Part 2: The Human Carnival

A cerebral discrepancy is more often than not a constructive element of a creator’s constitution. But then there are fears of what may come to be if every stage of life should indeed become a battle for sanity. I have been away , literally and virtually. I have the intent and the will to assemble pieces.. but there is no easy linearity of thoughts, a concurrent stipulation that my pen should never be scorching as long as my camera is burning. There is the lure of deconstructing the well-constructed oeuvre, to enunciate ideas and challenge mediations but, for all these and more, I retain the soul of structuralist and it’s a symbolic curse. I consider books as incisive as life, and my vehemence for filed, biodegradable paper is a perceptible kink and a peccadillo quite venial! In time, the surface transgressions of an imperial manuscript yield to some brilliant Inner Experience. A figment from the unbridled mind leaps into the realm of unreal, exposing the excuse of possibility. The fine divide between rational and radical is obliterated and thereby converted to reality is that same non-possible constituent. In between Kierkegaard’s Postscripts..Schelling's "Letters on Dogamatism" and tubful of ice to heal the ached out body, I am forced to think about my options. I realise that this is about shared lives, its all about shared lives. Mine lived an instant earlier than yours or vice versa. The brilliant Russian reverberates with his “There is no fiction” premise. Indeed there is no fiction. When I saw that old woman watch life disappear  between the careless folds of withered skin on her hands and legs, something within me splits into a million shards. This is Me, who doesnt find children or puppies universally cute beyond a certain age group or breed(interchangeably so). I wonder if its maturity or just the usual blend of angst and negativity.

Part 1 : Lose an hour, Gain an hour

In life,we are possessed by the specter of veracity. In love we are far more capable of deviant absolution. Everything that I go through is presented in an open space. Amplified. Its effect is manifold, it richochets in this empty, open space. Like a tuning fork. Sets in motion reactions and interactions between those who aren’t clued to my realism. It took time to configure its relevance, of why it feels so alleviating to wake up and then keep on waking up evermore to the hollowness of things. Either that or reassigning nightmares to truth. Its been tested. The fact that its easy to disappear from life, to allow bones to turn into shadows and write interminable passages of correlation between the self, the shadow and the shadow master/watcher. To reiterate Weil and his book – Yes, Life allows you that escape, that’s the easy route, that is the norm. When your forced to confront, that is the exception. I confront myself everyday and though I try to reclaim parts of me from this one-dimensional subsistence, I have been fairly unsuccessful in this pursuit. And now I 've let myself go. So, if in a couple of days Tyler Durden  puts a gun to my head and asks me “If you exit now…What will you take?” I ‘ll say ..Nothing. And I 'll be peaceful with that.



~ by iconoplastic on May 4, 2006.

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