing at a casual fling, checking out boys and wondering what the fuck is wrong with me, examining this post and wondering why the fuck i've written the word 'fuck' so many times. Trying my best to stay the hell away from emotional involvement with women and not finding it all that hard either because i'v become jaded and cynical and most of the women i know don't make me feel like i should be in a relationship with them anyway.

Yes, the world is boring and nothing presents me a challenge worth taking.

Change man, change is what i need.

Obama! is this the thanks i get for telling my best friend in Maryland to vote for you? So what if he was not a citizen and couldn't actually vote? and so what if i didn't actually tell him anything in the first place? %%$^#$!

The Killed

My mind's in a tailspin the torque has a hold
bringing me down into a depth tenfold
of where I was before and where I wanted to be
there is nothing that I know of in this knowledge less sea.
They killed me, and left my soul to be damned
they raged and they sped in the grips of an evil plan
they spat and they scratched me anyway they could
they wounded and broke, and I took it like I should.

Took it for the hopes that I shed and gave up on
took it for the dreams that I didn't quite believe in
took it for the demons I created in my mind
took it for the lies, that I told from time to time
I died for the bastard that I was to some people
I died for the hate that my actions bred
now I'm ripped through and through
and the last of my blood is shed,
the demons I created within me
can finally find their rest.

Inspired by The Kill by Unsilent Dawn.

HIDE

The cold is so bracing the past is embracing

Sometimes I feel I want to fucking hide away.

Inside the pacing on the footsteps of my conscience

Knocking up a racket in my heart.

Every step, every whoosh of a foot lifted up

Swirls me in disgust and fear does not forgive,

It’s hard to control in the enveloping dark.

Sometimes I feel I want to hide away from all this

Get away and run off to a dead black jungle somewhere

Run away and live in the dark.

I want to hide, from sick, shriveling lives

I want to hide from the neoliberal inside.

I want to hide from the oppressing squirm

Of the pressure inflicted upon me by my dastardly ambition.

The dead bride of my inhibition

A carcass tied to my hand.

Dragging me, weighing me down.

So am I wrong? And can you blame me if I say

That sometimes I just want to hide the fuck away?

Just want to get away

Just want to escape

Just want

Out.

That pothole on the road…

My life, usually so organized, does not function well without a target. A sort of an arrow it is. Leave it around somewhere lying about and pretty soon it’s going to get an attack of the heebie jeebies.


And I’ve got the heebies now. And a mild attack of the jeebies too, I think.

As you might know, if you have been paying attention (narrows eyebrows) I had it all figured out. I was going to get entry into my MBA, go through the VISA application in a breeze, and start a new chapter of my life abroad. Granted, I hadn’t given much thought to what I was going to actually do after the MBA (work probably) but hey, at least I had a plan and knew where it was all heading for the next year yeah? I could sit back and relax a bit.

But then the shit hit the fan. OK that’s not really true, for if the shit hit the fan, there would at least be some justification for my ultimate trust that the variables in my plan would work out. Am I making sense here? Cos I don’t think I am. To put it another way, the shit didn’t even get as far as the fan to begin with.

I had unshakeable belief that things would work out exactly according to plan. This is quite strange for me, the overbearing cynic that I am.

But to say that the ground was pulled out from under my feet would be entirely inaccurate.

No, the ground wasn’t pulled from underneath my feet. It was placed right below me just as I had reached the critical velocity and the precise point where I was supposed to pull the cord to release my parachute so to speak, in a skydiving context and faced with the lack of a better analogy. I took the leap you see, and expected the rest to just be a piece of my Grandma’s delicious ripened date cake.

Then shit happened. Or didn’t even bother to happen, whichever way you look at it.

So now I’m stuck with my mouth hanging open. Except for when it mindlessly moves to shape nonsensicalities without really producing much in the sound department. My legs have kind of lost their sense of feeling as well and are trying to move off in ten different directions at once.

Am I in shock? Hmmm I don’t know doctor, but can I have a lollipop while I think about it?

A Matter of Opinion or Restlessnessnesslessrestlessnesslessness…

My mind is a swarming pit of agoraphobic monsters coping up with the air in the gloom of my darkening fate. The masses of the world look at me with skewed eyes and their hypocrisy and refusal to believe the reality that is in their own heads and hearts never ceases to disgruntle me.

For what are we but vessels of thought? What are we but cabins that house a myriad of events and imaginations that take place one after the other on a day to day basis? We constantly correct ourselves, contradict ourselves and confuse ourselves with the implications and the counter-implications of our thoughts and ideas. Does it matter if no one else appreciates my work? Will that render my work devoid of any literal value? Do we have to write to please others? Or do we have to write something that is correct and is of value to people?

But how do we judge what is correct? How do we judge what is right when in the realm of the mind, depending on what internal forces counteract with each other in what particular manner, anything could be deemed as right. And that is what we call opinion. Opinion is formed depending on an individual’s circumstances and therefore, it follows that the only instance where two individuals who possess identical opinions on a subject can be found is where these two individuals have been through identical circumstances all throughout their lives.

And that is a practical impossibility which goes without saying. So therefore no human being can possess an opinion which is identical to that of another human being on the same subject at any time. All we can do is broadly agree on a few things. But when it really gets down to the nitty-gritty, we will eventually always disagree. So that’s why we compromise.

‘You can’t have everything your way’.

But I am still restless.