Three Songs from 2019-20

To tell about the past year, I choose songs. It is not easy to confide the whole of past year in just three songs. I’ll try not to miss my favorites. Having said that, I’m sure I’ll do.

If songs could define my life’s story, I’d find them more sensible than any journal or a person talking about it. Maybe it’s because life is not so strictly true with a statement. It feels like songs would help give a person the justice in telling it’s story. Without the labels of actuality. But, with the sense of reality being surprisingly intact.

Imperfect, that’s what life is. So, anyone listening to songs perceives about a story the singer tells – to not be understood in it’s entirety. No force of statements causing no force of judgment either. Music gives me that support to be okay with not understanding our lives.

Here are my three favourite songs I listened to in the past year. It is just human to be a child. And, not the other way around.

The Trip

If you’d like to listen to my bingo. playlist on Spotify, here you go:

Cause it’s a bittersweet symphony this life

Book Stranger

Wonder do I hourly
Juggling, kick the scar low
Rock slip fairly
Juggling, kick the scar low

Willy done with the hill
Jeopardy, one won’t be
Reels went on to fill
Jeopardy, one won’t be

Wired to the source out
Jill, jiggled joyful
Running to the fallout
Jill, jiggled joyful

Wonder do I timely
Jogging, to my beats
Ruin hunts for Presley
Juggling, to my deeds

SINCE CIPHERS SENSE STINKERS

It has been a calculable time since I did this and yet it feels the same. I sit down at my chair in a room (mostly) done by me. Then, I set up my space pushing away the books, papers, pens, wrappers, even bananas and empty glasses of water on my desk so that I can write. I put on the music, preferably anything which does not have any obvious meaning to it. Meaning, no words of a language I already know or even better – no words at all. You see I like music in the way it leaves me with infinite stories. All of these possibilities concur at a single point of belief where meaning need not exist. This arrangement of a sea of chances on a single piece of hope is very much like our planet. The one we all are destroying.

Welcome to the progressive growth this blog is bound to be a part of. Now, I write.


NOT BHUMI

I have received many messages in my life. And not just on WhatsApp, but even in the form of letters, mails and human voices. In all of these messages, there is a common point of understanding. These messages could be different and even irrelevant to each other. Yet, they all look the same when I see them just as what they are. Before you dig any deeper and misunderstand what I might have meant, please pause. Because, what I mean by messages is not the conclusion of them being a formulaic sense of communication, or the communication itself but the literal meaning of them being ultimately just a message. A set of letters or an arrangement of these sets at the best. You might think of it (plainly) as a poorly exciting way of looking at life in general. I differ, because I am sure that stories get much more exciting after they are received with no former understanding before. It is always a better option for me to not have such former understandings at all in the first place to come what may. They ruin many elements which matter to the experience I am having or might have later. And, it is by experience I hold such views.

I prefer to journal matters of my life either after they are done being experienced or well before they begin. A few don’t begin while some never stop being. This sole conundrum allows me to maintain a dumber violation of my choices just in case I do journal any of it while it happens.

CREATIVITY CAN’T BEGIN

Precisely speaking, there’s very little to add in the bucket of changes my life has had since the last time I wrote on this blog. Not to forget, it still is a calculable time. I still attend college, waste a lot of money, spend humanitarian times with fellow humans and try to do something creative every day. The last thing I do in the sentence before this one, is the only part that can be said to have changes in the way I do it constantly.

MY CITY HUBBALLI

Time and again, it is the creative aspect of my life where I see evidence. Evidence for it to work every single time. I make an edit, it works. I write a program, it works most of the times. I make a video, it works. I make anything, it potentially has already worked itself out before it even exists. That’s the comforting part of creativity to me. Ever since I got the taste of it’s outcomes in a palpable way. I know that inventive thinking gets me to the places of peace and harmony. It brings in a kind of relief only I’d know how to put into words. A few of the times that I try to express this relief, I don’t regularly have the form of language to put forth my understanding. Usually during such times, rarely do I have the wishes to even voice the courteous experience I might have had.

I believe it is not in the list of right choices to see creativity as one entity. Or, as an entity at all. It does not have a defined meaning which remains the same throughout. Painting a portrait of Mona Lisa, I believe, is just as much creative as joining two points on a paper. It is our humane pity little mind that would consider such comparison as an insult towards the painter. The painter mostly knows that this human came up with only one way to join the two points. A straight line. Hardly, this human might have thought of two ways while he or she was busy building up the hate towards such comparison. When triggered of this fault in the human, the human ceases to be.

BACK

It simply can’t begin anywhere for it has no certain form of existence. Creativity is not modest enough to fall for the notions defined by a modest being, the human. It can’t simply “be” to me. Progressively, it is moving in every direction imaginable.

HEADED FOR THE WRONG DIRECTIONS

When I tripped to Marasanige, a village with hardly more than ten houses to count, I happened to be closer with this planet. I have always been close to it. I faced this nature of the planet where observing every move it makes from within, connects the observer instantly. Because, we are a part of this planet unlike the famous notions where the planet belongs to us. It may be true that Earth does not depend on us entirely to exist, but since it does not have a language direct enough to tell us how badly we are treating it – it burns at a speed unimaginable. It will exist, but we won’t be here when the time to survive reaches our doors.

GHALI GUDDA

The problem with solving climate-change, as beautifully explained by Anthony Leiserowitz, is it’s invisibility. For example, we can’t see the damage being done to the climate when on the road. If the gas coming out of every vehicle was presented in a more visual form, we would have dealt with this problem a long time ago. Moreover, we feel like it is a distant problem which the future generations will face. It might be true but it’s not. Looking at earth’s timeline, it ages nearly 4.5 billion years. Does 2100 seem as something distant from 2020 when we know that it is more than billions of years after the earth was born. I think our planet won’t even have to worry about humans. It will remain. I have realized that the concern in reality is subjective to “save the planet for us” rather than the famous perception of climate-change being just “save the planet”.

It is a very tricky problem indeed. Feeling guilty about the damage we’ve done to our planet won’t bring us the solutions. And, so does not being scared of what is to come. We will solve it, looking at the history for most of the problems faced by humanity – it is better to remain optimistic. Even if this optimism is highly polarized, it might just work.

A FLOWER?

I am excited to do more for this blog. Also, I have a lot more in store to work on. Publishing all of these works over the internet will take their own time. In the mean time, I will be working on one article every month from here on. A single post for the whole month will make it worth the wait plus the content, I believe. For this to work progressively, I will need your support in keeping this blog a busy place even when I am not here. You can make this happen by making your loved ones read my blog. Thank you!


Comment what you think about mangoes.

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