Posted on

The Destruction of Constant Ideals

‘Malviya nagar. Darvaazon se hatt kar khade hoye.’
Downward Spiral. Infinite Loop. Again.
The monotony is mind-numbing. So much blood in a tiny little hole.
It’s been a while since I posted anything on this very deserted blog. It seems like the oasis right in the middle of the Kingdom of Alexandria. Everybody knows its here. Most people probably don’t give a fuck. The trains don’t stop moving. The wheels keep spinning. The need to freeze time and go back to where it all began shows itself. Would you, if you had a chance? Is it all fucking worth it anymore. The constant back and forth. The buzz. The noise. The chaos. So much constant unsignificant motion. It is the migraine in your brain. The needle in your vein. You want to scream and make it through. But all you can hear are your own silent whispers in the dark. Our self-made illusions. Hallucinations of a curious white rabbit going still deeper down the rabbit hole. Would it be worth coming back? Unto the other side. Can you feel the rust?

It seems that life is finally starting to catch up with me. All random variables will follow a pattern. Maybe seventy layers deep into the mind-numbing logical mathematical functions we all know. But somewhere hidden deep is the pattern of nature. Mother Earth does follow a plan. We just haven’t been around long enough to know it. We think we are kings. We know everything. Humans are ignorant. Everybody is at some level or the others. The problem is pride, ego and humanity.
Where is the purple clock which rocks back and forth through hypnotic nightmares enchanting us all. Its lost in brick, sand, stone and the bullet.
Destroy. Reproduce. Regenerate. Repeat.
We still have solutions, we still have time. Do we?
I wish I could break patterns, but there is always a pattern. So breaking a pattern is simply like life itself. Unbreakable and after a point, pointless. After all what is the answer to most of the greatest scientific discoveries of the last two milleniums? Just words, numbers. Functions. With exceptions. Knowledge lost and found with unpredictable catastrophes. Buried in the sand. Destroyed in the dust. Lost in bloody wars.

There is no meaning.

Advertisements

About curiouswhiterabbit

I am an explorer of time, space and reality.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s