Indecision. A vicious loop. A reoccurring cycle of compromise and regret that clutches hard and doesn't let go. This is just one of the many vicious cycles that we encounter in life. It's unlike addiction for there is no pleasure to get from this one. You just follow the flock, flow with the water and end up in a sewer. Time after time history repeating itself. How things should have had been and why they are the way they are. Why did I not stand tall in the moment of truth. Why did I get weak. How did I end up here.
The right path is usually the one that is least walked upon. Bookish but true. This road is dark and one walks alone on it but never feels alone. There is strength in this path. A strength that gives one courage to push till the last inch. Though it will have it's consequences but at least it's real. At least one knows that he is responsible for whatever that happens to him.
It all seems good from the spectator point of view. Oh they had a break up, that's new. He broke his neck, I can't believe it. I've gotta tell this to everyone. Funny isn't it?... It's not from the first person view. It stings, gives a headlock, people take aspirin to drive it away. They smoke, drink, cry, weep, make phone calls, break things, hit a punch bag... Just to vent off the frustration that builds up. I write. I talk to the keyboard. It won't interrupt me. It just keeps quiet and listens patiently.
It's funny how a few words knitted together properly can make a life changing impact. I am not talking about the how to books. Only a total wuss would go for the ones like "a complete idiot's guide to becoming a president" I don't know if it even exists but I am sure there are many crackpots who would buy it if it did. I personally am against such boastful texts. If there were a single guideline of doing something then there would be no variation. Nothing new, been there done that. There is always a backdoor, an alternate path. The one not discovered.
Comparatively, novels are good. I like reading them for a reason that they fire up my imagination. It makes one think laterally. Life needs change, it needs a diversion. A monotonous soul rots soon and to save it the show must go on.
Finally this is not daily dawn and neither is it a medical journal. If you're expecting an information overload, hit the search bar. You landed here because it was your decision. The unthankful ones will be banished. The thankful ones will enjoy the endless pleasures of my pointless rant.
Wednesday, February 6, 2008
Wednesday, January 23, 2008
Hole In My Sole
There's a hole in my soul... and it's very big, black with burnt smoldering borders. There is also a hole in my sole and I strongly believe this is the reason I have a hole in my soul. Constant lack of sleep has given me hangovers, clearly eminent from the kind of stuff I've been writing these days... Disturbing. My neurons are clogged and the prime time for my brain function these days is from 12 am to 6 am. It's a long tale of staleness and putrefaction. Teenage will just pass me by in a few days. I'll be twenty then. I've got 50 certificates I have saved for burning when the next ice-age comes and 15 trophies with no shelf to put them on but no tick marks on my checklist of dirty deeds and just one person who got his ass kicked by me (and luckily the chair he threw at me din pop my eyeballs)
There is a misquotation I would like to quote, "don't wait for your ship to come, swim out to meet it"... Somebody tell him I don't know how to swim, my dad never taught me that.. Besides there are sharks in there, man eating sharks waiting to get a slice of me.. Easy for him to say, the last ship he saw was a paper one made from an empty pack of smokes.. And besides no one wants to catch a ship. We have got planes now and rockets and maybe somebody will invent a molecule translocator. But science never invented anything that drives the blues away. If you buy a cellphone somebody else has got a better one, if you have a Civic someone else has an Accord. It's a vicious loop and science its creator. Godfather of the blues circle. Creating more segments in this already divided human society. Human ... a species that should belong to the phylum arthropoda and perhaps human society is the most segmented thing ever. Segments created by wealth, power, religion, looks and race. Each adding another row and another column to human classification. It's easy for most of the people to go on with their life without ever pondering upon the question.. "In which segment do I stand at this point" but sometimes this question hits so hard, it shatters all the lame excuses for continuing with life the way it is. This is where one hits pause and thinks if the path they are walking really leads somewhere they want to go..
I know it's alot of bullshit from a person who can barely keep his eyes open right now. I am sure that even a chimpanzee could have had written this provided he had a medium of communication and company of someone like me who shares common traits... liking bananas, female primates of respective species and frequent outbursts of laughter and rage. But things are the way they are for a good reason. At least a chimp can spill his heart out to me without fearing any speculation, conviction and treachery. But I have chosen the alternate, I have written it out in comprehensible English so that every single soul walking wounded or tall, filled with vice and vengeance or with light in the form of a halo can read this and speculate, presume and assume. But that won't matter, what matters is the battle that goes on inside.. a constant vendetta where everyday people fight. Some to kill another day, others to live it. To rise again from fallen. To make change, to recreate, to recover. I am a late riser. I wake up at 2:00 pm in the afternoon. To change that, I didn't sleep last night...
There is a misquotation I would like to quote, "don't wait for your ship to come, swim out to meet it"... Somebody tell him I don't know how to swim, my dad never taught me that.. Besides there are sharks in there, man eating sharks waiting to get a slice of me.. Easy for him to say, the last ship he saw was a paper one made from an empty pack of smokes.. And besides no one wants to catch a ship. We have got planes now and rockets and maybe somebody will invent a molecule translocator. But science never invented anything that drives the blues away. If you buy a cellphone somebody else has got a better one, if you have a Civic someone else has an Accord. It's a vicious loop and science its creator. Godfather of the blues circle. Creating more segments in this already divided human society. Human ... a species that should belong to the phylum arthropoda and perhaps human society is the most segmented thing ever. Segments created by wealth, power, religion, looks and race. Each adding another row and another column to human classification. It's easy for most of the people to go on with their life without ever pondering upon the question.. "In which segment do I stand at this point" but sometimes this question hits so hard, it shatters all the lame excuses for continuing with life the way it is. This is where one hits pause and thinks if the path they are walking really leads somewhere they want to go..
I know it's alot of bullshit from a person who can barely keep his eyes open right now. I am sure that even a chimpanzee could have had written this provided he had a medium of communication and company of someone like me who shares common traits... liking bananas, female primates of respective species and frequent outbursts of laughter and rage. But things are the way they are for a good reason. At least a chimp can spill his heart out to me without fearing any speculation, conviction and treachery. But I have chosen the alternate, I have written it out in comprehensible English so that every single soul walking wounded or tall, filled with vice and vengeance or with light in the form of a halo can read this and speculate, presume and assume. But that won't matter, what matters is the battle that goes on inside.. a constant vendetta where everyday people fight. Some to kill another day, others to live it. To rise again from fallen. To make change, to recreate, to recover. I am a late riser. I wake up at 2:00 pm in the afternoon. To change that, I didn't sleep last night...
Saturday, January 12, 2008
The Fabricated Post
It's a world plagued by fiction... But it is fiction I love. In fact it gripped my mind so fiercely that I found myself saying "Lumos" to turn the lights on. Corrupted my brain might be but at least I have faith that the next time someone pulls a gun at me, all I have to do is take a pencil, wave it and say "Expelliarmus". Pencil reminds me of a t.v. show which had this lad with a knuckle head pencil that could bring anything you make to life. But the most disturbing and pitiful aspect of the show was the way the pencil was put use to. Making Bicycles and Candy!!! This is what happens when you hand a pistol to a blind man... As uncle Ben wisely said in Spiderman
"With great powers comes great responsibility"
What a waste of lead and nice clean paper. Who would want to make a bicycle? Even my 8 y/o nephew wants a PS 3, gamecube and an x box 360...
No doubt there are many things i yearn for.. but lets face it.. who would refuse a Lamborghini Gallardo, A shelf full of imported booze and membership to club filled with strippers. Fantasies fantasies...
But what's the point in writing all this. If you had observed closely you would have noticed that it's 3:30 am and Ii am running out of practically anything to write. My eyes are sore, maybe I'm not getting rest.. or maybe it's Eye Cancer. In case you were wondering if it exists. It does. It's right there written somewhere in that Guyton. You just didn't notice . I underlined it VERY CLEARLY.. with PENCIL... Hb 2.5
I once read somewhere "If what I am is what I have and what I have is lost then who am I"
Let us analyze the statement and try to help this confused wise sage.. The answer to this statement depends upon one single factor.. The object that is lost.. Assuming from the above mentioned speculative statement that the person is a writer who lives on minimum wage..
If he loses his job.. he becomes an unemployed soul
And then he loses his faith.. and becomes a desperate unemployed soul
Ultimately he loses his wife and is entitled as a desperate unemployed divorced.. wanker (Now this material is rated pg 13 L)
Let us spare the above person of shame by believing that he was trying to deliver an obscure message. But he should have had payed more attention, instead he was overly indulged in sharpening his pencil...
There are some questions I want the answers for.. these are very critical ones and it's like my whole life depends on them. But they will remain unanswered just like many other questions like why are you reading this post, why was this post not titled as "The Pencil" and why Pakistan will never host any other international sport event apart from "Gilli Danda".. I am a curious person and no doubt curiosity is a killer and I would not be happy if I die. To save myself from such displeasure I continue to live a life of uncertainty...
I once read a lesson, an autobiography of pencil. Yes a pencil has written an autobiography. In which it has illustrated it's exciting 5 day lifespan. In it's intriguing life it was skinned, dragged, chewed by a toddler. Considering it, my life seems to be moderate. And everyones else's too... Miracles are rare. I mean when was the last time we saw a miracle after Zia's plane crashed.
I guess it's high time this post ended. High reminds me I still have some hash left. Third world country has it's own benefits, cops selling hash... what a delight.
"With great powers comes great responsibility"
What a waste of lead and nice clean paper. Who would want to make a bicycle? Even my 8 y/o nephew wants a PS 3, gamecube and an x box 360...
No doubt there are many things i yearn for.. but lets face it.. who would refuse a Lamborghini Gallardo, A shelf full of imported booze and membership to club filled with strippers. Fantasies fantasies...
But what's the point in writing all this. If you had observed closely you would have noticed that it's 3:30 am and Ii am running out of practically anything to write. My eyes are sore, maybe I'm not getting rest.. or maybe it's Eye Cancer. In case you were wondering if it exists. It does. It's right there written somewhere in that Guyton. You just didn't notice . I underlined it VERY CLEARLY.. with PENCIL... Hb 2.5
I once read somewhere "If what I am is what I have and what I have is lost then who am I"
Let us analyze the statement and try to help this confused wise sage.. The answer to this statement depends upon one single factor.. The object that is lost.. Assuming from the above mentioned speculative statement that the person is a writer who lives on minimum wage..
If he loses his job.. he becomes an unemployed soul
And then he loses his faith.. and becomes a desperate unemployed soul
Ultimately he loses his wife and is entitled as a desperate unemployed divorced.. wanker (Now this material is rated pg 13 L)
Let us spare the above person of shame by believing that he was trying to deliver an obscure message. But he should have had payed more attention, instead he was overly indulged in sharpening his pencil...
There are some questions I want the answers for.. these are very critical ones and it's like my whole life depends on them. But they will remain unanswered just like many other questions like why are you reading this post, why was this post not titled as "The Pencil" and why Pakistan will never host any other international sport event apart from "Gilli Danda".. I am a curious person and no doubt curiosity is a killer and I would not be happy if I die. To save myself from such displeasure I continue to live a life of uncertainty...
I once read a lesson, an autobiography of pencil. Yes a pencil has written an autobiography. In which it has illustrated it's exciting 5 day lifespan. In it's intriguing life it was skinned, dragged, chewed by a toddler. Considering it, my life seems to be moderate. And everyones else's too... Miracles are rare. I mean when was the last time we saw a miracle after Zia's plane crashed.
I guess it's high time this post ended. High reminds me I still have some hash left. Third world country has it's own benefits, cops selling hash... what a delight.
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