Mildly Sedated Ruminations

Purpose of Poesy

Certain infidels have often mocked me with the naive question: What’s the use of poetry anyway? Instead of wasting my time, breath and rhetoric on such vapid beings, I usually smile and wave it off, i.e. when I don’t feel up to a respectable riposte, but here’s what I have to say – well, what’s the use of anything anyway? Whether you suck Calvin’s cock or Nietzsche’s erection, at the base of it, it matters not much, for in the end, we’re all gonna die and it’s pointless to speculate until then.

And the other flea-bitten question: What’s the point of art? But why don’t mercenaries of the modern world don’t question other art forms as regularly and vehemently? Art is about delight and pleasure, about aesthetics and vision; and which form could give the most scope to these variables than poesy? It’s about capturing the moment, or rather the particular state of mind – the prophetic vision of truth – to capture thought itself, or at least try to do so. For thought flows in imagery and not prose, paint or numbers, which is why, I’d align myself with the faction which puts poesy on the highest pedestal among art forms.

Has not verse been the chosen method of many a great mind? Only the mystique of poetry affords asylum to righteous heretics misunderstood by their ilk and time. Yes, the purpose itself might have dwindled over the centuries, but that goes for just about everything!

Yet, poetry is not obsolete, for as in the past, there is still a need for the truth-tellers to share their great intent. I believe they’re somewhat obliged to do so for the sake of this world which has been kind enough to bear them; hence, they must strive for its betterment, for that’s the only plausible noble purpose if there is one. Our world is not perfect yet! The day we wake up in Utopia, maybe then, we could dare throw away our poetry books.

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There’s something about smoking a joint while standing under a ledge on a rainy afternoon, the very idea of it is so appealing that when every once in a while, one actually ends up doing it, it turns out to be a drag.

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And alas, my bowls won’t allow me to quit tobacco altogether. There is something so simple and satisfying in the dreadfully pointless habit that I cannot forgo it, try as I may. For what better way to chart out the mundane routine of a fresh day than to do it upon the throne, puffing on a delectable pipe? The guttural rush of semi-solid waste being ejected from the nether orifice – sweet reassuring music to the one who loves keeping his insides empty – an almost obsessive desire which hath not much of a justification; or maybe it does.

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I happened to think about things I can’t stand or even am afraid of, today. To my great joy, I couldn’t come up with much.

1. Losing all my laptop data – all the work, collected bits of information, etc. of the past years – I’ll be fuckin’ ruined!
2. Birds flapping their wings in closed environs, especially if they’re trapped in a room or something. The spectacle of hapless struggle; the fast, noisy and sudden fluttering movements; yes, it terrifies me. A couple of dumb rock pigeons got stuck in the house today. I vainly tried to get them out until my idiotic but resourceful brother did it upon returning from school.
3. Needles – And no, I don’t suffer from the phobia. I’ll get a blood test or whatever if I really need to, no panic, but I just don’t like the idea of needles piercing my skin. No piercings, tattoos or shooting either

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Last Hippie Standing and Honey, I ate the kids - these are two shows that I'd love to watch on primetime TV

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I'm finally watching movies again. Amelie, Seven Years in Tibet, Confessions of a Dangerous Mind and The Wrestler - if you haven't seen these, watch them now!