Incessant Buzzzzzz

Everything seems plastic.

All the "love yous" and the hearts and the "I miss you!"s. And then all the "You don't love me anymore, you didn't comment on my new status!" Somehow it all seems fake. Too much of a utopian-Barney-the-purple-dinosaur type of society. I don't know why, all this love seems like a desperate plea for attention, for acceptance. Like, underneath all the glitter and sparkles, you're saying "Please, remember me too!"

Humankind is thirsty for love. Fact. We hunt for it, beg for it, cry for it, fight for it, steal for it, kill for it. Why? Because as humans, we want to feel assured of our social....likeability. (Yeah, no, I'm not sure that's a word.) Is it that suddenly, having tons of "friends" on Facebook denotes how popular you are? Is the red notification sign comforting somehow?

Yeah, actually, it kinda is. Makes you feel wanted, in the loop. In some strange way. Yeah, I know it's stupid. But I always thought humans were not the smartest of primates anyway, contrary to popular (not to mention misguided) belief. So what does it matter.

Social interaction is a necessity, for the most part. If you disagree, you wouldn't be reading this blog in the first place. But. Butbutbutbutbutbut. There comes a point when social interaction becomes obsessive. When you can no longer function without your phone without getting twitchy in a matter of seconds. When you refresh your homepage every few seconds to catch up with the latest "happenings." It's a sad state of affairs, and we're already hurtling deep into they abyss that is social networking. Which has a no-return policy, by the way.

Mental Retardation

Who do you turn to when you realize everything's collapsing around you? Like you're Caesar, and the pillars of Rome are going timber... alright so Caesar was killed before Rome collapsed, but imagine if it had happened in front of his eyes. With such pride he saw Rome prosper, and then one day, everything just...fell. In slow motion too, like a feather falling from a great height. You try to blow and keep it afloat, but in the end gravity will have its way. And you can do nothing about it except watch it go down.

Down.

Down.

Who would Caesar have turned to? Who cares about Caesar, who do I turn to? Some friends wouldn't understand. Others I can't burden. Yet others would judge. And some are the cause of the problems themselves. Why is it so hard to remain happy? With depressing souls I just want to grab them by the collar and slap them, like they do with white gloves in those funny movies. "Get over yourself!" I'd declare. "Learn to smell the roses! Learn to smile! No one gives a shit about how your life sucks!"

Alas. Some of us remain incorrigible.

Getting back to the issue here. When someone who doesn't usually complain about their feelings, suddenly gets an overload, who would she unload on? Not on her unsuspecting friends, oh no, but on this anonymous blog. Well, as anonymous as it gets. (Yeah, hi, I know you know who I am.) When someone who prides herself on her diction can't seem to get out a coherent thought in explanation of they way she feels...well, there's a paradox. I've got it all figured out of course, with the amazing analytical skills that I have.

Ahem.

The conclusion is that such a person cannot divulge weaknesses without the disgust of being thought of as weak. What a superbly abhorrent thought, being deemed weak, defenceless. How dare they. Don't they know what I've been through? Don't they know what I can do? Do I?

The fact is, maybe such a person is not infallible, indestructible. Fuck 'maybe,' no one is immune to the casual downfall. Even Rome succumbed. We all do.

I forgot the point I was making. Oh yeah, so without feeling uneasy about revealing weaknesses, I freely regurgitate, if you excuse the slightly icky image, my thoughts online. The Internet is truly a wondrous invention.

But don't get me started.

Countdown

What if you were faced with the realization of your own mediocrity? What would you do if you realized your lack of worth? What would you do if I told you that your life was meaningless?

I give you three seconds to think about it. Till then I'll go back to pondering over the fate of a lone pine cone.

Three seconds.

Muse

The verb. Not the band.

I can't sleep. Too restless. Therefore, I have decided to write another rambling post about the many random ramblings in my mind. For example, why, as a media student, am i so blissfully unaware of what's happening in the world? It's like a paradox really...I wonder if doctors keep updated with the latest House MD episodes, although its not quite the same thing. Speaking of which, why isn't thunk a word? Doesn't it make more logical sense than "thought"? Who makes all these annoying rules about how we should talk? To that group of elderly crackpots sitting at a round table (or maybe rectangular) discussing more arbitrary rules of grammar, I say, stuff it. Freedom of speech is a human right, after all. Although incorrect grammar is jarring on the senses...hmm. The power these old folk have, the exhilaration of...wait for it...inventing grammar.

Power is a funny topic. (As a sidenote, just recently I was cured of the impression I'd always been under that Atilla had been woman. All these years, I'd imagined a nun (hun, nun, same difference) charging, sword drawn, yelling "This is Spartaaaaa!" End of sidenote.) Back to Power. Yes, personified. No one knows why, upon attaining Her (yes, it's feminine) people suddenly lose their sense of self. Become overly pragmatic. Delusional. Sadistic. Egoistic. Tainted. Corrupted. Maybe Machiavelli would know. And God. And AS (what do you mean, you've never heard of him?) But besides these three legendary entities, the rest of us are just pawns to our our mind games. And why, exactly, do humans think so much? Which genetic glitch made us fall prey to our own musings? I ask you, yes YOU, weren't we happier eating fruits, swinging from trees and picking bugs off each other?

Bah, evolution. Christmas is 9 months away. Sigh.

Imperfect

Come walk in silence. Through rain or shine. Through thunder or sunsets. Come walk, and maybe let's talk about mundane things, simple things, like ketchup with paranthas. Or coffee shops. Let's talk about dreams, about ambitions, about desires. Let's learn through each other. Let's cry together, laugh together. Maybe we'll hum a tuneful song. Maybe we can sing off-key. Maybe we'll dance through puddles. We can look up and smile at the streaks of sunlight streaming through clouds. We can smile at the sound of leaves crunching underfoot.

Please don't shut your doors. Please don't suffer alone. Please, sense me beside you.

Let's rejoice in silence, in our footsteps.

Let's rejoice in ourselves.

Let's rejoice.

Blind

The world as we see it is not, in fact, as we see it at all. What is, isn't; what isn't, is. As inspired by Sartre. So then, what is? Slightly confusing, I know. But imagine, nothing is what it is. What a way to think about the world. The book you left sitting behind you right now may not be there. The cotton candy you were eating wasn't cotton candy at all. Maybe the author of this blog never actually wrote this entry. Maybe you aren't really reading this. Maybe this is all a dream. Nay, I hear you cry, but it does exist! And that - that exact conviction - is what belief is.

To believe. An action which carries so many hopes, wishes, dreams, realities or delusions. Never has a word so unabashedly defied logic. How can we simply believe? Without thinking of the repercussions? Without realizing that, maybe, there really is no truth? That maybe something we believe in may the next day turn out to be as fake as Osama bin Laden's love of pottery? (I know I shouldn't make assumptions about the man's tastes and preferences, but I'd like to think this is a safe bet.)

So, why do we believe? Which stupid chromosome made it possible for mankind to start believing in things? There is no answer. We believe that tomorrow, the sun will rise. We believe that no, our friends will never betray us. We believe that cows will keep providing the whole human race with milk and ice cream for years to come. (Really, how can we be sure?) And we believe that in the end, there will be a happy ending for us. Wouldn't you call this delusion? To think that the word is full of people like this.

I smile at the thought.

Yellow

There are many things in the world worth puzzling over. The connection of the title to the rest of this blog is not going to be one of them. Lately, I've been pondering over many other things. Like the unbearable mist that's settled over the future, which once used to be so clear. Now it's like the future is just a myth, the goals and ambitions were just playful fantasies. Like houses built out of cheese. Or the Easter Bunny.

But today was one of those days where you could actually enjoy still being a kid, even though technically in society you've been branded as an "adult," whatever that implies. Eating cake, watching How I Met Your Mother, and chilling with your friends, laughing for no reason...what could be more perfect? Makes you appreciate the simple pleasures of life. There's this line that I heard, in Planet Earth, which went like "Any feeling of emptiness is an illusion" and although that line was just a passing comment about the vastness and seemingly idyllic nature of...well, nature, the line stuck to my brain like chewing gum to the bottom of my flats. The day I watched that episode was troubling, to say the least, and thinking about this line...I was confused whether or not it was a positive thought. Is the impossibility of ever being empty a depressing thought or a reassuring one? I still don't know. Sometimes you want to drain all emotions out of your system, become blank. Sometimes the emptiness is oppressing. There're some things not worth puzzling over. Living your life is more important.

Yellow.