Miswhispered Dream

17 02 2008

What had struck me immediately as I walked into the garden was the terrible disassociation I shared with my presence. And perhaps, that accounted for my absence too, from the garden.

Detachment: The coma of the awake. And I knew, like I always had instinctually, that this was a dream. And in dreams, the most fearful acknowledgement is that you’ll never fall asleep – that makes all dreamers insomniacs. Hence, my newfound absence from my dream imagery can be compared to Lewis Carroll’s (who incidentally was the greatest insomniac according to Jweistein’s The Metaphysics of the Physically Improbable Authors, pg 416) absence beside Alice. In fact, Jweistein goes on to prove that Carroll had never existed and was just as fictitious as Alice. The original author (whose name does never appear in Jweistein’s discussion) had invented a character named Lewis Carroll as it sounded perfect for a novel that grew in dreams. Lewis Carroll was no pseudonym but a true genius of the actual author for it was a character that would keep growing even after the novel was complete, existing somewhere outside the book. “The characteristics of names authors shared like those of Thomas Paine, John Donne or G.K.Chesterton, Jorge Luis Borges (whose literary style I’m copying in this paragraph) should never have been suitable for a novel titled Alice in Wonderland, and therefore, the foremost character that the novel needed was an author whom the children would imagine as the teller of the tale. That name was Lewis Carroll.”

Jweistein’s analysis for the first time made me aware of the plight of an improbable author. Imagine a Lewis Carroll who does not exist in the real world; doesn’t exist in Alice’s virtual world. He could no longer be defined as real or fictitious. Nor can we term him as non-existent as his name appears on the very and every cover of Alice in Wonderland. Can you imagine the plight of someone whom you can’t see? Who can never tell you that he’s there – right in front of your eyes? And you keep on believing that he never existed? Or rather, you don’t know that you kept on believing that he never existed? Imagine a Lewis Carroll waving his hands at you, trying to get your attention, trying to tell you about Alice, about how his own words had eliminated him when you believed all along that he had become famous. Imagine a Lewis Carroll trying to get in your way, trying to stop you from walking away, away from your childhood, away from that imaginary world, away from yourself. But you pass right through him, gossiping, perhaps, with one of your friends.

Detachment: The coma of the awake. In my dream, I saw the room. And in the room, I saw myself. For the first few seconds I enjoyed this third person view incredibly. I could see, for instance, how my shoulders shrugged when I was in a casual conversation, how my eyebrows moved when I was trying to be over-expressive. But then, a fear overshadowed. Was this death? Do we see ourselves in dying, in places we’ve never been to? Is that the gift of demise? Is that the curse? Of losing control over my actions (for I was denominated to a mere spectator)? Of losing temporality? what exactly does existence mean to a physically improbable? Shall I be further disassociated? Or is death the final detachment? I was afraid, perhaps, because death is not sleeping forever, as people tend to believe but exactly the opposite – Death is being awake. Forever.

And in this terrible awakening, you’ll see enacted in front of your invisible eyes an imaginary tale concerning you, over which you shall have no control. For no one shall see you – your parents, your friends, your lover, your children or even, you yourself. You’ll be a silent spectator of imaginary lives.

That’s what I do. In this present imaginary moment of my life I watch myself walking with someone I could barely recognize through the garden. I see a man a few steps ahead calling me with his hands, saying something barely audible. And I see myself walking towards him. And then, in the most surprising of the imaginary moment, I see myself walking right through the man. That’s when I recognize his miswhispered words –

“Come back, sir. Buy a ticket to the wonderland. I’ll buy myself some bread with the money.”

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Pebbles

29 01 2008

Yesterday while walking I found a pebble. Nothing new there. I do find lots of pebbles in lots of places. And I often collect many of them. What seemed really strange about this pebble was its shape and its absolute absence of any particular color. Every time that I looked at it, it seemed as if its color has changed. And its shape had become even more indescribable.

I came home and kept it in the silver box where I keep all the other pebbles. And although I don’t do this usually, this morning as I got up and went and opened the box. Strangely, it seemed that the total number of pebbles from the box had come down. Even though the pebble I had brought home yesterday was still there, some of the other pebbles, it seemed, were missing. I couldn’t identify these missing pebbles.

But of course, it weren’t the pebbles that had went missing. It was just that yesterday’s pebble had done something to my psyche. It was somehow creating the illusions that my subconscious expected.

It? definitely not.

The pebbles couldn’t have been creating the illusion. It was my mind that created the illusion by means of this pebble.

But then again, why this pebble? Why not all the other multitude of pebbles that I had been collecting all this while? Was this pebble any different?

No.

Then, why would my mind try to impose difference to this one? And even if it does, it’s no way necessary that I submit. Therefore, I took a deep breath and calmed my mind. I made a resolution of not letting my mind take control over me.

“I’m the master”, I said, three times.

Tonight as I had been returning home, I stumbled onto another pebble. It reminded me of a pebble that, perhaps, I had not found in the box this morning. In any case, since it won’t do me no harm, I brought it home and kept it in the box. I found I couldn’t close the box properly.

Perhaps, there were too many pebbles in it.





A Dictionary Revolution

26 01 2008

My friend Stenzwi uses some strange interpretations of some seemingly harmless terms and phenomena. Not that I like him less for this quality of his but it’s hard to believe that somebody would actually scratch his head (with very few hair remaining on it) to come up with something that’ll add up to nothing at all.  I’ll give you some examples to start with. Definition, for instance, is one of his forte. He has often told me that he plans to write a dictionary all by himself in the near future.

“And how do you plan to complete it?”

“Why would a dictionary be complete?”

“Aren’t they, generally?”

“Never. I’ll request you to become a member of the library of Stamphor and browse through some of the dictionaries there. You’ll see all of them are incomplete. Even if you find a term you’ve been looking for you’ll see that the definition given is insufficient.”

“I’m sure you’re planning to suffice them.”

“I’m going to start a revolution that would be carried forward through generations. A revolution to not just keep on adding on the number of words present in a dictionary but enrich the definition of those already present. I’ll call it “The Dictionary Revolution“. 

Well, I had to go through a lengthy process of listening what his plans were and how he planned to execute them, followed by reading through a scrapbook he’s been collecting words.  This is how one of the pages in his scrapbook looked –

 

A_Bridge_to_the_Unknown_by_flyKiWi

Sleep: A daily prayer to pretend there’s enough peace left in this world.

Bridge: An architectural wonder constructed to let people choose sides; the central point is renowned for it’s suicidal potency

 

“A dictionary is always infinite.” he told me at last. To which I replied – “Paper ain’t”.

And immediately, I felt sorry. Was I insulting him somehow? He was my friend after all.

“Paper is complicated,” he replied “I haven’t found a perfect definition for it yet.”





Introductory Post

26 01 2008

Yesterday, the tomorrow seemed like it would have been today. Broken up suddenly from the dreams of an expanded universe, I knew that it must forever be because I needed to create a new blog. A blog which I’d use like my acquaintances had taught me – A private personal Journal for all. It seemed entirely logical and I decided that I needed to question it no further.

Later, when the today started becoming like it would be had I thought of it yesterday, it made sense no longer, because there was no new blog in that thought. The new blog was a sole consequence of a dream I had this dawn. So, it was ultimately the dawn that would detach every today as it was yesterday and today as it is today. This frightened me – for it would mean that today is just a consequence of either the dawn or yesterday.

And many of us don’t recognize this but it is even more frightening for the consequences of this consequence. For this would mean that the universe isn’t really expanding. And that would not only prove many of the modern astronomical theories false, but more importantly mean that I couldn’t choose to create a new blog, irrespective of the dawn or yesterday. And hens hence, I would become a simple reflection of myself that I had left behind in my past.

By doing so, I annihilate the present, forever. And there shall be no forever, ever after, for by doing so we annihilate the future too. If I’m devoid of a present and a future, it’d be impossible for me to create a new blog.

Therefore, I could never create this new blog.