Monday, January 21, 2013

Riddle of Three


The Prince (or call it the primary ape, or just x or perhaps give the gentleman his due in dignity and agree to call him The Prince) was riddled by the recurrence of the trinity.
The Prince, (born as Brahma, swayambhu, sui generis, pure, essential) wakes up face to face, nose touching nose, eyelash brushing eyelash with the great stabilizer, Vishnu. It is through Vishnu that The Prince realizes he is Brahma. It is also through Vishnu that The Prince realizes he can never continue to be Brahma. He runs out, seeking Maheshwara, the destroyer, but with a great dilemma. Who will he destroy? Brahma, his essence? Vishnu, his projection? How can he be one without the other?
The Prince runs out of his chamber to the outside. He then leaves his earthly body and swims into the ether. And he is lost.
They say that the riddle of three got him.


The night started with a surprise. My dear friend, and dear is merely an understatement, made me lick my stamp and posted me off to nowhere, or everywhere. The “all” becomes the “none” in a strange funny way when one uses words to express it. Saying “none” is exceeding its essence of the null. Saying “all” is limiting its essence of the infinite. Both are rendered equally impotent expressions of the respective concepts. The riddle of three got me again. Anyway, moving on, it so happened very unfortunately that my dear friend had to depart with his lover to their secret abode across town. I was left in the company of two individuals (one immensely better than the other; evolution had always baffled me with its complete randomness of mate selection when it comes to humans) who would be acknowledged as equivalents to erratic thoughts in the midst of immense concentration. I would love to say more about the slightly indulgent of the erratic thoughts but maybe some other day. So, I built barriers in my mind, created my bubble. Did not work. I knew I had to have the climax outside, where I can be inside and outside and all across the ether with me and only me to pilot my airship off into oblivion, or clarity (the riddle of three, the failure of duality, hee hee hee). And that’s when at the peak of my climax that I realized that I could be nothing else other than me in the truest most essential form. And then came the great downer. This was a circular and redundant realization. I did not need this clarity. I asked my question very specifically. I will always be me in my most essential form to me. And I will never be my essential form outside, or to outsiders. I may be Miles hitting those impossible notes while listening to a car honking away. I may be Shahenshah strolling on the golden beaches of Jordan and carefully sidestepping dogpoop and discarded condoms. I may be Alexander, smiling benignly, on the verge of showing mercy to his rival who stares back with suspicion and conditioned fright and indignation, snuggling closer to her mother. That which I inherently am I cannot discard. That which has shaped this soft clay into a mould I cannot discard. I cannot be one without the other. And I cannot be either due to the presence of the other. The riddle of three got me again.


The Prince in his ethereal self had an epiphany. He swooped and fell down to Earth, crashed back into his consciousness with a smile. He had found Maheshwara, the destroyer. The riddle was solved with another riddle. Maheshwara had to destroy both of them and thus he would create the third, the Holy Compromise.
I was walking the streets, following the beautiful sunrise (or it following me, duality will be the death of me) and thinking of you, more specifically thinking of ways to overcome this bondage to you which I seem to have developed. And I let myself go into this immense climax just to prove that I am one and whole without you. At the same time the entire exercise also proved your absolute mastery over me. I could not have realized my essential self without you. But then it is you who constructs me in patches from here and there and sometimes from thin air, like juggling with translucent scarves and plucking and re-arranging the system in mid air at exactly the same time as it is being constructed. Or maybe it is the exact opposite in progress, maybe I am constructing you, plucking out patches from thin air. And at this point the simplicity of it struck me. The riddle of three was no more an enigma. I am everywhere, or maybe you are everywhere around me, one couldn’t be sure if it weren’t the same thing in a way. I am both in my essential form and my projected form, a symbiosis. It is you my friend, author, painter, reader who gives me form, gives me the power to manifest myself. It is you who destroys both my essential and my projected forms and helps me manifest into reality. Without you I would be an idea, or merely a concept, an imagination floating in ether.
I am how you paint me as.

Tuesday, May 1, 2012

everyone's inside. safe and sound. babies are inside wombs. women are inside rooms. men are inside rooms with the women. sometimes the men are inside the women. the room is inside the house. the mind is inside the cranium. it rarely goes outside. we rarely go outside anymore. except inside a safe bubble we call the automobile. we learn about the outside from the inside. we see photos. we read books. the outside is mostly inside our heads. it is sticky sweaty summer now. mother tells me not to go outside else i'll fall sick. i somehow find myself feeling around for a way out. take off these russian dolls one layer at a time. and i get scared. the inside keeps getting bigger and bigger. becomes a maze. sometimes it seems like there's no way out. hack and slice hack and slice. there's always another layer left. another barrier. another dream. ambition. hope. responsibility. anxiety. hack and slice hack and slice till i'm too exhausted to care about the self anymore. and i lie panting in the scorching sun. my skin burns but atleast it is for real. i smile and breathe. it is not pleasant. the air is hot and humid. but atleast i know for a fact it is. i can vouch for my credibility. the information is first hand. outside is the only place from where you can learn about the inside. a fresh perspective is what i need. and then hack and slice hack and slice back to the inside. maybe this is the last time i have to go inside. sometimes in order to be outside you need to be inside and eat your way out like cancer. maybe i need to choose my outside. maybe this isn't the outside i want to go to. maybe in a few days i will be outside with you and never ever think of going back inside again. you could be anyone you want to be as long as we have something to hold on to when the black hole vacuum tries sucking me to the inside the next time around.

Friday, March 9, 2012

sukranu is sitting at his desk suspended in the milk of creation. big spaces make time seem slower. silence makes it slower sevenfold. but at sukranu's desk time doesnt matter, because he isn't....yet. notice the onto/onomatological pun. the chamber flies through nothingness with a slight hum. the slight hum does not signify motion to sukranu. because for motion you need references of traversed distances. what is the significance of distance in nothingness ? this hum signifies repetition. this hum is schrodinger's cat - the only signifier of sukranu's to-be existence and purpose if he has one and an immense mockery of his state if he doesn't have one.

dimbanu is in her lair. she wakes up. stretches her body to the tensile limit, every pore swelling out. it is a sunny day. she yawns and swims around in her surroundings. she feels at one with nature. she is everywhere, she is everything. but then again she has nowhere to go, she has nothing to become. not possibly by herself at any cost. the number of permutations and combinations inside a finite body is also finite. except if the time taken to reach the point where the cycle ends and starts to get repeated is beyond dimbanu's time, way beyond her cycle of time for her to even predict a cycle. it is out of reflex that dimbanu searches the skies casually now and then for a package delivery or a parachute.

sukranu is startled. the hum has increased in bass. or intensity. he cannot tell. when the frequency of sound decreases, the bass increases. that is when you have a reference. without one nothing makes sense. it could also be the chamber traversing faster higher stronger towards more nothingness.

the chamber opens his eyes. a sense of purposelessnes has been eating away at him. for how long. he doesnt know. it might have been a bad dream. he opens his eyes and catches a speck of matter in the distance. he grabs on to the nothingness around him and slows down his velocity. slowly he goes into an orbit over the speck. the chamber has a package to drop. he is also amused as to how he manages to wake up at the right time every single time. he sometimes thinks that he is actually traversing time and not space in this vast void of nothingness.

kronos adjusts his beard and stifles a fit of laughter. ignorance is amusing. the will to know is even more amusing. but he must not disturb the perfect equilibrium of this automation he is running. laughter wasnt part of the automation.

Thursday, March 8, 2012

It is true. I am bad with colours, literally and figuratively....

Saturday, October 29, 2011 am i a new statistic in a new log book ?? starting as 1 and being added to and subtracted from....or are numbers just as good as names ?

my taste buds have suddenly woken up for sure.....i'm having a moment of clarity

Friday, July 8, 2011

....for those who lost their powers

Mirrors reflect monsters

I am stupid.....i think human beings are math equations....i think time is traversable.....i take emotions for granted.....i try to fit the concept of you into other bodies....

I have nothing figured out....i have no had other plans....

I deserve this probably....because i know what i saw in your eyes when flippy flipped over the cliff....maybe it'll take a bit more to balance that....and i'm not complaining....i've felt closer to you than ever....i needed this to realise how bleak my world was in comparison to the light you shone upon me....sorry for standing there like a fool and blinking my eyes and taking some time to adjust to the brightness....i have you more than ever....i'll probably shut my eyes close hard enough to see your outline against the black....

I'll probably miss that ear splitting whine the most....the one which worked like an alarm clock....woke me up when i wandered into the mazes of insanity....

...but you sound different....our empire of dirt has been invaded....i'll hold fort till they tear down the big leaf and kill the earthworms....

....and then i'll become a statistic

Monday, May 23, 2011


Her face was inhumanly twisted, he told himself. Eyes like heads of needles. The mouth a toothless gaping hole. But there was something about the face that was twisted. Inhuman. Humiliating. Repulsive. A dirty snigger made the folds of skin on her face jiggle. His eyes burned. He could not look away. He could not bear to keep looking either. His eyes burned.
He had to focus on something else. Some other face.

He frantically searched for a face to focus on. All eyes stared back at him. Heads of needles. Twisted repulsive faces. Mouths like black holes trying to suck his very existence in. Black holes with gaudy red borders. Black holes balancing moustaches on them. Black holes letting out unearthly howls. Black holes advancing towards him. He felt cornered. He had to act fast.

His temples started throbbing. His vision went warm red. The throbbing felt like someone trying to smash his head open from the inside. He clasped his head and closed his eyes.

your weapon is kill
your weapon is kill

He felt himself swelling up. He felt like his ears were letting out steam. He felt their breath on his neck. He felt threatened. He felt helpless. He felt his clothes ripping off from his body. He could not stop himself from swelling up.

your weapon is kill
your weapon is kill

Ten feet....twenty feet...fifty feet....naked...furious.

your weapon is kill

His head felt like it's about to explode. He felt like as if his hair had caught fire. The hammering inside his head kept increasing. He desperately cried out for help. He felt his fists clenching in a death clasp. He felt defeated. He felt murderous. He had nothing to lose.


He clenched his teeth hard till he could hear them grind. He shut his eyes and swallowed a howl.


It passed.

His head was empty.
His toes were warm.
He vanished into the crowd.

He was safe.

Thursday, May 19, 2011


Montu woke up one day to find his mind out on a platter beside his bed.
He was very hungry so he ate it up promptly.
Now Montu can have food for thought all day but he's not sure people will like what he'd process.
But that isn't important because he doesn't trade in thoughts anyway.

Primary Ape has nothing he can call his. Everything he had is up on billboards. Primary Ape has denounced all affiliation with Montu. He has promised never to buy anything from Montu that actually belonged to him. The apes came and patted his back.

The apes started chattering violently when Primary Ape visited Montu one day and went into an empty room. The apes were scared. They thought Primary Ape had lost his mind. They thought Primary Ape had changed his mind. They thought Primary Ape had sold his mind.

He did. For a brick.

Montu sat smiling triumphantly having sold Primary Ape a brick in exchange for his mind.
Primary Ape smiled back politely, calculating the projectile force required to smash the brick right back into Montu's face.

Monday, May 16, 2011

i draw comfort from the fact that i am sure in some reality i have studied for my end sems for the last one month and i will nail all the answers with a smile on my face....

Wednesday, February 23, 2011

"boredom's not a burden anyone should bear" here i am scribbling again

this whole existential bullshit is like a loop...keeps coming back to me. but it gives new perspectives.

for example, i was trying to imagine what reality is like to minutely small beings; beings so minute that the whole world/universe to them is a gradient jelly...where a set of similar molecules gradually fade into another set of molecules similar to each other...or in other words where my butt ends and the chair begins, or where the leg of the chair ends and the floor begins...

and whether these beings have a pragmatic approach to life, and if they do then the way they define pragmatism in the first place...or whether their reality is affected by the idea of pragmatism in any way....or shakespeare...