Word Li(f)e

I, no, this one is not about me. This is about words, the crummy 26 alphabets I know and preach about with disdain on a daily basis. One is known by what he writes, the words he utters, the monologues he creates, and that, is a cause of concern. ‘Free speech’; the phrase itself is binding, within these 11 characters lies all that could leave you with just yourself, solitary confinement with the world gazing upon you and ostracizing you. Is that solitary confinement; it is confinement of the worst kind. Your thoughts are not yours once they are leaked out to this ever-growing population ready to pounce on your every written/spoken expression. Your life is trampled upon like the doormat treated with such irreverence by all.

I fear to say anything for I fear the backlash; I’m condemned to store away my writings in the annals of my computer lest they are set upon by a pack of hungry wolves caring not where their next meal comes from. Words are not there to be written down, they are to be snatched about and banged out on the keyboard such that nobody dares to question why. They are to be sent out before their deadline and to be printed with the supervisor using his lazy eye to proof-read my writings. I’m beholden to the readers, the critics, the opportunists and the masochists. Words are my life, and they prison my thoughts in this relatively barren landscape containing minutiae which reside in place of my brain. My brain is a relic, stored in a cave on the upper east side; pampered with concoctions of bodily fluids to keep it free from the influence of others.

But enough about me! I write about myself because I’m afraid, my fingers tremble to type out what I believe in. Everything I believe in is abolished, confined to a dirty rack in the cupboard of memories, stowed away in the trunk of haphazard happiness whose keys were lost in irreverent happy times. To check every fact, every line, everything which makes me what I am, is drudgery at its worst. Having to question your stream of thinking to make it more conducive to others viewpoints is communist propaganda 2.0 , and I, well, that is why I stick to talking about myself.

The world can’t bear to be criticized; praise is what keeps all of us muddled buffoons going in this quagmire. Nobody asks you for your actual opinion on a particular topic, what they require, are others to concur with their viewpoints. Viewpoints are not molded over years of discussions and conversations over watered down coffee. Viewpoints are views, sheer glances at a topic from one aspect and a quick adoption of the same. A circuitous route to arrive at a view is not for all and requires a thought process which goes beyond the ability to spout words at a ridiculous rate per minute without fear of censure.

Imprisoned is what I am, because the world doesn’t let me learn all that I want, it doesn’t believe in the functioning of the mind, body and the pen, all at the same time.

A take on a proverb- If you understand everything, you must be misunderstood, because the world will never let you, it cannot!