Fabricated Ends

Writing needn't necessarily have an explicit meaning. It is subject to interpretation. The liberty of interpretation granted so generously to the reader simultaneously takes the buck off the shoulders of the writer and adds dollops of extra charm to the art itself. I absolutely love that. I thank God for two things. One is writing, the other being amnesia. The latter is mostly an aftermath of the former, augmenting my respect for the more indispensable of the two manifold. Don't I treat writing as a vent anyway!

I will tell you a truth here. Of all the sins, vanity is the most dehumanizing I believe. All the time, around myself I see attention-seekers. And they make it so awkwardly clear that attention is all they want and they want it all the fucking time that I hide my face in shame. Now, ain't I human too! Shouldn't I want to be noticed in the crowd? It is frankly considered abnormal if I did not. But didn't I just say, I treated writing as a vent? An outlet for everything, an unrestrained outburst, that I can indulge in anywhere anytime. Probably that's why I write so often and so much. World's fucking too much to take. Consequently, I am not so sad about my inconsequence, I do not feel the slightest need to seek attention, or be the cynosure like you, or you, or you. I am cool. I have said all I wanted to say on this blog, bury your concern six feet under the earth, I do not want it. I don't care if you've read what I have written, humans are cheaply centered around their ownselves anyway! Truth time over, congratulations if you stood it.

It doesn't show, the frustration i.e. on my face. I come along as a pretty neutral, unaffected, indifferent, uncaring person in day to day life. Too many synonymous adjectives, you would say, but you have to realize the gravity of the problem I see is so rampant. I have cared too much and now I cannot care an inch more, people make me sick. People of all kinds. But it doesn't show on my face, because I have come to terms with it. Acceptance heals. Writing repeatedly about it has probably, or surely helped me a lot in this regard. Hence I am grateful, from the bottom of my heart, even from the bottom of my stomach! 

9 comments:

$uch! said...
This comment has been removed by the author.
$uch! said...

humans are cheaply centered around their ownselves anyway! true

Richa said...

I feel so much like that so much of the time too. :(

aria said...

sometimes even writing torments.. I wish I knew something better to do with this general discontentment..

well, I do empathize with all that you say ..

Blasphemous Aesthete said...

:)

And you keep writing, attention, I am sure you'll get plenty, if not you, then what you write, a part of you nevertheless.

Cheers.

nOt anyone you know said...

*Acceptance heals.*

if not, at least, lets u live.

Surya Prakash V said...
This comment has been removed by a blog administrator.
wildflower said...

S
I write only the truth, even my fiction is truth and only you know most of those truths :)

Richa
We feel so, hence we write.

aria
Sometimes writing freshens old wounds. Now that you are in search of a better tool, let me know when you figure that out..

wildflower said...

BA
Genuinely appreciate your encouragement! :D

B
Yeah, tricks that we have discovered to stretch our survival.. into something quite like life! :)