The monolithic majesty of an immediate madness lies in the vandalism of idleness. I am doing nothing while I sit here in a coffee shop, drinking away my little left money in different forms of beverages. As I sit here, I realise that I quite love the presence of this abundance of idleness in my life. Yeah, sometimes, when am low on money, or out of it, I spend a couple of minutes thinking what if I worked harder. Yes, life would have been better then. There’s no doubting it. But then, two minutes later, am back to doing what I do best. Chill. I kiss her and I know everything is just fine. No, not because I kissed her. But that kiss is like the cherry on top, you know? A nice, red cherry without the tooth breaking seed. Ironic.
There is this train of thought that runs through me. A train, so fucking fast, that it refuses to let the thoughts gather themselves and disembark on a clear sheet of paper (Read: Word doc). It’s like; my mind feels that these thoughts are too precious to be worded in actuality. Their magnificence cannot be tainted if there is no chance for anyone to see them. It’s like a city of gold, never found. Ha! So much for mental masturbation. It’s like each thought of mine is a hoity socialite that will never step foot in the slums of authenticity.
The effectiveness of any feeling stems from a culmination of the past and the surprise element. If you already know how to tackle it, it will not really do much harm to you. Or good, for that matter. But, if it’s even remotely unknown, the intensity with which a feeling will punch you is tenfold. But it’s the same kind of damage that will do you good, if you’re me. Because, I really don’t give a fuck. See, when you don’t give a fuck about most people and situations in life, all of it can’t come around and fuck with you.
One of those things that do make sense in my life has to be music. Laugh, but the first thing that kick starts in my mind after something happens, is a song and not an emotion. That comes later. Maybe. Whether or not it relates to the song, is a matter of debate. Fight with an old friend? Wake Up – Rage Against The Machine. Aunt fucking my mind, Mermaid Blues – Tom McRae. Boring client meeting, The Importance of Being Idle – Oasis. Motivational, goose-bumpy moment, Zindagi Se Darte Ho – Indian Ocean. So on, and so forth. It’s an elaborate labyrinth of vile notions that induce such a phenomenon, really.
On some days when visions of incoherence rule the mind, in hindsight, it all makes sense. It is the defence mechanism of my mind, I believe, to keep me away from the frightening reality of fucked up fanaticism. Peons of a daily routine fascinate me. Sometimes, they seem so surreal, and superficial. But then, some times, I really envy them. As fucked up as it may be, at least they have a routine to look forward to, every, single, day.
A ravishing realm of reminiscence is not the food for thought that I had in mind. Recollection of the golden age seldom does any good to man. I have never understood how looking back and envying one’s own past makes one feel good about the lack of it. If it does, man there’s something so wrong with you. Just like me.
