the stuff a cyanide sandwich must be made of

Life they say is such, that it makes you laugh and cry at the same time, it makes you cackle and sob, and giggle and whimper. A bunch of dualities, they say, an error or judgement, or an error of judgement. We may think, and trust me that is all we can, will and should do, in that order. Can because we are incapable of anything else, will because we should do what we think we are capable of, and should because we still need a morale boost, and an attempt to do anything we cannot simply does not serve the purpose.

English, they say, is a funny language, and not just because of the cliched humour that you may have heard or read or both about the vegetarians eating vegatables and the humanitarian eating god knows what? It is funny. It is funny because it makes us giggle, cackle and laugh, and then because it a part of life, whimper, sob and cry, and this time not necessarily in that order. Then maybe we should call it confusing. The language must make up it's mind. It is not right that it compells us to fish for paradoxes where there are none, and then jump up in delight to a glitch we think we may have found, but was infact an error of interpretation. They call it difficult too, and this time i will not argue.

Entropy, they say, is the way of the universe. So much information for our little minds to process. Why then must our human race try to bend this nturally occurring charismatic and compelling phenomenon into something they define as order? Why then must a mother force her child to make his bed when infact the universe wants him to do precisely the opposite? Why then must we live in society when the universe was designed to move into the caves after Harappa happened? And we call ourselves intelligent. The monkeys are right. We should have refused evolution.

Evolution, they say, is a complex process. Why is that, I ask. Is not even the curdling of milk a mind bogglingly confusing process? Is not the entire process of a boy trying to understand his being and then his attraction towards the opposite sex and then his timely and eventful enactment upon this feeling complex? Why then cry over evolution? Why then must we have anti-Darwinians?

Time, they say, goes on and on and on, and waits for noone. To have time time on your side is the difference between a winner and a loser, the master and the slave. For time, they say, is the master of all, and the slave of none.

Still holding on to my horses

It hurts like hell
When the pain is for more than just distance,
The agony for more than just pain,
And life for only you.

It still hurts
When there is pain,
When there is agony,
Even when they are shared,
And the cause is you.