Digging for Meaning

http://player.vimeo.com/video/89305413 Ideas are tremendously potent. People turn mad in rage and kill. People smile beatifically and help others. People dig up, blow up, fill up, swamp the earth.  People chase imaginary ghosts & Questions & purposes. All their lives. People fetish on foods, movies, shoes, bodies and turn off the inner eye. People lose their sense of reality, their sense of justice, their balance of life. The breath. the breath is lost. The realisation of the breath becomes alien. A moment in silence turns into an eternity of restlessness. "Occupy me" screams the inner child fed on ideas 24x7. The hell that is introspection. the hell that is looking back into our acts in reality.  "Ideas. occupy me." The ants carry stuff for their colonies. What are we carrying, for whom? Our queen bee is Change with a capital C. Change, Change, Change. faster and faster. evolutions, revolutions. No matter at what cost. People chase c...

Centipedes running through air in distance the mystery of a hundred quick feet the arc of motion - swifter than comprehension.  ____ Hundreds of ghost lamps undimmed & unflickering circling the city, above our heads.  ____ Metal thundering on concrete Air shimmering on Metal Eye on the shimmer of the air.  ____ Behind the glass monsters it glides without sound, without consequence air sliced by the swift samurai sword. ____

Cloud, the color of the sky one into another, seamless A slow movement, wind escaped from a hurried eye a frantic eye, inconsolable terrified by what it didn't see a moon that was supposed to there but is not. The eye does not know, it only sees. a moonless sky on a moonlit night. what's real? what's a shadow? 

Levi's has come with another commercial from their 'Go forth' campaign. Here's an embedded video of the same. It instigated me to write what I felt about such advertisements, in the form of a poem. It follows the video, please scroll down. An empty shell of decaf coffee and air conditioned adventures. Running in the city streets stamping out mindlessly images of its own. All the running flattening the world into a 2D image-nerium from a living breathing 3D world of yesterday. 'You are a kid' & 'you are the next living leader of the world' and all that lies in between is a piece of cloth that drapes beautifully and consequentially. The 21st century gods in jeans and T-shirts and shades smile their blessings on you - you whose image is now as big as those very god's. And smiling sideways, the gods bestow powers on the soles of your designer shoes and the threads of the Made-in-Bangladesh shirts. The global dreams ...

Uncertain fists in the air Raised for causes ill understood. Uncertain fists as proofs of desperate existence,pumped in empty air. The proof of a life lived sustained on the noxious fanning of outrages. The sadness and badness of the world continuously pumped through the digital veins of the world. The connected soul, battered incessantly by the tidal waves of outrages. Before comprehension can dawn, submerged in another outrage. skin thin outrage, blood thick issues wasp's lifespan worth interest ageless reality man. disconnect. DISCONNECT.

when the lights go out and the city's TVs and chat windows are left lifeless the lonely legs bring the living souls to the windows and balconies of the lonely city. and in that honest dark time, the city sighs. empty heavy gazes converge in the heat of the city. hearts on window sill breath for life in the hot mist.

a bird, a weightless soul pouring out its music into nothingness...

Chapter 1. The order This is a story about a maverick government officer who was unlike any. He was driven with passion for his pledge not pennies. A pledge that all took, but few followed At the feet of powerful did most find grounds hallowed. The pledge was a looking glass that made everyone seem equal. And justice was a given, not a mirage of ‘coming soon’ sequel. But alas, the real world was none too congruent. And the supposed builders of bridges of equality were playing truant. When the majority abdicates its duties and a few uphold the ideal, the mirror of the truth is sought to be sabotaged and its shard are used to kill. Normality is enforced and differences are annihilated. Opinions are agreed upon and beamed down into gullible brains emaciated. The hero of our story was no idealistic zealot he was just a human, and felt for his lot. His conscience was not squeaky clean but questioning that conscience was his daily scene. It was just one such day, when his boss asked him to g...

Hands Such grace Creation chose the medium of creativity to be bestowed with such divine grace. They flow like water, and flap like wings. They deceive time, and deliver stillness. They break and they fuse. They play with air and water, and elements delight in their touch. They move and they feel. They are alive. They are life. They hold and they love. They fly and they jump. They nourish and they punish. They are us and they are the world. Our hands are sheer grace.

Watched Werner Herzog's 'white diamond' now. every time i see this man's movies, its as if a call. the movies are a beacon to me. beacon to a way i should be living my life. I have written about him here . I am in awe of him and for the first time in life, my hopes and aspirations are taking clearer shape in my mind thanks to his movies, to his lingering nimble gaze, light and studious. the perfect student. the traveler. Remain true to yourself, but move ever upward toward greater consciousness and greater love! At the summit you will find yourselves united with all those who, from every direction, have made the same ascent. For everything that rises must converge.- Pierre Teilhard De Chardin Its about time. 

dreams and hopes. heavy shapeless things. high on life, we smoke up reality and puff out dreams. they are round and edgeless, because we want them to be likewise. how free and light it felt while smoking it all up. how wonderful and colorful and full of love. and then while we were dreaming, bloody scheming silent slimy serpent of time slithered past us without us ever letting know. and all remained is the slime of memories, that touch of the serpent. just the nagging alive feeling of some dead moment of past and from time to time, the cloud of dreams clear up and we are left staring at the brutal blandness of reality and we are left wondering, 'where the fuck was I all this while?' and 'what the fuck am I doing now?' and 'why the *your favourite expletive* have i not tried flying?' all this while, afraid and dreaming letting the dreams add to itself weight of rust until it gets too heavy to fly. giving up on the fact that reality and dreams...

what good is a cell phone? you stare at it for long. hoping for it to ring. hoping for it to light up with that name.  and its bloody unmoving. and then it makes noise when you don't want anything to do with it or anything else at all. if only it could carry a smile with it as well, instead of the dumb smiley. a real smile. the infectious one. if only it could carry touch, the caring 'i am here' touch. a real tight hold on the silent cowering fingers.

her pout is her hug and her lips draw blood stilled in rapture i laugh out at my dazed-ness and give up the moment i had yearned for all this while...

Right now my whole being feels like a pastiche of a million poetries. thoughts have melted into curving, dripping, flowing ideas. i close my eyes and it feels like i am dancing.. moving with the breeze... waltzing with dry leaves. levitated. light. i am listening to Il postino's soundtrack which has neruda's poetry. and its making me yearn to read some kundera all over again. maybe, i will read laughable loves once more. its worth it at any rate. sleep, i have found a substitute for you. good night.

every day, an hour before sleep is due ego deserts me. and i am left lying on the bed curled up with unsure thumbs and fingers twiddling with the cellphone. the day after, ego wakes up with cocky erasure of memory of ever having felt needy. ego! you beast! you deserter! stay true or let alone. what good is an undulating pride. what good is an undulating faith.

i am the little air particles jostling, fighting to be breathed in by you. breathe in, silence every cell of my body taught with anticipation. darkness and questions groping for the past to bludgeon open the future. breathe out, sight of your smile bellows me upwards in bliss. i dance and i sing and i land gently on your skin. caressed flooded with love we are blind to time finding eternity of bliss in a moment. for a moment to dissolve into another for the life on a roll forever i am the little air particles.

i want to scream your name out loud loud as i can be to feel it rolling out of my tounge to feel it leaving my throat dry my face twitching with anticipation that my shout may be heard by you that with every subsequent shout you come closer until i need to shout no more whisper no more until the breaths intertwine and its noise is all we can hear

our love was a bastard child you were strong and held your earlier one to your bosom with strength of mountains the merry little one you wish could have remained in womb never to come out. you refuse to kill it and wish to keep it away the bastard has a soul too it would rather die than be orphaned let it crawl back into you and dissolve in your heart it will be reborn on the new day of someone else.

i tell myself that i covet you a disease that can be undone. but my symptoms make me fear of something terminal of love requited in uncertain measures and of love in spite. of possibility that had been erased but for the intertwined lives. another flower must bloom on the grave of our memories i must die and be born again.

woody allen. watching his movies is like gazing at a lake. its beautiful, its easy, it needn't be turbulent, and after spending enough time with it you actually feel content with a light buzz (that a glass of shiraz wine (nasik's \m/) would lend). the movies may not be realistic but it always portrays a certain reality. the reality of life through a narrow lense, a narrow politics. this lends a simplicity to his movies which lets it wash over you without any undue excitement. its like having a nice conversation with an old friend, comfortable in the contradictions/arguments and with a confirmation of knowing each other a little more better. cheers! and go watch manhattan. p.s. : i have written about conversations and movies here .