It happens way too often that I don’t understand what I am doing. I look around, and then, again, I look again, and then I just look on. There is no problem with it really, as rationalists, we should get confused with fiction more than reality, but I have to switch back too often, which is where it can get all tangled up. I have to monitor all the states, discreetly; otherwise, I may end up shouting out loud at the work place, sometimes, I just sit on the chair, arcing my eyes to see everything that lies in front of my cubicle, then thanking god for not letting it happen.

It is very similar to hiding myself in a closed messed up room, I know that I should be making a better living than that, but I don’t, because I am confused, in spite of relying too much on the signals coming out of brain, crunching them, listening to their sounds, trying to fit them into a tune that I am listening outside. Sometimes, I just skip the interpretation part, jump to the scale, measure the distance, and act as if the measurement was always correct. My rambling discursive mind-book is like a hashing table, instead of a simple stack or queue—easy to be  simple and understood by everybody that way, but, that is a part of the highs and lows of going the “my own way”. I can’t even understand whether I am pacifying even myself in the process—would be some kind of result at least, but what is the point in typing some insensible shit looking at the people moving all around the floor? Another moment passes by; a star from the sky above the roof must have crashed to earth, this roof, which denies me chance to wish this wishful thinking away.

I decide this can’t go on, I need to take control, so I plug-in microphone into my ears, try to concentrate on pessimisticism, which is clouding me, like the rainless clouds cloud the rainless summer. But I have taken control, total control, as controlled as one can get when one has to control pee for an hour, I move, start moving, I ably walk past few cubicles, I feel confident, I look around once more, “this is going to good” I say to myself, I walk past few more cubicles, reach the door with “enter the dragon” written on its front, I walk past it, then I move back, peek inside through the see through, try to make a sensible smile to the person inside it and say “fuck, I thought you are not you!”.

Of course, I move back, I remember, and then I think, “Was it really necessary to do that?” But I do not know whom am I asking that question to–To me, to the passing moment, to a state of mine? Nobody is impressed, I can reason myself out of it, but the neurosis can only make me look like some “psycho”. So I pretend, as if this is not real, “I am writing a new idea for the new Raymond Chandler book, isn’t it?” I lie inside a lie, and then I pretend, I lie outside. I want to believe it is the truth; I want a person to believe it, for sure, but how can I hold a belief that is already known to be untrue? I have no answer, “Religion, isn’t that true?” I say to myself.

So I start from the desk again, deciding that this place is going to do me no good, I walk up to the bathroom, listening to “Cause I am a woman” by Peggy lee. I slip; hit the edge of the elevated platform carrying the washbasin, few moments’ escape, like they escape with a dose of LSD or cocaine (if you have it for the first time). Waking up is different, I feel a bit lost, thinking to myself that I won’t get crazy like that again, and would really control myself better in the future, similar to the way we pledge to ourselves the morning after the night we puke because of drinking too much. I feel down, so down that it looks like up, I don’t know if it is only this time, or has it always been like this forever?

It is really a necessary disease I think to myself sometimes, what use cures would be of without any diseases? It won’t require a comet to strike an asteroid, our core values, without these evolutionary pitfalls, what use? Would you just want to get uploaded into the transcendental stuff without experiencing what it feels like to “be down” and think it is up? “The disaster isn’t waiting, it doesn’t happen because of taking a single risk,” I think, “you are fine,” I say to myself. That we haven’t got them handled? Do you want to be born with handles?–Handles that can steer your life to motionlessness? Would you become a “that that can’t fall into the unfathomable pit created by self into yourself?” you have to; you must not use sneaky persuasion I say to myself, “No, cries the brain”, “fuck you”, you must say to yourself.

Every moment, it is as if something inside me is trying to explain me something, endless talk that I have with myself, never confuses them with the outside world. I don’t mean I behave like Dexter, my mind is clear, but it isn’t that smart as it should be. I try to swallow particles in air, each of the particles carrying parts of me, trying to reconcile everything, physically I seem to be making sense, but my mind seems to repel all the things like a centrifugal pump. Trying to come to terms, I try to head bang to a complex jazz fusion song, I flatten out everything, it is making sense after all, but it isn’t—I know that as soon as the song finishes. May be these particles have abandoned my physical self to realize a world outside, a world that I want to see inside, trying to connect, making me all the more disconnected at the same time.

All this on one side, I had my connected moments in life, as a kid, everything made sense—like connecting bat with the ball to score runs, scoring runs for winning the match. The game has got bigger, thing is—I don’t even know what the match is about, ok, “you don’t have to know it”, one would say, I don’t even know whether I want to become something like “why do I have to know”, in fact, it is not easy to be like those out there now, and it isn’t easy to be what I was sometime back. I know one thing that it is hard to go against the hard-wired instincts, but habits make life, if it is 7^th—fine it is the 7^th, but if once you go past that, you just go past it, it becomes the 8^th one and becomes an instinct.

I know how these moments pass, everyone has them–some forced, and some self forced. Each and every one of us is trying to make sense, trying to put the pieces of puzzle together. Sometimes we get stuck with a particular piece for a long time; we forget the puzzle, we instead get busy with individual pieces. Now, again, there are times, I don’t understand what I am doing, but I don’t try to understand what I am doing, I enjoy the incognito yet familiar photos, I just look around and then I look on…