A Thought
According to the second law of Thermodynamics, things always tend to go wrong. Hands up. I do not remember the last time I had a secure, sound, right thing that happened to my life by sheer probability.
I have trusted the System. For the past few ephemeral months, I did everything I could do. Theorems, Corollaries, Inferences, Logic Gates. Mental discussions. Constructed seriously complicated labyrinths of dangerously absurd ideas to save my world. To have a firm, settled ground below my feet every-time my mirror looked tired. Crouched back to my own cocoon of opium, every time they backfired. Other ideas. Crouched back to my own cocoon of opium when they backfired. Other ideas...
And the clock would tick philosophically, as always, trying to tell me how futile life is. How all mental theorems, corollaries, logic gates, ideas, solutions are barely 2 % truth, 18% assumptions and 80 % lies. How some of life’s biggest problems hardly have any solution—they just become situations, to be dealt with, to be got over, to be put off to secret cities inside the mind.
Moving-on is the nicest short cut, I have known, so far, from one good-thing-turned-bad to another good-thing-that’ll-stay-good-for-some-time.
Life is this strange, chaotic and frustrating---dissected, fragmented by Move-On bridges, by-passes and crossroads. Yet, somehow, somewhere, it manages to be fun, in a roundabout way, all for the sake of my existence. It is this reality, I can’t stand.
My mirror looks tired.
I have trusted the System. For the past few ephemeral months, I did everything I could do. Theorems, Corollaries, Inferences, Logic Gates. Mental discussions. Constructed seriously complicated labyrinths of dangerously absurd ideas to save my world. To have a firm, settled ground below my feet every-time my mirror looked tired. Crouched back to my own cocoon of opium, every time they backfired. Other ideas. Crouched back to my own cocoon of opium when they backfired. Other ideas...
And the clock would tick philosophically, as always, trying to tell me how futile life is. How all mental theorems, corollaries, logic gates, ideas, solutions are barely 2 % truth, 18% assumptions and 80 % lies. How some of life’s biggest problems hardly have any solution—they just become situations, to be dealt with, to be got over, to be put off to secret cities inside the mind.
Moving-on is the nicest short cut, I have known, so far, from one good-thing-turned-bad to another good-thing-that’ll-stay-good-for-some-time.
Life is this strange, chaotic and frustrating---dissected, fragmented by Move-On bridges, by-passes and crossroads. Yet, somehow, somewhere, it manages to be fun, in a roundabout way, all for the sake of my existence. It is this reality, I can’t stand.
My mirror looks tired.
posted by Puff at
June 15, 2007
3 Comments:
You might get this all the time - but I love your writing. Its like you are writing what I am thinking...but with better words!
I am addicted and you have a fan.
the feel of the words make u wonder the bridge between reality and literature. excellent. 'a thought' deserves a publish in the dailies. its that good.
Though, the best part of life, you can't say any situation bad, as something worse is waiting for us, in future...
Post a Comment
Subscribe to Post Comments [Atom]
<< Home