Thursday, August 24, 2006
The insomnia for some inexplicable reason just doesn’t want to go.
I am sure some guy sitting up there messed up placing my zygomatic bone too like many other things he didn’t fix right, never seen circles like that before. Yes I too, like every bread craving individual enjoy having zwiebacks with ounces of butter for breakfast, however am unable due to my high standards of maintaining body fat under 2 per cent. Well, I am almost twenty one and morbidly afraid of being any older, however inevitable that might be though. Thusly I force myself to run more than Marion Jones could on dope and then practice yogic breathing which inexplicably is very efficient in keeping my escapist phantasms alive and as a result I find my daily routine revolving around the time of breathing in the most awkward positions imaginable to one.
Otherwise, science was my primary aim, to a professional point at least. I worked assiduously. However, the day I entered into this institute of morons (it’s supposed to be a really good one though it’s called a National Institute of Technology, it really is, and this is India people.) I just cannot come to terms with the fallacies of my scientific dream.
Moreover, on such realization I thought to make good use of the extra time now I had, I learnt how to play the Guitar. Now all that my mother does is scream at me and herself for letting me ever get near the infernal thing. Well yeah what does she understand about music. I’ll be plying in a rock band in no time.
Well otherwise I can read, and write too, although this computer setup seems a little too awkward too be the next step in a sudden transition from pen and paper, I somehow will manage. After I had lost science to the moronic Professors I continued to read. I read more by some people who are the people I could worship if I were not the atheist that I am, Salman Rushdie, Gabriel Garcia Marquez, Nietzsche also a nice lady by the name of Ayn Rand and innumerous more such demi-gods and since then I have been reading and even before that I wrote and now I write influenced by them all and influenced to such an extent that I seem to have transmogrified into something that I never imagined could exist, maybe it’s the crazy breathing.
So now I read in the bathroom in the car (well, that is if somehow I can control my motion sickness) and in all classes and quantum physics seems more of a hallucination than One Hundred Years of Solitude. And again, I used to write to a woman and I maybe only hallucinated about loving her so I wrote to her for what seemed eons, in the most intense, explicit and phantasmagorical words, only maybe Garcia could have hallucinated with double his dose and then I forgot to write and yes also to sleep after she went off with some biscuit salesman.Thusly I find myself suffering a block, unable to write anymore of what I could and still can. Also I am unable to escape from the inexorable thought of maintaining a collection of my hitherto useless hallucinations. All I write currently is false humor- which would have been more than obvious from the above; - only as a means of escape from daily materialism and low intellectual subsistence that I inevitably have to live through. I sometimes wish not to be a part anymore of this materialistic society and completely wish to demolish the past and the present and form a different utopia exclusively for the development of the intellect and the self. Unfortunately, the past and present accost one in a form more inexorable than one thinks.
Sudhir Sharma
The insomnia for some inexplicable reason just doesn’t want to go.
I am sure some guy sitting up there messed up placing my zygomatic bone too like many other things he didn’t fix right, never seen circles like that before. Yes I too, like every bread craving individual enjoy having zwiebacks with ounces of butter for breakfast, however am unable due to my high standards of maintaining body fat under 2 per cent. Well, I am almost twenty one and morbidly afraid of being any older, however inevitable that might be though. Thusly I force myself to run more than Marion Jones could on dope and then practice yogic breathing which inexplicably is very efficient in keeping my escapist phantasms alive and as a result I find my daily routine revolving around the time of breathing in the most awkward positions imaginable to one.
Otherwise, science was my primary aim, to a professional point at least. I worked assiduously. However, the day I entered into this institute of morons (it’s supposed to be a really good one though it’s called a National Institute of Technology, it really is, and this is India people.) I just cannot come to terms with the fallacies of my scientific dream.
Moreover, on such realization I thought to make good use of the extra time now I had, I learnt how to play the Guitar. Now all that my mother does is scream at me and herself for letting me ever get near the infernal thing. Well yeah what does she understand about music. I’ll be plying in a rock band in no time.
Well otherwise I can read, and write too, although this computer setup seems a little too awkward too be the next step in a sudden transition from pen and paper, I somehow will manage. After I had lost science to the moronic Professors I continued to read. I read more by some people who are the people I could worship if I were not the atheist that I am, Salman Rushdie, Gabriel Garcia Marquez, Nietzsche also a nice lady by the name of Ayn Rand and innumerous more such demi-gods and since then I have been reading and even before that I wrote and now I write influenced by them all and influenced to such an extent that I seem to have transmogrified into something that I never imagined could exist, maybe it’s the crazy breathing.
So now I read in the bathroom in the car (well, that is if somehow I can control my motion sickness) and in all classes and quantum physics seems more of a hallucination than One Hundred Years of Solitude. And again, I used to write to a woman and I maybe only hallucinated about loving her so I wrote to her for what seemed eons, in the most intense, explicit and phantasmagorical words, only maybe Garcia could have hallucinated with double his dose and then I forgot to write and yes also to sleep after she went off with some biscuit salesman.Thusly I find myself suffering a block, unable to write anymore of what I could and still can. Also I am unable to escape from the inexorable thought of maintaining a collection of my hitherto useless hallucinations. All I write currently is false humor- which would have been more than obvious from the above; - only as a means of escape from daily materialism and low intellectual subsistence that I inevitably have to live through. I sometimes wish not to be a part anymore of this materialistic society and completely wish to demolish the past and the present and form a different utopia exclusively for the development of the intellect and the self. Unfortunately, the past and present accost one in a form more inexorable than one thinks.
Sudhir Sharma
posted by Sudhir Sharma at 3:52 AM
1 Comments:
Very well stated...
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