The fact that I Write this is a setback of a kind. This one is the emotion of the wrong kind that stimulates me to write. So, have I lost the battle to maintain my sanity? I might as well have vented whatever I felt in the most hurtful words I could sum up. But I held on, proclaiming victory to my conscience. Although the fact that I write about these – a thousand bad adjective worthies - shows that they do take a place in my system. But I Fight them as one would fight cancer. And I fight to win.

Disastrous, monstrous. People I hate most in the world are around me. They grow upon me like a parasite, unyielding. I cringe at their very presence. But I endure. I Seek no pleasure in giving it back to them. Because they are not worthy of it. I only fight my equals in thought.

I understand the immense control to hold back might implode me. But causing an explosion is beneath me. In doing so I have a self-satisfaction of a virtue-seat. A seat higher than the rest. It might not give me material world. But I don’t seek it. Also, I do not want, not in my wildest dreams, to give them the satisfaction of having disturbed me. They will not have. Holding fort is not easy but I will. I will not give them pleasure of pulling me down with them into the abyss which is nothing but an orgy of dirty minds; a hyper-loop of self-praising, negative, cheap, dumb, controlling, loud-mouthed souls.

 

There is no consistency or reasonable thought, purpose, or belief in them. These individuals are akin to the worst rapist, the cruelest mass murderers, arsonists, maniac structures moving about, parading themselves as torch-bearers of a lost and dead civility, which by the way I am not sure even existed.

I never cared, will never care for the world as it functions around me. Most instances of bribery, bad words, illiteracy and ignorance results in my times, not by circumstances but by choice. A choice to live, dwell and thrive in the faecal matter of rudimentary belief and systems, infinite hypocrisies - defining status vis-à-vis an outdated society, inter-relationships which dance to the naked tunes of ignorance.

I am above this. I tolerate because I am not one among them. I do not want the adrenaline rush that results from engaging them in any type of fight. I will not. But if the fight is brought to my doorstep, I will snap. Snap not to stoop to their level. But to defend my place in the world. My world. Away from all the façade that is/are:

a) superficial beings parading as virtuous, all-understanding, elderly-wise;
b)compulsions of brutal thought masquerading as leading lights of normal social conduct.

It is hard not to think. Oh! How I wish not be in any way related to any of these issues. Part of me still does not believe I am allowing myself in this ‘normal’. As though I have created a parallel reality surrounded by the harsh truth. I do not for a moment want to step into this world. But the pull is strong. For it is the real world. Mine is conceptual, idealistic with an outward appearance of being narcissistic.

I hate to admit it. The truth around me reverberates wickedly, calling me to burst my bubble and act against the destroyers of human sanctity. By losing mine.

Concerning issue could be anything, simple or complicated, not specific and even esoteric.

So, I desperately seek refuge in my thoughts and by extension in my writing. I seek to address the metaphorical elephant in the room. My room of thought.

But is writing is an outlet or a refuge? I think both; I am not sure. It might hold me from unleashing the demons within me in the 'worldly way'. At the same time, it might also channel the pent-up anger and frustration within me to take the shape of words.

Yet, words also mean joy to me and a retreat of calm and sanctity. Words, therefore, become an asylum as well as a hostile country. Only, I can and have to, traverse this country being its only citizen.

I go on and on… proving my uneasiness and also my ease. I want to stop, for I encounter gory thoughts but I also want to go on. For somewhere therein lies salvation.