Cloud Storage

What must it feel like to be a memory?
To be stored somewhere, dormant, impotent for an undisclosed and unimaginably infinite amount of time.
To possess the ability to instill nearly any possible cocktail of emotions in somebody.

Come to think of it, we're all memories in a way, already. Where even digitally captured moments can soon turn us to into old dusty photographs. Where we may soon be referred to as someone's better half, someone's father, someone's dear friend.
We live in a cynical world that allows us to partially but still peacefully exist in oblivion and then catches us by the throat and calls us to do our memory-related duties.
But in the very sense of dualism that only you and I may be able to comprehend, we are also, not, memories now.
All that surrounds us, all that we choose to surround ourselves with, the faces we see, faces we choose to love, the faces we unknowingly and uncontrollably admire, are all happening now.
The memories you call upon now and all the related thought processes are all happening now.
Do you not think of that as a good thing?

Im in that extraordinary place where everything is special, and nothing is.
Where nothing is invisible but not everything is entirely visible.
And yes, that makes perfect sense.

I can only hope, that memory or not, I have a good time.

You can carry on now.
-
V

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Although I wrote this only sometime back, they are collected feelings of late today morning and the after-effects of watching The Perks Of Being A Wallflower, which I liked.
As for the title, keeping in mind the content of the piece, is like my pun on how we store memories now.

Now Reading : Darkly Dreaming Dexter - Jeff Lindsay
Now Listening : Again - Archive
                         Red Dust - Zero 7
Now Feeling: Pretty damn good man.

Insanity Can Be Updated

I am in a semi-good mood, so if things seem extra happy, try and not shudder.
I took a trip to Bangalore and I had a good time. A good good time. I think I deserved the break and if what I got there is what I deserved then Im all good with that.
I write this instead of the first piece in a series that I had an idea for. But looking back on it I think its going to have to see the pages of my journal first, before I push my thought-child into the deep scary cyber-blue.
Its something I'd call Sundays with Mythili. Its about 2 people who don't know each other but try to tolerate one another, weekly. The title is inspired by a book I read by an author called Mitch Albom and Mythili is the first female name that popped into my mother's head. Any and all ideas that you'd dare give me, are welcome.

I'd like to start writing more fiction. Id like to make believable and equally unbelievable things merely beautiful, through the medium of my words. If thats a legitimately ok thing to do.

As for the title, I'd like you to picture yourself walking through an empty neighbourhood late at night. Not empty relating to people but empty here *points to your head*. Imagine if that entire junction of roads, mortar and cement were inhabited by the darkest members of your subconscious. Windows would shut as you walk past them. And cat eyes glistening under moonlight wouldn't be sources of fear but infinitesimal rays of sanity. Your lips would dry from the chill of all the lies you occur like chants. And your eyes would constantly adjust to the increasing darkness.
I'd like you to stop walking now. And look around. Look around and find that among all the insanity and craze. And acknowledge that things can indeed be darker. Look at the moonlight diffusing through the wastes of the night and realize that your own insanity can continue to grow. Continue to manifest into something a lot more than an occasional retreat. It could turn into who you really are.
And if you don't find that scary, then I think I'd find you scary. I'd probably have a good time with you and everything, but I'd be scared of you nevertheless.


I recently went to a pub where Baiju Dharmajan performed. I thought I'd never see him perform the songs of Motherjane before I breathe my last but it feels great to check something off my bucket list.


Until next time
-
V
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Now Listening : Two - Ratatat
Now Reading : The Interpreter of Maladies - Jhumpa Lahiri
Now Feeling : OK