Some classics from xkcd.com
“…They are preoccupied with individuality, with self-awareness, self actualization and individual autonomy and freedom. As a result the close bonds of family appear suffocating, constricting and restraining. Their sympathies lie with the exhortation of the artist, the visionary and the revolutionary. They advocate a radical change in the social order when they preach a version of the hippy message of love and peaceful revolution.”
This comment is supposed to be criticism against R.D Laing (The Politics of the Family) and David Cooper (The Death of the Family). They have given revolutionary theories which question the inevitability of family in our societies and seek to expose the disfunctionality of the institution.
To me, these words sound like the justification for this theory. The reason why these theories make sense. Nothing is inevitable and permanent. Definitely not families.
Not the normative definition of a family. Not any definition. Not the mass media frenzy of materialistic acquisition for happiness in the domestic setup. Not the ideological factory of dominance and obedience. Not the legitimate reproduction of another doomed generation.
Whats wrong with a little hippy idealism?
Whats wrong with radical change?
Whats wrong with the artists and visionaries?
Whats wrong with freedom and individuality?
What makes constricting family ties so universal and irreducible that they are beyond questioning?
When we stop asking questions, we are stuck.
What a heady mix, I say. Beauty.
Punch. Purple sweater. Loud music. Staring at the Sky. Bozo. People. Dancing. Raat ke dhaai baje. Kaju. Rochers. Coffee. Pav Bhaji. Smokes. Friends. Car. Paneer. Tree climbing. Stars. Phuljhari. Cards. Happy. Grinding. Kaminey. Mann Yeh Banwara. Sleeping in. Cheese Sandwich. Heels. “May I join you, ma’am?”. Dhinchak Dhinchak. Bacardi. Mami. Kids. French Culture. Recline. Grass. Straps-off. Backyard party. Diyas.
A very happy Diwali, indeed. And to you to.
–The Who, “Behind Blue Eyes”.
“Waiting is painful.
Forgetting is painful.
But not knowing which to do is the worst kind of suffering.”
–Paulo Coelho
Who I am is not who I want to be. Who I want to be is not what I wish I wanted to be.
If I know exactly what is wrong with me, is that still wrong with me? Why is awareness of the problem not an automatic solution?
I want to want something else.
I want to care more, or less, or differently.
I want to be braver, and more naive. Or lesser, I am not sure.
I wish I was a boy, or a girl. Or a different girl. Or a boy.
It’s not so much to do with who I am. But, who I wish I wanted to be. I wish I wanted to be nobody. I wish I didn’t care. I wish I cared about other things, other people. I don’t mind me. There is so much more though. So much more to see, hear and feel. Touch. Know.
I wish I was a million people. A million different people. All those ideas. All those thoughts.
I wish I was continually tapped into the larger conciousness of the world.
But I also wish I was one solid person, instead of fragments of a million people. If I could be one thing, without internal contradictions, which sounds boring to hear, yes, but also maybe comforting, in some way. Or not.
When you see both sides of everything, it’s not a happy feeling. For a while, yes. But then you wish you didn’t. Because it makes choices so hard, so breaking.
Sometimes, I wish I was naive, and little. Bumbling through life, on a whim. Unfettered by the responsibility of responsible sane behaviour. That would have been brilliant. But, it isn’t, is it?
I wish I could just go, into the wild. Quite contrary, indeed.
Better late than never, they say. This is a declaration of my undying love.
Dedicated to that which began the story of the closet junkie and other existential controversies.
“Yer Blues, John. Yer Blues.“
“Yes I’m lonely wanna die
If I ain’t dead already
Girl you know the reason why.
In the morning wanna die
In the evening wanna die
If I ain’t dead already
Girl you know the reason why.
My mother was of the sky
My father was of the earth
But I am of the universe
And you know what it’s worth
The eagle picks my eye
The worm he licks my bone
I feel so suicidal
Just like Dylan’s Mr. Jones
Black cloud crossed my mind
Blue mist round my soul
Feel so suicidal
Even hate my rock and roll
Wanna die yeah wanna die
If I ain’t dead already
Ooh girl you know the reason why.“
–Dirty Mac
You can have my isolation.
You can have the hate that it brings.
You can have my absence of faith.
You can have my everything.
You take me closer to God.
-NIN
She lives in the tempests of her masochistic creation.
If the world ended now, would any of it matter?
–Ishita
“Would you mind very much if I throttled you? I assure that I would receive a lot of satisfaction from such conduct. You pain would be leading to gain, albeit mine. Oh, come on, are you really going to be so selfish and be all touchy about your neck? Yes. I do know a thing or two about touchy necks. To hell with you then!”
“Would you mind very much if I stabbed you. I need to feel someones blood pouring out off his body, you know? Oh, your wife is waiting at home, I see. But, this would mean so much to me. I..I.. need to feel better. Oh, you can’t? Your life is too important, is it? Well, the last gentleman with an “all-important” life didn’t fare so well, you know? That self-centred little scum bag. And as for you… where do you even learn this shit about the self. There is nothing called the self. Its all for society, don’t you know? The individual is nothing! Nothing!”
“Let me tell you yaar, log hote hi aise hain. They don’t want to help anyone. Ab what did I ask for that was so much, hain?”
“Stop doing that yaar, it scares people.“
“You think you are so smart? You think everyone else is stupid, hain? You think you are very intellectual? You think, hain? All rubbish! You are ordinary! Everybody is ordinary! There is the sacred and then there is the ordinary.. and you are not sacred, so you are, ORDINARY! Be ordinary. Be normal. Whats wrong with you?“
“Don’t use these big-big words in front of those people, ok beta? Woh kahin bura na maan jayen!“
Why is sanity always either over-rated or under-rated? Why is it even rated, in te first place?
I am going mad.
