What the hell was I thinking ?

I can change the way the world works by scribbling some shit on a page on some corner of the web. I can feel better about myself by expressing myself in a public forum.

Bull shit. The hopelessness of the situation is so pathetic in it's transparency that i totally missed it earlier on.

My contribution to the blogging community is over, atleast in this incarnation.

My blog, my friend - rest in peace.

The way you feel is the way you live.

I think i'll start posting a touch more often.

...... darkness spreads
silence prevails ......

Everyone's cursed - it's called LIFE

What if the dawn of a new day always meant the start of a new life ?

What if all your questions had just one answer ?
What if you knew the answers to all your questions ?
What if all the answers were again questions ?
Why does a question always require an answer ?
Is the answer only important when asked the right question ?
Why does one question ?
Why can't one just accept and submit ?
"The aim of life is self developement" - Oscar Wilde. What did he mean ?
Does not having an answer cost more than not asking the question ?
What is more important - to have an answer or to know that it's ok to question ?

What if every dream in the night always became reality during the day ?
What if all that you felt was a mere illusion ?
What if everything you have come to believe as real is actually only an illusion ?
What is an illusion ?
How is it different from a fragment of your imagination ?
How is imagination different from a dream ?

How does one define one's existence ?
How can one substantiate one's existence ?
Would the world be any bit different if you did not exist in it ?
Does your existence really matter ?
How is presence any different from existence ?
Does form have any influence over your existence ?
How does one relate substance to form ?

Do i really want the answers to all those questions ?
Does it really matter ?

Thievery Corporation - "The Time We Lost Our Way"

My mind is full bursting over
With all this things I can't remember
Every little single memory reminds me of you
My eyes were weary with all this tears
You left your shadow in my dreams
All my doubts seem to disappear when you came along
Flowers melting up into the sky
Hear my heart where our love colides
We hear the songs we found in the times we lost our way
From without words cannot describe
What caused the stars to fall deep inside?
Every little memory reminds me of you
Our days are gone lost forever
Reflecting light glistening under water
Naturally this could be everything that seems so unreal
Flowers melting up into the sky
Hear my heart where our love colides
We hear the songs we found in the time we lost our way
Gentle memories replace our tears
All love we had is still right here
We hear the songs we found in the time we lost our way…

Conversation:

1. A spoken exchange of thoughts, opinions, and feelings; talk
2. An informal discussion of a matter or an issue by representatives of governments, institutions, or organizations
3. A real-time interaction with a computer

Is this supposed to work when the exchange is unilateral, bilateral or both ? I've been involved in situations where the exchange has been both unilateral and bilateral. It is my personal experience that leads me to question the veracity of that definition.

What if an exchange is unilateral or bilateral out of compulsion rather than by choice ? If its out of compulsion, obviously one of the parties involved in the conversation is an involuntary participant. In that case, no longer does it remain a conversation. It's a blatant waste of time.

Conversation is an art. It needs to be cajoled and handled with precise care.

No wonder i'm not good at it.

To step back, and take an objective view of the holistic situation gives rises to a plethora of thoughts and ideas, each of them unique. In a manner, that cannot be rationaly explained. The insipid nature of some makes for stark contrast with the rest which epitomize passion, an insuppressible urge to make a difference.

Which makes way for interesting conversation.

Ideas are meaningless without expression. The nature of an idea determines the relative importance between expression and communication. The medium of expression for an idea meant to be addressed to a mass audience merits attention. On the contrary, the expression of an idea that does not serve a greater cause is fairly insulated from the medium through which it is expressed.

Now, to what i really wanted to write about.

Inspite of much deliberation, i have only managed to reach a rather insecure conclusion on medium of expression.

Art is a form of expression. The definition of art is very subjective. The word "art" has been very loosely used in various contexts which, over time, has corrupted the original significance of the word. The etymology of the word suggests its latin origins which roughly translates to "skill" and "craft". The Indo-European origins of the word points to "arrangement" or "to arrange".

But the most acceptable definition of art i could find was: (slightly modified from its original form)

Art is anything that agents add to their 'output' which is not functionally necessary and is other than the default properties of that output.

A person adds a certain unique flavour to anything he/she does. An aesthetic addition which is not a functional requirement. In this flavour we find the distinction one can bring to any existing form. Subtle, yet undeniable in its existence.

It is this expression, which when similarly interpreted by a larger section of society becomes profound communication.

Massive Attack - "Dissolved Girl"

Shame, such a shame
I think I kind of lost myself again
Day, yesterday
Really should be leaving but I stay

Say, say my name
I need a little love to ease the pain
I need a little love to ease the pain
It's easy to remember when it came

'Cause it feels like I've been
I've been here before
You are not my savior
But I still don't go

Feels like something
That I've done before
I could fake it
But I still want more

Fade, made to fade
Passion's overrated anyway
Say, say my name
I need a little love to ease the pain
I need a little love to ease the pain
It's easy to remember when it came

'Cause it feels like I've been
I've been here before
You are not my savior
But I still don't go, oh

I feel live something
That I've done before
I could fake it
But I still want more, oh.

!:30 a.m, 25th august 2006

I find myself laughing, at myself. I had just finished watching Kabhi Alvidha Na Keha Na, "KANK" - as some of the more intellectually challenged prefer to call it. I had sunk to new lows. Feels like i've been covered by an invisible veil of utter shame.

I had wasted three and half hours of my life watching the handiwork of two men who's sexual preference is clearly homo.

Bollywood in all it's glory.