7.6 - liquid tension experiments
there is a time when your equation becomes so mechanical and unyielding that you have to break through the boring, the mundane and the sickening mould to save face just to deliver what you think is the best - salvation for the others and pain for thyself.
he stood calm and relaxed, yet with a certain stiffness that would burst out of his veins to color the walls in all colors of distorted melancholia - half red and half blue - in hues of disturbia and distorted comprehensions of the simplest kind - soft and subtle, harsh and vehement, and sexual and inherently violent.
the debate stirred a maelstrom in his mind. how low could he go to get his mind steady to fight the power and save himself and others around with everything spiralling out of control in the head while the foundations of his inside world crumbled beneath the weight of the outside? he went too low.
he wanted to imprecate the dead and let go of the control in not so subtle ways or fluidic motions. once a man who would take everything head on, face to face, filthy and ready to get dirty over and over again. today a nothing, a mere nothing..a device of usefulness with no sense but purposeness of the mundane, the mechanical, the cog in the societal wheel...and yet today, he felt the subtlety of a faint trace of a subdued lunacy, a madness he had buried deep and poured acid over with no intentions to look back or down under.
his head throbbed the way it always did. noises were all he could hear and had been hearing for a very long time even though he had rid himself of all the complexities of the human behaviour, anatomy and deviance from god and godly matters, and stood up an audience that comprised the world, eager to jump at his defiance and cower with cowardice when it came to rescue.
he looked in the mirror and saw his image- an image of the invisible. a face with a corpse like demeanour and washed out colors of a bleeding red brilliant world inside him. his anarchy was sold out to the dead and he had just watched it rot away slow and steady like a metaphor born still out of cliche. it was the moment to dive into himself.
he kept his safety aside and thrust his head into the pool of water and stayed there till he ran out of every atom of breath. while his brain exploded more due to imminent lack of combustible oxygen supply than due to decapacitated haemoglobin coursing his nicotine drenched veins, he made sure that he stayed there with his eyes wide open, taking all of it in. with his iris being the blackhole and water gushing in through his ears and nose, it was thus the creation of a vacuum - one of a revelation deluged with silence. he stayed till his legs went limp, till his heart burnt out..
and then somebody cut his umbilical lose..
he was free. neither a man nor a boy. neither a father nor a son..
he was free from safety, choices and chaos.
"in everything we see, observe or hear, we like only that that is appreciated and accepted by our perception of how things must be. in everything else, we only see shadows of wasted others-some very tragic while some very pointless"
human kind can not gain anything without first giving something in return. in order to obtain, something of equal value must be lost. that is alchemy's first law of equivalent exchange.