Friday, February 22, 2008
Thursday, February 21, 2008
On Opinion
Opinion is like your sexuality, valuable as long as you keep it to yourself. Expressing it is akin to Pornography. And fighting for the right to express it is nothing more than the argument to legalise prostitution.
Opinion is like your sexuality, valuable as long as you keep it to yourself. Expressing it is akin to Pornography. And fighting for the right to express it is nothing more than the argument to legalise prostitution.
Wednesday, February 20, 2008
Should We Blame Our Education System For ...
... the fact that we choose to be oblivious to all the negatives / impossibilities / tradeoffs in what we desire and stay critically vigilant to the same in what we choose to despise?
Edit : On more pleasant days, I would be more charitable and accord to the average human the acumen of a blinkered horse.
... the fact that we choose to be oblivious to all the negatives / impossibilities / tradeoffs in what we desire and stay critically vigilant to the same in what we choose to despise?
Edit : On more pleasant days, I would be more charitable and accord to the average human the acumen of a blinkered horse.
Saturday, February 16, 2008
Fictive Exercise : When the Levee Breaks
~ Inspired in part by the comments on this report. Also do read Stephen King's commentary here.
Blurb : He killed them because they wanted to live. He killed them because he wanted to die.
0900h : The alarm triggered it. Or so he would have liked to believe. Just that he knew better. For worse. He swung across the bed and shut it off. The band across hiis forehead tensed itself. Taut. He was coming apart. He put his head between his kneees and whimpered. To cut off the tension. To no avail. It just would not happen. And he knew that too.
0915h : Managed to glug down a glass of water. His mouth had a bitter raspiness. Dry. Needed to scream. To bawl his guts out. Just could not. The band tightened itself. And he ceased to exist. Fractured. Dismembered. Disembodied.
0930h : Reached across and into the drawer where he had been getting them together. From the same dealer. He could not care less. In fact, at times he had half hoped that the fellow would ask a few questions. He never did. Needed that something which could finally tip him over the edge to oblivion. It was just so damn easy. The end of the agony that was this existence. He had four of them. Knew how to use one, of course. But he did not have it in himself to will it. It did not matter if it was cowardice of a different sort, he could not. Looked around the room dully. No. He could not. Replaced them in the drawer.
1000h : The room was ordered now. Some reassurance it was. The same drills. Day in Day out. To keep it at bay. He was afraid to feel, for fear of what it did to him. Was it possible to feel so much that it turned into a keening banshee in his head? He never knew otherwise. How long could he go back running into his corner? Breathe - he told himself. Numbed himself and muted the caterwauling. Dull and dazed.
1030h : He had stopped taking the pills. Not that they were unavailable or he could ill-afford them. The sheer act of popping them by himself sapped hiim of all will. Not any more. He just could not. Not for himself. Not for anyone else. Put the bottle back in its place. Flopped back on the bed. Too tired to live and too fatigued to kill himself.
1100h : The knock on the door awoke him. He would have cursed but could not do that either today. What was different about the day? This day. It was his neighbour. Wanted a little help moving some furniture around. Old man lived alone. Seemed well-adjusted and friendly. He made sure he returned the favour of demeanour. Helped out. Got back to his room.
1200h : Fixed himself a salad sandwich. Gagged on the first bite that he took. Carefully deposited it into the kitchen's wastebin. The semblance of order compensated for the disarray that was him. Maybe there was some method in his madness after all. The thought was not new. He smiled sardonically nevertheless. Shook his head. And it returned.
1300h : Flopped about in bed for three quarters of an hour. Listless. All at sea. It was getting worse. Walked back to the drawer. Fumbled with the magazines as he loaded them. Maybe now it would happen.
1400h : It did not. Crazy. Yes, this was what it was like. It did not matter how you acquired it. This was it and this was all he knew. The worse it got the calmer and more subdued his demeanour. Practice makes Pretence Perfect. Tell that to the void within. Put one of them in a guitar case. The semi-automatic. There was no particular reason for acquiring it. Or wait, was it presentiment? He had always been prescient that way. Or so he would like to believe. He grinned. Groaned. Something had to give way. Please. Today. Now. His heart started pounding as he dressed in the trenchcoat and cap. Hands trembled as he stuffed three into his pockets and clasped the case in his hand. Started walking.
1500h : He had been walking around for an hour now. Hoped he would exhaust himself. There was a nervous edge to his faculties. Shied away from passers'-by eyes. He had ended up at the university campus. Knew there would be some gathering or the other at the Hall. He had sat amongst some earlier in his time there. The faces swam into focus. Their othernesses. The palpable lack of agony at existence. The need to hold onto it. The instinct he never had. He knew it was a divide that could not be bridged.
... Heartbeats mounting he went across to the back. He heard the animated voices. And the band closed in on itself. He could not breathe. Stepped across from around the stage. The professor stared at him. He whimpered again. Within. To himself. Cast a lowered eye around. Pulled them out. One by one. Emptied the lot. Aimlessly and yet aiming at the otherness. The multitudes that swamped and annihilated him. Clips emptied themselves. Something must give way ...
It did. The band snapped as he put the last one to his temple. He began to smile, only to pull the trigger before he did.
Annnihilation. Exorcism. Oblivion.
0915h : Managed to glug down a glass of water. His mouth had a bitter raspiness. Dry. Needed to scream. To bawl his guts out. Just could not. The band tightened itself. And he ceased to exist. Fractured. Dismembered. Disembodied.
0930h : Reached across and into the drawer where he had been getting them together. From the same dealer. He could not care less. In fact, at times he had half hoped that the fellow would ask a few questions. He never did. Needed that something which could finally tip him over the edge to oblivion. It was just so damn easy. The end of the agony that was this existence. He had four of them. Knew how to use one, of course. But he did not have it in himself to will it. It did not matter if it was cowardice of a different sort, he could not. Looked around the room dully. No. He could not. Replaced them in the drawer.
1000h : The room was ordered now. Some reassurance it was. The same drills. Day in Day out. To keep it at bay. He was afraid to feel, for fear of what it did to him. Was it possible to feel so much that it turned into a keening banshee in his head? He never knew otherwise. How long could he go back running into his corner? Breathe - he told himself. Numbed himself and muted the caterwauling. Dull and dazed.
1030h : He had stopped taking the pills. Not that they were unavailable or he could ill-afford them. The sheer act of popping them by himself sapped hiim of all will. Not any more. He just could not. Not for himself. Not for anyone else. Put the bottle back in its place. Flopped back on the bed. Too tired to live and too fatigued to kill himself.
1100h : The knock on the door awoke him. He would have cursed but could not do that either today. What was different about the day? This day. It was his neighbour. Wanted a little help moving some furniture around. Old man lived alone. Seemed well-adjusted and friendly. He made sure he returned the favour of demeanour. Helped out. Got back to his room.
1200h : Fixed himself a salad sandwich. Gagged on the first bite that he took. Carefully deposited it into the kitchen's wastebin. The semblance of order compensated for the disarray that was him. Maybe there was some method in his madness after all. The thought was not new. He smiled sardonically nevertheless. Shook his head. And it returned.
1300h : Flopped about in bed for three quarters of an hour. Listless. All at sea. It was getting worse. Walked back to the drawer. Fumbled with the magazines as he loaded them. Maybe now it would happen.
1400h : It did not. Crazy. Yes, this was what it was like. It did not matter how you acquired it. This was it and this was all he knew. The worse it got the calmer and more subdued his demeanour. Practice makes Pretence Perfect. Tell that to the void within. Put one of them in a guitar case. The semi-automatic. There was no particular reason for acquiring it. Or wait, was it presentiment? He had always been prescient that way. Or so he would like to believe. He grinned. Groaned. Something had to give way. Please. Today. Now. His heart started pounding as he dressed in the trenchcoat and cap. Hands trembled as he stuffed three into his pockets and clasped the case in his hand. Started walking.
1500h : He had been walking around for an hour now. Hoped he would exhaust himself. There was a nervous edge to his faculties. Shied away from passers'-by eyes. He had ended up at the university campus. Knew there would be some gathering or the other at the Hall. He had sat amongst some earlier in his time there. The faces swam into focus. Their othernesses. The palpable lack of agony at existence. The need to hold onto it. The instinct he never had. He knew it was a divide that could not be bridged.
... Heartbeats mounting he went across to the back. He heard the animated voices. And the band closed in on itself. He could not breathe. Stepped across from around the stage. The professor stared at him. He whimpered again. Within. To himself. Cast a lowered eye around. Pulled them out. One by one. Emptied the lot. Aimlessly and yet aiming at the otherness. The multitudes that swamped and annihilated him. Clips emptied themselves. Something must give way ...
It did. The band snapped as he put the last one to his temple. He began to smile, only to pull the trigger before he did.
Annnihilation. Exorcism. Oblivion.
~ Inspired in part by the comments on this report. Also do read Stephen King's commentary here.
Blurb : He killed them because they wanted to live. He killed them because he wanted to die.
