blabber phase #03

the last story has convinced me to stick to this act of typing, writing. just keep it going. something managed to excite you now and that can’t be the end of it. now apparently there is a danger of thinking so aloud on the internet as i am making myself vulnerable to the evils of society – people stealing ideas. now, why have an idea if you are so bloody secure about sharing it? if you have an idea only for the sole purpose of making money the world really has no use for it, it helps only another person only in search of making more profit. if you have an idea to tell a story, and you’re not really wondering about how much money it’s going to make you than you worry about having the money to produce it, what’s the harm in sharing it. so what if someone steals it. the amazing thing about stories is that even if you steal from me and say it, or i steal it from you and i say it, we both can never say the same story, if all we are worried about or rather occupied about is storytelling. 

now speaking about black holes. though i am not really up to date on scientific properties of it, the concept of a black hole just thrills me. the last story i wrote obsessed about this was… About a man who worked on creating the nuclear power plant and then retires with his lover to the greenery of the jungles in the Western Ghats for peace. Both of them build this box that magically devours everything in it to invisibility, even light. So, it is kept in this dark room. When his lover dies of some horrible painful skin allergy, he puts her in the box. Now a friend who visits him to give his condolences steals the plan for this bloody box and then it soon becomes a genocide weapon in this world, causing great amount of State-endorsed deaths. Later, after great protests, they dumped these boxes in the sea and everyday  more of the sea disappears into these boxes, an eventual doom anyway awaits this world. The lonely scientist not able to face the guilt of having created this weapon, on one night, steps into the box himself. poof.

as you can there was no scientific enquiry, but rather a lash out on all kinds of injustice i saw happening in this world. even though i did say what i wanted to say, in retrospect, this story actually tells me i was fucked up in my head. i am fucked up in my head even now. black hole or no black hole this is what i have to see the end of. a narcissistic quest. what the fuck goes on in my head? 

sudha is playing some videos that are raking up some unpleasant and equally pleasant memories. they are blowing through my head. the laughter in the room makes me blind. so vulnerable i am to such triggers. and usually what people think of me as is detached. i usually don’t stay around for dinners or lunches, go to reunions, funerals or marriages, engagements or showers. the only three social events that i feel okay in are arbitrary home parties in close friends’ houses, underground or over the ground raves, and cast parties. more than this i find very hard to extend myself. not because i am detached from these friends. instead, i actually think about my friends and family all the time, someone or the other is in my mind, i need only a certain smell or taste to trigger certain imageries. 

 

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