Apr 25, 2012

No! Listen, What Happened is this

Photo courtesy of Sako Majarian Photography
No! Listen, what happened is this;
They gave you leagues and tournaments to keep you busy,
They imprisoned your sense of being,
They caught your brains and froze them in time,
They chained your memories to wars, made divine,
They triggered your hunger, and let loose your thirst,
Your most natural anger, over time, they abused.

No! Listen, what happened is this;
They told you to pity the old and pity the poor,
They labeled you into microscopic clues,
They said to be happy you need to be rich,
They defined a treasure by its physical filth,
They degraded your passions,
They sent you searching in the bins,
They laughed at your desires,
They marked you to entertain their whims.

No! Listen, what happened is this;
They drained you from your dreams,
They baptized you with unforgivable sins.

What happened is this;
You stood silent in front of them,
You were amazed!
Wake up before it’s too late,
Your voice is still loud,
Your scream will be heard
Despite the concrete walls
They assigned you to build.

Mar 30, 2012

A Random Muse Attack

Photo by Sako Majarian Photography

Had I realized the randomness of my muse attacks

I wouldn't have moved an inch

To try and touch her face

                               And sink into her skin
                                                                        And drink the ink from her veins.

Had I known ... I wouldn't have!

Mar 28, 2012

Over the Hills of Sanity

And it makes me wonder,
Do they ever travel by the road less taken?
Do they stop for a moment to stare at the blue sky, and question the wide horizon?

And I wonder,
Have they ever felt the need to float into thin ice?
Do they ever question being here?
Have they ever been amazed at the dawn? At the dusk/
Have they ever witnessed the stars making love to my soul?

Have they yearned for ascension? For a lazy summer dream?

But the fence is too high and the tide is too grey.
At those moments, I'm left to stray into yellow crispy hair.
The smokes surround my lungs,
Thin ice fading ...
Hay appearing from beneath the cracks.
The taste of noise,
The smell of wine,
Unexpectedly, the sandman walks in,
Chanting a requiem for the mare;
That hazy haunting shadow.

It's the bitterness of their touch upon my skin,
It burns,
It hurts,
It leaves marks,
It brands.

And into infinitesimal pieces I break
As I watch them compete over the throne of the Sun.

Mar 3, 2012

The borderlines of a dysfunctional world: Optional [reflection, projection and translation]

When I look at the world, I see reflections upon reflections of a vortex in continuous reproduction of itself. It is a world far from the imitation that Plato sought; that in which the ‘real’ world we live in is but an imitation of a purer, more perfectly designed one.

Nay! Through my eyes, the world I see is a reflection of itself on a window pane, a mirror or even a puddle of water. Those reflections are real, yet intangible. They are virtual, too, yet within an arm’s reach.
Many talk about parallel worlds or universes; that the expansion that happened as a consequence of the Big Bang has an alternative, lying beyond black holes and vortexes. However this might be true, those parallel worlds are within each other.

It is the manifestation of a ‘mise-en-abime’ where two mirrors are posed in front of each other and they keep on reflecting each other’s images over and over till no end.
So yes, this world reflects upon itself. And through it, each reflection is but a new world to be seen if the eye is keen enough on observation. Nowadays, the virtual is projected in the real. It becomes the real and the latter has become an extension lost in translation.

For translation and projection are two different axioms. Plato and other philosophers have projected the image of a perfect world onto a material wall that displays in pixels what it is made of.
In translation, the same object is moved onto another place. While projecting, pixels may be lost due to shortcuts and/or picture enhancement, whereas in translation, the purity of an image is kept but its special reality changes.
Hasn’t our world been confounded and mystified through the many translations it has succumbed to?

The attempt of writing these few lines does not allow itself to answer who came first; the chicken or the egg.
It is a simple observation, this article, in an effort to shed light upon an existential matter.
We are here now and we do exist. But which world does contain us? Are we the image translated into the mise-en-abime between two mirrors? Or are we the virtual result that forever replicates itself?
For so far, many agree that history repeats itself and that according to Big Bang theories, the world is but a series of expansion and condensations replicating till the end of times.

What does this time tell: A real virtual or a virtual reality?

Dear Reader, 
Do not judge this as an empirical writing. It is a pondering upon the universe, and a part of a bigger research however based on your critical feedback/reply. 
Help me find out if the structure of ideas conveys a certain meaning, regardless of what that meaning is.
Thank you.

PS: This article is incomplete yet, take it as an abstract. References are available but not published here.