Mumbling #11

I realised I get up to write either early in the morning or late at night, never during the course of the day. I think my writing has a lot to do with my sleep. When I’m not getting any and I need to get something out or when I’ve magically figured something out in the slumber and want to put it on paper. Having said that, I feel very labyrinthine now. Good shit.

But of late, I’ve been utterly incoherent in my thoughts. Maybe because so much has happened all of a sudden or I’ve tried to make so much happen all too soon, my days are flying past me in a whirlwind. And by the time I get back home, I barely have time to breathe. And think.

The DU fest season is a little too disturbing, especially when you’re sitting very close to the stupid sound system while watching the performances, where everyone is intending to blind you with their shininess. The energy levels are intimidating. After all there’s a year worth of hard work and a lot (a hell lot) of sweat going into it. Pancaked and dressed in the frilly clothes, they step on the stage, risking the fact that they will probably only be laughed at.

Throughout these performances, I'd only been looking around, trying to figure out things for myself. There's so much hope riding on the action of the artist and the reaction of the audience, you could almost bite into the tension in the air. And only when you look at the face of one of the judges, bored and distant, probably thinking about his kid back home, do you understand that most of these emotions on and off stage are exaggerated and unreal. And this pattern of excessive emotionality only leaves us exhausted and empty at the end of the day.

I'm probably just typing shit now. But you just can't stop typing shit precisely because it is. You can't just stop playing because some of them in the audience are deaf. Or blind. Or stupid. You got to do what you got to do. And somewhere on your way you will find what you'd been looking for. One way or another.