I have seen it so many times, this page. Yet, why am i always scared of it? What is it that pulls me back? i cannot say for certain. i could, as a matter of fact publish anything here, for there are no visitors. I could reveal my darkest secrets and yet sleep sound at night, for noone would know. I wonder why exactly google affords to keep this page up. Its perfectly useless, to say the least. I mean, its not that people do not appreciate what I write - far from it. I have one maddeningly beautiful girl who's made one of my minute and a half pieces of poetry her status message on gtalk. Ain't that something? I could live my life for that glory, indeed. For in this way I am not exactly paying my respects to the girl in question, but to the creator supereme, without whom i am supposedly devastated. This is what I simply cannot understand. What is His role in terms of me? He must be so supremely clever that it is impossible for us to fathom his thoughts. I mean if you are a software engineer like i am, and working on a particular layer of a piece of code, how on earth or heavens could you understand what goes on in a layer abstracted from you? Now, abstraction is one of my words. It just about defines life, to say the least. I mean, there are stuff that keep you happy, and you're proud to have knowledge of such stuff and share it accross your circle of friends and acquaintances. Then, there are stuff you needn't know, too. I mean, I love the Sherlock Holmes-ian approach to the workings of the human mind - the mind is an attic - but people forget that it does not have elastic walls, or something to that effect! Now, I sometimes feel the need to know, do people die of complicated thoughts? Can people collapse simply because some thought or idea they have triggers off other thoughts, that in turn trigger even more, all recursively, i assure you, and then die in what we lowly software engineers term a 'stack overflow error'? I do not know, but sometimes i do believe that that is possible.
Its like this idea that I sometimes have - this whole idea that is highly redundant in all the short stories I have written till now, that the being is not contained in the dimensions of the body - incidentally, did any of you notice that? I wonder exactly what a good, robust idea is made up of. Is it terms of materialisation, then? I do hope not - for in that case, its toodles to Jesus, Buddha, and the whole lot. I wonder, would they feel sorry, or ashamed to see us the way we are now? I sincerely hope not, for then it would cast that shadow of doubt over their intelligence that I do not simply like.
I cannot stop today, not just yet. I have let the pen do the talking, or rather the keypad, for I am quite as techno-savvy as all the rest. So, I am waiting simply, for the storm to pass. The uploading bit is just an addiction. nothing more. I mean, I wouldn'y want people to catch me red-handed as this. I, too have principles and a face, not a very bad one at that - to save.
There, you have it! A straight confession from the bowels of a narcissist. I wonder, how come the ancient world did not lay a greater stress on the importance of the bowels. For me, I strictly feel that the bowels rule the human emotion. i mean, i am simply so happy on the days my bowels are happy! What would you? And yet, they continue to write about the heart! I assure you, if I see a beautiful member of the oppositte sex around, I rarely feel anything of the heart - its more of a churning of the bowels - and its logical to. For its the bowels that are closer to the 'heart' of the matter and not the heart. But, there is also the head. I wish I'd read more into biology - that way I could have understood why exactly the brain is considered the centre of our intelligence. Maybe because you get a splitting headache after concentrating on something very hard! And yet, I maintain - that intelligence is a distributed thing. There is a great deal of it in the brain; but, there must be some part of it in so many other places, too. Maybe quite a bit of it outside our body. Who was it who said that we only use around five percent of our brains at a time? If that rings true, there's still a lot left to imagination and idle speculation.
Incidentally, i have been reading since last night, and but for the solid nine hours or so of sleep that I managed to catch up on, it being a weekend and all, I have been reading something all day long and my eyes are burning as if from onions. So, its goodbye for now. I am publishing a very old poem I wrote many many years ago, in that golden age when I was thirteen. I hope you have the bowels to enjoy!
