Have you ever wondered, when in some particular time and space, you’d be totally caught up in an activity fairly stupid, some one else, might be your ex-roommate for example, would be affianced in a task or obligation, equivalently practical and substantial. Also there could be a possibility, that the other person’s bustle would be making an only much more far-reaching imprint in his or hers own life. Birthing the verity, you could have only made something better out of your living as well, if you had been taking life a bit more seriously, being sensible, and not materialistic otherwise.
If life was not fair enough, the consciousness would disembark at a time, when you’d be stuck in a (relatively) small job somewhere, only cribbing further of how useless this life actually is, when there would be an anguish to go through, watching peers get settled, get richer and get laid, with hot wives or girls, whatever.
Considering the above dogma that just hit me, think of how many a zillion lives, contrasting and being the only examples of their kind, yet intersect and are paradoxically, distinctively akin. There is a rush, people in a keyed up state of psychedelia, they follow rules, the vertigo, stirring concurrent.
I am constantly been told that being materialistic is not important and somehow, they reflect the way we are brought up, and affect maybe, the way we are gonna take ourselves further. What if today, you take out all your material belongings and set them away, give up, all of them. Maybe sell them off, and try getting as much of a bargain you could possibly make. Tough initiation, eh?
On a recent Sunday morning, I felt the need to completely scratch out all the trash I had been living on and giveth way to a fresh start. I took out all notebooks, newspapers, CDs, magazines and the similar etcetera. I had to clean up the mess I created. I had to sort out things. Now to carry this one on further, I could never really believe I once, collected records of ‘Britney Spears’ or some others as irrelevant, titled ‘Because I Love You’ (Whathefuck!). Plus, I preserved those entire idiotic weekend journal articles about relationships, love and sex. Back in my early childhood, when I was simply tone deaf and had no sense of music whatsoever, one of the prime reasons, that made me shed money on such pity tracks or albums, was to impress a bunch of school girls, stupid equivalently.
What a waste I was. But. I have not always been one comprehensive putrid apple, with dirty young insects filled in it. I, on the contrary, by my divine heart and spirit, have always been the most innocent of a child. I hereby testament, on the inside I am as revered as a corona, and I am as straight as Joey Tribbiani (Friends). When my unshaven look (in some time of the year) and unkempt hair would mean otherwise, I am delicate and I try being clean, to the world, as a whistle.
Oh, by the way, this could be the redundant sequel to an earlier post, about how I lost all the harmony within me, at one fussy phase in my life. Likewise the human soul though, which according to the Hindu mythology, is immortal; such is the aura of music. Endless nameless. Cliché.
This is not any dim follow-up. What actually instigated me to come up with this post, is a little off the square premise, if one would be mistaken. It doesn’t really mean that I fabricated a lot of content here, but somehow giving me the necessary plunge, to pen it down, rather than convoluting it, in my already long-winded head.
To begin from where I left, my parents considered me to be the luckiest child alive, having to get into an engineering college in Bangalore. No, they were not retarded, but keeping my uninspiring and tame academic record in retrospect, such a small attainment seemed to be impossible for the instance.
Anyhow, the motive why I really cite the above and make me appear a complete monkey is, because, subsequent such of a stupid act, my maternal grandfather gifted me an iPod, which meant 4 gigabytes of hysterical play lists of songs or videos, whichever I may have preferred.
On any given day, when generally, I’d like to travel with ears wide open, making effortless labors to witness the unbelievable absurdity around. Being spoilt for choice though, presented with a prevailing new music contrivance, and already having fed the device with as much as tracks that could possible be hosted, I’d rather now prefer to have soft and loud music playing in the background, shuffled, while out in the jungle.
At this instant, post midnight, when more often than not, I am lost in an enigma carved by an oasis of cold plays, I have no aura to sense and no blissful state of psychedelia to attain, and escape out in a third world. I am yet vanished.
For ever, and a day more, I have thought about my immaterial existence on the planet, the purpose why my soul wanders under the bounds of a mortal skeleton, why does it not let the tide take over, and if there may be no new moon rising, let it be, I would be a free spirit nonetheless.