Thought Disruption

Never again will I visit Australia. I have begun typing this post 4 or 5 times in the past week, erasing the many tangents of anger that arise for you, the reader's sake. I would like to focus on one idea that made me think twice about being curious, that made me fear looking into the eyes of the dead passers-by; a collective idea that asks participation of its new victim, an attack that wears down the psyche to the point of adopting the idea, or fleeing the country. Call it what you want, but I prefer cannibalism. Walking alone is dangerous unless, well, I assume it may be easier if one blends into the mundane dress, loud Australian accents can be heard gossiping about you even through the noise made from headphones. Here is one of my favorites, let me set the scene:

A damsel in distress with her significant other, this is me, sporting newly purchased trainers while running a few errands after a visit to the doctor in downtown Melbourne. We were approaching a couple of sporty looking fellows who looked as though they liked to mix up visits to the gym with weights and juice that works more effectively than a protein-enhanced beverage, and the exact words that came out of one of their mouths, while he was looking down, after we intersected was: "Fuck this guy". After a short while I found he wasn't going to do the fucking, nor was his mate Ray Roidsy. Perhaps he was suggesting to the damsel a fun exercise she could perform with me, which I would prefer to believe but the tone suggested nothing of the sort. What I am suggesting is after viewing my attire to try and come up with an answer as to why I was with such a magnificent creature, a conclusion was reached that my bright red shoes had lured her. I felt a deep-seated battle in this gent; I was disproving his theory that "big strong man walk, eat, make baby, go shopping, watch movie with beautiful woman". "Could there be more to a person than his physical strength?" popped up into his thoughts, but he managed to strangle the thought before it could create a lasting synapse.

I'm having blank thoughts after 30 minutes of deciding what a follow-up to this could be, so I will leave it at that.

I'm back in India.

Awareness of Gravity

It's darker than it should be; trivial problems are accumulating faster and faster. The nervous tic triggers a regressive posture. Forward motion has plateaued; hills fade with the light; march falls into a stumble. A gawky stumble. I can no longer type when you enter the room, you are the best thing in the future, the times call for a sweater. The pensive calling you a bad person asthough it's missed orange juice and coffee. What steals the light? The trampoline is missing protective foam on , some springs seem to be missing and the weight it used to support feels halved. I have some spare springs, they needn't be used till the ice melts. 

"Spring has sprung the grass has riz, I wonder where the flowers is."

Altering The Mind

The person I am yet to speak of is one who has become comfortable with change; he accepts, adapts, and seeks change. Whether it be from the daily routine or quitting a long working commitment, switching off the robotic mode allows one to remain aware of what is happening real-time: now. When things become too comfortable one begins to develop distractions from the mundane. Unnecessary dramas being more prevalent in a social atmosphere, including gossip, put-downs, physical and mental aggressions... Who hasn't heard someone who speaks about another loudly but indirectly? Is the key focus to develop the muscles of the jaw? If one feels he could not say such things to another directly, it is an act of cowardice; a cry for change from the mundane. He is one who wants his own experience, but only tempts the idea. Let his curiosity build up without engaging in the aggression. He will better learn to make a change from leadership, rather than dictation or a total disengage.

Chats

Deal with things instantly,.Do you need time to dance around what needs to be said? Two people will benefit from an interaction that has substance, where the normal etiquette is either forgotten or passed over quickly if there has not been connection or respect. Man takes his fellow man that believes in what he says seriously, and can recognize when emotions are involved creating illogical conversation based on opinion, cognitive dissonance, and lack of experience. When uncontrolled emotions are tied to past experiences, the reality becomes biased. Without enough conscious attention spent on now, one may create mental edits to past experiences. If several people are engaged in conversation, each reality is based on ones respect for his fellow man. If each member has equal respect, everyone feels comfortable listening to what each person has to say, as one who has such respects knows he can learn from every interaction he encounters. Learning from every encounter at the exact moment, without mental clutter or emotional filters allows one to dive into the truths of the universe. While acquaintances are acquired with memories of previous interactions, these do not create friendships, they place mental expediencies on future converse, therefore adding another distraction to the now and unfulfilled expectations. Real friendships develop when what one has an impulse that becomes necessary to say and a mutual belief comes about. One cannot hope to be liked by everyone, and being "nice"will not lead a conversation anywhere. Being nice doesn't involve flattery or silence when one withholds an impulse to say something that may benefit all parties. With concentration on the now, the emotions presented are easily managed, which allows for the very attractive trait of subtle wit and objective reasoning. 

Khao San Road is no longer for me.

I just left Nepal, and one thing really sticks in my mind from my second visit: whilst going over the usual traveller chatter the question was brought up of who'd been or who was going to India. I had previously spent time, and cannot recommend it highly enough to anyone. So, as I was spreading my love for the country, a friend had mentioned that he had no intentions of going to India. Why? There are too many terrible things one could see. While there are some disturbing sights, these terrible things will continue to go on whether or not you decide to expose yourself to the realities. Good and bad only exist together. Without comparison, what would we have? Simply what is now. The weather, for example, is the silliest thing to discuss. There is no good or bad weather. I feel quite ridiculous that I need to say this, but a little piece of me dies when people waste time talking of such Tom-foolery.

"i'm trying to sleep, quit smiling" i say

the folds of her cheek forming my face

i lie discontent, holding back a beam.

This I will miss.

Merci.

In this world I have the power to change locations at will. Teleporting back and forth to deciduous treed environments and having one-sided conversations; they are so rapid I can barely process what is said or seen. Responding is out of the question. In fact it doesn't follow our known laws of nature; I'm only here to listen. The faces begin to fade and shift into the backs of heads, slowly moving out of my vision and disappearing through an invisible portal. One by one, each contact makes its departure as I am disturbed from my slumber. I notice where I am, each ankle and wrist fastened to the table with Velcro. A slight pain begins in my left forearm begging me to rip free from my constraints. I choke out a few voluntary and involuntary curses, to let someone know I'm feeling pain. “Don’t move, only two more minutes.” I couldn't tell if the doctor noticed he was resting his elbow just above the boa constrictor wrapped around my bicep to let them know that: yes, somehow the blood is still flowing through that arm. What it failed to tell them was nothing a few one syllable words couldn't convey mixed with a bit of wriggling about. Still blindfolded so not to freak out from all the blood pouring out my ear, I felt a familiar touch at my hand; a few fingers followed with a loving grasp. My heart rate stopped if not only for a moment, and slowed to a comfortable rate. I hear the doctor’s words once more along with a set of hands massaging the blood through my arm. I push through the next half an hour with the caring hand ready to comfort me throughout the rest of the procedure, triggered by my lovely one syllable sounds or by the doctor’s word that this time it really will only be another two minutes. Was it really you, did you convince them to let you put on scrubs and make sure I was okay?

Happy Birthday!

The dancing is completely you, with no hint of embarrassment or fear; the quirky way you say delicious, as though you can taste something’s beauty; your pure passion for photography, and with it the keen eye that has given you true sight; your trusting, glowing eyes that are not afraid to keep a locked gaze; your gung-ho tomboy attitude mixed with the cuteness only a woman could possess. This is you, and this is why you are beautiful.