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.