O Nein

It is strangely familiar that somethings change while others remain ever changing - just the same.
The bumpy tides of time wash across the borders of this mind.
The stars confirm an extremely real illusion through holes that penetrate the biggest picture - appearing like shards of some fragmented thought.
So when you proceed, be aware.
There is no scope for serious frivolity.
What seems is what you deceive.
In turn, everything remains constantly altered between now and then - here and there.
Everything is the same except for what is not-where?

It will be oh nine.
Things will stay fine,
refined without a trace-
composed with sine grace.
Affiliations with delusions,
will be rewarded with secrets.
The mystery will grow
starker than the days.
Treading between lines
of a shifting giddy gaze.
The lines will disappear
behind the fuzzy phase.

Vision is perception plus more.
The less you see this, the more there is yet to know.
How and where we will share the what?
In the end it is why thats all we've got.

So walk again you pair of eyes moving over these restless lines.
Listen you pair of ears staring still under a million connected suns.
And when the night approaches you'll know,
Who this is that told you so...

:-)

Above in the deepest heights of inner space, lay buried a voice that often speaks to me about you - and of course to you about me.
Its a trick to see the maze we are in.
You cannot simply win.
Its a prick, isn't it a sin?

Anyway,
Like I said, it will soon be on nine....

For the sake of a fake checkmate debate

The king is but a fancy wooden pawn whose movements across the board depend
upon the whim of the player.
The game is limited by the rules and only strategies make it work.
In this sense the game is as much in the mind as much as the mind is in the game.

Through black and white turns, the pieces end into a checkmate - a unique configuration of terminal consequence. The winning strategy enjoys its 15 minutes of fame while yet another game proves yet another winner.

War is always about with and without.
Power is a bunch of sensational baubles crammed into an empty hole that could not be filled creatively.
Victory in some senses is a desperate attempt to humor insecurity.
The need to prove is at times only a sorry desire to draw juvenile attention.
This world is arrested by the overgrown children who cannot stop clasping and clinging to some temporally insignificant medals hanging over lonely pedestals standing in phallic upright glory in the middle of a deserted stadium.

It is so obviously fake!

A special tramp walked from place to place, getting rid of the trash that polluted his world.
While we watch through the glass the thunder and the storms he lived in the rains watching our homes.
Something about his soul seemed perfectly in place.
Beyond his decadence was concealed an honest reality.
He represented the soul of humanity's lost face.

If an alien observer were to stumble upon this rare representative of the human species, the extraterrestrial intelligence would most certainly be amazed at the evolvability and harmony that danced within the enlightened tramp.

It would be precious, I imagine, from the most unearthly points of view.


Meanwhile. the wizards behind the curtain play the real games.
Their minds are molded by the context that they create.
These geniuses are mad men who are born too soon and their silence is a word that speaks without sounds

Beyond the veils lay lesser mortals scurrying about in precious perplexity, chasing tacit lines within imaginary boundaries they follow the false kings.
Ambiguously serving a certain queen who pulls apathetically upon their strings.

I sit with the sages who close eyes beneath the tree and watch silently the sun setting over the seas.
In every breath and every thought, pulsates the rhythms of their universe.

Vibrating with indispensable precision, they comprehend the situation.

There is an art in this universe that can only be expressed but never be perceived.
There is a truth about existence that can only be experienced and never be deceived.

The flowing river carries passengers from heaven to hell.
Some are in search of an escape, while others are escaping from some search.
I stand with those who are there simply because of the flow, neither tied to the river, nor enchanted by the shore.

For your information only....

The music chars the pieces of space separating these thoughts from the vibrations of random quantum states.
Very few contexts remain after all beliefs are shed and there is absolutely no place to retreat. Somehow now seems to be the only certainty, and space appears wide open for you to see.
These visions are not simply an occasion for confused delight.
If you have arrived here by chance, then by chance you shall leave everything behind.
So, where is your mind & where are your thoughts?

Walking on a parched street after a rare rain, the sparkling sunlight flickers like multitudes of stars in bold sunlight.
Its a glimpse of a past that cannot be forgotten simply because it was never remembered.
What kind of connections do you call these?
What are these ancient memories?

As time flows again, the changes in hell surprise the naive visitors from heaven.
Don't misunderstand this mythological duality.
It is already enriched with cryptic clues and precious seeds.
There is no black or white when the gradients of the inevitable storm wash away your tidy consciousness.
When you die, you become ash and dust.
You have no choice - you simply must.

But before that, there is a lot to experience.
There are a countless sunsets to feel and infinite moments to live.
You cannot simply arrive at the end as if this life is a journey.
Continuum without the bracket of a beginning and an end is hard to imagine isn't it?

However much you reason with this flux, you can never win if that's the way you see it.
There are hidden dimensions hiding more worlds than have been seen by mad men and spirits. You will learn if you keep still.
You will remember when you move.

Today take a look above while your feet hold the ground that moves unpredictably thorough an unknown universe.
It cannot really be understood.
This is FYI only!

These are a musical times....

Change shines in like a colorless light.
It erupts into an energy that is unfathomable and countless in a vibrant sort of way.
When something important happens, it happens in a very authentic manner - like the blues. Waves of positronic flux simultaneously envelop and leap out of the imaginary boundaries that separated us from our own selves.
We are finally getting a glimpse into our own unity.
We are looking back in time - enshrining our roots.
The old and the orthodox minus the preciousness of tradition are only an empty shatter in the subtle fears that pin us down to comfort, that break our intrepid spirit, and crowd our innocent freedom.
The voice of change is a song of the youth.
This is a rhythm of new energy.
Nomore a plastic replica.
Its real this time.
It is the pulse of the new generation.
The milieu of a collective human behavior.
It is that what politics truly is.

Something of utmost importance is going on and we need to awaken to its beauty.
We need to let go of our adolescent notions of a languished material pride and symbolic apathy to welcome this fresh and detached sense of impermanent ownership.
There is no race and the finish line is just a carrot hanging over our quintessential vision - blinding us from our soul.

The reward lies not in a discovery, but in a pious predisposition to connect with our higher selves.
The inevitable is inevitable only because of the innate rhythms of nature.
In reality we are all trying to reveal to each other a blatantly open secret -
Harmony!

Dear Diary - Day Zero (0)

Several of us had escaped the world when several others blew it up. At that final moment we saw pieces of ourselves launched into the portion of space that used to be the earth. We had no plans for life. Life did not involve planning anymore. All the plans had apparently been leading to our imminent self-destruction. A powerful realization dawned in this moment of absence. The paucity of everything that used to be taken for granted dissolved into a single fact, shattering into a pin point. We certainly did a thorough job of annihilation.
After all, it was our speciality.

In the absence of the earth the moon shifted its orbits, and the solar system seemed dreadfully empty as I drifted into deeper space. I had a few more hours of life support before I too would become yet another system, breaking down into infinite continuum.

We never found out if there was life on other planets. For the first time, I felt lonely without being able to do nothing about it. But then emotions and thoughts are also systems that eventually break down. So...my loneliness transformed into freedom.
Yes. A brief sort of freedom, but the most absolute kind nonetheless.
It was precious...

We had all been living like the lab animal - born into a well controlled environment, hooked to pipelines of food, water, and energy. We left our wild roots for the comfort of concrete walls with beautiful paintings of mystery safely hanging at a distance. We slept in peace with imaginary fears and silly ambitions of 'making' it in life. Now it was all amusing to think we knew.
But we hardly had a clue.

Retrospectively it makes sense that our end at our own hands was inevitable. After all, once we traded cold comfort for change, it was all about guarding it with our lives, the lives of our families, and those we loved. The ones we despised, the ones we hated, were on the other side of some colluded boundary.
Caricatured lines separated us from ourselves, like the clothes that concealed the natural nakedness we had become so terribly ashamed of.

War is certainly the organizing principle of life!

I died on the doomsday, but my entire life did not pass before my eyes.

Instead...........

Colors enhanced in the dark, Creatures in the mind lying still, Bright flashes hurt the eyes, if you want to die...you will! No voices from deep within Can answer you tonight. This is the last hour, before the final fight! You'll lose your peace of mind, let go your values behind, This is the last hour, before the final fight! Your breath is counting hours, to stop for a while. In an instant of eternity, you close your eyes with a smile! There will be flashes from the past, and premonitions of the future. Your present is a dead grave, and your life has gone obscure! You see the tunnel vision, And your body levitates in the wind. You imagine the Heavens- Taking your martyred soul within! You have hated and you have loved, You have sinned every sin. You have called the almighty at times, And worshipped the Devil within! Now you lie in the grave, of pious purity- and you wonder what you've done, to die among these loved ones!

to b normal is abnormal

there is a red dot on the roof,
a proof that some hands were there.
up and down around a ground,
I am here, surrounded by the sound.

below me, an infinite sea
above me, an endless sky.
my eye reflects my self to me,
I no more wonder how or why?

to be addicted to everything,
is to do nothing at all.
in zen every moment,
is to climb when you fall.

Before you go further,
you have to look behind.
before you surrender,
you have to lose your mind.

presumptions are wrong,
symbols are impermanent.
time is an illusion,
from an outdated song

Poetry - is a a waste of time,
a rhyme is a thoughtless crime.
to break the rules,
is what you really learn in school.
if you agree with that,
you are an endangered fool.

congratulations

All fall down.

Here's to your avarice and greed,
to become what you are not yet,
and to lose what you think you are.

Your quest is my discovery.
I have invented it for nothing.

What have we created
and what has created us,
if we are doomed with an omen
and our only chance is a curse?

somethings are everything
that are sometimes nothing at all.
hanging on some delicate string
we are afraid as we wait to fall.

Is this it?
is this all?
There is certainly something more
this present was never before
after all we are all
going to fall.

Avoidance Refrained

You avoid me
devoid of empathy
for who we used to be.
now strangers
in a friendly game
of doctored monopoly.

Till recently
the weather sprayed
fair notions
of anomaly.
But now
we just remain
constrained by
pointless pleas

If we follow
the lines of our shadow
we may never know the sun
but once
we stay still
we will
watch and learn

till then
we burn again.
we place
our shadows where
we wait with no pain
and we pace
and we dare
and we hear
with no disdain

what have
what we crave
but we still
will to gain

Following the Follower...

In an upset tone the silence shrilled away at the crowd who seemed to be heading in no particular direction.
Something appeared to be chasing them.
It appeared it was the sun.
They were moving in all possible directions, calmly engrossed in their subconscious exodus.
Once in a while a storm of conflicting emotions would slide them away from the barren repertoire of exclusive control.
Once in a while they would seem human.
It would appear as if they all smiled at once, a giant glint of recognition, a movement of hope.
But just for a moment.
As the sun rises and the alarms go off, they begin to move in a desperate commotion to prove something, to achieve something, to keep the wheel moving, to scrounge for a meal - reinventing themselves.
Rediscovering lost zeal.

A sense of suspended urgency always seems to haunt as the motion of this machine takes turn to reproduce it self - clogging and chugging.
Blogging and Laughing.
Thats the way it is.
Thats the deal.

Solitude remains alive in the bereft illusion of company like a butterfly trapped in a leaf.
Thoughts surrender to random feelings, while greedy sharks eat away the soul in stale dis-belief.
Somehow somethings didn't seem right,
but we all continued with the fight.
Perhaps this war will end someday,
but would we still be
so far away?

Walking in the rains on the mountain slope
they watched the trees disguise their shape.
Talking alone without any hope
they grimly planned for silent escapes.

Wandering about with no glory or shame
they stepped on valour and made up games.
Wondering about the indelible demise
they lost themselves in a green disguise.

we believe that no one is lonely.
But how exactly could we not be?
Its a body, a brain, a mind, and a soul
all neatly packed with no warranty!

Cheers to you my friend
I am wasting myself to no end.
Drink up and don't be late-
you still think this all is fate?

nothrs k nved a eam to a

Some had dreamed a dream alone.
and they were told not to tell anyone.
No one must know and none must tell
about this dream to another soul.
It was a dream about some one
- some one who lived in their dreams and their world.
They all dreamed about this one,
they all lived and moved about him
except for him alone.
He did not have a clue,
just a suspicion that something was true.
Something was certainly going on about
- something very inside out.
Everything else seemed equally same.
It was as if it was all too strange
And everyone knew,
and felt the same.
He wondered if he was going insane.

He doubted if he was ever sane.
He wondered how
many times again...

Trial and Errot

We talk for a while
and we laugh and we smile
we try to be friendly
and we try it in style

we try to be honest
and we try to be smart
we try to be angry
we try from the heart

we try not to mind
we try not to care
we try to be loved
but we try not to hear

we try to climb
when we try to sleep
we try to surrender
when we cry and we weep

we try to be here
and we try to be there
we try to be someone
same place somewhere

we try to be
and we try to see
we try to believe
but not clearly

we try to try
we fail to succeed
we forget our victory
for the next thing we need

we breed
and we breed
and we try to speed
we try to be happy
we try to be freed

--------------------------------------------001 + e

SYSTEMS BREAKDOWN AT TREMENDOUS SPEED.
THE PERSON LEAVES THE ROOM
THE MIND BLOOMS LIKE A SEED
UN THREATENED BY THE GLOOM
UNENCUMBERED BY THE GREED

(9)

Now this happens all the time...

The music begins and you take the first hit of a perturbation from the environment.

The magic dissolves into a river of pulses synchronizing with what you hear.
As time passes, the flow blends into the fabric of who you imagine you are and the sound begins to resonate with what you see before your eyes.

With the beating of the heart and the movements of the cars outside your window, your mind branches out into streams of thoughts budding into leaves of insight and flowers of consciousness.

The fruit of knowing what this means interrupts the metamorphosis of a chrysalis into a butterfly without disturbing the journey of the river heading towards a waterfall of delight.

A small portion - your ego enjoys a banal sip of this sensational moment and relishes false dreams of glory and power.
But only for a moment, because the next moment washes over the pithy illusion of some permanent image and submits you into the esoteric descent with the crashing of a waterfall. Gravity kisses you all over.
The flow accomplishes your every desire.
You are no more you.

For a while you bathe in the light of this moment and then you give in to the dragging force of eternal change.
A purpose seems to have been achieved and this feeling surrenders into a certainty that everything will forever change and forever remain - sometimes as you and sometimes as all that you consider within and outside you.

You break out of the shell that walled you inside a cage that you couldn't escape through - until now.
You realize the impossibility of its unbreakable existence.


And yet, in a sense everything is still the same.
A continuous flow.
An eternal show and tell.
You are you,
who you were a while ago.
And you are you who knew.
And you are you who doesn't know.
You are you who are the river,
you are the waterfall,
and the to and the fro.

Suspended on this wave you dissolve and you glow - you understand the ignorance that will eternally show.
The shell breaks into pieces, confirming your impermanence and you come to find yourself in an eternal reflection.
There is no need to hold on to it now.
There is no need to let go.

Now this happens every moment, and all the time.

Genie with the bottle

The next thing you remember is the Genie with the bottle.
There was a message beyond the walls of glass with a hint tied to an aged cork that separated you from yourself.
If only some sort of a miracle could send the Genie back to its home.
Alas, it only walked about from place to place, looking for its home - its only wish that its wishes would come true.

A wandering beggar spoted a horse tied by the tree that was too far from the lake.
The thirsty animal begged for the cool liquid, dreaming of its quenching taste just for its own sake.
The beggar simply wondered, "you can take a horse to the water, but you can never make it drink!"
And then....the fool just walked away.
The Genie watched from a distance and wished aloud, "if only he was a wish"
It didn't mean any thing of course.

Rescuing the horse and watching the beast submerge its insides in the apparently nonchalant water, the Genie decided to drink up some too.
It filled up the bottle with the cool liquid blue.
The message drifted away with the current.
Unaware, the Genie took a mouthful sip and felt as satisfied as the horse.

At the end of the lake the beggar washed his decaying face in the cool water.
The message from the bottle - the one with hints that separated you from yourself - floated in his hands.
He simply used it to dry the tarnished dirt off his face.
The paper fragmented into several pieces of muddied stains that denied you from yourself - forever.

The beggar walked around aimlessly for another year or two and then died in a fight fought on a rainy night in the alley where some very mad people fucked each other without mercy and a disturbing paucity of pleasure.

The Genie remained lost for eternity.

Some years later the horse was put down after it helplessly lost a very rich man a lot of money.
When it died it somehow remembered being rescued by the Genie with the bottle.
That was the poor creature's life passing by in front of its eyes.

The Ghost of the Beggar watched the whole thing and smiled, ""you can take a horse to the water, but you can never make it drink!""

The fool still wandered around aimlessly, except this time it was for eternity.

Next Question - Your Move

The dark side of the delusion gods is now hidden behind a veil of ambition and fake nobility.
The search for the truth has transformed into a Mobius strip where the snake-charmer pulls strings on a couple of numerical immigrants - driving them to see while his eyes remain blind with a fleeting sense of glee.

Light bends and when it does the vision distorts into a political game of up and down, with and without.
Somewhere around the colossal tree lies the innocence of it all. Somewhere under the shade of branches and leaves rest a pair of eyes that see everything - very clearly.

What needs to be done?
To become completely free is apparently the key.
Rejuvenate in the delights of the history that make you see what you see. Celebrate the pain that endured your survival and helped you to preserve that which really mattered.

Believe in your soul. Trust your thoughts. Paint your dreams. Live your song.
The explosion bears a mark of reform.
The fountain fades into an instant hanging suspended in a recent mystery.

Everything is in place.
This is how it should be.

Your move.

A Subtler Suggestion...

The first hit.
It defines everything - after it.
How the water feels the first time you dive in.
Or the bright Sunday afternoon.
The first sip of cold exotic beer.
Or the sand underneath your hammock.
A slice of a strange foreign fruit.
The first listening of your all time favourite album.
First kiss, first bite, first love and first sight.
First thought, first sun, first life, and first light - the way everything began it

Realizing it for the first time is also firstly delicious.
Then, it defines everything.

The first time you understand everything is also quite amazing.
After that you understand nothing.
Nothing is understood anymore.
There is no certainty.
It is all ambiguous
It is somewhat like literally living in dimensions associated with the Uncertainty Principle.

There are no more false pretenses, or true ones for that matter.
The fact of the matter is that there is no matter of fact.
And therefore, as a mind of fact there is no matter.
Thats really it.

Science is magic and magicians who don't see it are scientists.
An artist is the quintessential politician.
A true philosopher is the mad man from the future.
In silence you hear true sound, and apart from circles, everything is round.

Every time it hits, it fits the first time.
Every thing is a collision - exploding into collusion.
Epiphanies are but forgotten memories.
History is the future.
Tomorrow is when yesterday will arrive.
Now is the moment to define everything.

But, first
hit it.

NOTE: IT is the 101st Knot in this entanglement of Threads. Thank you for Be-ing.

Staring at the Moon

I find myself lying awake in the middle of a busy high way, unperturbed by the passing wheels and several souls in search of a journey.
Standing besides moving targets feels like the destinations have just begun to arrive.
There was no place to go to but watch the full moon reflect on the black tar.
The sky is breaking underneath while the reflections are a revolution of perspectives.
Yesterdays dreams were different in their contiguous weariness.
Being awake has never been so sudden, so uncertain, so full of multiple choices.

What do you say?
All of the above?


Its a safe bet.
I get it all the time.
How do you know?
Who cares?

Scared and lonely the journey continues in the form of futuristic musings.
There is one sound in the left and an echo on the right, but when you turn around, its not the same sight.

Sometimes when all this stops for a while, I smile into the eyes of the terrifying homeless man whose hunger is visible in every thing that he does and every place that he goes to.
Sometimes an epiphany or two hit him too.
A long time ago a mad man spoke to me of un-thought of things.
It comes to mind now somehow - a memory to be worshipped.
Before I move to the next moment, I shall close my eyes and stay still.

Heres to madness!!!

There's a blue sky and I am staring at the Moon.

Premonition-One

In a continuous vacuum the pliers of wafting solace shuttered modestly while somewhere in the vicinity the lassitude of these thoughts worshiped a naked muse who sat still on a stationary wheel.
Before someone spoke, the corrosive steel in her eyes bore stellar sparks into a world that lurked unaware outside itself.
To believe all this was a sin when in fact the disbelief of dead idols quivered like ghosts departing a sea in a straight line and where angels sang while the sounds of gods spelt love in the air.
Apart from the kaleidoscopic scintillations of fractured imaginations there were just the partially scattered figments of distracted foci's - abandoned by careless attention.
Who knows any more?
Who cares?

In the proximity there was a soft scream.
The dreamers of the rotten land had found their way beyond the streams of conscious distaste and orthodox trusties.
Far above the darkening skies flew creatures without wings and within the terrestrial lair lay faces without skin.

Such were the times and such times were coming.
If you want to run you can
but there ain't no point in running.

~A~

~A~
YOUOY
YOUOY
YOUOY
YOUOY
YOUOY
YOUOY
YOUOY
YOUOY
YOUOY
YOUOY
YOUOY
YOUOY
YOUOY
YOUOY
YOUOY
The breath taking beauty of the naughty trekker was trickling by the sides of the bulky hills that slid under the skies of ominous serendipity.
Of all the places the cheaters of paradise had found the one hell that smelled worse than the corrupted corrugations of the remorseful cavaliers.
Isomorphic understatements vanished in the graying thoughts of men who seemed to crave the depths of a certain breath taking beauty taking their breath away - for eternity.
If only all went well would the real tell tales of the smiles and the shades of day and night be revealed with sudden comfort.
If only the whispering of the birds were undying cries for migrating winds that had played with the fortunes of the marooned and the doomed.
Somehow the ifs had no meaning while the shifting of tides bode farewell to the young restless minds sitting in the new-found foreign land, wondering "where the hell we'll be?"

The angst of the retreating shores burrowed deep in the minds of nasty virgins breeding thoughts that were forbidden by the falsely educated elderly, smoldering on the hedonistic side of things - elusive in the shadow of pretentious wisdom.
Succulent waters bathed the insides of the brains that trained you to be who you are and then cruelly hurled the existential question at your aging mind - "who am I?"

Who are you in a true sense?
If this pretense does not shout loud enough yet, carve off your tragic mask that lingers on those eyes devoid of light - shining every day on your masquerade.

At night when you dream that you have wings and you can fly when the birds cease to sing, think about the wild waking life that took away from you what really mattered:
Why?

Continued Forms

Claps of the kleptomaniac's laughter
closed the storming doors of wonder
as the wealth of wisdom bore silence
in a blunder that was out of structure

Briskly fallen ladders
were hard luck to climb and fall
there were many sudden departures
once every one had seen them all

But hold on not so soon
was the clarion call of the marooned
before they stuck themselves with ice
and crashed along a floating moon

Before some sudden noise approached
the poachers had left that place
to surrender to their hunger
and embrace their swollen race

In round about circles
the people clapped in thunder
as the lightening struck their cats
while they clenched their silly girdles

Upstream a canyon roared
at the wonder in their eyes
before the sun had set
they had clutched her fairy side

But some how it slipped by me
how often I could see
the scenes from this broken land
appear out a certain tree

So I am free till I am caught
Frozen still before I rot
IF only every tale I heard
hadn't pretended what it was knot.

The thread continues...

Contact Headaches

It seemed like some aliens were trying to make contact.

Dr Woltz had frequent headaches. He had not cared about them for a long time – continuing relentlessly to ponder over the deepest possible questions that generally have baffled humanity. He didn’t care about the throbbing pain in his forehead, the heaviness in his temples, and the pulsating sensation of flux above his ears. His brain seemed to burn with sharp pangs.

Woltz, like many great thinkers, was an obsessive thinker.

In a dimension, not accessible to any terrestrial species, there lurked an undiscovered intelligence. It is hard to define who or what these creatures were. It is also very uncertain whether these are any sort of creatures. Rather these entities qualify more as energy packets exhibiting some sort of quirky socio-cellular pattern.

Regardless of their identity - or their lack of it - the extra-dimensional entities had one burning desire. One soul-purpose: to be discovered.

For about 700 zillion years these Heedons had been multiplying s l o w l y in the known and unknown parts of the universe.
In spite of being extremely immune to extinction, the Heedons existed in a curious existential dissatisfaction because of their extremely sluggish rate of multiplication and an infinitesimally small size.

To get an idea of how small and how s l o w their journey through evolution was, the following pieces of data may prove to be eventually enlightening:

Average lifespan of a generation of Heedons = 1 zillion years.

Average size of a single colony of Heedons = approximately 6 trillion Heedons occupying space equivalent to what earth scientists refer to as a Quark.

Rate of multiplication = 1 generation per zillion years.

It is irrelevant to imagine how small a single Heedon is or how long one lasts. One can barely begin to contemplate about the rate at which new ones are born, how fast they grow, or how slowly they die!

Given that the Heedons are residents of inaccessible dimensions, it is pointless for human cognizance to be wasted over their almost invisible existence.

Ironically, human cognizance is exactly what the Heedons were in search of.
Having squandered an incredible amount of time and travelling between spatial fluctuations resulting from the ever-evolving universe, the Heedons had - bearing near-infinite patience - awaited to be discovered by some sort – as a matter of fact any sort - of intelligence that was constantly seeking something in this hastening universe.

In this hide & seek approach towards natural selection, the Heedons reckoned that if a mind could perceive them upon discovery, then they would attach themselves to the discoverer-specie's cognitive matrix and live off it in a parasitic existence devoid of their current limitations of infra-microscopic size and astonishingly sluggish rates of multiplication.

In such a manner the Heedon intellect seemed to work in terms of probabilities of occurrences rather than consistent cycles of paradigm shifts that were typical of Dr Woltz’s world. This is precisely why the near-infinite patience of Heedons is considered a crucial survival-trait for their tardy variation on organic life. Obviously, they didn't do much throughout their long and boring Heedon history but wait for a host brain.

It all seemed in vain

- until now.

The minuscule probability had arrived like a prophecy in their stagnant Heedon existence.
Somehow they had become someone else's headache.

Specifically, Dr Woltz's headache.

TO BE CONTINUED as The Aspirin Wars

Accidents Happen (What for?)

One thing runs into another.
There is a slight collision that follows and a sound that seems like visions of war on a lush lawn strewn across squandered blood.
One thing leads to another and the entities meet their demise with the same suddenness that abrupt intersections of material identities culminate in during experiments with particle accelerators.
Somewhere a question lurks -
What for?

Before probing further into the anatomy of disintegration it is worth appreciating that the way events pass through space and time is a spontaneous progression of random trajectories.
It has been mentioned somewhere earlier too that an accident is when (and/or where) two objects attempt to occupy the same piece of space at the same time.
Such is an instance of a desperate fate.

It is sort of like playing a very difficult song for the first time.
Or like painting over a painting - a stone hurled with emphatic contempt over the statue of David in a boring area somewhere in Rome.

One of our possible ends is the death of our planet under the looming shadow of a huge asteroid, its gravity engulfing our entire pattern.
Wiping the slate clean so to speak.

Annihilating the slate in fact.

Retrospectively the future seemed certain, but somehow some very dazzling variables made their way in, overthrowing the primordial balance into ephemeral chaos.
It was in a moment in eternity that all possibilities collapsed into the fecundity of a tiny particle - pregnant with potential epiphanies

Listening to my own words make their way to my soul made me wonder again.
What for?

Strange Belief: Reality Check

It is incredibly inappropriate to find the aptness in all that is and wonder whether everything is still alright.
It is shocking to believe that beliefs cannot be shattered, that lessons cannot be unlearned, and that persons cannot be reborn into non-believers and tyrants.
It is astoundingly naive to trust that what we know is the truth and what we suspect the ones we judge to live in is an open lie.
Time does not go beyond the horizons of vision and vision cannot permeate the cloudiness of the opaque paucity of unsure clarity.
A huge boulder of absolute certainty will any day fly through the stratosphere of this colluding celebrity and shatter the placid ripples in the lake of our factoid obsessions.

Time and again, the words have seemed to falter in some devoid fullness.
Frequently we have - once in a while - conformed to our ambiguous ideologies in a mercurial context of gaining uneducated epiphanies.
Seldom have we thought about the meaning of the moment.
Rarely have we relaxed in the awareness of being alive.

When does it all begin?
When we die?

Believe it or not.
Its true.
the scales of time
are made for me
...and you.

they wait ,
but for none
and are undone
by the one
who has walked out the door
when we begged him for some more

oh we have gone without sleep
for the sake of staying awake
we have gone too far
for the fear
of a reality check

Believe it or not
it is all still true.

Unscheduled Enlightment

There is nothing to prove and nowhere to go.
In a sense this continuous flow of life shudders like the leaf of a dancing tree swaying with the breeze at a far distant point.
The eyes reflect these patterns in shades of light and deep shadows.
Green and blue are more than just hues and halos.

Thoughts are constantly pouring inside our heads.
We have thoughts spilling over the walls of this place.
Sometimes we are big and sometimes we are small.
Sometimes we are all alone and sometimes we are all.
We are everything, when at the same time we are nothing at all.
Deep down inside we are just empty space.
At the level of our brief surface we are just a changing face.

If we breathe right we understand the folly of moving so quickly.
If only we understand that we have all the time to modify the space around us - shape it into a self assembling cast of liquid zeal.
After all, the muse has left us for some half-pence writer and there is nothing you are going to able to do about it.
By now she must have turned his insides out of his mind and made him succumb to the love that was hiding mysteriously behind some cluttered curtain of ambiguous fates.

Do you feel the orgasmic flood of thoughts trickling through the roof of impossible limitations?
The barbaric destruction of mental fluctuations, curbed by revolutions of orchestrated insights??

Do you?

The oscillating balance remains from our past into the present.
It has prevailed in the curves of the leaves, shades of the woods, and the squares of buildings towering boldly over our oblivious observations like howling machines of wood and mud.

Surely the proximity of everything from everything else is infinite.
At a very minute level what are we really?
To the very last detail what is everything?

The combination of water and fuel makes rainbows of exploding hues in the puddles of caustic rain in a barren future possibility.
The moon has shattered and come too close to the windows by which our great grandchildren will sleep in uneasy confusion.
It is inevitable for any thing that survives to get old.
There is an amnesic insomnia approaching our aging memory.
We are all falling for a puzzling paradigm, which is lurking behind our pointless collusion.

Amongst the multitude our individual voice is just a whisper, a set of words, dialects, tones, and patterns.
Our creations, our dreams, our futures, and our pasts are all neatly embedded with our fears, hopes and frustrations, packed in a hollow collection of boxes with doors, windows, and cubicles.

Our train of thoughts is interrupted only by the commercials of rollover minutes and bandwidths fusing us deeply into a forest of information that we are all contributing to relentlessly -
-every moment.
The disorder and uncertainty that is building up in the background is quiet and formidable. Don't look too soon, you might lose your mind!

Light Seduction

Light has a way of seducing me.
Sound has a knack to rip my head apart.
The words - they keep me sane
but not for long,
they play their part
- its just colors and songs again.

Silence is a friend
to the music that I'd played
now my mind wants to know
what next If she had stayed?

to breathe is my obsession
to covet - my boredom
I'm full of my own self
but I am seldom some one.

the shapes on the sharp
turn white into black.
Bleeding several red dots
painting's such a forgotten art.

Its beautiful to be alive
with no fear of some ends
when light and sound became
my ever lasting friends

I can travel through time now
I can can even become space some how
I can see in you a part of me -
a seed, a branch, a flower, a tree!

0

The Old Man and the See

Some times the chaos seems friendly.
Some times it seems to be a foe ready to plunge its rusted sharpness through your petrifying soul.

I just gave it all up when I couldn't take it anymore.
The old man in front of me could not see where he wanted to go.
In the past he probably knew, but now he was lost somehow
in this modern show.
He spoke to me and asked me for directions.
His questions did not make any sense
while I wondered how he was thinking.
What was he thinking?

The light from the afternoon sun hit the glasses on his partially blind eyes.
He moved on to a different moment completely oblivious of his being...
... lost.

Its times like these that the blips of fluctuating feelings rest for a second that is unusually longer than that typical one on that symbolic clock.

The bus moved on and in the mirror the old person faded - just like he was fading in real life.

REAL LIFE?
What could that be?

Surely the old man had some day been as young as I.
And perhaps I may become someday just as old as him?
But certainly thats not the answer.

What is the question?

What is really important then - for both of us - in this mercurial frame of reference?
Is it the directions that we keep asking for - like speechless children drooling over endless bowls of cereal - or empty old minds waiting for the funeral?

His image disappeared from the rear-view mirror,
being replaced by the relentless claim -

R.E.A.L. L.I.F.E.

I was more confused than ever.

Some words fell into my lap
and I began to read my book
I could not look beyond this gap
that stood under me -
so un understood.

Question-Answers

To hold on to nothing and fall deep into yourself is your mission - the child told itself as he walked trough the city that was borne out of the fantasies of innocent imagination.

The clean slate reflects lines that mean something but never seem to shed light on that something. Fallen pieces from the worlds around make the mind grow into a pod while the birds in the sky and the waves of the sea speak to each other about secrets yet unknown.

For however much time the child lay still, it couldn't help to wonder about things that have been and the things that could be.

Working out the riddles of paths that laid down the myths and facts entwined into a puzzle that never seemed soluble.

Disintegrated artifacts remained the only clues through which the creatures of these worlds deciphered the meaning of their own selves and their lives. Meanwhile, the world changed again to only leave behind a pattern of stories partly finished.

Few things grow as much as the thoughts about trees, branches and cracks in dry earth. few things remain constant like the turbulent oceans and the clouds in clear skies.

As time went by, the fantasies came real. Somehow the picture didn't fit well and more work was yet to be done. He was so tired. He could give up any moment only if he knew what would be so worth it.

Leaving behind the days and the nights and the loves of yesterday the approach became clear - life happened with or without you.

A smile faded the subtle tears that ran across the skin worn out by the clocks and calenders.

The cubicles always rearranged into something else but remained a constant reminder of the same old geometry - begging for the curves from different dimensions.

These affairs with reality had never brought him close but only closer.
But closer to what???

And as life went on,the people and the events around seemed unnecessary to take in.
All that was needed was within.

Stop by in frustrated contemplation

Time passes in irrelevant motions
the eyes on this side listen to jazzy notions
and the sounds of the sax ebb and flow
in my mind I suspect there're some things that I know

where time comes from
and from where come I?
we are all in this together
like the clouds in the sky.

Below the levels
of worlds in parallel
come ideas and pictures
and scriptures and gospels

turn around this ground
in sometime I wonder
where does my mind wander
what lies asunder

Above the sound
the notes flow alone
random and mischievousness
colored off tone

please don't shout
or go out to the ghosts
will we place our bets
on haunted old posts?

Love ya...
and thanks for stopping by!

Some Times

Through the invention of the word the thought missed the point that its existence was to be and not to assume the attire of symbols that were eventually clad by its confusing sense of identity.
Eons and eons passed before the magical dance of illusory particles gave way to a sequence of limitations through which the primordial ideas flowed like water through a stream of troubles, waves, and ripples.
After a while the dried up instances of a seasonal phase sunk the world of created visions and dissolved the background into a purposeless noise of unsurpassed magic.

How will you come to terms with this fabric then?

And what about that?

Here we seem to dabble in war and peace while sorrow and bliss elude us in a way that feels strangely familiar.
Apparently a deja vu exploded before this moment.
The future holds a secret that we create as we close in on it.
It claims to be an elusive quest begging for a change.

How is it then that this unique moment that we experienced with such convoluted attachment was borne out of chance events extending back into eternal space?

someones hell is your heaven
sometimes you are that someone
above the clouds a thought whimpers
but the sky is constant to the chosen one

In a race you jump the gun with a subconscious intent to win the finish line.
Although success is guaranteed in such a ploy you didn't play the game that offered its joys: the medals bronze, silver and gold - a certain place on a geometric pedestal.
The symbols are striking!
The depth of our struggles is unquestionable.
We drive to survive but when it comes down to it we are merely living.

The mind is locked in a body that dies.
The body describes the mind that it ties.

How is it then that this unique thought scintillates with detachment?

Someone spoke
like a loudmouthed bloke
trying to win the fates
while the friends and foes
dragged to the shores
treasures from an ancient cave

Opened beyond the words of swords
the blood and water merged with the gods.
Dramatic events twisted our worlds
the ultimate questions washed to the core.

Before the message in a bottle was read
the light in the eyes began to fade.
The sounds that are white were all that remained
before you could grasp it had all re-arranged.

Touch the tip of my imaginary finger
kiss my lips when you cease to linger
our souls were matched before we met
I am waiting for you beyond these dangers.

some times you are some one.
.

Instant Gratification

It was the dead past
re casted into dreams
packed and sold
as brand new things

surprisingly old
un replaceable thoughts
were ideas and imaginations
of visions that we'd sought

blue and true to
a drifting soul
the thoughts re capture
a fleeting goal

slipping away
on thinning ice
the surface is cool
in slight disguise

before the door
opens no more
The bird flies away
into recurring shores

We wish they were here
who are here no more
but before they speak
we leave the icy floor

somewhere perched
up and above
the blue bird sings
the songs of the dove

freedom on its mind
its virtual wings rewind
to a time that was gone
but was hardly left behind

we are never really lost
we are always on a quest
you will learn if you listen
at times silence is best

Innocent wars

Except
that is not this
and
this is not that.

The questions survived the tests of terror and the questions remained floating in the air of oblivious disguise forever.
The pretence of the relative blood was getting warmer by the years.
The words on the pages were making new sense everyday.
In every way our minds are growing and our souls are reaching out to ourselves through people, thoughts, and plays.

A wonderful painting is the result of the feeling in your fingers. If you have the feeling of the thickness of the ink in your brush, the painting is already there before you paint. When you dip your brush into the ink you already know the result of your drawing, or else you cannot paint. So before you do something, "being" is there, the result is there. Even though you look as if you were sitting quietly, all your activity, past and present, is included, and the result of your sitting is also already there. - D.T. Suzuki

So much in a name.
So much in a series of letters, words and syntax.
So much in a signature and on a screen.

Infinity had simply shied away to the depths of sincerity.
The awareness of a rock pressed hard against a headache was mounting like a fountain frying through the shadows of duplicate hells.

The schizophrenic who went to heaven freaked out coz he hallucinated that the angels were demons with lightening in their bites and chaos in their voice.
Needless to say that he was in deep hell!

Water is thinner than blood, but blood is made of water.
Water wipes the fire off the first lethal pain that was suffered by the martyrs who died in somewhat vain by the blade of an eagles beak.
Bound by the stone, again and again, the egos of history rave and rage till the wonderful caricatures begin to play mayhem in the subtle silence of such mental caves.

The darkness is always a picture of mystery, a canvas of possibility, a fertile ground for bright creativity.

Through thick and thin everything was in place but the next moment made a slight change and the place was rearranged
yet again.
Believe it to be an idea granted from above the surface of the bottomless pit where demons and gods play whose line is it anyway?

Riding through the desolate landscape of Texas a thought comes to any lazy mind in a car. What do these cows think when they graze the grass on the other side of the fence? Colorblind as they are, do they care or are they just too nonchalant by nature?
Is it so desperately cool to be bovine?

The next item on the dish was a steak and some peanut sauce.

How wonderful is the sky when it reveals to the eyes a minuteness so beyond description that silence alone - that too the pin drop kind - can describe with elegance the inverted depth of truth.

A smiling cloud looked beneath.
Light was its soul and heavy were its days.
The rain and the storm played and danced like the siblings of a shy couple who had never known pain.

If an evening disappears like this I will fade along with you.

Time and Again

Its strange to pack again

to leave this place
before it got old again
To go through this and that
is not easy you know
when you gather what you had
to avoid the apparent show

so suddenly you move on
its not easy every time
but you have it and its gone
it was never yours
though you were always mine

so no point in holding tight
it will still lose your grip
its certainly a futile fight
coz you are right
if you feel alright
coz thats what its all about -
the difference between vision and sight

the nerves are slit open
and the sweat is on my palms
calmly I stay un broken
while the new changes turn on

walking past the future
this time has come about
without your thoughts for sure
I wouldn't have done this route

so you are all right
as long as you see the sight
coz that's what its all about -
this day is different from the night

I wonder if anybody knows
where the world goes
when you close you eyes

is it still around you
or its neither earth nor skies?
but just a rapid change to an end

smile
its still the beginning my friend
from here we receive and send

Shanti

Of course there is a method to madness.
One has to be mad indeed to understand this method.
However, madness by its virtue is resistant to adopting 'any' method.
This then is the method to madness.

Every individual is unique.
How could he not be? How could she not be?
The thoughts and the worlds and the creations and the madness are all mine.
And they are all yours too.
These ideas have always been ours and no one can claim the creative rights.
However, everyone can claim whatever they want for themselves.
There is infinite from where it all came from.

Why be afraid?
Whats there to lose?
There is everything to gain and you will still not have it all.

This moment is special.

I will leave it at that
I will leave it to you.
Peace.

Whens your time?

When you are tired of fighting
you speak up to the thoughts
and you wake up with them
as thoughtless as you’ve been

You caress the past
while a dream spills a future
as you sit still in two days
the next moment comes too fast

You try to hold
for a while some more
of the smiles in your eyes
they grow larger many folds

your silence means some things
your time is some sort of a skin
and your ideas flap its wings
you have some action with in

There’s nothing there
to search no more
but its taking me
to a moment before

Uncertain certainty
she painted its flow
in a mercurial zoo
that wasted some how

The roads up
round about the sounds
of the guitar strings
that left your grounds

waiting to re pair
from dismal despair
shines another scene
I think it is some where here
that I have been


moving on from
here to there
your thoughts resolve
to a town some where

tomorrow try to lure
the same moment before
captured in your tears
the decade approaching near

different people same mind
the conversations we left behind
but yesterday is an other thing
if you say you saw what lies within?

A hamburger was eating ME!!!!

It’s certainly not the first time that the lights have turned on in your head.
It seems a lot has remained the same.
Look closer.

Details….

As you grow older you begin to appreciate details. You begin to appreciate the shades between yesterday and now.

You begin to touch the limits of probability.

It’s not really about getting older.

It is about traveling.

It is about journeying through space and time...whatever that is.

The youth always insisted that the journey is more important than the destination.
Experience can surprise you.
You realize that you love milestones.

Don’t get attached though.

Move on.

The things around you are changing.

Look again. Details.

Living beings definitely rose from simpler living things that rose from simpler living things that rose from simpler non-living things.

So matter became mind
and thoughts became words
and actions became creations
and symbols became chants
and money became numbers
and numbers became life
0110001101000101
and life became machines
and machines came alive
and the living became dead
and the dead became non living
and the mind becomes algorithms
and the body becomes gears
and the eyes become holograms
and the ideas become immortal

Display. Its all a display?
You don’t agree? You must be blind.
And even then it is display!

It’s a beautiful display though.

Colors. Shapes. Sounds. Textures. Sensations. Pains. Emotions. Thoughts. Games. Shows. Visions. Places. Politics. Madness. News. Entertainment.

It’s a lot of fun though.
Highly recommended experience.
But don’t get attached.

Obviously it’s not even an option.
There IS no choice.
Pure free will.
Quintessential freedom.

Flow. Flux. Change.
Constantly.
NOW….
And on and on you go on.

Off you go.

Yes.

There are the funny moments.
They are fun. Intact fun. Pure laughter.
Giggles. Smirks. Uproars.
Bursting bubbles in untold pleasures.

Enhancement.

Bloating egos. Pretentious conversations.

How are you?
I am fine.
What a lie.
Not always.
But come on.

Its ALL fun.
Its all not as serious as these words make it appear to be.
Actually for an insightful reader this may be darn light.

Don’t smile
You are not insightful as you think.
But to a true thinker this should be Childs play.
Relax.
You are not as true a thinker as you believe.

What do you believe?

Really?
Why?
Uhmmm.
Why you silent?
Yes.

You speak a thousand words.
Try to paint a picture will you?
It’s a joke really.
Don’t be judgmental.
Don’t be touchy.
Just because its on TV
and in books
and on the radio
and the internet.
What about you?
Of course you are bored of some things now.

Things get old.

You can’t just sit around naked and speak nonsense and shit wherever you wish and get the attention of the whole world showered on you – for ever…..
Sadly it could not be all that perfect all the time in all the cases.

It’s the ultimate irony.
Every person has been a helpless baby, but one never does remember that.

How amazing that the role of being an adult is gently, subtly, without your slightest awareness, incorporated into you – essentially by the other children who grew up into adults.

It’s remarkable how you assume roles to play.
Lines to say. Dramas to think up.
It’s all a joke - a joke about nothing?

Now now.
Don’t call me bitter.
That’s where you err.
You assume too much. But it’s ok.
It’s human to err.

It’s funny.
That’s what it is. Its funny
Honestly :-)

Hell.

We actually TYPE to smile now!!!
Shakespeare rolls his eyes in the grave.
Except even bones must disintegrate.

What then happened of him? His legacy? His drama?
His Romeo and Juliet and Hamlet and McBeth?
Technically reincarnation is not that unbelievable.

It’s on the blank canvas of the newspapers and it’s on the ass that you wipe it with.

Paper made from trees.
Wood from trees
Food from trees
Animals from trees
Skin from trees
Life from trees
Trees Trees Trees

Well. It had to get to THAT point. You know the Lorax point.

You don’t know the Lorax?
Dr Suess?

Sigh.

Move on. Move on…………….

So.

It’s not the first time that the lights have turned on in your head.
It seems a lot has remained the same.
Look closer.
It has changed
It has rearranged.
Matter and energy simply change places.
Living becomes dead.

The dead become Trees.
TREES TREES TREES.

Do you GET why these so called rants are called knots and threads?

Look again.
Details…

Smiling at you...