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The World Is A Vanity Fair

I used to have sudden, violent urges to be free. I wasn’t at liberty to parade my perspectives and judgments. Let’s say, I was rather inhibited by my social milieu. I met people who were absolutely and relatively free. I, on the other hand was relatively enslaved. I stayed inhibited since my teenage years where I had my share of run-ins with drugs, high life and incoherent family values. These restrictions made me yearn for freedom and I used to imagine that to be free was to be able to say no to family life. I abhorred family life and societal values. I still do to some degree. My family wasn’t a conservative one but when your daughter is doing drugs and hanging out with prodigies for her classmates who in spite of their nomadic life and drug use were destined to succeed in life. I on the other hand had no idea what I was gonna do. I was a fuck up. Little conviction, even less talent and big dreams was what I had to my name. A day dreamer, a nihilist, an atheist and a rigid moralist. My sense of propriety was so gluten free that once in school I told my teacher that a high mark in one of my papers was erroneous and I had only earned second rate marks. When that Department recalculated my paper, it was true. They gave me a point for my honesty and I gleefully accepted the gift. My friends made a mockery out of me that day. I still feel like an imbecile. In soothe, I was a hair-raising hippy from the 60’s. I don’t like the hippies, but since we human beings tend to brand everything, I was an unreasonable hippy adrift in the purgatory of spiritual cum hedonistic measures.  Anyways, I said fuck to humanity during my adolescence when a girl I had been having an affair left me like she’d left her truly yours. The whole roller-coaster of an affair turned me into a savage. I became a Patriot. As a jingoist, I wasn’t a brilliant one. But I wasn’t bad either. It sounds ridiculous to measure patriotism but everyone measures it anyways. ‘What have you done for your country?’ ‘Fuck you, I eat local momos daily to support the local economy’. For my part, I deliberated a hunger strike to call into attention the misery of my fellow countrymen.…

Of Clocks and Senses

Most of the times, I do not follow my senses. I suppress it with vanity and adhere to and fro like an innocent baby dandled in a bamboo cradle. I follow the clock. Not precisely time but clocks. Yes, clocks do manifest time but the mere knowledge of time is frivolous. It is insipid and derogatory to my senses. It is the clock that my heart values, nostalgia excluded, vanity burgeoning day after day. Pavlov would have certainly asserted that ‘my conditioned response of progression or digression is consequential to the mere viewing of a clock’. Moreover, it absolutely doesn't matter what I desire, senses forlorn and give way to defeat, it’s like I am shouting from the edge of a ponderous, elevated  cliff, “I surrender! Now give me anything you’d like”. But the echoes chaff, ‘I give you a mass masquerade’. ‘I’d rather have sinister enemies and imbecile friends’. The masquerade is nibbling away my complacency every day while the clocks banter with my subtlety.  I have never been known to be a stoic little bastard and it is the interminable monologues I go through prior to my deeds that makes up for the ridiculous jeering. The repression  of my senses to accommodate the sardonic needles of clocks beguiles my personal ethics and I ponder at it like it’s going to mean a whole lot of heartbeat to me later on. I am engulfed at my own lies. One needle to point at my follies, another to commend fate, the seconds confound my senses and I stand marooned, without comprehension  of my predicaments. Sometimes, I feel that I am a special person but then I look at my wristwatch and it nonchalantly demands another trivial errand, an interminable toil. Fearing the peremptory clock, I allude to myself,  ‘All things must pass’.  But then, what should I live for if my vanity shall also pass, I’ll die of dreariness and that doesn't sound special either.

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