Of All Things Lively

Hello.

Maybe its been too long since I wrote here. Maybe it hasn't.
But somehow, no matter how much I try, I can't write unless there's that sudden spark of inspiration.
I always imagine an artist can doodle something anytime. And a musician can always make a tune in progress.
Maybe writers pen short fiction and poems in these mid-spaces where inspiration is absent.
But somehow I can't.

Although I do have a pretty radical explanation to it.

What if what I perceive as inspiration isn't it? What if there's more? What if every moment until you realize you're inspired is in some way a small parcel of the overall inspiration?
Reading that sentence makes me shudder at how optimistic I am sometimes. I like being realistic. If you're gonna drown, you're gonna drown. Can't really tell you the water's nice and warm then, can I?
But maybe as humans we're programmed to believe in something? To always hope. To always look up and hope to see something that prolongs this eternal hope.
That line made me a little sad. But sadly enough, it is the truth. 

On unrelated notes, thanks to the unreliability in availability of an Internet connection in India, I've started maintaining a journal. Its probably something I should have done a long while back, but I guess something kept stopping me.

I hope  to find more meaning to life in the emptiness of the pages that will no doubt be filled.

And if you've been reading this all along and somehow within you a voice agrees, that maybe this dude has a point (most of the time), then Im being bold enough to ask you if agreeing with me has indeed affected you?
Its probably the most powerful thing someone can do. Inspire.
Especially unintentionally.
Imagine if someone shaped their lives based on something you once said. Or an action you once did.

But I said I was a realist. And that includes acknowledging the other side of the coin. Its an act of inspiration. Doesnt require that the person continue to be that way all the time. Or even that the particular quality you found interesting about someone is no longer there. That doesn't necessarily make them uninteresting or uninspiring but it sure as hell makes me wonder.

Why stories should have definite endings.
Because more often than not, its enough that we know of one incident and learn to move on from the experience and not let it rule us.
Like how in Asterios Polyp, they choose not to show anything beyond Asterios reuniting with his lover. Somehow its the best ending the book can leave you with. The knowledge that he has gained redemption, meaning and he's reunited with the woman who completes him, however abstract a concept that might be.

Maybe we too should choose the endings for certain moments in our lives. Save on the pain and spread some love, maybe.

Try reading this listening to Dawn at the Deuce and Sail on Soothsayer by Buckethead.

I shall end now, hoping that its adequate to say no more,

V

______________________________________________________________

Now Reading - Transmetropolitan

Now Listening - Sail on Soothsayer - Buckethead

                              Kaliyuga - Engine Earz Experiment

                              Khoya Khoya Chand - Kala Bazaar

Now Feeling  - Calm?