A fortnight’s conversation. I can use puns like the tale of two weekends. Lets just call it. Two. A little before & a little after

I have been away- from this blog. Scribbling in my notepad the things I had to talk about, to describe, to discredit. Two weekends which deserved mention have passed, but all I have done is sit around, distracted and sometimes too lazy to put across what creeps and talks from within me.

But now that the fueled weekends have resulted in conversations which have to be discussed, I will insist on exploring all the topics which have been either conversed or contemplated. This fortnight has been one in very mysterious proportions divided between the boring and the lascivious.

The first weekend promised to be fueled with desire, inane conversation and beer. Trooping into a fluttery restaurant, the beers were ordered. Tongues loosened. The cigarette lighters were furiously clicked; a few aves gave up their lives for a noble cause.

When the hiccups struck this time, we had paraded our selves to the center of misery, the roundabout of poverty. Society was the cause which my unstable feet chose to run for. We have always tried to find ways of fitting in our own non committal way to the norms which have been laid down by a few confused individuals when they tried to understand human nature, perhaps even to bring sense to chaos (difficult task, indeed.)

We have struggled to fit into the mould which has been drawn. Our hobbies and the paths which I minds wander are the yard sticks which we nervously measure to model clumsily to. All these acts of desperation are to be accepted. The fear of rejection leads to an intense wave of frustration. But if you do what you do, and still survive, this so called faceless monster called society has accepted you. If it did not, you would be nervously tapping your fingers on death row savoring the last gasps of fresh, clean and free air. But how would you still define society. It could stem from the insecurity which man suffers from either death or loneliness. There is never a way to escape from either. Then why fear? Why the anxiety? Ahh, there it comes, the dreaded popularity contest.
When peer pressure the term was first coined, it was intense scrutiny that people subjected themselves to ape others in the flock. Hilariously, all of them wanted to look to be a part of the flock and not apart hence keeping abreast with the pace of the flock.
But this flock has to be following some one, it does tend to move in a vicious circle. This weak hierarchy can never have a constant leader, some one tired of the philosophy gets up and tries to be different, stand apart, a few notice and everyone follows. The willingness to fight peer pressure is peer pressure. The conclusion that can be drawn is when some one willingly decides to be different he is competing with many others trying to do the same and hence falls into the pattern, effectively erasing the originality. Just another stone. There is no way out. Or maybe there is- it was what is called the fox way. Ahh, a new way, I will preach, listen carefully, a fox runs solo and with the pack, but never will the first fox follow the other even though there is an alpha male. If the first is foolish enough to drop into a trap, the second stops and consequently the others. The hunters move on. Fend for yourself.
It was late, and day approached. I lit my last of the day, bade farewell and prepared for the next week.

The next week was uncomfortable. While the watering hole was better, the animals that lapped the gentle teasing flow, were more trying to identify with the flock. Screaming beyond the music, conversations meandered from women in the next booth to moments in the past. I seem to regress to the life; I left behind far too often. I think it is time to get in some new memories.
While hearts were bared. There was an interesting topic which reared its debatable head. I have never had one opinion or the other on Cheating- Adultery. I have been on the receiving end a few times. Not a sweet pill to swallow. But when it dies, it dies a starved and painful death. The breath slowly leaves an empty shell of emotions and promises. It is sometimes beautiful to admire but difficult to keep. No has escaped unscathed. I was even tempted to indulge in my own distractions, but a promise has held me dry, prevented me from drowning. I must say- I respect my values more after 5 beers rather than before the first. Life is strange.

“Open the doors you crazy man, were you not hired to guard me,” I burped at my security guard.

Running on Empty

I have often wondered, what I could possibly write about if I had not spent the weekend hammered and trying to comprehend how I possibly did what I did. The weekend was spent sober. And nothing, absolutely nothing unusual. I could even generally give a discourse on the fall of socialism in Europe or the disturbing trend of a covert nationalistic obsession sweeping the world. It is frankly strange, how “we are world citizens, bound by no boundaries of state or religion” change into raving Nazis. It would not be unlike the signature Opeth albums, with something so melodic as “To bid you farewell” coupled with something straight out of the depths like “Nectar” both coupled one after the other in The Morningrise. Or I could just write about the foolish and mind numbing articles I spend afternoons reading on football, maybe I could make up some rumours. Ronaldo’s hernia has resurfaced because he dove on concrete while playing with 7 year olds, force of habit you see. I could even talk about the deeply depressing graphic novel which started slow and has turned to a heart breaking tale of the Palestinians, worse it is journalism. Not fiction. It hurts slightly more.

But then, would it be worth talking about it? (Co-incidentally the Economist talks about one of them and I spend my spare time thinking about the others.)

I was just imparted a casual statement made through a distracted mind, I was told all about staying happy in the moment (It was a solitary line, no evaluation and philosophies), now I am again tempted to take that statement and micro analyze, tear it to shreds, build it back again. But I am not into a phase of life to talk about something in a dry often deadened tone of self disapproval.
I once wrote, things are lukewarm, not is it frying in hell hot nor is it skiing on the slopes of the Alps cool.
I disapprove of this disappointing metaphor. Callous, unimaginative and so very mediocre.
It is not imaginative to make a statement that I have dug myself into a rut of self assured mishaps; I build myself up to monstrous lonely peaks, you breath in gasps, the view is gratifying but not for too long-
“The projectile will now descend, fasten your seatbelts, enjoy this one.”
I love going down, the excitement is tremendous. Puns. Another mediocre substandard attempt.

I call it a day.

I have so much more to say, describe, contradict and even ridicule. But it needs to be fueled.
Fill ‘er up