The Greater Divide

When the state governs my way of living and the culture that douses my thoughts and shapes them into the actions I perform, it becomes my religion because it is my source of life . The life I come to establish for myself is done so according to my desires, but the objects of desire and the resources I have to attain them are both materialised in what the state can provide for its citizens. However, this is where the preaching ends; most people confuse this feeling for patriotism. Belief in your fellow brothers and sisters is patriotism – when you can rest assured that the nation that is now your home will always foster only the people who believe in themselves, and thereby imbue the soil of the earth with a belief in life, then you are a patriot. But when you adopt your society as more than a home, and even as a religion, then you are beyond patriotic. You are just a philosopher. The notion of the state developed from the government itself, which could govern only when a law was enforced, only when the belief, which is as strong as the weakest believer, in itself amongst its subjects could be planted. The lay man must not be allowed to rely on any other organisation other than that which he has elected; this notion is not because the state wants to restrict us with fear or force, but because then, the function of such an organisation becomes smoother and the restricted individuality you will come to assume later on will be manifested in your conformity to the state’s laws. But patriotism is independent of the state itself. It is a steadfast belief in the nation that houses its people. The difference between a patriot and a politician is observed in its most fundamental level here. A patriot will look towards his fellows for help in governing a nation, not a state. A politician has to begin from being a leader amidst his people and climb the political ladder until he can be the leader of a state. A patriot is not governed by laws because he does not conform to the state; and by virtue of being a patriot, he will need no laws to abide by as he is the ideal citizen. But a politician is a leader moulded by the laws he conforms to and abides by even as a citizen of the nation, and is therefore a son of the state.

Indian politics is governed by the 31 or so states it comprises of. At the time of independence, these states were carved out on the basis of the language of its peoples. Consequently, as each language represented different but similar cultures, the caste system in each state developed independent of each other. However, since these different systems encompassed people living in similar economic climates, they blossomed (if that) into an almost equal stage of complexity, intricacy and seepage down the strata of the society. When the people under a same national government are divided amongst themselves in the election of a local government, the politicians and their political parties must unite these people in order to secure a majority. This is where the FC (forward classes) and the BC (backward classes) come into the picture. The FC comprise of, primarily, Brahmins, and have been around for about 2,000 years. The BC have also been around for an equally long time, but they constitute a larger number of divisions of people. The BC can further be sub-divided as SC (scheduled castes), ST (scheduled tribes), etc. Therefore, in trying to establish a majority in the senate, the fractions of FC and BC voting in the elections play a very, very important role. The FC don’t trust the BC and vice versa, which is only natural given the history of each sect of people. I am from Tamil Nadu, a state in south India, and we have had a 69% allotment for BC in all our educational institutions for quite some time now. Whereas, the scanrio in the northern states is completely different. When the national government introduced a minimum 27% quota in the state-administered IITs and IIMs, there was a great uproar among the FC, who faced no such quota because they were all from urban backgrounds, and now had to concede part of their available seats to a group people who were now eligible for a first class teaching process just by virtue of their class.

Tell me this. What is a government to do when:

1. It finds it unable to channel sufficient funds for the education of the people of the backward classes. Now, I don’t think you can always blame a government of corruption just because the funds are vanishing into thin air every time they are announced. The villager will point at the local panchayat leader, who will point at the district MLA, and so on and so forth. If all you can do is point and shout, then you are not doing all you can.
2. The FC prevent the government from seeking a solution for this crisis by itself when it announces a 27% quota in the IITs and the IIMs. I agree the the quality of the students graduating from the institutes will also project a 27% chance of lowness.

By having so-so party the centre, we must not forget our duties while fighting for our rights at the same time. If you want the local or national government to uphold your rights, then you should expect the government to expect its citizens to fulfill their duties. I am not placing the blame on either of the sides here, but I am just asking both sides to consider their actions in the light of this dilemma. The election of a government is like electing your king, your sire, your leader. You cannot then all sit down and expect things to happen around you. If you want to protect the quality of the institution you are studying in, then you must make sure that all the people who want to seek admission there possess a certain quality themselves. We must not just seek answers to all the questions we have to ask. We must be in a position to answer them ourselves.

I have always believed the college as being an institution with importance equaling that of the primary schools. Primary schooling sows the seeds of knowledge in the child, whereas the college makes use of an education that has fermented this knowledge into a mature and applicable form. During the college days, the student will develop from being someone dependent on others to the one who is dependent on himself. At this point of time, everything around him or her will seem like a resource, and his or her productivity will see an exponential increase and decisions will come to be more informed. However, if he wishes to enter politics, it is considered an exception to the rule! But this fact can always find itself rooted in the requirement that the candidate for the local election has to be a man of the people. By this, I mean that he must have understood the actual problems that rock the nation as it were, and he must be able to, at least, circumnavigate around these problems if he can’t find a solution for them. And even amongst these problems, you can difference between those harassing the FC, and those, the BC. The BC won’t vote for an FC candidate and vice-versa. And since most of the FC have emigrated in search of better jobs, while the remaining lose faith in the local government by the second, the BC prevail in the end. When it is time for a re-election, the FC again lose faith in a government that has been run by the BC, and give up their chance to make a difference. The worst is when this cycle is called a vicious cycle!

This is no vicious cycle! It can be vicious if it spawns itself! What is there to spawn?! You spawn your own decline of faith! A government and all your people cannot be blamed for that! Even if you somehow lose hope in a government not run by people of your class, the right to vote is the most fundamental and most important of all! It is a right! You don’t fight for it! You don’t pay for it! And even if you believe in the division of people into classes and castes, it is not mandatory that your son has to believe in the same. Give the future generations a chance to make a difference. Even if you think there is no need for a difference, you must also know that their future is not yours to govern. The want to make a difference is not a mandate. It is, after all, an option. And your faith in your children can only be displayed in its fullest when you let them make their own decisions. When the FC and the BC stop thinking of each other as different people but people coming form different parts of the same nation, patriotism will be projected at its most glorious. And only a patriot will know what the nation needs, not a politician.

When will Baudolino come for Niketas?

Niketas Choniates trapped in a muddle, and Baudolino sweeps him off his feet into a whole new world of languages! Oh, where is this Constantinople, my kingdom come? When is this Fourth Crusade, rather when will the First be? I’m sure you don’t get what I’m trying, and those fans of Umberto Eco out there and reading this: YES, I am referring to Baudolino the novel; but NO, I am not analysing it.

I had written one earlier post about the momentum of contemporary feminism and whether it was really necessary (I had to take the post down because it wasn’t very well framed – and someone took my case real bad!). The reason I took this stance was that apart from breeding a general consensus amongst women, and against men, that the society as it is is more in favour of men then women, feminists usually forget the impact of what they preach on men as well. The society as it stands, stands thus: men and women. But a society comprising of contemporary feminism at a fundamental level stand thus: men, women, men concerned about feminism (A), and women concerned about feminism (B). Men and women can always live in harmony if only they take it upon themselves to understand one another and base their decision and behaviour on it. But B are a different lot altogether: you will have observed that I don’t say feminism but contemporary feminism. This is because even though feminism started of as a movement encouraging women espouse their feminine values and apply them, as it were, in their lives, contemporary feminism seems to be completely different. I agree that men flashing on the streets and groping in the bus is all very much there in the daily life of a woman, but I also insist you understand what I am trying to say. I am saying:

• We agree there is a problem.
• We recognise the steps you have taken as a solution.
• But we fail to see any progress in the current state of affairs.
• Therefore, we ask you to reconsider your decisions.
• But we agree wholeheartedly about men being bastards.

I hope you did get me there. Men continue to grope despite women carrying pepper sprays and learning karate moves. And now, you can see the difference between the woman as she was, the one trying to understand the reasons behind feminism assuming such a relentless and ruthless agenda, and the feminist of today, who fails to see reason even when it is there. Furthermore, and here is where I come back to the point, the implementation of such measures was against men, and all men at that. When you support the form feminism has assumed, you cannot hope for progress unless you have taken into account the response of us men. The whole thing is analogous to a scientific experiment: you throw the switch on, the bulb glows. You attach another circuit to it, but the bulb doesn’t glow. In order to move on with the present apparatus, you must first correct the problematic setup at hand.

Men, and men concerned about feminism in the society. Now, I don’t know why man has been a consistent point of reference in all matters, ranging from literature to economy to the state. But I don’t care either. Let’s consider the present setup. Referring to more than one of my older posts, I have discussed a lot about the human mind and how it seems so hard to fathom its reaches. When a man gropes you in the bus, there will be two halves to it:

1. Are you wearing decent clothing? If so, then the guy is perverted.
2. Are you wearing inappropriate clothing? If so, then the man is not to blame.

If it is question number 2 you would like to argue about, bring it on. I’m sure anyone who can see reason will laugh in your face if you expected the guy to hold himself while you stand there looking like a *** ***. Yes, I do understand what you’re trying to say. But all I’m asking is for you to stop, and think clearly and objectively. If you live in a society housing men who grope women (who seem to be asking for it), then you cannot possibly walk out the door every morning, donning a 3-piece something, while expecting the society to learn on its own.

My argument in this case is that, besides ‘recruiting’ women in the feminist movement as it stands today, contemporary feminism has also spawned a breed of men who oppose it. In trying to correct a society that somehow refuses to change, some men who did see change happen will find it odd that a feminist movement was set in motion in order to execute it. What I’m trying to say is that men are hurt in their pride that women can think of them like that. These are not the men who grope, these are not the men who flash, these are not the men who don’t care as to what women think of themselves. These are the men who think the society was good as it was when women and men understood each other. These are the men who think that by propagating feminism as an inherent requirement of the society, the basic understandings and values are lost. Correlating this fact with my agreement that there is indeed a problem, and there is indeed an unsatisfying solution to it, I for one will conclude that contemporary feminism, by assuming a more hardened warpath by the hour, will not only breed hyperaware women, but also spawn men who will question the reason behind so much (unnecessary?) awareness.

It is not that we men don’t want you to be aware at all. It’s just that, sometimes, men can be right about women disturbing a delicate balance in the society – a balance which indicates the presence of a stability attainable through living in understanding than in conflict and victory thereby achieved.

As for Baudolino, he could be man come to save Niketas the woman, lost in the bloody mess of the Fourth Crusade of feminism, while I wonder about what the First Crusade did in Constantinople my ideal society. Or, Baudolino could be feminism come to save Niketas the woman, lost in the bloody mess of the Fourth Crusade of society, while I wonder what the First Crusade could have been in the hands of Constantinople my ideal man.

One Day For Myself

I’ve always wondered as to the specialty of mankind in a philosophical way. There is this whole sea of us, but there seems to be nothing to set each one of us apart except our actions and our appearances. And appearances have already been discarded as a criterion in favor of deeds, but when behind every deed there seems to be a purpose and a solid reason as to why he or she did that and not something else, even they will tend to decline. So, I sat down and thought with a cup of tea in my hand (tea helps me think, you see!). What came first to my mind was the way each one of us responded to the events around us, how we said different things to different people even though they all seemed to be the same. How we smile at some and how we frown at others; how some get neither a smile nor a frown but just a plain and simple stare that speaks of a fading recollection that couldn’t span the gap between your history and your present with the clarity you’re looking for. So anyway, getting back to my wonderings and ponderings. And if you ask me what my ideal solution will be, I will turn to Mother Nature. I, for one, would like to have one full day just for myself. I will want the climate/weather to alter dynamically according to my moods. I will have the environments I feel like having around me at every moment.

The onset of winter in Dubai has been quick this year, with a visible change in the climatic patterns over a matter of a few days. Today morning, when I got out of bed and realised I had nothing to do for the day, I was plunged into a bit of gloom: I was far away from home, and the corridors outside my room were silent, making me feel as though I was alone in this world. Then, I opened the curtains. There was a fairly good cloud cover in the skies. The sun was blocked from view once every 5 or so minutes for a span of 5 or so minutes – there was something of a sinusoidal variation of brightness in the room. For 5 minutes, it would be pleasantly dark, and for the next 5, it would be cheerily bright. I got bored after some time of watching this, so I had a bath, put on some freshener in the room, and settled back into my bed to watch some movie.

Even as a person who has only a sliver of a belief in God and godliness (which is enough for a guy like me, actually!), in times of distress or an imbalance of emotions, I have always turned to the natural presence of life around me to inspire me to move on through life as it is to me. When I’m oh-so-terribly-bored, I just sit and watch what’s going on outside. I can’t say there’s a not-to-be-missed scenery set outside my window, but there is the sun, there are the clouds, there is the sleeping desert. In trying to fathom the monotonous existence of the desert life, for example, I realise how these creatures establish a life for themselves and even sans a conscious realisation of what their purpose could actually be, they invariably come to live that way. Mankind, with his mind that purportedly sets him apart, has today evolved into more of a mess than what it could have been. By trying to span the reason behind the existence of every other phenomena around him, he has left himself behind. And I do NOT think this was his purpose. You might ask me why I am bothered so much with the purpose. I will tell you: even if you don’t bother yourself, you will notice that every individual on this planet will live in a way that reflects a broader pattern. Every man born and every man dead will always tell the same story. No matter what he does, no matter how he responds to the infinitely different stimuli in his life, he will always recount the same morals, he will always recollect the same moments. Haven’t you ever wondered why that never changes?

And how is all this encompassed in the One Day for Myself? The ‘one day for myself’ will obviously reflect the indulgence I or you will wish to have. On the other hand, living in a day for yourself will also show you what your purpose could have been. In asking the natural phenomena to follow you, you should also expect Mother Nature herself to guide you through your ways via subtle indications. Paganism had a meaning in itself when its followers went behind animals and birds looking for favours, for that is how mankind would have survived and evolved if men had not inculcated that sense – that sense which told them that the mind set them apart from everyone else. You are born sans that sense, you die sans that sense. But what of your journeys in between?

A Museum For Memories

After having blogged for some 2 1/2 years with considerable success (in terms of viewers and comments), I finally reached a point where my blog was part of my life as it was. Just like I would wake up, brush, bather and head for college as though I was born to do those things, I would sit and write for an hour in the evening. And I wrote on whatsoever popped into my head, whether at tea-time when I drank my tea in complete silence while watching some kids play cricket in the nearby field, or be it when I picked my keyboard up from its place under the bed and onto my lap. Also, I don’t tend to write when there is a silence around me. It seems as though I’m sitting in an auditorium, surrounded by irritatingly curious people trying to see what I am doing. I like to be in the midst of a crowd of people, but each one minding his or her own business. That way, it feels like I am part of a bigger world around me, a world that has content waiting to be blogged(!), while at the same time a world which has been good enough to promise one of its dwellers the privacy to do his work. And so, I turn on some music (which is usually Danger – Keep Away by Slipknot). And ever since my laptop keyboard stopped functioning, I haven’t been able to write in the dark. I use this new plug-in pad to type, and as a compensation for the glaring light of the tubelights, the keys are nice and bouncy! So here we are: I write for an hour everyday in my own little customised environment. And in doing so, I’ve learnt more about writing and all its nuances. The little intricacies, the ways in which you can twist the whole thing without distorting its meanings, the ways in which you can use words to enforce a tiring session of reading-between-the-lines on the reader, and then have the whole passage smile innocently with a bit of subtle humour. But that’s only as far as writing goes. But what about the blog?

It becomes a close relative. I mean, c’mon, IT listens to everything I have to say, and I’ve used it more than once to wreak havoc in the minds of my friends 😛 (like some instrument of chaos!). Of late, however, my writer’s block reached a peak and became a period of its own. The look and feel of my blog weren’t somehow inspiring me enough, and looking back and through all my older posts, I felt as though I had exhausted all my topics and options of things to write about. If I looked for inspiration somewhere, it was though whatever I could have managed to come up with was already there. I even picked up a whole lot of books form the library in order to keep my own novel-in-the-making moving, but nope. Everywhere I went, through every page I crawled, there was only a wall in the end, and whatever I did to look for that special, secret brick in the wall, it was just another brick. Being the same as everyone else never felt so depressing. I did the same things everyday as everyone else, but when the time came in the evenings when I do nothing but sit and sate at my laptop screen, I was worse than everyone else. I was exhausted when I should have been gearing up for something bigger later on. I couldn’t plagiarise in peace! Every time I used some words of Churchill to keep me going, it felt as though Sir C was looking down at me from heaven or hell (where ever he is) and daring me to continue. I have never plagiarised before, but the intention to even begin anew has been defeated. So what did I do?

I deleted my blog on a whim! I don’t know which jackass does that, but by doing so, I felt fresh. Don’t ask me how. Maybe it’s the feeling you get when you have a break up, can’t get over your girlfriend, but see the difference when you burn her picture and flush it down the toilet. It was as though I was taking revenge on a biologically existent being capable of feelings. I have no idea as to how my blog must have felt, but being a page that received some 300 viewers daily, it should have felt pretty bad that it received only such an unceremoniously drab end after such a good run. A blog of 2 years and gone in a flash! Well, I can’t say I started writing furiously and passionately after that. Being WordPress, I couldn’t get the name of the blog back and I had to look for something else. Something that would be neutral enough entice me into forcing it to take sides in each one of my posts that would come up under it. And finally, after a lot of jumping around and Importing and Exporting, I landed on The MV Journal. M V are my initials. After all this, what’s the moral of the story?

Regardless of whatever I do, whatever I write, where ever I write it, the feelings I have towards my work seems to matter the most. I’ve always cherished writing, and not just as a form of art. I’ve used it with great effect to relieve the pent up energy I feel within me at times, I’ve used it with even greater effect to unblock my head of unwanted and walling thoughts. Once, when I had the writer’s block, I wrote about it and then tore down the wall. To a man who loves his work, it will never seem as though he is working to get what he wants. It will always seem as though it was something he was born to do, and that’s how I feel. I could keep writing forever, but if only for myself. In trying to place the blame of your block and of your monotonous rhetoric on the same topics over and over again on the look and feel of your creation, you are betraying the trust of the text on you. If only you can make the words feel like you do when you pen them down, then you will know that beyond merely being a form of communication, those patterns on the paper are your trails on the face of the world. Be it a blog for self-expression, be it a newspaper for information, be it a letter to a loved one for affection, all these things will let people know of hidden dramas, the tragedy and the comedy tucked away in their folds if only you choose to look for them. Your words are your brush strokes on the canvas of the world, to be hung one fine day in a museum built for memories.

Iron Maiden in Dubai!

NWOBHM kings Iron Maiden are scheduled to play in Dubai on February 13th, Friday, 2009, at the Dubai Media City. For more details, visit: http://www.boxofficeme.com/default.aspx. This event is part of their ‘Somewhere Back In Time World Tour ’08‘.

Politicised Information

Information is nothing but the lingual interpretation of an event, the interpretation being performed in order to transmit and convey it to people who are unaware of the occurence of it. The information we assess and digest everyday is proportional as well as dependent on the ideals of the local government, which governs the information that it thinks its people need to come into contact with, and the ideas and opinions of the people around us that constitute the populace in general. With a democratic government ruling the central aspects of the Indian economy, finance, industry, society and other aspects of living and development, the interests of each individual vested in it demands productive work day in and day out. On the other hand, the ruling government, to carry out its wishes, needs people other than those who control its functions to fall in line with their solutions. Due to the embedding of this fundamental rule, as it were, in the roots of the structure of every democratic state, information can only play a greater role in the lives of the people of the state every day. The conveyance of this information happens through the media, viz. print, audio, and audiovisual. The print media includes newspapers, magazines, newsletters, articles, essays, stories and others; the audio media includes, prominently, radio channels; video comprises of information delivered via telebroadcasting, movies, etc. The radio and the television are two modern techniques that have stolen the limelight of sorts from the print media. Owing to advancements in technology, of these two, the audiovisual media is growing steadily as well as quickly, borrowing from the inherently faster conveyance of data, the greater accessibility, and, with the incorporation of a sense of personality, the notion of originality and being specific to a given set of peoples with respect to their ethnicity involved is also born. Therefore, keeping in mind the importance of such a medium, its regulation has to be handled with care and finesse in order to get across your message while maintaining the original intensity of the purpose and the frequency of conveying it. But in a large, immensely populous, and democratic nation like India, apart from the already very many number of television channels, there are many more being operated by political parties. Although this does not constitute any violation of any rule for that matter, using the medium as a method of propaganda is not something I would suggest. You can not initiate and run programs just because it’s there for you to. In a way, it violates the right to information. How? Information is only when it is factual and wholly interpretative in a neutral manner. When you tamper and mess with it in order to get across a message that has been interpreted in a biased manner, it is a misrepresentation of the event that has occurred. You are now putting specific ideas in the minds of the people, ideas that can invraiably lead only to a single conclusion. Furthermore, but in a partly trivial way, political propaganda must always begin and end during the time of elections for the local or national government, and must be nonexistant at all other times unless it is being projected via the deeds of those elected to office. Telebroadcasting can not be considered as a deed because it is propaganda itself, and parties that use this as a tool to brainwash the plebian and proletarian population in their favour is wrong. You will notice that now, with everyone around you being highly opinionated about some political party or the other, the ability to think freely and objectively will be on the decline. When you have politicians who assume office and power by abolishing the birthright to make decisions for yourself, you can never live sans a prejudice in your life.

Dark Fader

A couple of months back, I had these internships going on through college wherein I worked in a logistics company of good repute. The work hours were from 08.00 in the morning to 17.00 in the evening, and I think you can imagine the promptness with which we would have stuck to those timings! Anyway, working was fun actually. Something of a welcome change from the drab of having to attend college everyday. We attended work because the people there seemed really mature and that maturity drew us out and made us realize that everything they do, even though for money, teaches them something or the other, and the best way to look at things is to welcome them as parts of your life. The guys and girls in my college or not even close. The professionalism that lingered in our minds even after work hours made us get up early next morning and put on those formal clothing without even a thought about the sweat that will begin to pour in the afternoon heat. But in the hostels, get up, get dressed, think of the girls you’re gonna spot/beam/(whatever the word is) that day, put on your coolers and fold your power spectacles over your shirt buttons, see if your hair is alright, and then walk out the door. And what happens? The wind ruffles your hair, the sand gets in everywhere, you begin to sweat and spoil your shirt, the jeans sticks to your skin as it begins to get soaked. How many of you dress for comfort (other than the obvious reasons)? And people tell me I don’t have a ‘fashion sense’. Bloody hell, I am dressed better than all of those standing in corners and scratching through their corduroys and jeans.And it’s these things that have driven me to the refuge of my room, where everything is the way it is according to my liking, and also a docile reminder that at least the rooms of these people is set away for that purpose: a reminder of the self. And the one thing I like about my room is the absence of any light in it. I like meditating in the dark, though that may sound a little freaky, with some psychedelic rock playing in the background. And I don’t meditate unto God (Who can take care of himself). This meditation is where I just lie down on the bed thinking of something to write upon, and the only thing that makes it to my head everyday is the blindness of my fellows in their inability to see what is at their footsteps and rather look at something so far away.

The Pink Wall Outside My Window

I woke up early today morning. I had slept early last night because my girlfriend had asked me to. It’s not something I would usually do nor ask others to. I just thought I might try it since her idea of cleaning my (hostel) room up had worked (to make me sleep longer). There was a mild drizzle going on outside. All of a sudden, it has been raining here in Madras. I had been to Bangalore over the last week end to visit a few old friends of mine. It was raining there too, but it was a good experience anyway because it was Bangalore, and because of some other smaller things that made Bangalore Bangalore. Getting back, the morning was a perfect one at least for me: I liked rains. They had a soothing effect and somehow, it always rained when I wanted it to. Without refreshing or washing my face or anything, I turned on my laptop. It took some minutes to boot up completely, so I waited and watched droplets of water streak through on the surface of the glass. There was a pink wall right outside the window and I could see a little insect trying to crawl across it. The blue light of the LCD screen distracted me from reality to virtuality, and I succumbed. I opened MS Word and began to type out a long mail to my girl. She’s always liked my mails for some reason, and I used to make it point to send one everyday to start her days off. Morning mails, she used to call it! I even used some pictures in the mail to accentuate whatever I was trying to say. After finishing it, I reclined back on the chair and hit ‘send’. Google did the rest.What am I writing this post about? Usually, I don’t know what I’m going to write about when I open the editor. It’s usually the first thought that springs to my mind that I elaborate on. Impromptu. But today, there was some sort of a distress lingering in the world outside my window which I wanted to consider. If I moved a little forward on my chair, I could see the wall of the building behind my house, which had walls of alternating blue (light) and white. Straight walls criss-crossing each other at some perpendicular nexus of some crisis. Come, let us meet up at Pilade’s (from ‘Foucault’s Pendulum’, Eco) and conspire against the Revolution. Pah, against the Revolution! You could have run red and white all over the place and I wouldn’t have bothered, except it would have been a joy for the eyes! Why is every wall being painted pink?! Is it because the pigments are cheaper? Do you know how beautiful bright yellow looks on jet black? I am not even talking about colours that have to manage to match. These are your homes. Don’t you want to live in something more beautiful (to say the least)? We argue that each one of us is different. Don’t you think the same should be for our homes? Our homes! Our refuge to which we return after a hard day with the taskmasters, our abode when we start off on a journey, our destination when we stand lost in the woods of travel, our belief when we run through the streets under a cold rain, ourselves when we walk in through the door. Everyone says there is a hurry to finish the work they are alotted, but how about getitng a different can of paint? How about deliberately committing a few errors? Isn’t that something that will stand out? Isn’t that something will tell you that there was a painter who stood up on a ladder and worked hard on getitng these walls painted. If every wall looks the same, how will you know how many men spent how many hours so you could be averted from the crude anger of the red bricks and the iron rods?There are only a few things that manage to stand out. One, nature, is obvious. The other is the dull uniformity we have walled ourselves within, thinking we’re keeping away the rush of time and its minions. It is the small things that we do that brings forth our conviction in bigger matters. And we will fail soon.

Opium Cornucopia

The Impulse of Society