Inside and Outside.

I wonder how I could bring myself to write this. But I have been silent for a bit, and it has been weeks since I wrote last. And still I get this trickle of visitors, both old and new going through the blog, poking around, not minding their own bloody business and doing all that other nonsense I loved when I felt a lot more unloved.

But why is it that I write here? Or for that matter write at all? This is not my work. I don't get paid for it, sure I get the occasional shag (oh I know you still come by and scour all the new posts for a mention, well no one but me is ever getting a mention here). But must I prostitute myself for sex?

What do I have to offer anyway? My years account for about 1.567164179*10(to the power of -9) of the world's years and I am already weary of the world? Does that speak more of me than of the world?


If I say I am this strange person who no one could ever understand, I can understand why I say it, but what if I am just pampering my self's individualism? Creating a dualism in the self to feel satisfied and complete. I have suspected that might be the case for a long time now. Ever since I found out I could hurt other people. Ever since I realized, though I am not certain why, there is something about me that other people want and like. It is probably a latent goodness of the human soul that creeps past me and attracts men and women with both low and high self esteem.

Still, the world is in a lot more 'shit' than I can pretend to sympathize with. Bad media, bad politics, bad leadership, bad communication, bad economic policies, and a lot more instances and practices with which I get to attach 'bad' without feeling the need to contribute more.

Apparently, India is the murder capital of the world. What do you expect when you liberalize a people and unleash on them globalization, voyeuristic violent media, too little money and remind them again and again they can get a better deal than they already have? It is the promise of a dream that gets them. Stupid pitiable loathsome children, everyone of them.

Have you ever seen the average Indian? The guy who will define the entire subcontinent just by be-ing?

Someone will probably butt in and tell you it is nigh impossible what with the different gene pools mixing all the time. That this is a very diversely populated area. But how true is that claim? Aren't they just attributing the entire corpus of the self to what lies till one inch deep and no more?

It is completely another matter about how we are superficial (being as that may be a product of evolution), but we are mistaking the self to the body that it comes attached to. Even if you feel -like most of the other people I meet- that in living, you fulfil your purpose, you have something going on. So you have a purpose exactly like the average being, human or otherwise.

It is infuriating to think of someone who is the mean sum of all our desires and skin deep reflections. For he is the root cause of why we despair. Not us, we have special exonerating circumstances that makes our causes and life justifiable.

We need to jump! Not at someone or on to something or on someone's toes. Just jump for the sake of jumping.

Why though?

Because that is the antithesis of rationality, not suicide or the like. If you can meditate while being irrational, maybe that is setting a greater benchmark? Maybe you are proving something now? It doesn’t matter if it isn’t. I jumped enough to realize that though I thought I had loved enough to last me my seven lifetimes, I could still love a lot more. So I have a new thing to compete against, and now instead of finding a purpose I am stuck with the a purpose I thought up trying to meditate whilst jumping without purpose.

I know this makes a lot less sense than your fixation with pop philosophy with its roots in Gothicism and self inflicted depression, but maybe we all need to grow up.

On another note, it would seem that I am an Elitist. This affliction is apparently brought on by my obsession about my cacophony being heard and lauded as unique and remarkable (if not revolutionary). That my desire to be heard is not very much different from what leads attention-starved celebrities to do the things they do. But I don’t even have a camera with a night vision filter!

Not that it is a bad time to be an Elitist. I point to the ‘bad’ list here again. I feel absolved by the times in being an Elitist prick.

‘No, then why do you like to go on about novelists, directors and musicians we have never heard about? Philosophers? We don’t know what to say when you insist on offering your critique.’

‘You haven’t been in a village long enough to know how it is over there. How peaceful it is. It changes you. You do not need your fancy-shcmancy philosophy to explain life there. It is just the colour of civilization’s shit that matters, not how it comes up with so much shit. I know you like and read him so I quote Shakespeare here, “There are more in heaven and earth, Horatio. Than are dreamt of in your philosophy.”’

I don’t feel that needs to be answered. Quoting Shakespeare is of course a big faux pas, for it is the illiterate and ill-read who try to pass him off as ‘unimportant because he is an Elitist icon’. But for that matter, why is Proust an Elitist icon?

But that is exactly what I meet with when I try to put across to a Marathi person that Shivaji is not good enough to be a demi-god. Or something similar; and now the entire BJP party is being raised up again on the principle of relative shitty-ness.

The average being is of course apathetic, or is sure every politician needs to be taught a thing or two. I can only guess, I am not really Omniscient, am I?

Now is that really a good enough an excuse to condemn me to Elitism?

Well alright, I don’t mind, I apparently have wide enough shoulders to make a remarkable shrug.