Life kills you anyway . . .
So probably it’s ok, you cannot deliver happy endings, nevertheless, it’s hopeful to expect one, when you’d know eventually what’s it’s all about, so whats the big deal, is it just do our time and roll on, or it is about a struggle that is perpetual, a struggle that is so apparent that it makes oneself blind and would not want to be tangible to anyone who is in the process. Frankly I dont know what to write here, the whole concept of life and its deriving futures are quite scary, It will not matter tomorrow what you have read today unless there’s a bloody examination that is just about to judge you forever and will not consider any “But” or “U know” or either “actually”, it’s just there, right plain bare stretched upon the veritable future glass ball with one’s name all over it and worse, it starts to make sense when it hurts, things make sense when they start to hurt or atleast that’s what makes the most sense out of it, substance addiction, a different oxygen or the unspeakable life itself. The addiction is what makes it all worthwhile and the addiction they say is illegal, irrational and false.
.
The addictions of life may well run into infinity, but the addiction of wanting to let someone want you or oneself is something that would never run out of fashion, I’m not all that good with words, I’m just decent with twirling them with emotions that make situations complicated to get out of, the addiction, again, of dreaming is sensible, but when sterile actions take control and press charges for the obvious, what’s left is just the soul’less addicted self that one has to handle and hold within oneself or let loose onto an other for safety, security and probably for the comfort feeling of being secure. What’s succeeded is what’s important and worthy of looking and answering, but what if the very cause is deceit? What then, how would you answer to yourself the very question that has been anticipated to be the most disturbing of all thoughts and problems that one has to live with, maybe strength, strength again, through addiction, strength through resources, strength through comfort and strength through numbers. But when life kills you anyway, what would one possibly want out of it? Is it the congregation of thoughts to keep oneself happy, or is it the absolute need of not letting go and looking over the thin divide and lie to oneself.
.
Such exactly is the altercation between infatuation and love, there’s no such rational divide that exists, there’s just random thoughts and again, encrypted messages not to be decrypted in public or outside self, the very action of “investing so heavily” onto something momentary is to ensure that this life before death is worth a penny or even more, well in INR it’s got to be some paisa, to understand the aimless aim’s everyone’s been chasing is more than a philosophy in itself, understanding it purely and putting the derivations to action is tuff, the madness that it leaves behind is sadly evident, the wreck, it makes oneself to, is definitely a pleasing sight, specially when all that you think that you have done has been dismissed efficiently into a platter full of gutter charm and composure, then one would ask why celebration? Why at all, that’s the basic paradox of it all, theres no certain explanation to what it could be and what it should and what exactly it is, but the complex connections and routes within the tunnels that would rather meet and pretend to dissolve themselves into the gloomy shadows one would want to leave and move ahead pretending to look for, at exactly where they left behind, but if all you left behind were a forest of shadows, where would light penetrate into the flow of thoughts and make you realize that all you had for yourself was nothing better than what the frog in the well had thought of itself, a master, the ultimate power, but all that would again need an re-inforcement and that’s exactly what life is all about.
.
It’s about reinforcing the doubt into clarity, it’s not about doing it yourself, it’s about getting it done and feeling secure about what has been done and living in a fear of being discarded and disapproved of what has just been accomplished, life has nothing much more to offer, it’s all about a second chance of making one believe in what one wants to believe but would not because there’s been no hand-of-god to suggest what has been said and what has to be done is right and will be so, forever, but that’s when the lying get’s to the picture, it surpasses the need, the necessity of human emancipation to the truthful but would rather bet it’s dime on relying on the blatant lies of the second fiddle to just let know the comforts of numbers and the wonders of divided trust and belief. Simply put, the remote control has been safely given to pals and family for an efficient entertaining life through channels and records that one would want to juxtapose with life itself that maybe some day one would wonder about what happened to the tape and why are they voices interposing each other with screams and laughter at the same time, coming back, like we have never deviated, the thin line between infatuation and love falls in the category of thoughts expressed, it’s more than reinforcement, it’s the juxtaposition of life itself onto the ideal commotion of feelings and horrendous belief’s that things can be true, they can be better for better and not worse, they can make someone sense the innermost desire of fulfillment of need through some one who is not you, when life can drench oneself out of the common sense and the guts to make see for themselves that the truth, may not always be told, still beholds the power than the consensus, maybe it’s time that you have thought and thought hard about what has been said and how true it has been, I wonder some times, the weak, the meek, have an altogether life carved for themselves in their hearts and that is something that they have learn’t to live with, to live without questioning, to live without self opposition, to live without deriving the logical and to suppress the rest for no explainable reason but to believe than in something that is not them.
.
Come to think of it, life kills you anyway, so why bother . . .
