I was never always like this. I used to believe in expressions, morality, co-existence. You know, the usual suspects. Expressions have never helped anyone. Unless you are a clown and you are willing to paint your face with a cheap paint which might someday take your skin with it. And as you find out that morality is not something that you hold inside you but practice and roll it out in the sleeves of your $300 Armani shirt, you sort of leave it to that.

Don’t even get me started on co-existence. It is the pile of bullshit on which other bullshit resides. We have divided the world into narrow blocks, each to function in its own way, with changing dynamics. You put up a farce, prepare yourself, get a job, get a life. Get a nice place to live and fill it with expensive stuff. And one day, you die. Life goes on. Live moves on. You have no history and your mind is well and truly fucked when you start to realize that you always have had no future. Mr. Walters knew all about it when he talked about you being just another brick in the wall. You are me and I am you. Repeat after me , ‘I am a polished fucking product of the society.’

I am a microscopic cube of the matrix.

“Every child is an artist. The problem is how to remain one once we grow up”. Pab-the-fuck-lo Picasso. He tries to say something every interesting, in addition to the blatant obvious, here. He is asking a collective disintegration of the society. ‘Your rules’, ‘your collective sense of vigilance’– where were they five years ago? What will they be five years from now? You are being brought up to serve the bigger good, the people who sit high up in the corporate ladder, smiling at you- imploring you to go on- to join the race to maybe one fucking fine day, you’ll be at their position. Yappie-fucka-doo.

You burn out thinking what in your life can be different? What can change the basis of which your life revolves. Can you be two persons at once? Can you carve out something out of nothing? Can you create something so beautiful that you can surrender yourself to it, trust what it says and you can achieve whatever you set out to be. And I am not talking of your clichéd-self-help-book-dream of becoming something. Roam out in the wild, go to mountains, explore the seas. Get a night of drunken debauchery with girl you always wanted. You know, the usual shit. Now don’t pull up your nose saying that there’s always a girl. Well, of course there is! You waste an exorbitant amount of time and energy in finding fuck, and when you find one, you are obsessed in not fucking up. When you are not successful, you go to the place where it all began seeking closure. Sometimes it finds you, sometimes you move on and, sometimes, you lose the way. We all lose do this at least once.

I am an inflamed sense of rejection.

With every happiness you feel in your life, deep down, you have this tinge portion of melancholiness. You fear of its longevity. You feel happy when you reach your home and it’s still there, you look for your partner when you wake up and are glad when he or she is still there. You know there’s a disaster that’s waiting to happen. You are glad when you find it hasn’t struck it. You don’t live for the day in hope for the future and you die every day, by the hour.

But you cannot change the world, can you? You cannot change the way you look, your face, your body, the handy piece of muscle that dangles in between or the tiny cute depression between your legs. The world knows you by those attributes and places it to the block identified by your name. Can you pick up a different identity when you pick a different name? How can you not feel like a rockstar if you are called Jim fucking Morrison? After a time, if you take attributes from his identity and imbibe it in your own, can you create a different world for yourself?
Your fucking world. Your fucking rules.

I am a shallow face of enlightenment.
I am a calculated farce of disenchantment.

“Only after disaster can we be resurrected. Only when we have lost everything that we are free to do anything.” Tylar fucking Durden. To rise from the ashes you need a new code to live. To set free from the shackles the world ties around your neck. You let go of your expressions, it shows you what you really are, you lose the element of deception. You wear a mask. You fuck with the society and the society fucks with you. You wear a face and you take a name.

I picked ‘Daaku’. What’s yours?

Altered Realities I which i wrote two years back: https://daakuspeaks.wordpress.com/2011/12/08/altered-realities/

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