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Wednesday, 31 July 2013

Hell

Woke up to the sound of my own screaming. I was alone in a  small, dark hole and singing to occupy my mind, to distract it from the thought of forever in that dark place all alone. 

In my awake state, I have always thought of myself as a loner- a person happiest in her own company. Funny that it took a nightmare for me to realize how scared I actually am of the dark and being alone forever. Now that's a scary thought - forever. You can not die once you are already dead. God alone knows why religions are so big on selling the afterlife. Who the hell in their right mind wants to live forever- knowing it will never end? 

Forever- impossible to even imagine! Our only hope that God if He exists, is kind and not a cruel  sadistic creature prone to torturing people to teach them a lesson for the rest of eternity. Even that- I mean - what's the point of teaching anyone a lesson once they are already six feet under and it's too late to repent and attempt redemption. The only point then would be some form of twisted vengeance. God save us from such a god!

Heaven and hell - I am not sure of the existence of either outside our own minds. Heaven is our happiest moments and hell exists within the recesses of own minds. 


Monday, 22 July 2013

Vulcan Mind Meld

I enjoy writing and seeing how everyone seems to write a blog these days and never having been one for original thought; I decided to try "blogging" as well. But now that the blog is established and a name assigned ( Thanks, Nasir) there is sadly nothing to write about.

I find myself suffering from stage fright at the thought that other people might read the rumbling of my mind and my idiocy will be confirmed. Quite the indecent exposure for someone who has made a life long philosophy out of : keep your mouth shut and people might think you wise, open it and everyone will know better but then of course better sense prevailed and the realization that a blog does not mean readers. I can happily ramble on and other than Nasir, myself and my one and only ardent fan - my mother, no one will read it and I have already exposed myself in front of all three of us many a time.

So why write? I have pondered that one. For writers like Ken Folleth, Tom Clancy, Joyce Carol Oates it's probably a combination of a love for writing and the realization that hey, other people actually like it enough to pay to read you that keeps them at the grindstone. For someone like me though, there is no reason to write except that is what I have always done ever since I learnt how to write. My first poem was in kindergarten about a boy in my class who I detested and it never stopped. Things I am not able to say, I write. There is no reason for it. The stuff I write is private in the sense that having any one else read it fills me with anxiety - that fear of exposure but at the same time, I know I like other people to read some of the things I write. I guess I am looking for validation- that pat on the back or even better for someone to grasp a thought and say that they thought it too. May be, all writing is born of loneliness and reading is a way to connect with someone else's mind - a Vulcan mind meld but human-style.