Some meaningless words.

A trickle of words leaves the lips,
All sense and purpose slips,
And those who wish to find,
Find what they wish,

A wish to tell, a desire felt,
A feeling which, in the mind dwelt,
And those who speak in words,
Words to them speak back

In silence, everything dealt,
Yet meaning has still meant,
And those who mean what they say,
Say what means to be said

And still comprehension is flawed,
Words stripped through and clawed,
And those who find peace in it,
Peace they find sooner than all

Of them who prefer closed lips more,
And still hope for a loud mute roar,
And those who take pride in that,
That pride is all they have left.

If sense still makes sense anymore,
And drowned corpses still reach the shore,
Then for those waiting for the end,
End will have to wait some more.

Random random.

Wondering about how death would feel is like insulting your intelligence, no one is capable of feeling after death. Thinking it that way, a conversation on this topic wouldn't go very far unless you decide to kill someone as an experiment, but then it wouldn't be a conversation anymore. Anyhow since I decided to write something about postmortem feelings, I am assuming that feelings are too abstract to be defined and hence arriving at hasty conclusions about them is not sensible.

We start by forming a vague notion about what feelings really are, and we have roughly two options to choose from. They can be either meta-physical or they can be quantifiable and hence physically measurable. Logically, the first option is what suits our definition since everyone feels differently and yet a logical person would not want to agree to something as vague as meta-physical.

Nearly 25 minutes have passed by since I wrote what you've read up to now and I'm like what the fuck, that shit is boring. Continuing the discussion about feelings is not what I am capable of doing anymore. Who bloody cares if corpses feel or not, you're doing this world a big service if you care about the ones who are still alive.

Are you normal?

I was in one of my philosophical moods today. They occur frequently but the desire to write is more of a rarity. Anyhow, the catalyst was George Carlin, a comedian my friend Ashish took pains to introduce me to- obviously through his stand-up comedy videos, nothing too fancy you know. The poor old fuck as he liked to be called is dead anyhow.

Occasionally I think about how boring it is to be normal. Its only occasional because I have a lot more in my life other than normal people to worry about- like sex before I get twenty. Recently its more like sex before my penis stops recognizing a vagina anymore, but thats a different story. 

So what do normal people have left to live for? The more important question being- Who do we consider normal anyways? Are you normal? If you are normal why the fuck do you think you are special, or do you even think you are special? If you are not special, why would you want to be treated as one and if you somehow think you are special- with all that over-inflated sense of ego you have, wouldn't it be prettier to see you take a step higher to heaven, if you heard- God has started having favorites lately.

Well anyhow, whatever the case might be- special or not special, the fact remains. The fact that normal people have to be boring. The fact that interesting cannot be normal leads us to conclude that normal has to be boring. Normal people depend upon the awesome, the freaks, the crackpots, the weirdos, the adventurous to have something to live for. It is like a food-chain where everyone in the majority is a parasite trying to live off by sucking the left-overs of a first hand experience. It is like watching a movie because you cannot be bothered to read. It is about hiding in your comfort zones because you are too scared to admit that you are normal, and being normal doesn't count, because every other person you meet on the road is like you- but you want to be special.

It is like a repeating broken old tape, everyone has heard what it says but at least its working.