Entropy is a natural phenomenon. It refers to the dissipation of efficiency in any closed or open system. It is a significant word for it is the precursor to the word and the phenomenon called 'end'.
One of the chief characteristics of entropy is its inevitable, unmistakable slowness. It is not a process like pleasure or pain where onset and growth can be felt tangibly, even measured in terms like - I was happy in October, I was happier in November. Or in terms like - I was pained in January, I was pained most in April.
One cannot say - Entropy came into my life on 15th August. Or peaked on 26th January.
Its nature is like the nature of growth. Imperceptibly slow, gradual, so that by the time one knows it is there, was there, has worked its way into the vitals, one has already travelled far into the land of diminuendo.
Yet, the human spirit has amazing resources. It is like a Hero from a B grade movie who is left with every bone broken in his body by the goons, but returns after 10 years and says, before he finishes them off - You should have shot me when you had a chance.
Well Entropy, you twin tongue of life, you should have got me when you had a chance. I've got you. I am not giving up.
Sunday, September 17, 2006
Friday, August 25, 2006
Autumn grasses are white
The difference between a boy and a man is one of seasons.
A boy reacts to them. A man anticipates them. A boy gets excited if the season is good, he sulks if the season is a let down. A man knows what the season will be like. He is never taken by surprise.
It's autumn stepping in. The riverbanks are white with the kaansh flowers.
Am I boy or a man?
Either ways I am not going down.
It's never endgame.
Never.
A boy reacts to them. A man anticipates them. A boy gets excited if the season is good, he sulks if the season is a let down. A man knows what the season will be like. He is never taken by surprise.
It's autumn stepping in. The riverbanks are white with the kaansh flowers.
Am I boy or a man?
Either ways I am not going down.
It's never endgame.
Never.
Tuesday, August 22, 2006
The danger of not
The incentive to live on lies in the next street.
Man wipes perspiration and smoothens the crease on his trousers. He says to himself there's got to be something round the corner. he's not sure what. Yeah?
Could be people laughing as the sun slips down, he can almost sense the shadows lengthening.
But what if there are shadows without bodies?
What then?
"You have to be careful, ask yourself questions, as for example whether you still are, and if no when it stopped, and if yes how long it will still go on, anything at all to keep from losing the thread of the dream." — Samuel Beckett, Molloy
Man wipes perspiration and smoothens the crease on his trousers. He says to himself there's got to be something round the corner. he's not sure what. Yeah?
Could be people laughing as the sun slips down, he can almost sense the shadows lengthening.
But what if there are shadows without bodies?
What then?
"You have to be careful, ask yourself questions, as for example whether you still are, and if no when it stopped, and if yes how long it will still go on, anything at all to keep from losing the thread of the dream." — Samuel Beckett, Molloy
Wednesday, August 09, 2006
Nightworn
A few days back I had a dream and I woke in sweat.
Dreams have a funny way of seeming more dangerous when asleep, innocous when you wake and lethal when they come true.
I was in a room. Or was I outside? It was raining I remember and it was night. And it was raining demonically.
Then I got beat up by a few people. Who were they?
And I ran out disgusted.
Suddenly I discovered I was wearing nothing but a T-shirt.
My state of undress didn't seem to bother me.
It was cold and I was shivering.
I walked all night. In the streets. Can't remember what city it was.
Saw a tree and stood under it.
Felt disconnected.
As I was about to think what next...where next...I see a big black book near the gutter. It's got 'THE BIBLE' written on it in gold.
It is soggy and worn out.
I pick it up and feel there's a message in it for me.
Message my ass.
Dreams have a funny way of seeming more dangerous when asleep, innocous when you wake and lethal when they come true.
I was in a room. Or was I outside? It was raining I remember and it was night. And it was raining demonically.
Then I got beat up by a few people. Who were they?
And I ran out disgusted.
Suddenly I discovered I was wearing nothing but a T-shirt.
My state of undress didn't seem to bother me.
It was cold and I was shivering.
I walked all night. In the streets. Can't remember what city it was.
Saw a tree and stood under it.
Felt disconnected.
As I was about to think what next...where next...I see a big black book near the gutter. It's got 'THE BIBLE' written on it in gold.
It is soggy and worn out.
I pick it up and feel there's a message in it for me.
Message my ass.
Monday, July 17, 2006
Unwell is bad news
Not feeling very well at all.
Work at office is many little disjointed things. People with little imagination and lesser ability.
But then, when was it ever different? And where was it ever different?
As for writing, there is little that has happened. Health has been down, though I am fighting it. Desperately. Do not want to go down the degenerate road.
But don't feel well. And what's scary is that I am not too sure if it is the body or it is the mind. Or something else.
My nerves are completely frayed. And I am unable to focus on my thoughts that lead to writing.
Will I even out?
When will it happen?
When will the ordeal end?
How much lonnger?
Work at office is many little disjointed things. People with little imagination and lesser ability.
But then, when was it ever different? And where was it ever different?
As for writing, there is little that has happened. Health has been down, though I am fighting it. Desperately. Do not want to go down the degenerate road.
But don't feel well. And what's scary is that I am not too sure if it is the body or it is the mind. Or something else.
My nerves are completely frayed. And I am unable to focus on my thoughts that lead to writing.
Will I even out?
When will it happen?
When will the ordeal end?
How much lonnger?
Snatches Wisps Slivers Crags
"Go take a walk. All of you. I mean, everyone can go take a walk. When it comes to me, sorry, I am selfish. I like my career. It's important to me. It's important to me. I mean that's more important to me than anyone. Even you. No, that's true."
- and what about the cold breeze i have left bridled between the rocks for you my love, and what about the sunrise that waits behind an unmade house, and what about the windows that are waiting to be opened and a fire that is waiting to be kindled in the hearth?"
So I say man, what passes is just a dream. In ten years time no one remembers a thing. No, it's a fact. No one remembers. That's why god's given us this ability to forget. That's life. One can take anything. This too will pass. There's nothing that will remain. So what the fuck! One ought to do what one wants."
- so what was it about the lines i have etched on my skin? why do they refuse to go? why is your palm etcheh on my body? why can i not erase you from the markings between my fingers? and even if it grows old, i think the legs still remember how they once crawled, and the lips without teeth remember how it was to have spoken the magic words, perfectly pronounced, softly uttered under the breath.
- and what about the cold breeze i have left bridled between the rocks for you my love, and what about the sunrise that waits behind an unmade house, and what about the windows that are waiting to be opened and a fire that is waiting to be kindled in the hearth?"
So I say man, what passes is just a dream. In ten years time no one remembers a thing. No, it's a fact. No one remembers. That's why god's given us this ability to forget. That's life. One can take anything. This too will pass. There's nothing that will remain. So what the fuck! One ought to do what one wants."
- so what was it about the lines i have etched on my skin? why do they refuse to go? why is your palm etcheh on my body? why can i not erase you from the markings between my fingers? and even if it grows old, i think the legs still remember how they once crawled, and the lips without teeth remember how it was to have spoken the magic words, perfectly pronounced, softly uttered under the breath.
The Animal Is Angry
In the middle of the storm is the moving of eyes now. Morning is rush. Work is a wheel.
Hunger does not want food.
Blindness does not want eyes.
And what you want kept gets broken. And what you want broken gets broken. And nothing gets built.
And these hands that seem mine, that are torn from me, one to seek, one seeked by the storm, will be seen as the hands that disturbed the winds.
And no one will know of the animals that thrashed about behind the mountains and under the earth, that raised this madness from beneath and from behind.
Hunger does not want food.
Blindness does not want eyes.
And what you want kept gets broken. And what you want broken gets broken. And nothing gets built.
And these hands that seem mine, that are torn from me, one to seek, one seeked by the storm, will be seen as the hands that disturbed the winds.
And no one will know of the animals that thrashed about behind the mountains and under the earth, that raised this madness from beneath and from behind.
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