If I don't write what I think, what's the point of being mad? But madness is sometimes over rated. When you are not able to think and even feel, it is the worrisome part. Relevance, Idea and Technique seems as far reaching personal goals at this spot of time.
The qualities of openness, patience and insight is deceasing at a slow rate due to mechanical life. I am feeling alone and ponder over my low emotional quotient. Beneath silence, all that is intimate, delicate and refined is crushed out of experience.
Reality is dependent om our sensitivity and the nature of the consciousness. One should never do anything against conscience, even if the friends and family demands it. Conscience is what will hurt when everything and everyone will give thumbs up for the word or act.
Through writing, I want to examine intimate of human emotions and controversial issues. Shades of solidarity with others is least in me but the taboos bite me. And distilling self experiences through word gives a bizarre feeling of auto-cannibalism.
I have read few Arabic poems in English these days. Despite of the loss of feelings in the translation, this desert language is the rhythmic and haunting in the nature. Familiarity with people or words bred not contempt but love, understanding and tolerance. Relations needs to be revisited to discover fresh nuances of meaning. Still same damned emotions inspire more non sense than life in all forms.
I am not ready to accept that absurdity and irrationality as a prime factors on the decision taking ability of the human. I respect emotional integrity of human relations that is universal in the nature for scrutiny others.
It takes conviction and courage to take a stand and be on receiving end of all ridicule and criticism. In order to turn convention upside down, one needs a particularly firm grip on convention itself. Unconventional writing is difficult and a mere arrangement of clumsy and random sentences can't form an off-beat literature. The inherent incapacity for sustained constructive thinking blocks the continuity of the observation.
Flamboyance without content is apt to degenerate into gimmick sooner or later. We invest a lot of efforts to reach for fame within mainstream and the same popularism gives one an unapproachable aura. An individual raised to Demigod status through stupidity. That is a paradox of acting or writing on the public demand.
The qualities of openness, patience and insight is deceasing at a slow rate due to mechanical life. I am feeling alone and ponder over my low emotional quotient. Beneath silence, all that is intimate, delicate and refined is crushed out of experience.
Reality is dependent om our sensitivity and the nature of the consciousness. One should never do anything against conscience, even if the friends and family demands it. Conscience is what will hurt when everything and everyone will give thumbs up for the word or act.
Through writing, I want to examine intimate of human emotions and controversial issues. Shades of solidarity with others is least in me but the taboos bite me. And distilling self experiences through word gives a bizarre feeling of auto-cannibalism.
I have read few Arabic poems in English these days. Despite of the loss of feelings in the translation, this desert language is the rhythmic and haunting in the nature. Familiarity with people or words bred not contempt but love, understanding and tolerance. Relations needs to be revisited to discover fresh nuances of meaning. Still same damned emotions inspire more non sense than life in all forms.
I am not ready to accept that absurdity and irrationality as a prime factors on the decision taking ability of the human. I respect emotional integrity of human relations that is universal in the nature for scrutiny others.
Flamboyance without content is apt to degenerate into gimmick sooner or later. We invest a lot of efforts to reach for fame within mainstream and the same popularism gives one an unapproachable aura. An individual raised to Demigod status through stupidity. That is a paradox of acting or writing on the public demand.
Sarcasm suits me as I am able to observes the hate, hypocrisy and superiority complex hiding deep down in the psyche of myself and fellow people. It helps me to overcome the harshness of the reality and, eases the pain of scars, deceit, violence and deep embedded anger against them.
I had great anger on caste, cultural, regional and religious traditions that limit one's identity through ghettos. The generations after me will not live this kind of life — that’s what I decided. I will change my destiny by just existing in my own skin.
I may be the silent majority but I am a loud minority.
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