Lost Identity and Smelling Death
Lost Identity and Smelling Death4 mins 297 4 mins 297
Lived the journey halfway and then, left it to smell death. How does this feel? Appropriate? No? Why? Are you pretending to be alive while reading it? Are you living your life? Isn’t your philosophy awakening you to create something new? Are you waiting for the robots to write your feelings? Maybe they are helping you to write them. There are robots prefixed in your mind that navigate it. You did not realise it, right? You thought you would control everything but nothing remains in your control. What went wrong? You wore a tight t-shirt even after knowing that you are a fully grown up human. You should not feel uncomfortable. You decided to wear it to soothe your taste. Style, huh! I see. Your desires shaped your style. Isn’t it?
Anyway, I don’t have answers to any of these questions. I know I am a bit lazy. I am born to day-dream and imagine constructing something new. New? Right, I want to create something new. But, for whom? I smell death. I smell death in our ways of knowing. I smell death when I dream and some stereotypes try to break these incredible dreams. Recently, I smelled death while dreaming. Dreaming is my favourite hobby. I dream a lot before putting my thoughts ahead. I imagine scenarios and continue writing about them. But, after death, nothing remains. No dreams, no world, no bias, no religion, no hierarchies and, nothingness becomes a constant companion. I like to act like a fool. I am not a fool indeed! But I like to act like a fool. Hahaha! You see, I am dreaming again. No! No! I am just a random human. I don’t theorize. My mind is not sane enough to theorize.
I am good at bluffing. You know, I fooled my professors to think that I am not ready. Hahaha! You see, I am notorious. I wrote to an editor of a prestigious journal that I would keep his suggestions in my mind. How funny! As if I would keep these suggestions in someone else’s mind and that mind would be regulated by me. After all, there’s no harm to start late. So, I had to pretend, to delay the process of my research topic selection because I don’t trust people easily and professors are just another bunch of homo-sapiens. They can only teach me if I trust them otherwise, I won’t collaborate. That’s simple! However, my professors should know the degree of insanity I possess.
I feel sorry for the editor who had to go through the worst article I have ever written out of angst and frustration for non-sensical academia. Although, I was disappointed because I expected that he would mention that I must stop writing non-sensical academic articles. See! I told you that I am smelling death. I have started dreaming about the death of old maxims, old theories, etc. But I feel happy when I dream about blossoming valleys and imagine myself walking alone amid those violet flowers. I was often asked to not to pursue Social Sciences because I was never fond of interacting with people. But I was knowing that I was a human who would have to open up to other humans in order to gain new insights and knowledge. Well, I don’t know who the others are.
Ah! I am dreaming again. Now, I feel I am at peace after writing this. No! No! I forgot to mention a good friend of mine. She always comes to my rescue. People have bored me by telling me that she is just a literary form. She carries herself so well amid words that describe my void and my respect for nothingness. Her name is poetry. I don’t want her to die. So, I keep composing for her. She feels happy and I feel appreciated. People call me poetess and I don’t like it much because I can’t replace her and she can’t replace me. After all, she is my great friend. You know, poetry has a magic wand. She has released me from the prison of worthlessness, lost dignity, suffering, abuses, non-consensual sexual advances… She just allows me to stay and breathe.
Oh! See, how beautifully she described herself using my words. Hey Poetry! Thank you for writing this article on lost identity and smelling death. I worry about losing you amidst those literary theories. I don’t know if they could ever be able to describe what I feel for you. Let’s sleep, champ! I know we would excel together and I would not define you because friends don’t judge each other. Now, stop flowing down from my eyes. Catharsis and all! Just mere words?