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Tuesday, August 2, 2016

Short Story : Rebel

It was as it was.Every other evening.The delirium arose like the odour of sweat from the armpits of the crowd.The dour-faced bus hushed in a lowly tone,like brainless talkers,like a flagpole devoid of wings.Desolate,empty.

Trevor looked in and out or just the other way around and nothing made a difference - not now,not then.The bus occupied the vaccancy of spirits of winds and they huddled inside,unsatisfied,like corpses that rested in sullen drains - amputated,half-rotten,unneeded.

The bus thus strolled through its empty resonance,found all the puddles too empty to be mirrors,ditched reflection on face and went on narrating an anecdote : to move is to move not to move.To not move is to move itself.Two sides of a coin once merged,intertwined through phases and one was it and one was the other and one was half as important as both the possibilities and both - all in all,were probable in all probability.
The chains were metal,metal was rigid,anyway.

The blade surmised.Blood or semen. The eyes were split.Muscles torn.Further blood,further thirst - a führer's terms are not to be forgotten.

Freedom has been wholesome.Wholesome's been devoid of exceptions.Exception executed - freedom dictated.The crowd nodded its head.Trevor moved or didn't.
To suck is to split,life is but a set of paradoxes - heaven orgasmed,hell...pleasured.
And Trevor gazed or didn't to figure out a pair of eyes.He grasped to strive,entangled in a  search,one that rotated and orbitted around the history of the moon.Evolution has been diplomatic from far before he was.The prayers coiled up to be waves,the waves had nails,nails walked through skin.The earth smelt of odours.Odours and corpses,corpses and blood,blood and semen and tea and genocide.
His eyes stared through the gap of the bus window towards an even emptier sky.Beside,screams chorused and merged.A poem had to be a blindfold.A blindfold - the potter and the mason and the painter ; the convict and the prisoner and the judge.The moon had to be an eyeball,the waves - a rising,the words - a call.A blindfold had to embrace him.And shake the hills and waves until forget was forgotten and bells rang up to wake up the dead artists,the sunken colours had to resurface,bullets - vomitted,a poem - it just had to be written.

A Few Words

Please note that glorifying Nihilism never equals to supporting Nihilism.It exhibits disgust at its best.Nihilism cannot be the solution to anything on the planet.This is a paradox,an experiment with perspectives.
Rebelliousness is not synonymous to Nihilism,either.It is from disgust born that rebelliousness develops in subsequent stages.

Disclaimer : The original song was by The Pogues.I recommend watching the video for once.
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  1. Submission to people one hates is obedience, to lust, to envy, to crave becomes sin, to not be able to seek revenge becomes forgiveness. I can see how nihilism in the hands of insanity is dangerous. But what Nietzsche believed in is not wrong under the light of logic.


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