The Business of the Scene and the Wish
The scene is dull with Mozart playing their way in the background. Twin tubes fixed at just enough elevation to be able to read, flickers. The writer ponders and ponders over and over at every flicker as to who is the manufacturer of the tube.Just then an inside voice shouting at the top of its minimum maximum voice telling me to, “hey look up !” .
The scene is set to write.
To write whatever comes to my mind.
This mind of mine is very unpredictable.
Unpredictable is also the climate.
The climate makes me feel like an African.
An African has no option but to bear the brunt of the heat which is bestowed on him by the lord or let’s just put it in the atheist version, the nature.
The nature that I am made of is very unpredictable.
Being unpredictable always means that I end up thinking or doing just the thing that I wanted to do but in a way I do not understand why I am doing it.
I know you understand none of it.
But at least try pretending to.
I think and end up getting to the same point where I start.
So I start from where I started.
The scene has been set up for writing and
Now I am in the mood of it.
Sorry for the trouble.
I recall scenes when some very dear friends of mine ask me to write more so that they can read more.
I recall thoughts where I find myself thinking, do they really want me to write or are they just going around praising the posts I write.
I recall my passion to get satisfaction form the compliments I receive.
I end up doing nothing but just recall the scene that I started with.
The inner voice still tries hard to tell that the compliments are for real and ever genuine and thus started its domination.
My life is damn circle. Life is viscous circle they say. I never did believe it. I am left with no choice but to believe.
The writer wishes that those friends of mine understand what he writes down or at least try pretending to do so.
The writer still wishes he would get his share of compliment and comments.
The writer wishes he could go back to the scene he loved to live.
The writer still wishes to wish .
The writer stills his thoughts and wishes to still his life .
and thus wishing so,
and knowing that some wishes just follow the path of impossibility, do not come true .
So, the writer wishes to end, not knowing if this is the right place.
but always wishing that the end is always right .
