ink argosy 4

Sometimes, the act of friendship is difficult and really so exposed and there that it is hard to understand. I have lost friendships before but usually it was the other person’s problems with me that initiated the so called breakdown. Either it’s talking too much or not talking at all, to not talking the right things or the wrong things I don’t get some people at times. I remember that one friend systematically avoided me for two years and my efforts to patch the friendship were soon tired. If I did wrong I would like to be sometimes told because we do not always know and if I should know then give me the chance to make it  up to you. It so happens that some people when resolved to do certain things will do them despite the reasons or non-reasons behind them. And you can’t always change their views about that and don’t take it so hard on yourself if you can’t because seriously all you can do is sincerely apologize in a fight or misunderstanding but other than that you can’t do anything else. Quite recently, an old friend of mine stopped talking to me; I made her cry by being harsh to her and I accept that I should have been more controlled and coherent about these things. But then when I sincerely apologized she still decided to end things with me. I understood that maybe I had hurt her a lot but I wished that there could be some resolution amongst us but these things need both parties not just one. I am also tired of always bringing out the olive branch in fights — I know miscommunications happen but it is usually left to me, even when I did do nothing wrong, to bridge gaps, say sorry, put some bandaids on the cut. Some time back a friend and I had an argument; instead of keeping it personal he decided to blog about it and though he made me anonymous he represented me to be a bit idiotic and seemingly did not get what I was saying. I blasted at him and was mean to him and his expression was a “meh” — his “meh” really hurt me because that is what many people I know do; they mostly put their own subjective/objective views and feelings before others. At that point, I realized he couldn’t be my close friend because he was closed off from me both cerebrally and emotionally because any friendship requires that but he was pretty stubborn to act as though nothing had happened. Truth be told even if I had stopped being friends with him then and there I don’t think he would’ve cared because in a way he is always surrounded by people to a certain degree so he doesn’t need the  friendship with me. How people evaluate and value friendships are hard to tell or understand at times; that is why he falls in love with films and movies even like Brokeback Mountain because love and friendship there happens more easily and by this I don’t mean there are no difficulties but if we put those two men in real life context you’ll see that even the sex might come to them easier than the love. In fact, the dialogues that they both eagerly participate in might even take ten years to happen. We like many romances, slices of life dramas and even action movie because they translate things easily. You want a drama that takes reality’s pace more or less see Lost in Translation; it’s not mainstream nor is it easy to watch nor is it direct dialogue heavy. You can even see Fight Club for that to some extent because the love between the protagonist and Tyler is hard to understand. Sexually, Tyler wants the girl but as a full fledged relationship he wants that with the protagonist ending with that odd woman to be his biggest rival. Those are  difficult things to deal with and not pretty; the saddest parts in Lost in Translation is the parts where Johannson is all alone and just watches a sense of nothingness outside and we hear that hollow in the room reverberate and it can scare. It’s very sad indeed. Sometimes my heart gets too filled, it screaming but all around its perfect quiet with white noise and warm light. When I feel a friendship failing it feels like that. I don’t know people as intimately as I want to — I wonder if anyone has had these same desires as well. To know people more than not know them.

ink argosy 3

 

Blame. Game. It’s actually quite crooked you know. Being blamed for things. I think people who mostly blame others for even the simplest issues are upset about something else and blaming someone is the quickest way to dis-acknowledge your own sorrows and transfer them into some other thing. It’s like an urn or a vase secretly containing ashes or dirt and just the outer solidity, intricacy and the stability of the container soothes us that are secrets are not contacted or contracted —- because secrets are harder to cover than venereal diseases. Wanna teach the basic three states of matter; pour some water on a vase and switch on some fan to disrupt the water surface tension; that way the kids learn set theorem basic functionality, paradox, interconnections and logic-unlogic of the psychological and natural world. It also illustrates a dimensional grid for computer programmers and artists and physics students  — but sorry for the digression; blame is something that at times digresses too.  Digresses from the main crux and reasonability of the situation. Praxis of blame is usually, in my experience, frustration and sadness. Also, a keen, nagging fear. Fear is many a times non-standard; that is why people oft opt not to talk about it. Like the sixth sense (minus sense think along the lines, metaphorically, X-Files sixth extinction or something) movie no one wants to confront ghosts or clearly confront the act of understand the tragedy of ghosts. Finally, the poor man does go mad not from the act of seeing but from the act of living with a world systematized to not care or empathize. To no believe in anything other than profit — the word profit is now being used in some secular perversion of the religiosity that we hate. Thus how do we profit from ignorance? We are complacent and loving to gain grades — in school we anatomize people’s accomplishments by being grade schoolers or class schoolers or at times elevate them based on that institute of performance. Nowadays a prodigy fits that calling — if she/he excels in a age group thing we are happy but truth is genius cannot easily abstract itself to such detailing. Blame excludes details it just is an onlooker, at times, of stats porn. Of the range we think ought to be someone’s ability and we like to keep them there. Mobility is liked when it devolves or is in stasis any patterns of checkered prints or fluctuation like a bird in humming flight is to be eradicated. Nagging blame does not like any true reason or passion; it is just a merchant of alms and not a artiste of clouds and soil.

ink argosy 2

 

When did it happen that we were so satisfied with war? I guess war has always been a mostly personal issue but when the person becomes or acts counter personal it is then that we call for some interventions. Obviously, many people use intervention as an instrument to cause more violence or hazard. Why? The nature of the bully vivisected seems too much of a generalization. Many bullies fear, have inferior complexes and thus try to “nurture” away these discrepancies with type of sadomasochism. How? Simply because the bully applauds insults and hurt and craves to do more damage. No, a warrior loves the heat of battle for purposes that are not only sensory but a chance to meet kindreds and equals or equivalents she or he does not cough of blood with an erection for more slaughter mindlessly in fact she or he has codes of conduct. That is why the gladiator arena is much different than a fight because the gladiator is a prostitute of blood and action and can only finance himself/ herself through sensualizing murder and anchoring the most hated or spectacular killing techniques.  It’s a bad form of burlesque really for in burlesque the flesh is made to stand out with concentrated colours as though it were a surreal jungle of not merely enticement but an art from God. The burlesque of the gladiator is non-choice, non-concentrated for contrast it is just a abyss; a bowl of blood. Think how Ed Gein made soup bowls out of human skulls — that is I feel an appropriate symbolism for gladiator rings. Just perverse.

And — nowadays, the whole world is that soup bowl gladiator crater of blood. It is ample madness and all the news channels are just extensions of the viewing arenas and balconies. Sometimes an opera singer comes quietly to chirp in a little bit away from the chaos, that’d be a mainstream news reporter, trying to pitch in good notes and exclude bad notes while the maestro operates the scales. Only do some journalists sing better forms of this opera with innovative scales but they are rarely heard. They do not dress up like an amateur Moulin Rouge they just come in like the Scream painting and try to tell you things but their frames get muted by gaudy adverts of pinching bums and pretty body parts. We are so used to cannibalizing others in entertainment that we treat blown body parts as pictoids rather than reality. The fictional Hannibal Lecter is actually mostly attuned to our natural state of the world — hating him would be hating this cultural war frenzy which we dress up as rights, self-defense and even empowerment; Hannibal is Wendigo dressed in a suit rather than hunting out in the woods. Dressing up war in a gourmet armour does not mitigate the meat of it.

War is some wicked carnivale where the clowns eat the guests, the mirrors explode, the strong man hurts you and the manager comes to you and whispers, “Your life or your life.”  and if you scream like the hollow painting in horridness the manager smiles and states, “We need money for our show.” All the  material riches of the world cannot bring back the world. After all, in the end a gladiator ring is a makeshift cemetery and if we are content with wars of today we are content with the idea of being in a living cemetary.

Ink argosy 1

 

Unconventionally oriented. I would use those words to describe myself. Even my intellect or what can be called as intelligence does not belong to the intelligentsia that is celebrated. I am no ordinary Muslim but I am an ordinary Muslim. How can that be a “paradox” — I lipmarked because I did not want to italicize nor did I want to lipmark because paradox is not always a general evil to me so I am using it connotavely . In me I have this complex that not all contradictions are generally bad too because some people can move forward in the state of extreme controversial but cannot brave a fundamental which keep it more suspended in a sort of spiritual arthritis; a bad understanding of Foucault’s  pendulum. I was wondering how a Martian landscape can hold a pendulum or how Venus would with its volcano laden landscape.

When I think f Civil Disobedience or Walden I think of two things; how is this working out? How is it not working out? We all have our Waldens and our range of Civil Disobediences. Feminism initially had started out as one but nowadays is treated like a fad and ironically patriarchy is a bit of a fad too. Blaming everything on the destructive nature of XY is non-resolve to me because many men hate doing that. This why creation and destruction are difficult topics because the act of both genesis and exodus is considered more or less subjective. Democracy demarcates in a way it shouldn’t have; materialism has augmented it into a monarchy of the material majority. We are content with our discontentment that is why we do not like long term commitments for sometimes they are seemingly the actualization of a satisfaction so we think as they might bring us a form of happiness let us exclude it.  That is why we love the Stock Market because it has knighted discontentment.

Ironically, we outwardly hate so called random things —- a boy who I wanted to like and be friends with decided to reject me on the basis of my randomness. I had, in his opinion, randomly offered him my telephone number without striking an actual conversation. I was thinking we talked more than  once and twice and known each other for over two months thus maybe my actions were unconventional to you or what I guess to be a gendered conscience/consciousness of women but random I care to disagree. Like the sports athlete who disappoints and the Stock market which fails to be a turbulent array of messes I had been a neat chaos in that world of tic-tact-to hegemonic of contracted social contact which at times is more dangerous than STD. So like a blimp I just went away. Though to say I was not hurt would be a lie. I was but hurt is human and I must deal with it.

We soothe our discontent by piling it up in drawers and in labels. If you think on it Porn is a great icon for discontentment and so is, to some measures, BDSM. When Sade and Masoch were doing their things they were frustrated. Sade became a pervert of frustration because I think defilement was the only way he could get a blackout. Masoch though making a ledger book of sexual feelings might wane his frustrations. I think neither succeeds because they are escapists and do not want to indulge in the orgy of the real. Real life is bizarre think about 180° and 90° angles and think of obtuse angles of 35° and 45° — the world contains all these in over 4th dimensional figures and no seemingly polarity of a rubix cube — Now that’s interesting.

You know what else is intersting; Matrices because if you copy flatland like witty but dry humour than they look like matchmaking sites. But if you think of gardening they look like incomplete seeds waiting to flower. Prime numbers are not enigmatic but original not because they are segregated but they integrate a philosophy that even numbers can be satisfied with themselves and still be numbers and may not need to follow an increment chain of spasms.  Same with basic algebraic formulae they are usually lettered methinks because they like mixing the beauty of the concrete with the abstract. The sphinx is beautiful but deadly because it empowers discontent and can only be killed by satisfaction; I wonder if the sphinx is a parody of a pedagogue or a scholar who is never autodidact. And the Delphian Oracle may be a parody of a pseudo-philosopher.

Either way I am scribbling away my madnesses — only I am not a Zebra think of me as an ant or a whale or something…along…some things… I hope my ink and pen didn’t hurt you much —