Sunday, September 14, 2008

Rugged little bullshit called- Ma Cause

Lack of commitment…its within u …we’re interested but not committed. Superhuman capabilities are demanded of men who want to excel ( yeah?), who want to be committed to a cause…Most of us are plain interested in one thing then another..
The attention span is shortening as I write…that might affect the length of this writing….so I push myself… with Eric Clapton playin in my head ‘let it grow’…
Love, hatred, bullshit (yeah, mostly)…
Our excuse fr not being committed is the lack of a cause or more foolishly the right fit…its isn a job we’re talking about fellow imbeciles, it’s a cause …they’re all around you, u wouldn need a project plan to get attached to them…you’ll need a heart, not even a kind heart, ask terrorists, they’re bloody good at beating us to it…
Whom do you wanna blame…Let me guess the government, the religious heads, Bush or GOD…GODs your easiest bet… ‘I am enraged by the blasts across the country’ but guess what ‘I also don have the balls to fight back’ …cuz ‘this ain my cause maite’…My Cause (read JOB) is to reduce the Time to market, Increase efficiency…and ‘basically’ (is that a word) send moronic forwards all day long and pretend that I work my ass off…wy, cuz I get paid ..naa! cuz this is Social Security Ver. X.Y… well well well,, guess wt my tertiary job description is : creating quadratiary jobs for the guys who sell cigarettes, juices, the one who delivers shit food and talks rude. My passion is going to the hippest club wit the shitiest music and scorn at the sight of rhythmic bare footed dancers at poor pious ceremonies on the street. But yes, I am still the ‘coolest’ (Cause 1.1.1.1: get a gun shoot the next person who says this word) because its ol relative and my world is u me and this other guy I know… The might of ignorance prevails and darkness shines thru the bright reflected light from my office building…
Welcome! u there…kill yourself..

3 comments:

Redemption_Redeemed said...

Every morning , we watch the dawn remaking the world in its antique pattern. Veil after veil of thin dusky gause is lifted and, and by degrees, the forms and colors of things are restored to them. The wan mirrors get back their mimic life. The flameless tapers stand where we ahd left them, and beside them lies a half cut book that we had been studying, or the letter we had been too afraid to read, or perhaps had read it too often. Nothing seems unchanged.....out of the unreal shadows of night comes back the real life we had known...The point is that we have to resume it where we had left off...and there steals over us a terrible sense of the necessity ofor the continuance of energy in the same wearisome round of stereotyped habits, or a wild longing, perhaps that our eyes open some morning upon a world that has been refashioned anew in the darkness, for our pleasure, where things have fresh shapes and colors, and be changed, or have different secrets, a world where the past would have little or no place, or survive, at any rate, in no conscious form of obligation or regret... So how can someone change, if we have been desensitised to existentialism, where we have sporadic spurts of a conscious-call, amidst all the disillusive collision as well as collusion of images, so many images, and end up just taking notes till the very end, end of the theatrics perhaps?!?
What say you?

Redemption_Redeemed said...

P.s. - Will be passing through london in the middle of next month... let me know. or are you in... where are you by the way?
Vinayak T.

Kuber said...

I say, my friend this an excuse.. and it comes in the form of articulate existentialism.. I am in complete agreement about most of us having sporadic spurts of concious call (and that is not at all condemned), where otherwise we sleep or pretend to be awake.
But i speak not of change in mankind, not of the wait for dawn wher things would be anew,, but of radicals who dont merely wait for this change, they discover and rediscover and in their deceptive existential self are infact open (not different) secrets which we make a part of our unique simply existential self. I speak of heroes and idiots, idiots who are heroes and heroes who are idiots, idiots who are idiots and heroes who are heroes.