Showing posts with label love. Show all posts
Showing posts with label love. Show all posts

Wednesday, July 13, 2011

Stories

A very random, frustrating and enlightening conversation:

It all started with an innocuous remark about an upcoming movie. I said I would not sit through the end because it was just wrong. The immediate retort being that I could not question the validity or the correctness of the same, because the entire story was created by one person, and that person alone has the right to decide upon an ending. There are various levels on which I disagree with this statement. And I hope to deal with at least some of them coherently below. Luck to me, then.

...It is a Story.

All stories are told, whether in ink or blood, through tears or laughter, briefly or in great detail. But a story can never be told in wholeness, totality. Not a story about a number of people. For, even if you describe all their deeds and actions, you can't keep an eye on each and every one of them at every single point through your story. It'd be hard enough to do so if it were one single character whose life and adventures you were following. But, to imagine you can do that for thousands is just being hopeful. Hopelessly so.

Here, one might say that since the characters and plot line were created inside a certain individual's head, only that individual has the power and knowledge to dictate their actions and deeds, ultimately deciding their fates. Yes, but only up until the time that the said story stays inside that particular person's head. The moment it's let out, escapes, it mixes with the outside world, or the 'real world' to which the author herself belongs. And, the author is undeniably like the God of the created universe, creating the characters and their world. But, do we really believe that each and every one of our actions has been pre-ordained and decided? And that we are all fated to our ends? That, nothing we really do matters at all, for if it "wasn't meant to be", it won't?

(And, even scarier, that none of it is decided? That your life is just one side character in God's universe and he doesn't even know what he'll do with you yet? That, if he's in a bad mood, or if his girlfriend bugs him enough, he'll kill you in a car accident right after you get a promotion and have a baby?)

Parents are more reasonable than that. I suppose they would have made a better example too. For, after all, characters are just like children. They're never really yours. Once you bring them into existence, let them interact with the World, they're their own people, and though they will do what you've taught them to do, they will also do things that they've learnt when you weren't watching.

If a mother of two children wrote a story about her 18 year old kids, do you really believe that everything that is mentioned in her tale is really all that would have happened? Would she not modify certain parts so that the World doesn't judge her own "creations" too harshly? And, more importantly, don't you think there would be things that she doesn't even know about? Let alone the multitude of things that she suspects, hopes for, and sees in her children.

The problem is simply this; when you're writing a story, there's every possibility that you've gotten something wrong. In writing literature, more specifically of the narrative-fiction kind, there are various forms of classification, one of the primary being the distinction between 1) Building characters and having events befall them, describing their interactions and 2) Deciding on a tale that must be told, and working in characters that seem to fit. All stories are undoubtedly a mix of the two. Good stories result from a good mix. Like rum and coke, it really is too subjective to break down further. But, I digress.

The point being, stories are not just created out of thin air. You must first create/possess a world with an existing-workable framework of rules. You must have characters that behave in character, as far as a real person would. Because, whether imagined, dreamt up, thought of or compiled, a character is an individual. One that is thought of is one that does not exist in the World of the author, but that doesn't mean that he doesn't exist at all. With the hundreds of permutations and combinations available from something as innocent as a three-digit number, there are infinite possibilities that the human gene-pool *shall* one day (if already hasn't) result in such a person. And on a much lower probability scale, that the world around him as imagined by the author will exist. Kind of like the monkeys with typewriters writing Shakespeare, you may argue. But the conditions include infinite time. And while we may not have enough of the same (nor do the monkeys) to ever test that theory adequately, the Universe has more than enough time, place and scope to have every possible World already in existence. Just because we are not aware of it, doesn't change the fact that we are not the only existence in the Universe, let alone the only Universe in existence.

The point is, once a character is created, it is created. After that, as the writer, you are bound to try and represent that character and frame reactions and interactions according to what the said character would have done. If you've ever tried writing about somebody real before, or even a character that resembles someone you know, you'll know the feeling I speak of. It's the "If Xyz was faced by this, what would he do?" And obviously, you can never know for sure. Not in real life, and not in the story. Sure, the author may know best how he would react if the ironing-maid burns his favorite sweater, or what he would do/feel when he loses his job, or maybe even his thoughts on a date with an attractive woman, but, when the same character is faced with dilemmas with far-reaching, wide and over-arcing repercussions, not even the character himself can be certain of what he will do. Sure, the author can exercise discretion whether he will commit suicide or turn into an alcoholic, but here, the story will always come foremost. No matter what principles and rules govern a single character, for the author, the plot is what must come together. Loose ends have to be tied. And that doesn't happen in real life.

So, maybe, I phrased it incorrectly. Maybe, I should have said, if the creator of a Universe says that is how it would be, I politely disagree. I believe that if those people had really existed, and lived, and gone through the events that you say they did, they wouldn't end up like you say they will. In fact, I believe that if (when?) they ever do come into existence (or already are so), then that is not how their story would end. I, as an individual myself, who doesn't have to bother with the tale and the proper ending and the pressure to not leave anything unfinished, may have only followed the development of a character or two, paying special intense attention to the personalities they are supposed to be, and the unmentioned reasons for their behaviors.

To go back to the example of the mother with the two 18 year old boys, in her story, she may speak of this one night that she had gone out to a friend's, returning home earlier than expected only to find son A asleep in bed much before his bedtime, with the sheets already soaking in water, while disheveled Son B explained in needless detail the circumstances in which his brother decided to go to sleep so early. Two weeks later, when she talks of the missing bottles of Wine and A's growing anti-social behavior, you might make the connection, but just because she's lived with them and knows them doesn't mean she can predict, or even guess at, their actions successfully. Not all the time. Not when she has to think about (and keep an eye on) B, her husband, their pet dog, the family business. Now imagine if she had to decide what each of them would do in every single waking moment as well. No matter how good, kind or persuasive she may be, if something goes too fundamentally against B's character, such as being told to kill A for being a good-for-nothing alcoholic, B won't do it. He can't. And she can scream and demand and believe whatever she wants. But, there are certain things your character won't allow you to do, no matter how much someone wants you to. And years later, if she says B did kill A, even though it was she who really ended up doing it, her words won't become true. Not merely because she wanted it to happen. Not because it would end "right". And, not even if it were truly her belief that's that what should have happened and did indeed happen.

Because, the truth is truth. And, it's above our wants and desires and hopes and beliefs. It's true because it happens. And I may be wrong. She may be wrong. Every single person in the world who has ever though of this story may be wrong. But, she doesn't get to be right merely because she thought of them before someone else did. And she doesn't get to be right simply because she created them. That's all I want to say, really. And, I know it seems like I took this too personally, but you know what, it wasn't a perfect Universe, but, I've found something there that makes me smile, and laugh, and grin and it's just too right to be deemed wrong. By anybody. It isn't even for me. But something like that, if it exists, well, I'd rather have my memory of this whole obsession wiped clean without hesitation than have *their* world destroyed because someone couldn't believe. And you all know how important my memories are to me. It's only because there's nothing in this Universe, or any Universe for that matter, that matters more than the truth. Not to me. And you can't just let someone decide what that is. You can rest in the knowledge that the World I obsess over doesn't really exist. But, we are just a story to someone, you know. And that's the most we can hope to be, when this is all over. They're already there. What gives any of us the right to decide their endings? We can only weigh, calculate, predict, hope and dream. And believe, of course. But, those are individual options. And no one should have beliefs shoved down their throats. No matter which God wills it so.

It's. just. wrong.

Saturday, July 9, 2011

Isolation-I


He was pleading with her now, the nerve. Her eyes narrowed even as he continued to speak, his own burning brighter with every small step he took in her direction. It was just wrong. It was the last chance either of them had, and she wasn't supposed to be here. She was supposed to tell him what she had come here to say, burn with the fierceness of his cruel, taunting words and then leave when the daggers turned into ice, confident in her ability to walk away. And, he was enraged; she could feel it in the way his presence seemed to fill the room, in the way his jaw clenched, so painfully that, for a second, she had to fight the urge to run to him and apologize, beg forgiveness for whatever had caused him to be so angry with her.. Until she remembered what she had come to say.

Except, something was wrong.

She couldn't move away, couldn't avert her gaze, couldn't leave, and she didn't know what to do with the way he allowed his words to caress her, promise her, reassure her.. just as he had done countless number of times before. Never with words, though. That wasn't allowed for him. Not by either of them. Her throat constricted as she realized what that meant. He already knew..

But, she still couldn't leave. Not when his eyes darkened as he spoke, cajoling her exhausted mind to remember what they had never really acknowledged. He was breaking their rules, and she was watching, mesmerized, even as their binds on him strengthened and loosened, the restraints digging deeper and deeper into his very being. And she watched him, until she was certain that he would not refrain, would not relent. And that is when she knew; They were already caged. Always had been. Except theirs was meant to keep the world out. And she couldn't leave him alone in here, not when his eyes glinted at her, sharp and loud in the moonlight, even though his voice was quiet. Not while she could count exactly how many steps she would have to take to reach him. Not while he said her name, over and over, in a voice, which she realized would never fade, never stop echoing..

There was no escape.

Wednesday, August 5, 2009

The Endless Story

.
Break-up season is here again. Not that it makes any difference to me, personally. But everyone around me seems to be losing their mind. I'd laugh if it weren't so sad. And once again, I'm sixteen years old, convincing an old friend not to go ahead with her grand plan of revenge. It's a year later and I'm sneaking out of my home and into a friend's, eyes on the bottle she won't let go off. That was all so long ago... I guess some things never change.

It should be a comforting thought, in this crazy crazy world. But... it's not. If everything has to change, why can't the sad things change too? Why won't the things that are wrong, change? It's a messed up place, and it seems like it's only the beautiful things that we're all out to destroy.

In a world like this one, there's nothing to do, but survive. You do what you can. And you do what you have to. If everything was always pleasant, the rain wouldn't mean a thing. And every silver lining's got a touch of gray.

But, in the end, words are words. And they can be forgotten. Or remembered even when they were never exchanged. Like smoke, words are swirling, hazy and momentary. Memories are nothing but the stale scent of smoke clinging to your clothes.

Change, darling.
It's all you can do.


----------------

Now playing: Pink Floyd - Comfortably Numb
via FoxyTunes

Saturday, July 18, 2009

The Dark Side

.
A : Come over to the dark side, it's where you belong.

Z : Come over to the dark side, we have cookies.
What is this vague concept of belonging? I'd rather have the instant and relatively certain gratification to be obtained from the promised cookies.


A : The cookies wont last long.

Z : Neither will you.
It's not that I don't believe in a world where honor and courage are qualities every soul instinctively possesses. And where love is something more than an insipid word borrowed from millions of poets and artists who caught a mere glimpse of that realm. But this world is not that one. I believe in God too. I'm just not sure if the God I believe in exists.

A : The existence doesn't matter. Your belief does. This world is lost. Caught in a spiraling whirlpool that sucks out what we dream of as 'love'. But the remnants must still be found. And they can be. Look out through the window.

Z : You assume, vainly I may add, that love is what everyone is looking for. Don't be so quick in projecting your hopes and aspirations and reasons for your existence to an entire world, even though I must say, I fear you're justified in doing so.

A : It's an example. The most popular story of something valuable that was lost. So much more is gone, to our infinite grief. Or maybe not. How can we grieve something we never knew? But there are flashes of a world long ago, a few crumbled pieces.

Z : I'm tired of wandering aimlessly in crumbling ruins of forgotten parts, yet I cannot, cannot go. It doesn't mean I want to stay. It's just that I don't think I can leave. And it's too loud a world out there. This may not be sanctuary, but it really may be all there is. The stragglers? Or just shadows from that world we keep worshiping? I don't know. And sometimes I fear it's just another answer that I will never be able to find.

A : It's a world in your head, in the dark recesses of your mind left unplumbed. Maybe you don't have a reason to cross over, maybe not a reason compelling enough. But the shadows surround you and if you want to escape them, find the sanctuary within yourself. But the shadows beckon. And someday you will give in to their lure.

Z : These shadows you speak so fondly of? I've lived with them so long, I'm not sure which earth flies below my own feet anymore. Perhaps its doesn't matter. Perhaps someday I'll have to worry about having a place to belong. For now, I want to watch the moon through broken shards of stained glass windows that stubbornly cling to dilapidated walls. It's beautiful. And for tonight, it's reason enough to stay...



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Now playing: Bob Dylan - It's Alright Ma (Bleeding)
via FoxyTunes

Wednesday, June 17, 2009

Fly...

.
Don't talk to me about love. It's nothing but a clever word. Lies, Guilt, Pain and obligation. These would define love better. Bitter tears and accusations. Cruel taunting and angry words. Leave me alone.

The guilt is inescapable. Our children will never be free. I wish you would listen, I wish you would stop. I wish I could fly away.

And I don't even have a window in my room.
Ah, Peter...
.

Sunday, May 24, 2009

Quit?

The seasons are changing. Unrequited love is on it's way out and quitting is in. Whether it's cigarettes, marijuana, alcohol or gambling, everyone around seems to be "taking a break". I was just talking to a couple of people I know; one is going to quit smoking weed while the other plans not to drink for the next six months.

After a particularly insane week, the only bit that worries me is that the idea isn't one I even considered. Quit? Why? And more importantly, what? Still, it's getting quite bothersome to keep up with who isn't doing what and what not to do with whom. If you know what I mean...

Oh, for the record, the two people I mentioned? Stoned and drunk respectively. (Emphasis added) Later.

Thursday, April 23, 2009

I Love Holidays

I like waking up at 8 am with more than 5 hours of sleep done with. I love not having a hangover and/or feeling like hell. I like waking up to music playing. I like the early morning cool breeze. And I love it when the scent of yesterday's rain drifts along with it. I like the fact that I can't hear any voices. I like reading parts of books I've read before. I love moving them around, remembering them and smiling to myself. I like making it to breakfast in time and with time. Sometimes I love cleaning. The before and after effect is a rush. I like going through old notebooks and reading all the random conversations, notes, comments, rants, confessions and songs. I love finding something I thought I had lost.

I love holidays.
^_^

Tuesday, February 24, 2009

Mad Girl's Love Song

- Sylvia Plath


"I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead;
I lift my lids and all is born again.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)

The stars go waltzing out in blue and red,
And arbitrary blackness gallops in:
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.

I dreamed that you bewitched me into bed
And sung me moon-struck, kissed me quite insane.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)

God topples from the sky, hell's fires fade:
Exit seraphim and Satan's men:
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.

I fancied you'd return the way you said,
But I grow old and I forget your name.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)

I should have loved a thunderbird instead;
At least when spring comes they roar back again.
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)"

Monday, February 23, 2009

I know my dear

"The moon"
she whispers
half a choking cry
"I know my dear"
he begins to say
but instead stops to watch her die
"I don't want to be saved"
she breathes
watching the wind in the leaves
"I know my dear"
he begins to say
but instead prepares to grieve

Saturday, February 14, 2009

Happy Valentine's Day. Bleh.

The Perfect Guy




TAKE THIS SURVEY!


Section 1

Hair color?
Black

Eye color?
Black/brown/gray

Height?
Around 6 feet

Six pack?
Yes please *laughs*

Long hair or short?
Short and messy

Glasses?
Doesn't matter

Piercings?
Bonus

Eyebrows?
-

Buff or skinny?
Skinny

Teeth?
-

Section 2

Funny or serious?
A nice blend

Party-hopper or more stay-at-home?
Party at home?

Should he be able to bake or cook?
Both

Does he have a best friend?
Yes

Is it okay for him to have a lot of female friends?
It's okay, but I'd prefer it if his guy friends were way more in number. Don't know why.

Out-going or shy?
A combination

Sarcastic or sincere?
Sincerely sarcastic... haha.

Does he love his mother?
I suppose so. Doesn't matter.

Should he watch chick-flicks?
Only if he has nothing else to do.

Would he be a smoker?
Probably. Actually, yes.

How about drinking?
Yeah

And swearing?
Irrelevant

Would he play with your hair?
I dunno

Would he have more than one girlfriend at a time?
NO

Would he pay for you when you're on a date?
No

Does he kiss on the first date?
No

Where would you go for dinner?
Somewhere with nice music

Would he buy you flowers?
Once a year at the most

Would he lay under the stars with you and spout random philosophies?
*sigh* yes?

Would he write poetry about you?
Songs would be cooler

Would he use endearments?
Probably

Would he hang out with your and YOUR friends?
Once in a while, even though he wouldn't like it very much

How about you hanging out with him and HIS friends?
Once in a while

Would he walk you up to the door at the end of the evening?
Yes

Would you hold hands?
Not too often

Section 3

Does he play soccer?
Yes

Baseball?
Irrelevant

Football?
Irrelevant

Basketball?
Often

Water polo?
Irrelevant

Golf or something equally boring?
Irrelevant

Does he surf?
That would be cool

Skateboard?
Bonus!!!

Snowboard?
Irrelevant

Can he sing?
Yes

Play the guitar?
Yes. Definitely.

Play piano?
Hmmm...

Play the drums?
Yes

Can he keep his room clean?
Lol, doesn't matter

Is he an artist of sorts?
Yeah...

Does he write his own music?
Once in a while... and it's great

Does he have pets?
He loves them

Section 4

Does he use the word dude?
Yeah

How about tight?
Only to describe music

Would he watch the sun rise and set with you?
If we're awake, why not?

What kind of car does he drive?
One that he loves

How old is he?
About a couple of years older than me

What's his name?
*sigh* I wish I knew...

CLICK HERE TO TAKE THIS SURVEY!
MySpace Surveys

Love and Drugs


Love

Valentine's day

Where's my gun?

I need to go

Away



Drugs

Awful things

Infiltrate your mind

Make everything else irrelevant

Pass?


Sunday, February 8, 2009

Even if...

It's all hooded eyes and taunting laughs
Subtract the cruelty, but keep the cold rain
And we shiver in the darkness
oh, looks like we forgot the lights again
and the sun's long gone

Half forgotten promises
and letters that will remain unsent
Scattered around the past
Living a life that seems to be on rent
and we laugh

Say my name again
and lets close our first two eyes
Blind ourselves to the dark
and all the silly pointless lies
that keep us safe

Like the cold
because it remembers to preserve
Remembers, unlike us, who live to forget
And so, each other we deserve
Hold my hand

It isn't love
And it isn't saying I'll always care
It's just all I can do
You know I'll always be there
Even if...

Even if it is just because there is nowhere else to go...

Wednesday, January 21, 2009

Pictures in Books...

Originally posted on: 20th Sep 2008.

So do you hide your pictures of me?
Press them in quietly hidden books
In old forgotten cartons,
And all the places she never looks?

Do you smile every time they play our song?
Or do you just close your eyes?
Do you think of farmhouses and laughter?
And cold darkening November skies?

Do you ever think of me?
And all the times that we had?
Do memories of me make you laugh?
Or do they only make you sad?

Did you ever read my letter?
The one I wrote right after we fought
I wanted you to know I was sorry
but in my pride I was caught...

Do you wonder if I still love you?
But I don't think that can be
I jus wrote this song coz, darling,
I was going through some old books you see...

Monday, December 22, 2008

Untitled

They all say they'll be there forever
but someone always has to leave
It's just three days of heaven
That you can hope for, wish for and when over; grieve
You stand there in line
but it's always just the same
No matter how much you loathe crowds
They're the only time you can claim
That everything feels like it's okay
That no matter what happens, you want to stay
And when you see it's the fourth day
You don't know what to say
Coz suddenly the dream is over
and once more you're awake
And no matter how much you tell yourself otherwise
Your dream felt a lot less fake
So you trudge about till next year
pretending to be the same
But you don't feel anything
Till November once again calls your name...

Sunday, December 14, 2008

Love v Peace

If you have all you love, you may learn peace someday...

If you are at peace, you may never feel the need for love...

If you were given a choice, what would you choose?

Love? or Peace?

Monday, October 6, 2008

Untitled

Saturday, September 20, 2008

Pictures in Old Books

So do you hide your pictures of me?
Stuff them in the middle of your books
In old forgotten cartons,
And all the places she never looks?

Do you smile every time they play our song?
Or do you just close your eyes?
Do you think of farmhouses and laughter?
And cold darkening November skies?

Do you ever think of me?
And all the times that we had?
Do memories of me make you laugh?
Or do they only make you sad?

Did you ever read my letter?
The one I wrote right after we fought
I wanted you to know I was sorry
but in my pride I was caught...

Do you wonder if I still love you?
But I don't think that can be
I jus wrote this song coz, darling,
I was going through some old books you see...