Flirting with Insanity

An experimental piece, written just to see if I can simulate paranoia. It's still too coherent. I'll give it another shot some time later.

The beginning was the end. The end is beginning. I’m playing with words. I’m delaying the inevitable. I cannot dally. I must make haste. I must escape. I cannot. But still, I must try. Like a terrified hare, I will terrify myself to death as I streak through the jungle with the predator right behind me. But I will not be caught alive!

I am a seasoned sprinter. I dash for obscurity, I race towards anonymity. I make a mark and scrub violently to erase it. I cannot be caught in the act or the aftermath. I must not be located. I cannot be locked up. That would be the end of me. Run, I scream to myself!

I look around desperately, for cues, for messages, for signs. Never for help though. Every hand that reaches out seeks to grasp, clutch. They are all in it. They whisper, conspire, coordinate so that they can creep up on me. I won’t let them. I’ll be gone. Ha!

I have the jitters. I twitch incessantly as I drum my fingers and chew my nails to ragged bits. I clasp and clutch my fingers, trying to calm myself down. My breath is reduced to whoops and gasps. I haven’t even started the race yet, and still, adrenaline fills up my veins, stoking my body, preparing it.

I toss baggage out. Everything that cannot be carried must go. Everyone who will slow me down must be left behind. Chunks of objects, memories, and relationships go hurtling through my window as the room becomes bare. All that remains is what will accompany me on the run.

They are here. Time’s up! I dive out, landing hard. Blood trickles through abused skin, skin that stings as sweat starts pouring freely. Trivialities. I race through narrow alleys, my shoulders ramming into strangers, bits and pieces of outlying identity knocked off in the chaos.

My stomach knots itself up as my lungs scream for air. My legs are on fire as they pound the path, my hands reaching out for anything that will support, that will help me hold on and lunge forward. I can feel them. The chase is on. There isn’t much time now.

The beginning was the end. The end is beginning. I’m out of time. They are here. They will have me soon. I’ve been running forever. I can run only for so long. I only hope they do not disappoint me. I have been preparing for this all my life. I stop. I turn around, half tottering. I can hear them. A moment away. Their stench fills up my nostrils. I clench my fists. The running is done. It is time for the last stand.

I brace myself, take a deep breath, and launch myself at them with a scream! Moments later, it is over. The end. Peace.

Cogito Ergo Finito

I remember, You forgot

A random piece of verse, built on the title, which I believe is the name of a Persian poem and an Iranian game as well... That's what a dear Persian friend of mine tells me, at least. The words rang a bell, and the words flowed. The rest is a blog post...

It was a game at first
Hide and seek one day
Tag on another
We ran and we gasped
We laughed and we screamed
Life had stopped awhile
To watch us play
Our innocence freezing it
For a sliver of eternity
I remember, you forgot
Life moved on
And so did innocence
Games became more serious
As laughter trickled away
We went our separate ways
We passed each other
I turned back
You turned back
We missed each other
I remember, you forgot
We became characters
From demented sitcoms
You in a corporate comedy
Me in an angst-ridden drama
We played them for a bit
And then exchanged roles
We moved cities
We moved lives
We met, we said good bye
I remember, you forgot
Somewhere between midnight and dawn
I sit and write these words
I know tomorrow won’t be different
I know nothing will change
You will live your life
And I will live mine
We might meet, we will part
Nothing will change
Except for a promise that fades away
I remember, you forgot
Cogito Ergo Finito

Filing Time

Lay down your thoughts
On a slab of unrest
Worry not of what is to come
It is tagged, it is done
Slide home the baggage
And slam it closed
In the cold, dark recess
It will rest until called
Let it join the others
The ones that scurry and scratch
Asking to be let out
Begging, pleading, threatening
This one will wake up too
But it is safe for now
Inside, deep within
Where it belongs
Far, far away
From the light
From the life
And everything
That is to come

Cogito Ergo Finito

Superlife

Quick quiz. Have you heard these before?

It's human to err.

Only human after all.

Human weakness, vulnerability.

The first one, we've been hearing since we were kids. The divinity of forgiveness might have been forgotten, but our errant humanity was branded into our impressionable minds.

The second one, the agent stands above a fallen Neo (bullet motion showed us a flailing Neo desperately avoid a stream of accomodatingly slow bullets before he ends up flat on his back with two creases and a sore bottom.) Trinity comes to the rescue, but the dialogue remains. Only human after all.

The third stands for all the excuses we make. Human error. The phrase condemns mankind to the land of the inferior. The weak. The errant.

Cast out from paradise to grovel on an earthly limbo two sins from hell, such is man's plight. Thus we've been told. We're flawed (the bible says so), clad in a filthy body (no less than a mobile toilet, Swami Vivekananda said), living our life in penance for sins commited long before we were born (the Hindu cyclical path towards salvation). We're only human. We're damned before we're born. Point made. Scylla is done. Let's move on to Charybdis.

Noticed a surge in superhero movies off late? They're getting bigger, better and more real. The fan base is growing (the Dark Knight ruled the IMDB charts at # 1 before the purists came out in hordes to pull it down to a more digestable 7 or 8.) The heroes are more vulnerable and yet more powerful (Spidey pouts, mopes and cries and yet manages to kick Venom's and the Sandman's collective derriere.) The effects are cooler and more breathtaking (didn't you cheer when Ironman tried on his red and gold suit for the first time?) The villains are more real too and yet so much more lethal (Heath Ledger's Joker... need I say more?) We're living in the golden age of superhero movies.

Is it just movies? Let's take books. Tolkien wrote the Lord of the Rings in the 1940s. But did any of us hear about it till the 1990s? Actually, most of us woke up to it in the new millennium, when the first movie came out. But now, everyone has read it. Look at the other books... the stupendous success of the Harry Potter series, the proliferation of hundreds of high fantasy series written by the Terrys, the Davids and the others, and of course, the elevation of the comic to the status of a collectible, with superheroes having their adventures chronicled in glossy high-detail art.

So is it just the books and the movies? Take video games. Take new age urban pursuits like free-running. Take the sheer variety and insanity of extreme sports these days. Take the conspiracy theories that do the virtual rounds and how all of them have the concept of a corrupt system and a chosen one. The collective imagination of the thinking tenth of the human species seems to be thirsting for a release from reality, from mundane inanity, from the plight of being only human.

What is it that we're looking for? Few know the answer. But apparently a lot many of us are looking. While we're at it, we indulge the itch with flights of fancy. We discard our human limitations as our imaginations soar with caped crusaders. We escape this crippling reality for a Neverland that entices us with a better reality, with a kind of superlife. But we do not recognize the symptoms. What our very core seems to be crying for is a release... from all that we do (and the superheroes don't). Think about it. what's the superlife you're itching for? How possible is it? How far are you from it? What are you doing to get there?

You could think about it. Or you could just go catch the latest escape from reality (X-Men? Terminator? Transformers?) Indulge the itch. Let your favourite superhero live the superlife. You can watch in the wings and applaud.

So... What are YOU going to do?

Cogito Ergo Finito

Turn Back Time

Poetry is close to my heart, but prose is a hog for space. Once in a while, I try verse. I never rhyme. This one wanted to rhyme though. And when verse develops personality, you just shut up and write. I had my way though, in bursts. The result is a spooky song with a melody of its own. Stranger, I present my first (almost) rhyming effort in a decade, and the first piece of verse ever to sneak into Wordscapes.

One decision you could undo

One memory you could return to

One moment you could live differently

One blow you could strike more gently

You could try and try

Fight the relentless hands

If they give an inch, they'll give a mile

You could sweat and bleed

Wrench the temporal flow

If only you could, you could turn back time

Would you risk it all again

Would you realise it's all in vain

Would you still want to wash your sins

Would you turn the clock widdershins

You could try and try

To grab redemption

If you can have hope, you can have life

You could kill your present

To remake the past

If only you could, you could turn back time

Will you wake up in time

Will you listen to the mime

Will you resign from this insane quest

Will you just give in to fate's jest

You could try and try

To make them true

But dreams are dreams, they cheat and lie

You could beg and plead

To realise your wishes

If only you could, you could turn back time

Half the book has been read

Half of you is already dead

Half is all that remains

Half is all that pains

You could try and try

But you know it's futile

It's time to let go, it's time to move on

You could reminisce and smile

But you know it's untrue

You cannot, you just cannot turn back time

Cogito Ergo Finito

Changeling

You came into this world, a whisper between life and death. They celebrated your birth as you wailed at what lay before you.


The faerie watched... chuckling at your misery, at the irony of the delight surrounding your tears.


But that knowledge faded till it became just a queasy knot in your gut. You got caught in the feasts and the orgies. You lost yourself in the glamours and the lies. You forgot.
Try and remember. Realise. Know.


Changeling, you are but a visitor. Little more than a knave. This life holds no challenges you cannot surmount and death hides no surprises you will uncover. You will fool yourself with rainbows and optimism, but know that both lie... Colours sprinkled by rays and rain do not point to pots of gold. Dreams spun with hopes and mad wishes do not make a life.


When the fey one holding your cards smiles, you soar. But the faerie are capricious. With every frown, they bring about storms. They laugh in wicked abandon as they see the havoc they wreak. They titter and nudge each other in anticipation as you stagger into the the next rabbit hole. Not long before you plunge yet again... deeper. Soon, you will fall again... harder. You are bailed out, wrung out, and hung out to dry. And then... it starts again. The game goes on.


Your life has been pledged as tithe to Them. The miracle that was your birth will be paid for with your life. Your fate will become a game, a spinning coin, a rolling die. And you yourself, a mere pawn, a toy that amuses and enthralls Them. When They tire, They will cast you away. Just as you came in, a wistful whisper, you will pass on to the next world. There will be tears at your passing, but this time they will not be yours. The mourning will mask your smile of relief as you escape this fey game, this tortuous illusion.


You are but a changeling. This life is just a debt. Live it off. In time, in this world or the next, you will have paid for your keep and the fey will let you go. They'll break the die and melt the coin. They'll free the pawn that circles the board endlessly. And then, you will walk free. You will discover what life can be. Away from the faerie. Away from illusions. Pure life. Pure being.


Changeling... Believe. You will live. Some day. For a moment. For eternity.



Cogito Ergo Finito

Threes

Things come in threes. So they say. Well, writer alter ego of mine says so.

Trouble comes in threes they say
The first one, a toothless hag called Misfortune
The second one, a child named Confusion
And the last one was the deadliest of all
A seductress by name Panic
She brewed it all up
And served up a hot plate full of trouble

They come in threes. It’s the perfect predatory strategy. If you’re reasonably strong, the first one will just shock you. You are still on your feet. The second one will land a sucker punch that will shake you through and through. And then you’re set up. Staggering on your feet, your eyes barely focusing, you don’t even see the last one coming. The third one is always… always… a knockout.
With the first, you lose innocence.
With the second, you lose faith.
With the third, you lose hope.
And then, it’s over.
They’ve won, hands down. But then, it was three against one. You did a good job of hanging in there. You might even have put up a fight. But when they come in threes, what chance do you have?

Cogito Ergo Finito