I have a healthy disdain towards organization, towards the inhuman mass of humans grinding towards a central goal, for in the act of massing of humans, it becomes less humane. I am an anarchist to the effect that complete freedom is accrued, and lying veils of false sense of protection are ripped and thrown away. Organizations, it seems, always tend to make anti human decisions. Earth is going to dogs, thanks to ultra efficient organizations. In search of growth, in a fear of tumble, we run incessantly gulping up wildly anything and everything, leaving behind a trail of a non-creative destruction. There is no logic to it if one stands out of it and looks at it through long enough a time frame.
There’s always a huge stoppage, a high wall of inertia that builds up in me unfailingly near completion of any and everything. I just don’t get it. Why? I might have talked of it earlier… I remember of writing about this a few years ago when knowing that I was going wrong, on a lathe machine, I botched up the object that I was machining on, and I discussed then of the destructive instinct within us. Is it the destructive instinct that doesn’t let me complete any task to its complete potential? I know of a few books that I haven’t completed reading, or some projects that I started and didn’t complete, or the huge inertia that I had to fight on any major assignment. Even my internship project isn’t complete. Thankfully, I can say that its version 1 and get away with it. (But the truth remains, even in its incompletion, the white paper that I wrote is all meat, no pfaff. If someone ventures into reading it, they would come out with a lot of insights into the subject matter. Unfortunately, its pfaff that they want... ) For most of the things that I write, I have no sense of climax and I usually end on a hunch or mostly when I am bored.
Of course this has to change. Since a few days I have been harboring an image of myself as a writer. I can’t be incompetently frivolous with my writing any more.
Also, what does this alludes to?
What am I afraid of? Completeness? A state of infallibility? or is it a premature surrender to the realization that nothing can be perfect, complete? But why?
Cowardice? Laziness? That looks more probable. Probably am simply too lazy to put an effort for completion after having got a glimpse of what lies in store thereafter. But this is applicable to only a certain things. This doesn’t explain my almost self destructive streaks. Of standing at the edge of completion and relish in the joy of decimation of my efforts; for how and what else will prepare the ground for future? Do I really enjoy destroying my efforts? I don’t know. I am extremely possessive of my creations. Extremely. But at moments, I can let it go just as easily, without remorse later on. It’s as if the checks and balances have been achieved and the chapter is closed. But these moments come arbitrarily, or so it seems. What might be the logic behind these moments? When I am free of notion of possession, the feeling of freedom at these moments is precious. It’s like standing atop a mountain, winds lifting you up, carrying the sweet smell of vegetation and soil to you. Greens and blues filling up the vision. Infinite. Bound in my vision. Utter control out of utter submission. This is born of the feeling of being part of the grand fabric of universe, an inconsequential part that wonders at the beauty and enormity of the universe, and at the same time a consequential part for it affects the rest, for it travels through all and is an irreplaceable component of the grand machinery. I am all. I am nothing.
I feel it’s more due to my cowardice. But I can’t name this cowardice. Cowardice arising from what fear? In what direction? What am I afraid of?