Wondering Where To Go

what snake coiled around an erect phallus
brings deliverance to a spinster
who dreams of wild black pigs
living on land and water
what symbol of transition is Hermes then
of no good to one unwilling to spill blood
move we must in one direction of choosing
or get left behind
the age of the now will not retract
spring is dead no promise of bloom
rocks must wither
and seas unyielding
mold psyche, open antique stores, sit there crying
not everyone’s gotta break their back
generations decay in due time, let them
it’s out of your hands, don’t drink yourself to death
or dwell in pig-ignorant tunnels
you prayed to the god who built heaven
but the grass will turn black
and robes will insult the craftsman’s loom
while you sit on your ass
and pray and chant and rant and exalt in ritual ecstasies
or walk up the pilgrimage mountains of doom

Wondering Where To Go

Gathering Myself Back

An artist is made not by creative brush strokes or working alphabets like alchemy. Creativity exists in us all, from the common office worker to the affluent CEO, we are all creative in our own special ways. But the artist, the one who has in his grip all the courage needed to light the darkness inside his fist, is the only one courageous enough to take the plunge.

Tomorrow is the day I’m supposed to join another office job. Beginning tomorrow my tolerance meter will start taking a dip day by day and if history is any indication, I would not last in this job for more than 6 months. The longest period I have been employed by any organization is barely one and a half years out all of my 7 years of being employed. I believe this display of job hopping exhibits a strong pattern of escapism into a realm of higher promise, if you will, because I have in front me a mountain that I hope to conquer and every “office job”, no matter how reputed or well paying, takes me away from that mountain.

Honesty is that prized commodity which only shines from a distance. Therefore, I had agreed to trade some of my courage in return for a little lack of faith toward my art. Of course the writing market is not at its peak and it was not as early as yesterday that I heard a poet becoming a poet simply owing to his or her own merit. Paper is sinking under the weight of the internet; this is a fact that I told myself before I added the last interview in my bag of endless interviews.

So, here I am, disemboweled from my art and attached to the dilemma of whether or not to join this job because I know it will take me away from my mountain.

Distance does equal speed over time, the farther I drift away from my goal the longer it would take for me to travel back assuming I keep up the same speed, assuming I don’t age.

Throughout history art has never been the field leading to affluence but is certainly the one leading in terms of influence. And here is my courage. Today the distribution system is undergoing a rapid makeover and no one knows for certain where paper would be twenty years hence, perhaps the odds are tipping in favor of the internet. Which can be both, a plus or minus in many ways.

One need not fret as to a way to get one’s name out there in the open. We can all safely agree that everyone is capable and allowed to carve out their own special corner in the internet space. Again, here lays my courage.

It is not a task to get published today, but sadly some societies refuse to budge from being orthodox. The section of youth born into such a society will have to display herculean courage in greasing the shackles that bind them to the methods and notions of the past. Among that section of capable youth, I too belong, undoing the tangles, separating my views from theirs as a means to achieve harmony.

After all this thought stirring up a wildfire in my brain, I feel a moment of respite as I picture myself writing and being able to make some sort of a decent living out of it. I may not be aware of the exact figures of revenue but I can vouch for the fact that freelance is the new technology bound to change the way we have been looking at the writing industry. As more and more people take to freelance, there is definite hope for the writer to beat his way out of how he was perceived years ago.

Note: I had taken my blog off this space and had turned it private and removed all content, as you can see. Being caught between the pressure to do what’s expected out of me by others and myself, I tried to become the heroic son every family hopes for. Couldn’t keep it going for long. Tomorrow is World War Z at home..

Gathering Myself Back