Essentially Absurd

Impact, as it seems, is a hard hitting impression. At times it can be rather painful and violent enough to either shake sense into you or out of you. Regardless, it leaves you in a new place and at times with a new you. While that might not seem like an entirely bad deal, it can leave you feeling sorely reminiscent. Impression doesn’t really matter unless you’ve been punched in spirit, with a feeling that you’ve been mugged and had your heart stolen.

Oddities has ways of playing strange games. I guess that the idea of something being odd does open a lot of new admiration sometimes. A figure in time could be oddly stunning. I might be left with asking myself “How even?” with the most confused expressions. There is something in this that shatters our notions of what we’re told is perfect. We come across our favorite disagreement for a little time at least. It’s incredible what absurdities can do to you. It’s a wonderful feeling because these absurdities aren’t yours. They’re right across you, beside you, by your corner and it’s the apple of your eye.

It’s those wonderful sights and sounds. They really do get you in a twist and leave you for a loss of words. Everything sure does have its moments. The point of absurdities is that we fall in love with even the mundane and what we take for granted. There’s always a reason to celebrate, or at least you hoped for one! You could be a little terrified or disgusted with a few things here and there, but it only makes everything so much more colorful. There was quite literally a universe to see here. If acceptance, admiration and love had a sound and a voice, you’ve finally heard it.

To be in awe of absurdities is to be in love. To be in love is essentially absurd. But we could all do with a little absurd, time and again, to be shown our place in time and space. To be in awe of the absurd to realize your own little sensibilities. There’s always a special something.

Impact, as it seems, is a hard hitting impression. Unfortunately it can be a long lasting  too.

It’s incredible what absurdities can do to you. It’s a tragedy because it’ll be yours to be with. They’re right across you, beside you, by your corner but never will they be with you.

Being Let Go

The hardest times are the times when we realize that we don’t have a place in the space and time of something else. We’d wish that it could be an extension of us but it isn’t and perhaps was never meant to be. I guess it’s a lot worse when we do have the pleasure to be one with that space in a time that is too short. “And just like that” I’d think to myself and we all probably do when everything closes so quickly. It’s unnerving when things close without a closure, without making sense, if I may.

Maybe it isn’t about letting go. It’s about being let go. We partook in this and made this. Substance out of emotion that filled the space and void, made sense of with time. We connect. We become what we make, a close but distorted reflection. Despite the reflection, we chose to not distinguish the difference, effectively becoming that substance that’s held together and broken by time. The reflection would never hold us back, yet the fear of something we could safely perceive made stepping away uncomfortable.

The problem with time was that it helped make sense, it gave meaning and depth. It had to be painfully short or painfully long. Either way, it could be damaging. This realization at the eleventh hour wasn’t comforting. But it shouldn’t matter. We were here for all that time to be a part of something perhaps timeless and precious. We’ll be here again, sometime or another time, but surely, we’ll be here. Maybe not in experience but in essence at least.

We’ll be let go off, again.


It isn’t new to resent the past. But it’s always a new experience to get used to the present after a considerable deal of resentment. Often, this experience is terrible till we have a good enough reason to resent this one also. Painfully endless, isn’t it? After quite an episode, it’s best to pretend that nothing ever really happened. True, in some sense, nothing ever really happened. At least in the sense that the essence is still the same. It’s awful. The same essence is recycled and reused over and over again in different packaging we call experience.

Imagination saves us some of the pain, I might add. We surround ourselves with memories that were the least painful, or potentially at least. They take away the dread of the present. They bring a tear and a smile at times. For a while it feels wonderful to not have to think too much. There is at least this to fall back to, if not anybody or anything else. This on the other hand has a potential to bring the present down harder on us. There was never a worse time to never feel a sense of belonging anywhere with anyone.

The present is the essentially the past with a lot of potential to unfold itself and repeat itself again in essence. The present reminds us that we are and will be perpetually alone. Our past is all we’ve ever had and the present is all that will ever be with us and they are only ours. Sometimes the most personal things are the ones that damage the most. The damage too, is personal.

It’ll take a little getting used to and we will get used to it. We look forward to reliving the same essence everyday. There’s something intimate about it. There’s something special about it. It’s the only thing that’s ours. It’s a painful parent and a child at the same time. But it’s ours. It’s an extension of that which made us and that will make us. The status quo will, in essence, stay for the longest time. It’ll only be expressed differently and perhaps in a nicer way.

The essence of an experience and the present, however new, will always feel familiar. We’ve known it for the longest of times. We never had an excuse to check up on it. Experience is our excuse, and has always been so.

Dying and (Thankfully?) Dead

We let a bit of ourselves die every time we might be passionate about something and not do anything about it. We don’t merely die when we’re ready to in this sense. We die because we want to. So much for the love of life, I guess. We’ve reduced living to a joke that we unironically enjoy. It’ll be a lie on my part to call this as a joke when in reality it’s just abuse. It’s all sorts of toxic and we don’t want to be without it. We let these rudiments die or rather, we kill these rudiments because we’re afraid. And we’re sadistically and fearfully thankful for lying to ourselves.

Maybe this isn’t the way we want it. It shouldn’t be the way we want it. I wouldn’t want to live with a regret on my part at least. What has it taken to come to this? That we are content with a ton of regrets after grotesquely murdering what might have been the best of us. We bury our regrets with distraction. We let others take charge of us so that we forget what we loved the most- our potential for taking the plunge.

We stopped being true when we let others tell us what we can’t do. We were thankful about dead passions when we let ourselves become the extension of somebody else’s experience. We were too afraid to be our own experience, whether it might have been positive or not. But in that case, were we saved from a bad experience? I don’t know. But we were prevented from evolving and moving on. It wasn’t an easy way out for this isn’t really a ‘way’ or a ‘path’.  You’re right where you started, fearful of the future and in love with the status quo. We’ll neither want to remember this or even try another path.

We’ll kill our passions even before they overshadow our darkest fears. We’re only left with our memories to cherish on a personal level. Nothing else and nobody else. It’ll always be just us in the end. The loneliness only intensifies because we never had anything that would be our own to start with. We never let it happen. We watched it die and we were so thankful of its demise. It’s the price we pay to be somebody else’s experience. It’s the price we pay for being afraid.

It’s ironical that we will eventually suffer after trying to avoid some other potential ‘suffering’. It’s okay. There will be something to distract us anyway. Time has its ways of playing around because nothing will ever be enough to fill the void. Its the experience of other’s that can never fill the void unless we are our own experience.

In the most suppressed ways, we deeply resent being passionate.

“It’s dead. Phew. I’ll have another shot of distraction, please.”



I held on with all I got. I really did and boy, I tried so much. It was another time when uncertainty suggested that I let go, that I should care a lot less about my struggling will. Well so what? There’ll be another chance right? Maybe or maybe not. Everything comes and goes. Everything will go. Are we willing to try and get a grip? Would I? I tried. There wasn’t much to lose I figured. But what really qualified as ‘much’ in the first place? It could be everything. Perhaps the idea of ‘everything’ exits in a moment and there isn’t much to it a little later, should you want it like that. It’s interesting because I could stretch this moment for as long as I could or I didn’t have to. I could then live in a memory. A better place where’s I’d want to spend my evenings at.

Despite all of that, I figured that there’s a little something to lose. But then it invites a decent amount of perspective. I’m not entirely sure if that’s really worth the experience. The thing about loss and perspective is that we can choose to not let it come into our lives to an extent. But you could easily opt for some, assuming you’re the adventurous kind. Should you be willing to hold on to the potential of perspective that’s waiting to hit you and break you. Maybe that’s okay because the same thing fixes us. It’s alright to show uncertainty its place and hold on. It calls for a lot of suffering but again, that is okay because you signed up for this now. There’s no going back at this stage. Nietzsche famously remarked “To live is to suffer and to survive is to find meaning in suffering”. Maybe perspective isn’t so bad after all.

So, hold on to that.


For the longest time I used to think that there’s so much to tell with so little time. I guess that isn’t the case anymore.

There actually isn’t much to say. Instead there’s a lot to be meaningful about. It’s easy to say a lot of things and at the same time it is quite easy to be hollow and bland.

Say less but mean the universe. Anything else is either empty or an extension of the same. I get the idea but do you mean it?

To express meaning, I might guess, it takes an innate conviction to your words. The picture, the idea, your world and the person is right there. Why are there so many words? Where are the words?

The space in us craves to filled with depth, conviction and meaning. It’s right there or it’s on the way or you are somebody’s depth and meaning. How hard is it to express meaning if you’re true to yourself? It is what it is and will be whatever it was.

It doesn’t take much to express what you are true to. Maybe we have the time and not the depth.


It’s One of Those Time(s)

It had to happen. It’s an odd feeling to feel a shiver when you love the cold. It’s an odd feeling to forget when you normally wouldn’t. It’s an odd feeling to feel a pause when everything around you is a hurry. It’s feels odd to stutter into silence when you have an entire universe to talk about.

You’re probably having a pretty interesting trip on reality when your dreams give you a headache and you skip a beat or two because of that.

That aside, it’s a pretty nice evening right now. From conversations to vapors to aromas, everything rustic fills the air. It’s feels great. It does help with the shivers, stuttering and the momentary forgetfulness. It does get a little hazy at times but everything that invites the company of  a shiver and co. is pretty much intensified now.

You can’t stop thinking about the intensified any more. It’s just one of those times you just cant. I tried. I really did. Over and over again. But it takes me back. All over again. It’s like going home. You might be made to shift or not, but for now this is is home. It’s where your heart is after all, right?

I love this. It reminds me that I am alive and not simply ‘here’. I guess we all could do with a little bit of ‘it’s that time’ kind of feeling. It’ll keep us going. It makes me want to go and just be. The joys of life being temporary is realized. It takes something temporary to realize the joys of a temporary life. I guess everything we want and everyone we will ever be and be with is reflective of what life is really at large: temporary.

It’s one of those times.

One of those.