At what price?

The Taj Mahal is beautiful. Built by a man who loved his wife so much, he decided to erect a monument for her. And not just any monument, mind you. This was unique. He put everything he had into building it. Hired the best hands around India and the neighbouring areas and they, together, built him one of the most beautiful structures in the world. Tourists from all around the world brave the shithole that is Agra to see this supposed jewel.

But at what fucking price? Shah Jahan wanted this to be the only one of it's kind, and it was easy for the 20,000 workers to do it again, given the raw matieral, time and some money. He couldn't have that, no. The arrogant fuck cut all their hands off, so that they'd never be able to do that again.

40,000 of the most beautiful hands rotted that day.

That isn't beauty anymore. Those craftsmen were amazing at what they did. No, it doesn't just end there. They *lived* to do what they did. It was what gave their life meaning. Suddenly, they are punished for their limitless talent. How do you go on living after that? Sure, the human spirit has more resolve than people think, but this is way beyond that limit.

That isn't beautiful at all.

What changes?

You wake up in the morning, and you do the same thing you do every day. What changes? You make the arguement that with a clear routine, your life has meaning. What gives your life meaning? Don't get me wrong, this isn't an attack on the general public. This is for me to give my life some purpose.

I realise, very well, the importance of discipline and good habits. But I also see the need for an impulsive outlook on life. Where do these two ideologies meet?

On a different note, I have a story worth sharing.

The want for sushi in Japan grew as time passed. Fishermen had to go out further into sea to catch the fish as demand rose. But an issue arose. The Japanese public wanted extremely fresh fish, and the further the fishermen went out to catch the fish, the less fresh it was. An interesting dilemma. Then one guy had a brilliant idea; why don't we put a large tank of water in the boats so we don't actually "catch" the fish as much as transport them? This was brilliant, but still the Japanese complained. The fish just wasn't the same, they said. So the idea was pushed another step. Why don't we put a shark into the tank? Sure, the shark would eat some of the fish, but the rest of the fish would be as natural and fresh as could be. And it worked, like a charm.

Someone told me that story, and then asked me, "So, what's the shark in your tank?"

I ask you now. What's the shark in your tank?

appreciation

Sitting in the crowd, listening to poetry and music, watching plays and movies, I wonder as to what my reaction to all of it is. I just walked in from a student driven lecture session on physics derivations, into this potpourri of artistic talent. Stumbling to find a footing, I walk around, listen to the performances, try disengaging my scientific side. I sit there as the performers leave, and more take their place, and wonder why? Why are they doing this? Why is there art? Why is there music? An avid guitarist myself, I see myself in the twilight zone, the border between two explanations of life. And ever so often, I get tugged to one side, and begin to lose site of the other. But never have I been pulled so far to one side, and then immediately been so strongly reminded of the other. Sitting there, I wonder as to why all this exists, and why so many people want to be heard, and why there, at the same time, exist people sitting at home or in labs or somewhere else, figuring out something, either in their head or paper or on sand. And then, on a g-minor, it became clear. They are just both ways of looking at and dealing with the same thing. And you don't have to exclude one to appreciate the other. I had remembered marvelling at Holmes's calm transition from violion maestro to super sleuth, but never truly appreciating it. I got all happy, and excited, as I finally understood. I remember vaguely jumping, or hopping, or something silly, but this could be my imagination.

Return

You come home, from a faraway journey in search of something, and your wife smiles. You smile back, but something's different. Time has worked its charms, and things are different. You hug, and its like hugging a rock, the inherent affection is cooled and gone. You try to think of whats wrong, and you see bruises on your wife's neck. You're shocked that she cheated on you, but what can you say? You don't even know her anymore, and there exists a widening rift between you. You sigh, with an unimaginable sadness, and try hard to move forward, while moving into the past, yearning for the old times. You fail, and it hurts, you just plug yourself into the music and drown out your feelings. The next morning, before anyone wakes up, you pack your bags and leave again. Home is not here, love is not here.

Rejection

Ravishing even in the darkness, she waited, seated on her stone pedestal. A small faun walks up to the stone, and peers into what it sees as darkness. It sees nothing, and doesn't feel worried. It eats a bit of grass at the foot of the pedestal, and moves to walk away. She rises, and reaches out, and with a single hand pulls one of the hind legs off the faun. It screams, falling to the ground. She waits, filling her soul with the wails, and then rips off another leg, and then the third. By this time, rage begins to build up, and she goes faster and faster, breaking the faun into little pieces. At the end, there is nothing, but splattered pieces of faun everywhere. There is more blood than one would ever imagine to exist in such a small animal. She reseats herself.

The faun shudders, imagining a black dream, and walks away from the pedestal. It imagined its death, a horrific painful ordeal, like no other. And now, it can think of nothing else, but its ultimate demise. A clear picture of its death, it shatters into a thousand fragments, each a new death, each burying painfully into the faun. Why? Why? Why? I WILL DIE. The faun perishes there, just falls dead.

The woman goes back to Hell, Lady Doubt wins again.

Change

Sitting alone on a hill, you watch the sunset. You look down into the lake below, surface aflame with the dying sun. A small breeze comes fluttering by, unsettling a few leaves, but the scene is a calm one. All alone, with no one else a hundred miles around, you sit and watch the lake. A blade of grass dangles from your mouth, as you squint your eyes. Your eyes, the only window into your soul. And your eyes are burning with anger.

So much changed, so quickly. Everything slipped out of your control, changing so much. Like a stack of precariously balanced sticks of lit dynamite, your life came crashing down and blowing up at the same time. A brief moment of happiness granted you an eternity of sorrow. An eternity of solitude. An eternity in which you could replay the same incidents over and over, again and again, in your head, except in your version, nothing wrong happened.

A bird flies over your head, and you don't even notice.

Tears began to well up, and start flowing down your cheeks.

"Why me?" you ask yourself, but you already know the answer. You fucked it up. You dug your own grave, and you enjoyed it. You killed everything inside you, all your happiness, all your joy.

You're shaking, sobbing. There is no way out now. You see no light at the end of the tunnel, and it hurts. You've lost all your joy and happiness. You've lost the only thing that you lived for. You gambled everything, and you lost.

Well, fuck that. You get up, smile, and head out. You ain't lost fucking anything. Your life begins now. Don't let anyone ever tell you that you suck, or you're not good enough. Don't ever gamble everything you have. Two lessons you learnt. Ha, you smile again. Don't ever fucking get attached to anything ever again. You sling your pack over your shoulder, and walk out into the coming night, with a smile on your face.

Bitter memories

Running as fast as you can, with no reason, heart throbbing, feet pounding the ground, sweat pouring down your body, you lose all thought and give in to the motion. You run, the air rushing past you. Everything is a blur. You run until your body hurts, and cries for rest, and then you run some more. Eternity passes, and the pain fades, and then you stop. You put all your effort into stopping yourself from falling. You recover, and move on, head back up to your room. You walk in, and see a bunch of people, who try to make polite conversation with you. You don't even bother, and walk to your desk, and roll up a joint. You hear some exclamations of surprise, but you ignore them. You pick up your joint, and a half empty bottle of gin, and walk out. You light the joint on your way down the stairs, and smoke it slow, taking a deep drag each time, and taking a large swig of gin before you exhale. You know its going to hit you hard, but that's what you want, so you don't really worry too much about it. You reach the bottom, and you walk out, into the cold night. You walk out into the night, and head to a distant house, one with darkened shades. You walk up to the door, and feel yourself losing control already. You knock, and someone lets you in. It's dark, and packed with people, a bunch of people all drinking, dancing, making out, sitting. You lose yourself in the crowd, and let yourself go, dancing, letting the music take over. You forget everything, and there is a sense of wonderous creativity in your spirit. There is something else in your soul with you, bolstering you. And then you stop as you see a woman you've never seen before. You stop completely, and she looks at you. You try to control yourself, for just a second. She smiles at you, and you gesture to her, and smile. She comes to you, and you dance, dancing away the night. Then her smile changes, and she looks at you far more intimately. Suddenly everything changes within. Your smile vanishes, and you push her away, and walk away. One single thought goes through your head before being eaten up by the alcohol and drugs.
"That look...... I remember that look from so long ago. Never..... ever.... again."