When I look into the world I observe joy, melancholy, grief, anger ....wrath, gluttony.... pouring out in front me.... different colors from different containers roar their way to my feet. I wonder sometimes if I could collect them and make a garden where each plant has its presence felt, each particle of dust is hosting the aroma of life ,the whispers of nature. But a bubble in my chest, bubbling its way up to the throat, rings the alarm of barred communications. Why am I so ignorant and hesitant, "a tragedy of society"? Are the colors of other universes different from mine? I want to walk in those villages ridden with their dirt and mud ,bathing in their whisper of nature..... their aroma of life...worshiping their gods. I want my heart to be a mosaic of intutions, festivities, feelings.... sweet ,sour and salty. I want to have them all, close and intermingled with me ,like a worm in wet sand.
The rituals of the "is-ness", the "istigeit" [read that in Doors of Perception by Aldous Huxley],the great and unfathomably beautiful grandeur of nature.... so lucid, so solid . The music under the shawl of words and words in the arms of music. I feel like a huge face looking into the wonders of this huge painting ,itself smeared somewhere in there , itself another mosaic .....which bathes in streams of thoughts like a thousand colors being splashed on a windscreen and still wears a weird bent expression. The noise of those colors storms up and creates that lucidity, the feel of existence, the feels of life. I starve for it, I desire it, I fathom it .(unfathomable?) But somehow the huge waves of euphoria collapse to the ground when they fight the heaps of junk thoughts and barricades of communication lying around me. I am too obsessed with myself . I want to remember what I knew when I was born.
I am like a water drop stuck in a very dense, three dimensional grid of red hot iron strings , vaporizing slowly. My vision is blurred and the shield of cognition has turned opaque. Caged inside a bubble, I roll in Chandan forests, present among the absent ones. The responses ,the fingers pointing things out, the chatter and the randomness. That freaks me out, makes me feel fear, my own fear. In the rubble of sounds and screams I cut my way through, riding the wings of metaphor, never coming back on ground. This is dangerous and outrageous. I can almost hear the sound of rules cracking! No, I gotta go back, find out what I knew, what I was....... these are all masks.... mask under mask, fake faces all the way to the bare hard skull [from Satanic Verses]. This is not right, I gotta go deeper, dig harder.... quicker, need to get to it before my life ends! RIP OFF ALL THESE STUPID PAINTINGS.... they are meaningless, they are! I need to construct it all, from the very start, without a glitch.