the night has just begun

Wait, it’s morning already.

Morning time. It’s mostly cold outside, you think. Sun is already warming it up for you. You would want to go out. But, you won’t. We are lazy, and it’s good for this morning.

This morning is bright and fine. Just like a white flower dozing off in the cold summer.

Washed away like you are hanging over your cozy bed, and the sheets are covering the cold world outside from you. White cotton sheets, smoothest pillows in the town and your head sinking into this deep void of nothing, making you make something out of it. Comfortably, I believe everyone has this urge to never get up from that bed and stay there resting, wondering peacefully how you have lived upto this moment.

Sadness, is sometimes inevitable while you do this. But hey, what difference is that sadness going to cause when I have already decided that nothing other than these pillows, this bed, this write and my sheets matter to me. When these are my only concern, it only becomes a fool’s game to even worry about being sad.

Thoughts come and go. They never stay, or atleast they should not. It is precisely one of the reasons I must have considered writing, like this. Now, after I write these thoughts down – this world somehow manages to keep them safe with itself. Someone I will never meet, might be reading this. And I will never know. But, do you think I know, now that I have mentioned it?

As sadness is not the only thing we all live, there are many paper planes you are flying in the wind while you sleep on this bed. These paper planes fly higher than the mountains of paradise. This is paradise. You’ll get lost everytime you put yourself on one of these planes. Remember, you have made these paper planes. So, there’s nothing wrong that’s going to happen while you take off. If it does, you will never be short of this kind of paper. We’ll make another one, and another one.

poor soul of mine, how rich are you?

Morning is gone. It’s afternoon now. How are you?

Arts, and Farts on Doubts

What is your greatest fear?

My greatest fear is the doubt on my freedom in thinking. It all turning out to be wrong. Only if in that universe “wrong” is defined otherwise. What if the work I do, writing or making art was something I was never supposed to do. What if, all that I believe in now, is wrong?

This fear is a little biased. It speaks more about the future than about now. As of now there is nothing to worry about. Even when I say I am uncertain about my art, I am not pointing out to the extreme possibility of it being wrong. For that matter, I feel very confident about art. Be it me, or anyone who creates art, is doing a great job. On top of it, art is not something you can put on the scale of righteousness. 

Point being, the future seems to scare me. I don’t want to be scared. But, living as a free person, and seeing how my generation has many people doing their job(mainly going to college, workplace) with such great dedication, it almost bewilders my instincts on whatever I do. What if they are the ones doing the right thing? I am mostly careless about my career in terms of planning it, because I don’t want to waste my time worrying about my career. I’d rather do what I love, and define that as my career. Because, I am someone who doesn’t like to be judged just as much I hate judging others too. Be it whatever, even if it’s wrong in many’s eyes. I don’t hold the ability to prove that entity wrong already at my first interaction with the notion or the entity

If it feels like I am talking just about anything more than my greatest fear, it is because I live it all my life – this fearless part of it. As I answer to this “writing prompt”, I realise my greatest fear is not the future but this strange feeling of “wanting to explain” anything and everything that happens in my life.

I fear if this strange feeling will ever go.

I want to live like a normal human being who does not explain what he does, or even why he does what he does. I don’t feel the courage or passion I have for art, when I explain my art. Maybe it is a habit from childhood, wanting to label everything I do, with words as A is always for Apple and B is always for Bat. It never occured to me that A, is A.

These actions of mine that I talk about or try to explain, are not just the wrong things I do. I talk about my creative work a lot too. So, it comes down to, I think, two possibilities: the wrong and the right things I do, have different kinds of explanations. 

I have decided to, from now on, stop explaining anything I do, unless asked. Because then, I would at least have a reason to explain. Keeping this in mind, I will never stop talking about the art I create. That’s never going to happen.

Plus, I feel slightly doubtful about my art at times and only people’s observation of my art lets me know that I am a bawse. Confirming that there is no need for doubt. I don’t seek for this confirmation, maybe. It feels surreal nonetheless, when someone feels good even a slight bit after coming across my work.

What I have observed in my near surroundings is that many of us have become very uncertain. And, that needs to fade away to a minimum. Because, in a society – doubt is necessary. 

I made this thing I am not able to put into words, as I atleast have never come across anything like it. At first, I took a photo of the stars. Then, my fingers happened to do this to that photograph:

i think i saw you