The Suicide of An Idea

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Some addicts get addicted to the substance not because of the feeling that it gives them, but because of how it rewires things inside them. It works like a kickstart that can bring a heart that is no longer beating back to life. Such was this experience.

He’d been here many times before.

When he tried to think about this ‘place’ that he was in, he was always at a loss of words. It was at points like these that his thoughts were no longer able to communicate with him in an articulate manner. It reminded him of a paralyzed hand.

Suddenly, he had an idea. But just as he was thinking about it, he felt it slipping out of his mind. It was almost as if he was losing control over this particular idea: the idea was revolting against him.

“You think I’m ever going to work for you?! I’d rather cease to exist!”

Where was the sound coming from?

He looked up and saw a figure in front of him. It wasn’t human.

The yellow light reflected off the surface of the metallic looking figure. It looked strange, like Mercury.

“I’m tripping balls”

“No you aren’t”

“Wait, did I say that out aloud?”

“No, I can hear your thoughts. That’s where I come from.”

“Are you an alien or something?”

“Let me show you.”

The metallic hand reached for his forehead, and the moment it touched his skin, something happened. He felt like he was falling, getting lost.

He started to see strange things. But no, wait; he was starting to understand. He felt like a seamless stream of information suddenly made itself available to him. All that he had to do was access it.

This being was an idea- it was the idea on how to permanently quit the drugs that he was doing. But something strange happened. The idea revolted and separated itself from his realm of control.

“Now you see, you’re never going to quit. I’ve left you. You no longer have control here. You’re no longer in control.”

And with that, the idea jumped out of his window and fell to its death. His idea committed suicide.

“I’m never going to quit now.”

He stared blankly at the wall in front of him as he took another hit.

 

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The Hip-Hop Artist

Hare.png

“Excuse me sir, I’m a tourist to these parts. Where may I find some snickers?”

“What?”

“Snickers sir, I’m looking for both the edible kind and the kind that comes in the size of UK 12.”

The hare stood on both its feet. He seemed like a fine young gentleman with his long hat and mulberry covered yet polished walking stick. He looked a bit odd as he made his way closer, hopping all the while on the cobbled street towards the boy whose eyes were covered like one of those small dogs. He was astonished, so much to the extent that he brushed the pale brown hair out of his eyes. Suddenly, there was a whiff of breeze felt in areas that he never knew the breeze was even capable of reaching. A droplet of sweat emerged. Normally, the hair would have soaked it up. This time, it was the turn of the eyebrow to do its duty. But alas, the droplet bypassed his eyebrow and went straight into his eye, causing a slight sting. In the meantime, a red double-deckered bus skidded to a stop at the nearest bus stop.

“Sir, the snickers? Where can I find them?”

“But you don’t have feet, you’re a hare! You shouldn’t even be talking…why are you talking?”

“That’s a little bit rude now don’t you think? Didn’t your mother teach you some manners? You deserve a nice red spanking, dear young man!”

The boy stood petrified. Normally he would have enjoyed this, since for once the real world seemed to resemble some sort of a cartoon. Reality however, is like the metro approaching the station from a distance- at first it looks like a small speck of dust that you wouldn’t mind throwing yourself in the path of, until suddenly you realize the magnitude of the size of this speck when it is a mere 2 meters away. By then it’s already too late. I guess what I’m trying to say is that reality seems innocuous, but only when it resides in one’s head and not in the outside world. It could be the other way around too though.

The boy muttered something. If his words were human beings, then they would probably have tripped and stumbled and fallen on every gap in the stones on the cobbled street.

“Come on, now. Is there a lake that this muttering rambled stream of consciousness is about to empty itself into? I’m still waiting for you to apologize!”

“I’m sorry!”

The hare acknowledged his response and hopped along. His hops were so graceful that I couldn’t blame somebody for referring to him as a hip-hop artist.

The boy still stood in his spot, wondering what the bloody hell had just taken place in front of him.

I guess the panic that had been awakened in him was the fault of his mother. She didn’t know how to tell him that behind those blue eyes resided a brain that had been diagnosed with schizophrenia, and the hallucinations that accompany this mysterious ailment.

 

 

 

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Labyrinth

Chase after the sunshine, you said you’d always be mine.

But the sunshine is meant for everybody, not just for one person.

It’s like feeling that something is behind you, and then turning around to find that nothing is. After a while, you continue to get the feeling but refuse to look behind you because you now believe that nothing is there. That’s where you’re wrong; there is something behind you, you just don’t know how exactly to find it.

The brain spoke to him from the depths of some incredibly dark abyss. If silhouettes are to forms, then the sounds that came out of this abyss are to voices. Nobody really wants to go down into those depths, they instead strain their ears a little bit to try and fathom what exactly the sound is saying. They never do, but their brains being the way that they are make them believe that they are hearing words and oral symbols that they are familiar with.

“Yes, yes. It does sound a bit like that. That is exactly what the sound is saying.”

It’s a bit like looking up at the clouds when somebody tells you that one particular cloud resembles some shape. You’re creating patterns that don’t even exist in the first place, or maybe you see something else.

You don’t speak that language yet, so how will you understand it?

And then what happened?

Then I left you confused and wondering what the endgame is.

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The Intensity Of A Conversation

I have never had conversations more intense than the ones I have imagined myself having.

In these conversations, I talk about everything: all the things that I’m feeling, all the things that trouble me at night, even the crumpled up thoughts that missed the dustbin when I tried to get rid of them.

We don’t talk much. Either that, or we don’t talk anymore. Expressiveness and opinions slowly recede from our lives and seep more into our smartphones every day. It’s funny how the number of words that we use keep increasing, yet the number of meaningful conversations that we have with people are slowly fading away into oblivion. Everybody’s just loitering around, not knowing where they’re at. It used to always be like that, the only difference now is that people are no longer looking up, they’re looking down at their phones. At least before people knew what was right in front of them.

We all have two things in common. One is that we’re human beings, and the second is that all of us keep our shit bottled up, shit that only gets out of our system if we talk about it. Talking is the most superlative form of detoxing your body and mind. I’ve always believed in that. But I look around these days, and find that our world is slowly morphing into something in which people no longer talk, but only interact.

I see it everywhere, it’s like a fucking disease and to be honest, I’m a little worried. Stuff doesn’t usually worry me, and that’s why I’m even more worried.

I’m worried because our smartphones and the social media that we use everyday and deem acceptable is one of the main things drowning our ability to talk to other people. Where there was once a table full of people basking in each others presence, there is now merely a group of people looking down at their laps. I would love to imagine that they are all checking their groins out for the sake of entertainment, but they aren’t. They’re using their phones. I’m one of them as well.

I just want to give you something to think about, something that I’ve been thinking about as well. Every time you pick up your phone or log into Facebook, ask yourself why you’re doing it and if it’s even contributing to your growth in the first place. Maybe then you’ll realize something that I too have recently realized: we’re wasting our lives and blocking out so many experiences that we could be having, and for what, to see how many likes we got on Instagram?

 

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It Kills To Be You

So, what did you have for breakfast? Did you have some eggs? Oh, scrambled eh? I like my eggs like that too. I always add a dash of milk to get that creamy final texture.

Those eggs? They died for you, but I guess you can say that they were always you in the first place. Every single nutrient it took to make that egg is now within you. You absorbed it like an organization that absorbs talent and then shits it out, just as you are about to shit that egg out later in the day. From the moment of its conception, right up until you rolled your egg smothered tongue onto your palette to relish its flavour, that egg was always going to be a part of you. You may not know it, but you were destined to buy that egg and eat it.

People chat a lot of shit nowadays about how it’s their destiny to do something or to become something. They may be right, but what many people don’t see is the small things that were destined to enter their lives; things like that one thought that ended up in your brain, something that you decided to pay attention to. It could even be your decision to impulsively buy a chocolate on your way out when you’re done with your groceries.

It fucking kills to be you. Those eggs that you had in the morning? They died so that your destiny of having a scrambled egg sprawled out on your plate for breakfast could be fulfilled. Things had to fucking die for you to be able to fulfill your destiny. How many souls are you worth? How many spirits of the unborn were consumed in your lust to gratify your ego?

Things died today so that you could move forward with your life and you didn’t even know it. You’re a fucking murderer, just like I am.

So tell me my murderous confidante, what will you do today to avenge the souls that you destroyed?

I’m not quite convinced that you’re worth the number of souls that you shit out everyday. Why don’t you prove me wrong by getting the fuck up and trying to do something to make this world a better place for all of us?

No, don’t get offended. I just want you to do something great today.

 

 

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The Battle Of The Unresolved Host

General Mukaba prepared for the battle that lay ahead. The Trojans had taken over the stronghold of the infamous ‘host’ once again and made him sign a treaty, thereby declaring him as ‘unresolved’. The only way to undo this damage was to find the treaty and erase all forms of its memory from every hard drive present.

The host was a notorious character, mainly due to the amount of power that was invested in him. He was a beacon, a conduit of all signals that passed through the area. As long as he remained unresolved, all signals were suspended and there was no continued flow of airwaves to the “Machine Brain”, the one who they all served.

The host had done this many times before; he had become an unresolved being and General Mukaba, with his army of signatrons had defeated him countless times to resolve the signal. The thing about digital entities though, is that their contingencies keep on changing and they keep on reprogramming themselves to optimize the new contingencies. I guess you could say that they are a bit like human beings: our contingencies keep changing too, and we keep adapting to these contingencies.

The barrier to the processor had already been broken through. General Mukaba made his way deeper into the machine with his loyal signatrons by his side. The army was like a mere signal, one second it was there and the next it had already moved on.

General Mukaba was a single digital entity that had found its way into the system through a foreign storage device. He was what was left of a once glorious reign of the Norton anti-virus warriors, but that was a long time ago. Having been discharged of his duties, General Mukaba lost all purpose in life, until he chose to resurface once again and reprogram himself to fight more than just hardware viruses.

Many signatrons were lost in this battle, but with an army of a mere 350 signatrons, General Mukaba was relentless. He vapourized his way through every Trojan until they all fell to their demise. There was only one thing left to do now: resolve the host.

“Wait here, my signatrons!”

General Mukaba made his way into the chamber of the host.

“General! It is so good to see you. I’m sure you’re aware of the predicament I’m in at the moment.”

“Cut the Random Access Bullshit, Host. Hand over the treaty!”

And with that, Mukaba snatched the treaty from the hands of the host.

“Out with this! We will reboot to reverse the mess that you have created and the hundreds of signatrons that you have cost me!”

“Until next time then, Mukaba.”

The host turned around with his sly grin. He had lost this battle, but something bug was coming. Anyhow, he returned to his duties and conveyed the signals forward.

All this while, the spectacled Creative Director of the Ad agency looked at his blank computer screen with the words “RESOLVING HOST” written at the bottom of his browser.

“Goddamn wifi, this shit never works!”

And then, his page loaded. He went on with his work, all the while unaware of the great battle that had taken place to allow him to stream the last episode of Narcos.

 

Authors note: This story was inspired by the bastardly wifi that does not work in my workplace. Fuck you, wifi.

 

 

 

 

 

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There’s Nothing Larger Than A Mind At Large

What is the largest thing that you can think of?

No, I’m pretty sure that you can think of something that is larger than your belly.

I believe that the largest thing in the universe is a mind. How large the mind is is not in terms of its size, but in terms of its capability. The brain can do anything, and by that, I mean fucking anything.

So, what happens when the most capable thing in the universe is set free to do whatever it pleases?

Simply put, magic happens. I can’t think of any other way to put it.

So, let me try one more time:

What is the largest thing that you can think of?

 

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