Tuesday, November 14, 2006

Delusional Enlightenment, Part 2 of 0

Warning : This might fuck with your mind for quite some time to come! Read at your own risk.

Note : You might want to read Part 1 of 0, for an enhanced (or lessened) sense of continuity and comprehension.


Fluttering eyelashes, dilating pupils, profuse sweating, shivering of limbs, streaks of light
blazing all around, hues of red and white, dotted with smithereens of blue and scarlet. Blood
flowing through the veins, felt in the brain, bone melting and collapsing into ether which
people say doesn't exist. A feeling of raw power, raw energy and brains go on a vacation.
Temples throb. Weird sounds in my ear. Nose drops to the floor and smells the carpet, which
in turn tells a rather unasked for, uncalled for tale in its spirit of servitude and grattitude.
Ear on the carpet, hears my heart beat, blush, bludger and babble. Veins look dotted with sounds.
Doesn't make sense to you, does it? Made perfect sense to me back then and even now. From where I
stand, looks like you're the one on the trip. Makes me sound like an all knowing, all seeing tree
of fucken wisdom, dont it? This is what the ride does to you. It doesn't exhume the real you from
beneath all the onion peels of education, status, intellectuality and other crap that cover it.
It brings out the you that never was. Thats why it's different each time. Thats why, poor ol'
Jorgensen smiles as he can feel things slipping into the mist and disappearing away. All walls
and boundaries gone, everything changing into everything else. Elana sees reasons go away. Eyes
shut, she savours the feeling. Rest, at last. Freedom from having to conform to do things in a
pre determined fashion, freedom from having to make sure that every thing stands the test of
rationality. Freedom. She realises that it is freedom that she seeks, through the bondage of reason.
But when you are on the ride, the shackles are removed and the craving stops when the experience hits
you like a jack hammer. You are shattered. Then your brains are no more.
Poor Sheiffer, he sees his innocence being murdered and replaced by another one, only to be
murdered in the next trip. Senstitivity, par excellence. He should have been born during renaissance
and trained as an artist. Would have led the same life of oblivion in relative terms, but would atleast
have been recognized while he rotted, all dressed in finery, but alas in a coffin. For all his
capabilities, he lacks ambition. Courage too. Make that confidence three. But none of it matters
when you are there. All gone. All done for. Sing a requiem no more. There wont be anyone to hear it.
He is what neither he, nor anyone else can ever be.

Jorgensen is a mad eel. Squirming and writhing on the floor, his frame bending, twisting, eyes red.
Plays on his air saxophone. Pretty damn good when feeling low. Though he has just started playing, his music speaks of
an emptiness. Hunger for filling a ceratin void in his heart. It exposes the part of him that almost everyone but
Elana missed totally.

His music makes me feel hungry too. Makes me want to roast him, spice and eat him. Come to think of it, I
feel hungry. SO hungry that I Want to eat a horse. Will have to wait till Jorgensen is high no more.

As for me, I get lost. On purpose when it comes to this. Lost. Comfortably lost. Forgotten by those I
forgot. Feel like I have dissolved away. Feel, I am part of the slush that crap becomes when it is crap
no more.

Is it worth the pain? Let me ask you, is pain the right cost? All our lives, we wondered what was wrong
with us. All our lives, we asked "who am I?". Now, the ride removes "The Who" and "The I". What simply
remains is "am". This is when the primordial high dawns. The joy of being. The joy of being alive. The
joy which depends on nothing else. Since you don't trip like this, you look for it elsewhere.
Hankering for this is what makes you stand in queues. Makes us flaunt
our credit cards. Makes you go to places like The Savoy. Makes you fly business class, want illicit
sex, want infidelity and redemption wrought with anger, want to discipline your own
children so that they don't become like you. But they inherit your lust for this joy. They want it too.
And so they go on conning themselves, choosing different things as a release, different avenues for
conning themselves. And then you find fault with them for choosing avenues other than what you chose.
Like your parents found fault with you. The same fucken story continues. The same song is sung again,
in a different tune.

If only, your father tripped. And your mother did too. You probably won't be born. And if you were, then
you'd be too soft in the head to care. If you weren't, then you'd be a worshipper of sublime truths too.
The same as me. You would find solace to the angst and not give a fuck about anything else, let alone
anyone else.

We are relics of immense beauty in a world that has gone bohemian. If we survive, soon we shall be in an asylum,
which will have us as prime exhibits for the shrinks to be and as prize catches for those who shall move on
ahead, stepping on our shoulders. But that won't stop any of us from it. We will still be "on the road".
We smile in the embrace of the iron maiden and spit on the face of the statue of liberty. Sooner or later,
you will understand what I mean when I say that. Surely, riding a bay is like surfing in your dreams.

2 Comments:

Blogger Prashant Gautam said...

i cannot praise it without cliches.. but it should come with a warning
"Highly Influential Brain Fucking Stuff Ahead"

awesome thing man

10:05 AM  
Blogger Abhinav Somanchi said...

Eating Jorgensen !!
That gave the feeling of the Lion biting the Zebra's ass in the delusion he was :D
The delusion here seems to include the overwhelming bursts of laughter of one heck of a blast.

9:03 AM  

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