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.