Monday 22 December 2014

Dadar, Mumbai

One gets a hint of the spirit, the geist, as it were, of Mumbai at Dadar railway station. You are washed over by people in constant journey from a place to another. A constant thrush of people, each in their own uniform harmonic oscillation, giving rise to an emergent order, like parts in a well oiled machine. Unlike cogs and chains, however, what passes by you are bundles of thoughts and emotions. Ambition, anxiety, worry, love, longing, yearning, despair, acquiescence... mostly all to do with something more; the present, the here, is but a means. Just like Dadar station. It is for most just an interchange, on the way to some place else.

And yet, it is this lack of fulfilment, and constant pursuit of it, that defines Mumbai. Each person and institution locked into a Red Queen co-evolution, constantly fighting, unceasingly moving either to climb ladders or to remain where one is. The city itself finds peers only in other global cities - none in India - and it is locked into the same global melee, running and running to remain in its place. This makes the geist of the city a restless one, and in this restlessness, mediocrity is overthrown, complacency is not an option. All of ones energies and abilities are to be used, honed, and improved upon. And this makes the city and its people brilliant.

No. It is no utopia. Inequalities and injustices of the world exist, if anything, more pronounced than elsewhere. It is far from offering a comfortable, safe, or secure place to live in. It is neither true nor good nor beautiful.

But one cannot doubt its brilliance. People strive to help in little ways, a culture of helping in need, for one could be a helper today and the one needing help the next (although I doubt whether the help would be forthcoming in bigger matters of life, given the constant struggle to make oneself). And there is meaning in life, for all of you is utilised in the run; there is no space for doubt - it is either a problem to be solved, or it is the scene of one's being run over.

I'm characteristically out of place here; with my sloth-pace and constant scepticism*. To stand and stare is to be eliminated from the game. I'm not a player, truly, but neither am I willing to be written off. So let me make my way across the gangway, and board another train, leaving Dadar en route a longer journey. Mind the gap.

(* - but neither can I claim "aamchi mumbai")

Stop anthropomorphizing!

This is a thought. Trying to put into words a discomfort that I've always felt. This is raw, not very well formulated, and not researched. I'm sure others would have written out the same or similar concerns, in a much better and more rigorous fashion. I hope to revisit sometime and make this better.

Categorical imperative: stop anthropomorphizing animal behaviour.

Premises:
1. Non-human animals exhibit behaviour that strongly suggests cognitive processes. (Highly probably that cognitive processes exist in non-human animals as inferred from intelligent behaviour)
2. The cognitive processes in non-human animals are qualitatively and quantitatively different from those to be found in humans; inferred from differences in brain structure. (caveat: although similarities exist)*
3. If cognitive processes in non-human animals are different from those in humans, their subjective experiences are also qualitatively and quantitatively different.**
4. Thus, their subjective experiences are categorically different from human subjective experiences.

Conclusion:
Therefore, we cannot apply human categories for subjective experience to the subjective experience of non-human animals.

* and ** - in holding that the subjective experience of non-human animals are quantitatively and qualitatively different, I do not hold that (1) they are completely different, nor that (2) they do not have anything like subjective experience. That their subjective experience is different or inaccessible to us is not reason enough to treat them morally different - insofar as our behaviour to them goes.

Coming back, to apply human categories to non-human animals is not just to be factually wrong, but also to be violating the agency of those non-human animals. If such wrong beliefs affect or effect certain actions of ours, those actions can result in consequences that grievously injure the animal or its interests.

Example: Ah, the cat gave me an ugly look. Maybe I should keep away from it.
Example: My dog is feeling sad because it's left out of the festivities, let me give it some good rich food so that he feels good. (when he is actually just scared by the firecrackers, and what he requires is not rich food, which will make him sicker, but darkness and peace)
Example: That elephant looks pitiful and existential. Maybe it's time to put her to sleep.

Are non-human animal's subjective experience accessible to us? Possibly. I would like to think yes, in some ways. For example, I think perhaps pain is a pretty universal feeling. But the emotions and thoughts that follow the experience of pain is bound to be different. But I do not know anything about it to take a stand. I do know that the way is definitely not by anthropomorphizing their experience and behaviour.

Of course, these are all highly speculative.

Sunday 30 November 2014

Reminiscing a romantic

The romantic is ever punished with pain. Yet,'tis pain and the colour red of blood that makes the romantic.

It is to listen to the quavering tremulations of the heart. To pack your soul, and go on a leap of faith into the deep abyss of nextitude, with no rhythm or reason but, that the heart so aches.

To sell my soul to the next salesman who comes a knocking, if that is what it takes to hold you hand, and bash my heart against the petrichorous rocks of your pulchritude.

To wander with my heart on a platter, and to yield it to you. Make an element of all my energies and heartbeats, throw it to you, and trust the universe to take it yonder.

It is to believe in you, in me, in this moment - this set of events that is the now. And to seize it, to embrace it, to feel the essence of it, to resonate with it, and to make it: with it.

It is to be vulnerable. It is to be hurt. It is to take that red raw heart, make it my work of art, and birth the next moment of gladful gratitude. Mayhaps to crash again at your fort of contritude. But then to let the cosmos take my next dance, swing; whirl, and fling my soul into the next fallness of my being.


~
It is to be me. To gently unsew the threads that make my congruity. And it is to make your being with you. And have you create my being with me. To kiss you, to kiss me, to kiss this infinitesimal tick.
~


It is to be two coupled springs. It is to be defined in recursive dynamical equations. It is to be coupled variables in a phase space with infinite iterations.
And let everything in the universe couple itself so, if so the heart shows.

To be a romantic, is to live so. Is to ache so. Is to be so.
To be a romantic is to constantly be in this reverie of high bliss.
To be a romantic, is just to Be.

(a tribute to, inspired by, Fromistcy)(dedicated to Niv)

Saturday 29 November 2014

Sadness what 2

every single thing around me breathe stories.
Stories of poverty, nonchalant labour, of hope.
And I realise that everything I own, I have, I wear-
ever,
Were made by stories of hunger, thirst, and mortal need
That every thing that lay claim to my happiness
Talks naught of happiness.

I am mere partner in this injustitude
So much so
that I want to kill myself
to not be a part.

And yet, when will humanity realise?
Rage, rage, against the dying of the light. Rage.

Monday 17 November 2014

A kiss for your thoughts, University of Hyderabad [crosspost from Kafila]

‘That is knowledge which liberates’, proudly proclaims the crest of University of Hyderabad, a prominent central university in our country. A University space has been traditionally seen as the vanguard of socio-cultural critique and change. Universities pride themselves in upholding the values of freedom of thought, expression and debate. And yet, the reaction of the administration of the University of Hyderabad (UoH) to a recent event, in an otherwise liberal-tolerant and progressive-leaning campus, leaves much space for thought.

On November 2nd, a group of students organised an event on campus in solidarity with the much discussed “Kiss of Love” protest in Kerala. Titled “UoH Against Moral Policing”, the on-campus event, publicised solely on online social media, was supposed to create a space to discuss issues surrounding moral policing and the chain of Kerala incidents, bring out narratives of moral policing, talk about morality and Indian culture, and recite poetry. Also planned was a symbolic act of kissing on a chart paper, with the slogan “Our lips don’t char”. However, some ABVP and BJYM activists, with the aim of saving the students and the Indian culture from Western “immorality”, barged into campus and tried to attack the student protesters. The Telangana Police and campus security, who had failed to stop the intruders, did later succeed in cordoning them off from the protesting crowd, while insisting that the students call off the protest and disperse.

Unaccustomed to Police chauvinism and empowered enough to insist on their rights, the students managed to continue with their planned activities, although once in a while some right-wing activists managed to break ranks and tried to incite violence. The campus community however showed great restraint and continued protesting peacefully.  In response to such moral policing inside campus, the 250-plus students spontaneously started hugging and kissing each other, before dispersing.

One would imagine that the university – concerned about the breach of security and intruders trying to dictate morals to the campus community – might order an investigation. Instead, the very next day, the Registrar and Pro-VC, egged on by an over-enthusiastic Circle Inspector of Police, filed a case against its own students for organising an event without permission, and for indulging in the obscene act of “public kissing”. This led to a protest outside the Pro-VC’s chamber, where the Pro-VC and Registrar refused to withdraw the complaint. However after 14 hours of continuous protest by students, the administration agreed to revise the complaint.

Two weeks later, the saga continues. Following a complaint filed by an outside group against the University for holding the event, the University reverted by filing a complaint against the intruders. Meanwhile, the Police have been going through media footages to identify and charge students for obscenity under IPC Section 294(a). The Police complaint by the university has been revised. A section of the faculty, outraged at such a curtailing of free expression, have been voicing their dissent as well. This probably led to a softening of the administration’s stance, who later assured that they will not let students be prosecuted for protesting. Yet, despite the numerous meetings and dissent notes submitted by students and faculty, the complaint filed by the University still has not been withdrawn. An Internal Enquiry Committee has been constituted, but sources inform that their mandate is skewed in favour of penalising students for protesting.

There are a few threads that are especially phosphorescent in this chain of events. One is of course the university’s attitude. Second would be the Police’s proactivism. Third would be the right to protest. Fourth, and very importantly, other narratives which should have been more in the highlight, but now lost in the tangle, like the form of protest.

It is only expected that in a nation struggling with post-coloniality, someone takes up the defensive flag of Bharatiya sanskriti. Such a group feel would also be immensely threatened by such rampant breaches of Bharaitya sanskriti like kissing in public, and march against an event in support of such acts. However, what was unexpected was the UoH administration’s stand. The administration turned out to be empathetic to the insecure sanskriti defenders; especially when such a stand was dictated by the Pro-VC and the Registrar, who happen to be professors of Sociology and Political Science (respectively).
 
Much has been said and discussed about what indeed is the so called “Indian culture” and who are the bearers of Indian culture. As a legitimate citizen of India each individual is the bearer of the Indian culture. Through the actions of each individual then, Indian culture gets redefined and reproduced iteratively. There is no one single, linear and all-encompassing definition of Indian culture. The pseudo-bearers of Indian culture have again and again threatened the democratic structure of Indian society to hijack ‘Indian culture’ and normatively frame it after their own interests. (It is ironic that in this case, the so called defenders of ‘Indian culture’ use IPC section 294(a), drafted by Lord Macaulay and informed by Victorian morality, to defend Bharaitya sanskriti).

One would expect an academic space, especially a university, to be very familiar with these notions. And one would expect such academic spaces to spearhead the cause for rationality and liberality. But when the university administration fails to protect this space and becomes a mute complying spectator, one is lead to wonder if these undemocratic moves are not of the officials own volition.

The Telangana Police have been active participants in the chain of events. They appeared on campus learning about the “sensitive” nature of the event, and asked the students to disperse. After much debate, they let the event proceed but told the students not to “invite trouble by kissing”, threatening to “show the real face of Police” if the students did not “behave”. They did not remove the trespassers, even a woman activist who tried to physically assault students. The first complaint against the students was drafted in the presence of the Police, and did not mention the trespassers or their attempted violence. Later, they were present with the Pro-VC and Registrar in a meeting with students. They continuously threatened the students saying they had video evidence of them kissing. Terming it indecent, they clubbed kissing along with alcohol and drug abuse. The Inspector even made a statement that the recent EFLU gangrape was a result of “over liberty” given to students. Students, taking offence on this statement, questioned the university officials if they agreed to the Inspector’s statement, to which they meekly nodded.

Sources inform that the Police have continued to identify students using sensationalised media visuals to charge them under IPC Section 294(a):
  1. Obscene acts and songs.—Whoever, to the annoyance of others—(a) does any obscene act in any public place
It is interesting to note here that no one has explicitly expressed “annoyance”. It is also to be questioned whether a space in a private gated community is a public place to people from outside the community. The university administration, as an abstract entity, cannot be a “witness” to the event and take annoyance. Moreover, the Delhi High Court in a 2009 ruling, and the Supreme Court in the famous Shilpa Shetty – Richard Gere case, had ruled that kissing in public spaces in not obscene. Have not the Police been reading their newspapers? And what is the Police to uphold, the morality imposed by the pseudo-bearers of “Indian culture” or the constitutional morality?

The University complaint against the students, even the revised version, accuse the students of “public kissing” and organising an event without permission. These are also prominent points in the mandate given to the Internal Enquiry Committee. Interestingly, being a highly politically empowered campus, several events and protests are organised almost every day. Most of these event organizers do not even inform the university administration of their being organised, let alone take permission. Nowhere in the publicly accessible university rules and code of conduct are peaceful non-disruptive student events or protests not allowed. Nor does it say that the administration has to be informed, or permission taken. Indeed, to take permission to protest would be to undermine the very notion of protest.

Article 19 of the Indian Constitution empowers each Indian citizen with the right to free speech and expression, and to assemble peacefully. To protest is to express dissent, which is a form of free speech and expression. Understanding the reformative socio-political prowess of a University space, the UGC Student Entitlements, which every college and university in our country has to abide by, state that “the college/university must allow space for free exchange of ideas and public debate so as to foster a culture of critical reasoning and questioning”. And that the university should “not impose unreasonable, partisan or arbitrary restrictions on organizing seminars,lecture and debates that do not otherwise violate any law”. In the spirit of these rights and laws, one can see that the university’s complaint is vacuous. One is led, again, to wonder what lies beneath the university’s attempt to deny the students a fundamental right.

What the organisers of the event can be happy about is that they have initiated a vibrant discourse on campus. On one side of the spectrum is the outrage against the encroachment of the freedom of protest. On another side are alternate narratives and readings of the wider chain of events and the form of protest. “Kiss of Love” have been criticised as reducing important communal and religious questions to an issue of moral policing. Organisations taking the caste struggle forward have critiqued it as an elitist and exclusive protest. Their arguments are to be taken seriously. One cannot disentangle moral policing, or notions of morality, in India from caste-class structures. Several events have stemmed out of the November 2nd incident, including academic discussions, poetry jams, protests, and of course, most importantly, heated over-the-chai engagements.

The point of the protest was lost in all the media sensationalization. A locking of lips, or an embrace, is the site of protest, of dissent, of expression. And not for obscenity or voyeuristic titillation. The greater cause was not the freedom to kiss, but the freedom to be whoever one wants to be and still be a bearer of Indian culture. A cause that has emerged en route is the freedom of expression.
One wonders if the reason for the university’s undemocratic and benighted stand is due to what it reads off the media. This is possibly a naïve thought, but if it is indeed true, then it needs to wake up. A university is charged with being the knowledge capital of a society. It is a space which social and political decision makers turn to for authentic and reasoned counsel. It is a space for constant review and questioning of our social practices and culture. It is a space where innovation and social changes are nurtured. It needs to be a space which allows its community to dare to question irrational belief. It needs to be a space where critical initiatives are fostered, guided by academic discourse. It needs to be a space which ensures, and does not require protests for, students’ basic rights.

In recent months universities in our country have been cracking down on their students. EFLU, Jadavpur University, and Visva Bharati have witnessed more drastic incidents than UoH. The Police is an external agent, insensitive to the socio-political dynamics of a varsity. Campuses need to evolve, and defend, own mechanisms for discipline based on liberal and progressive attitudes. It is only thus that changes in our society lead by students or academic communities be incubated, and allowed to reform our nation.

Anu K Antony, Mohan K Pillai, Sinjini Bhattacharya and Vaikhari Aryat are research students at the University of Hyderabad.

Tuesday 21 October 2014

Stakes

What is at stake is the inching towards perfection. What is at stake is the creation of a magnificent representation, of feeling, far superior than it's original. Worthy of enamouring the weaver.

Ah no, what was never at stake was its worthiness amidst the beholder. It never was. It was not about meaning, or moving, or affirmation.

What was always at stake was the creator, not the beholder.

***

What is at stake, is the seizing of each moment of seizable discrete time, living it to the vibrant fullest. What is at stake is the feeling of life, at each of those units time. The beating of the heart; the fluttering of eyelids; the dilations of irises.

Whether that be through unravelling the mysteries when plagued by curiosity. Or be endeared in nature's embrace, or in loving, and being loved; or in creating a Galatea, and falling in love, and living a life of adoration and admiration and servility; or staking one's stake in with the commonwealth's, for love, or to set oneself right.

What is never at stake, is going through the constructions of society, and fighting to see meaning and beauty in the motions. Nay, unless it is in those motions that one finds completion.

***

What is at stake is always ahead, is always from within, until there is nothing more to stake. That is the moment of completion. The moment of finitude. The moment we grace the end with satisfaction at having staked, and won, and at having left nothing behind. May we all be blessed with finitude.


[big acknowledgement to Kana, for reading, liking, owning, and changing this. but i'll keep the structure, K; it is more dense that what I would like for poetry]

Sunday 5 October 2014

Descending into poetry


A lick of feeling whipped off the eddies of my soul. I throw it at the wall, and the pandora bursts, led artfully to create vivid graffiti. My little feeling is an opera centre-stage; majestic, lone, classic. I behold that art of my feeling. And as such perceived, twice removed from the chaos of its origin, moves me, brings me to peace.

(I, perchance, have no right to be feeling x amidst the multitude n of alphabets, so much more grave than x. And yet, here I am with x; my soul craves satisfaction; cringes from lack of attention; yearns for resolution. Locked up with her, I glance into her beautiful deep brown eyes, swirling in and in into her irises. A glance of flame, a pat of inspiration, and here I descend into poetry. Ah poetry, I could dance away the Milky Way with you. Whither have you been.)


[thanks Kana for the comments. i've edited a bit. will rework-repost later.]

Friday 26 September 2014

Inchworm



Inchworm, inchworm, measuring the marigolds,
You and your arithmetic,
You'll probably go far...

Inchworm, inchworm, measuring the marigolds,
Seems to me you'll stop and see,
How beautiful they are.

(To Sunniva.)

Saturday 2 August 2014

silent secrets.

treading the world
little light feet
ever so careful
nimble
droplets on a lotus leaf.

networks
nudges
cause and effect
cracks on glass
find a place
in your heart.

privileged, guilty.
heedy, helpless.
you watch
and take lighter steps.

Tuesday 6 May 2014

Pushpa enjoyed everything


"Pushpa enjoyed everything in the social circles of Bombay..."

It's been two years. The paperboat has sailed a little further, soaking in a bit more wetness as it went. More humility was learnt. A bit of arrogance and naivety chopped off. Life has been safe. Academia. Aha. Very safe. Afternoon's rice and evening's curry have been the issues of the day. Don't worry, we're all safe.

"In the social production of their lives, men enter into relations independent of their will..."

Lessons have been learnt through bad investments of time and energy. Tales have been realised for what they are, tales. Each lesson saw the addition of another Post-It reminder on the inside of my cupboard. Have quite a few now. I've loved, and lost... Hated love, and then realised that, indeed, to have loved and lost was better than not having loved at all... I've avoided people and places... I've haunted people and places... But, I've also made peace... I've met all sorts of people. A different kind of all sorts of people. Either they are different, or I'm wearing a new set of synthetic a-priori lenses.

"I have... some other commitments"

Existentialist angst achieved new depths. Susceptibility to weakness experienced, and realised. Written, not. Read, not so much. Thought, not so much. Known myself more, not so much. New skills learnt, naught. Old skills lost, quite a bit. Everything I was proud of about myself - love, principles, commitments - has melted away, leaving me disappointingly naked in the penetrating Hyderabad afternoon sunlight. But thankfully, it causes more worry than pity.

"The truth is, I had completely forgotten her"

I made some amazing friends. Some amazing, simple, beautiful people. Not more of the middle-class balderdash of fake interest, sympathy, and ego massages. No more hanky panky "oh, you lost the sock your mom gave you, that's terrible, here let me give you a hug, would you like to talk about it". But true middle-class survival for existence; you listen if you are made to, you talk if you can make someone listen. And the truth, always - you are alone. Many lessons in life were undelibratingly learnt. I wish lessons in class had proceeded so as well.

"If I may, if you permit me, I was wondering..."

Who am I? I'm no one. I'm just a person you have met. We can have a chat... Catch a chai or wine. Or take a walk. Or we can climb a tree. That's who I am. A person to be with you right now, right here. You have ideas? I would love to hear them, and think them through. This naked hamster loves to play with your ideas. That's my vocation and avocation (If I say chalo, need to be getting back to work now, you know that I don't like you and I think your ideas are stupid or inconsistent; I don't have any work...). And that's who I am. I also like silence. A lot.


But, Pushpa enjoyed everything in the social circles of Bombay... The greens, the trees... The people... The ferris wheel... The talks, the walks, the debilitating heat... The birds... The poetry... The pictures... The mineral water... The love... The hate... The weakness... The strength... The books... The ideas... The aesthetic... The insolence... The subalternity... The silence... The teas... The rocks... Pushpa... Enjoyed everything... And I'm going to miss you all.

Monday 5 May 2014

The Grand Hotel


An infinitely large hotel (a truly Grand hotel) with infinitely many guests (a “full” hotel, by finitist standards) can always fit one more guest in, by moving each of the guests already occupying a room to the room next to it (thereby leaving room one free for the newcomer). In fact, it can fit infinitely many new guests in (by, this time, moving each guest to a room with a room-number twice as large as the one they were occupying, thereby leaving all the odd-numbered rooms free for the infinitely many newcomers). And, if infinitely many guests move out – it will still be full.
William Lane Craig (1991) “The Existence of God and the Beginning of the Universe.” Truth: A Journal of Modern Thought. Volume 3.


Two morals:
(1) The [physical, macroscopic] real makes an unsuitable host for actual infinity, because
(2) Even when it comes to infinity, our intuitions are modelled on the finite

Rather a simple solution: Infinite sets are a different kind of sets, than finite sets. They have radically different properties. (Georg Cantor, 1932)

Interesa? http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Georg_Cantor

Wednesday 30 April 2014

Could I riddle you a smile?

(Til deg, T...)



blip blip blip blip
The fireflies pop av og på
before a lake behind
(that aspires to capture the heavens
and make it its own;
stupid lake
vet ikke at
the heavens are eons away
and a tad bit bigger
than itself)

And life plays out in a series of ballets,
Craftspeople we, weaving carpets
of sensitive twirls and curls
each weave intending into a coherent whole.

In a quiet trance of meditation
ask yourself the riddle
of life's existence;
i have no answer,
but it does seem beautiful,
to exist at all.
and to know that existence is.
("Not beautiful" The Kulk would say, but "Sublime.")

Distangling each weave,
i realise,
there's nothing left!

Mayhaps an simplification, but-
There is no ought-to-be.
Would i be audacious enough to claim that there ought not be an ought-to-be?
Nay. I give you that.
Baskets are beautiful people.
In the weaves, there emerge the oughts and nots;
but, if you will it so, there need not be
an ought to be.
Si?

Sigh. If you keep that aside,
we can still dance to the rhythm of life.
Lub dub, lub dub.
Because life is.
And, why not,
smil :)

Saturday 5 April 2014

How far will you run?

Like a hare, in leaps and bounds, from the hound that chases you?

Maybe till the end of your world? And then a leap beyond, only to realise that that leap made the next world yours too.

(no leap of faith, this. What faith.)

How far will you run from the rules that you set for yourself? How fast can you run? Faster than the speed of thought?

How far will you run a round and round (så går vi rundt om en enebærbusk, en enebærbusk, en enebærbusk) this vat of neurons?

Until the hound catches you, rapes you. Again.

With no peace.


And while the world dances around the juniper bough, someone somewhere is whimpering in hunger; you dance around a non-existent juniper bush, which you believe is burning.

How far will you run, min kjære, before you curl up into a cringe and whimper.
I'll run as far as need be, to rise from the ashes.
To run again, yes?

Wednesday 15 January 2014

The Forest that Never Ends

It was a chilly dawn at the forest that never ends. The gurgle of the nearby stream and the sound of the singing trees, lulled the tired pixies to sleep. However, Mr.Woody Woodpecker was pecking away at a gigantic redwood tree, one sliver of bark at a time, just like he would want his troubles to go away.

In the distant east, a band of scrawny runaway girls were making merry in the dead of the night, singing the tunes of the forest and dancing to the rhythm of the humming leaves. Alice, in her feather cap and leafy clothes walked away from the merry band of girls and just walked, not wanting to return. She needed new friends who would care for her.

Now, Alice had walked miles and miles, in circles, squares and triangles and her stomach was growling in hunger.She was resting under a nearby redwood tree and she heard " Knock Knock Knock Knock", Mr. Woody pecking away at the top of the tree.  " Mr. Woody, Mr Woody... Please come down, I want to speak to you" called Alice and the knocking stopped. Mr. Woody flew down to the patch of grass where Alice was sitting. " Yes my dear girl, what do you need?" asked Woody and Alice replied " I need an apple and a friend".

" I can give you an apple, but I can't be your friend" said Woody and a forlorn Alice asked " why not, Mr Woody?".

Woody let out a heavy sigh... " because I tend to get too close to people, Alice and then they go away. I don't want you to go away so you can sit here and I'll fly back up and let's just be".

" Mr. Woody!" Alice called him back as she reached out for his beak.

" You don't have to be alone, because I was once like you,lost, but now I found you. We can give strength to each other and care for each other too".

Alice hugged Mr. Woody and they ate an apple together basking in the morning sunlight, leaking through the spaces between the dense redwood leaves. 

It was a beautiful morning at the forest that never ends and the pixies all danced merrily.

Sunday 12 January 2014

To Poetry

It seems so long
since lead grazed a papyrus dark
to try to make meaning
to emote.

So long
that it feels almost forgotten
buried deep by the tides of meaning
And willed neuronal plasticity.
Oh dear poetry,
Oh beautiful muse, oh bride divine,
I miss your gushing out of a loosely held, loosely led piece of chalk
Your emergence
With no see-able cause but some eddies of life

And your birth
Though imperfect in correspondence (to an ideal)
so complete in yourself
Waving your sense of purpose and contentment-
over your so called author.
Weaving yourself into your own creations
Creating, animating-
Coding, executing
Architecting possible worlds
complete, coherent, sound

Oh poetry,
Come back, please...
I await on my knee
With a ring beheld towards thee
With expectance and honesty, humble, but with no humility-
Will you marry me?

**
(I'd written this a long time ago. Forgotten, it lay maturing in my file. It seemed apt that I post this now, now that it had lost feeling and depth, and yet, not untimely)

Thursday 2 January 2014

Stale Sweat

Sound of a rattling window
Smell of stale sweat,
Hovers oppressively,
Choking me,
On this bus
On a journey
to the golden place
where I came to fill my heart.
Instead,
There is an awkward heaviness
that has enveloped me,
enough,
for an exposed armpit
to leave me bitter and nauseous.

There is nowhere, to vomit
and eject the pain.