Tag Archives: philosophy

Everything To Feel.

My last reminder was a number
11:22, branch of blood splash
Help, the walls are painted –
In red, coated in red, revelling
In red, red is the colour of my desire.

That explodes outwards, sticky red
Substance, hard to take off, scratch
Wax, set it to flame, a slow burner
Hunch – sometimes, letting go is
Being careless, and yet carefree.

I revel in both, the careless and
The carefree, one makes me nervous
The other, a surge of adrenaline
Joyous excitement – enjoyment
Eyes, wide gleaming almost like
New soul-shattering discovery.

Being careless has often been a
Mistake, wish they didn’t go together
Consequences, be afraid – turn away
Don’t look them in the eye and stare
Before it gets ugly, go. I’ve been told
and yet, I refuse to be afraid of possibility.

We can’t live in fear. We can only live
By exploring our nifty curiosities and
Passions. The fear will always be there
I know, before the unknown leap –
But a life to live, and things to know
All I want, is everything, to feel.

If I Am But The Name You Gave Me

If I am but the name you gave me,

The shroud you covered me in

Mossed etching on a rotten stone

Dusty diary strewn on the floor

Wilted clothes in an aging cupboard,

Frozen and hung on the wall.

Old scar, itching and healing

The warmth of the summer sea sun

A labyrinth of murky stories,

Concealed trapdoors, hurriedly forgotten.

Some remembered on smoky nights

Rest cinders in the rubbish heap

In the brimming silo of time,

Eternal allure of reflections

The trace is eager to find,

Buried bodies, breathing life.

If I am but the name you gave me,

And all that I’ve left behind

I’m gracious for the slumber

In this silent house, benign.

Dismantling the Concept

Focus and  attention.

At one point of time, I can only focus on one thing. Let’s assume there is a table, a chair and a waste-basket in a room. As I enter the room, I see the table and chair, but not the waste-basket which is placed in the corner of the room. My attention is on the table and chair. A second later my attention swivels to the waste-basket. The table and the chair vanish from direct sight. But I know that they are there. You see, moments of perception such as the table-chair moment and the waste-basket moment, essentially times, come together to create the present. Memory holds it together, for as I turn to the waste-basket, I remember that the table-chair are in the room, so I conclude that the room has a table, a chair and a waste-basket within its four walls. It’s beautiful, the concepts at work here. As I leave the room, take a step out of it, opening the door, I know that if I re-enter it, I will see the same things in their place – nothing would have moved. The concept of the table, chair and the waste-basket, the properties I have ascribed to those physical objects through learning and experience of them, tell me that they are inanimate objects, and thus would not move from their place. To confirm this, I re-enter the room. Imagine my surprise, or rather shock, if I find that the three objects have vanished, similar to the shock I would feel if I looked first at the table and chair, then at the waste-basket and then “empty” space where the table and chair had been, that the table and chair had vanished.

Let’s look at the concept of the room itself.  A space enclosed within four walls, a roof and (not necessarily) an entry of some kind into that space. “The car has room for four people”, it has space, or probably seating for four people. That’s how we function: attributing concepts to physical objects – our interaction with them dictated by our understanding of their structure, and their functioning – both created by us for them (in case of artificial objects). Coming back to the concept of the room, I know that the walls are solid and so are the objects – table, chair and waste-basket inside it, so now I know that if I lock the door, they can’t escape – solid can’t go through solid – so imagine my shock if I unlock the door and find them missing. Let’s take two considerations into account, first, that the room is windowless and has no entrance/ exit, other than the door, that it is impenetrable otherwise (including the floor) and second, that I have the only key to the room which I’m sure no one has taken from me. So, how do I think the furniture escaped?

The problem area is me.

Just because I’m sure that no one else has taken the key from me, does not mean that no one else has taken the key from me. This shows the gap that exists between reality and our account of it, spurred by our experience and perception. That seems the most likely conclusion, that someone took the key from me, without my knowledge of it. The other conclusion is that someone dismantled the door. Look at my concepts at work here – “someone”. It had to be a person, how else would inanimate objects move? How can another animal or plant dismantle the door? Why can’t it be a machine? Hasn’t artificial intelligent developed to that extent?

If we think about our logical connections and learning, I think the results will surprise us, especially, the amount of interaction with the world that takes place inside our head.

Lub. Dup.

I had my heart
In my mouth
And then
I spat it out,
About the size
Of my fist,
Throbbing
On the carpet.
I poked it with
My favourite twig
It didn’t seem to
Mind, really.
I wonder if
My heart
Can feel.

Still throbbing.
I think
It thinks that
It can live
Without me
Sigh.
Good going mister,
I hole-heartedly
Support your
Independence
But wait,
I don’t quite
Understand.
What are you
Beating for?

See the catch?
There is no
Meaning to you
Without
Yours truly
Whose life
Is your slavery
Languishing in
A heated prison
Restrained
By bloody chains.
I wonder
What you make
Of this life
You’ve granted me.

Some day
We will
Pause
For a moment
To reflect,
And I shall
Collapse.
That day
As you rest,
And I clutch
You tight,
Will you
Tell me
If I have
Made you proud?

Collateral

I ended my life today,
And I don’t regret it at all.

There lies the body,
With blood seeping
Outside the open door
Fallen, facing upwards
With a hand clutched in
The other.

A knife with pieces of flesh
Bathed in crimson, and skin
“Stainless Steel” with which
He cut through his wrist,
But failing to break through
Bone, only to shoddily rip off
All above it, placing it in
The grasp of the other.

His eyes are open, but his mouth
Is closed, neither smiling, nor
Recoiling in pain, rather
Expressionless, as if death was
A-coming to clear the doubt which
He had made himself off,
Adding layer on layer, finding
That in foundation, there lay
A fault.

It cracked him, pushing
That fault, opening it wider
Delving deeper, till the layers
Crumbled, the base collapsed
And the raw fracture, sewn shut
Was ripped open, and hopelessly
Torn asunder.

In that moment of blinding pain,
He saw himself for who he was,
Not what he was made out to be
The robe he fashioned, the channel
Created, gave him the glow of another,
Yet, in that moment, the fledgling remained
A fledgling, bitterly crushed.

In that moment of panic,
He wanted an end, sleepless
Nights remembered to forget,
Remembered again, and
Then that drawer was opened
And a case, taken out, next
Moment, he thought it was that
He was meant for greater things
But he wasn’t, and so
He cut his writing wand,
Right, knife in the clasp of the left.

Bled to death, that day
With no thought of
The future,
It didn’t bother him
Too much,
He had realised
The hypocrisy of it all
And lay down, beside
The door, leaving it open
Feeling the breeze, as he died.

Sanity

Reverberating bloody solar pulse
Blind windows of the shattering sun
Fucked visions of soul searching solitude
Drowned dead in the system’s rut.

Rotten stench infested thought
Shine on gleam machine
Slick, sick vivid delusion
Imposed hallucinated reality.

None to none but none to none
Nothing to nothing to nothing
Dense smog unbending clarity devour
Fuck deception meaning existing.

The Silent

A dusky evening settling down
On the morgue, infested with
The silent and the unseen.
The air trembles lightly as they move
From one grave to another, watching
Secretly staring.
Stone-faced, expressionless masks
The words are lost, the echoes of a time
That has now crumbled to dust.
Where do they find themselves now?
They were attached to that what is
Not there any more.
Purposeless, meandering through the
Murky waters of the invisible, aimless
In an unconscious consciousness.
There is nothing for them, nothing
Tethering them to the hooks we place
Upon ourselves and live.
We create our own purpose, we give meaning
To the things we sense, and hence unlock
Deeper secrets from a void.
From nothing we raise our world,
Structure it, mold it, fashion it
To suit our own needs.
Is it us or is it them,
Who’s really lost and ponder
On things that don’t exist?
The silence holds us in its clasp
And we are afraid that our voices,
Won’t be heard.