all about

i sit here talking to a machine. the machine will talk to some wires. the wires will talk to other wires and a kljdlasjd *internet* and finally the wires will talk to a machine who will talk to you.

i sometimes marvel at touch. it is the single most powerful sense. it creates a bridge that cannot be duplicated by any form of electronic medium. in fact, none of the other senses even have much of a chance against the sense of touch.

it is the single biggest problem-solver/problem creator that exists. it is the form that can mend ways like no other. the smell of the human body, the sound of the breath, the taste of its salts and the sight of its skin can trigger the blood to rush through vines faster than the speed of light. in one second or one hour, the whole chemistry of human relationships can be rewritten.

the human mind, in all its glory, is a powerful tool. touch, however, is the one true rival it has. at times it feels like the parts of the human body were meant to blend in certain ways. these purposefully ways find a "way". it always "ends" or "pinnacles" with human touch. it is always that one moment when the world seems to spin around and all colors begin to fade. when the scenario suddenly has background music. sometimes the kind you like and sometimes the kind that you dont.

touch...is a drug. it is the drug that is feared and loved. it, like other drugs, is kept under wraps. like all things feared it is hidden and denied. once understood and accepted though, it is acidic. it is closer to our instinct than instinct itself. it is primitive and contemporary. it is alive and evolving.

i live and touch. and sometimes i touch and i live.

the book...

A story does not need to have a tragedy to make it worth reading. it does not need to have grave danger for it to be told.

the spectacular plots with things happening that we cannot even imagine do excite us but they do not present to us a situation we can relate to. theres needs to be no giant ice berg or families killing eachother meaninglessly for interest to develop and sustain. the most relevant and recurrent of tragedies happen each day in our lives. they appear normal to people and sometimes to us aswell but they spur and create emotions that we cannot handle. they have more depth than the cold Antarctic seas or more urgency than a fuse ticking the seconds down. life holds a ticker called fate and it ticks when it wants; it ticks soundlessly. 10...9....8....7...6....5...4...3...2...1...0

nothing happens at zero. its like an underground nuclear testing. the switch is thrown but all you see is some dust that settle in a while. the havoc that goes on underneath *sometimes not even apparent to us* sets its place in stone. we live with that tragedy which emerged, existed, erupted and sustained but no one found out. no one understood how big it was. it was just some dust that settled after a while.

i long to read a book which is not about tempests or creatures or religion or conspiracies or serial killers. i want to read a book which is about someone like me who works and lives. who dreams and kills the dream. someone like you who loves and losses, who wants and does not love. i want it to be about the guy i saw walking that day on the road on a zebra crossing. he was not looking at the traffic but at the canal with kids swimming in it. i want it to be about the preacher i met on the bus. i want it to be about the girl at the office who stared at the light of the multimedia projector a bit too long.

if i write this book, will you read it?

accepting

There are a lot of things i dont eat. a large percentage of those ive never tried.

At times something tastes so bitter in the beginning that you regret having ever experienced it. if you're lucky though, things start changing after a while and new images come to life. they make you realize that you were perhaps too quick to judge.

I cant make any claims to taste things i havent at this point. ive been known to shed my ideas when their fate seems dire. some ideas, however, attract me only because their fate is dire. a lost cause, Beck was so right.

ive lived 25 and i wish i had another 4975 years to ago. there are so many things i havent tasted. so many ideas that i havent thought and deserted. this does not necessarily signify that im extremely content with life, although i dont have a lot of complains save a few, but it does mean that im open to all the good *and maybe bad* things that would come my way.

dark or bright your nature; bring it on.

for the record

i am against blogging. i have my arguments against it. i also openly criticize it.

why do i do it? i do a lot of things i dont approve of.

it isnt supposed to be like this at all...

It really isnt. you are not supposed to come across such things in a book. fiction is always there to let you escape from the world around you. im not saying it should be all positive and all flowery, but it should not have a part that destroys your happiness for a hour, a day or a week. it just does not fit in with the context of a book. the book can then have a happy ending but it is just not justified. you read something and you wonder, how can it EVER turn out ok after this? how does this fit in and why was this needed?

its like lion king. i never understood why it had such a heart wrenching sequence. Simba looking down as Mufasa had been killed by the stampede *or Scar*. Sodomizing a 12 year old servant boy? what sense does this make? who told someone this was a good book? its been some 60 odd pages and how can it come out right?

i write things. at times they have a depressing pessimistic tone. at times they mean to find their way to your insides and create some havoc there. theyre never meant to feel like this. the book should be rated R for extreme violence. i doubt if ill get over it very soon.

i have the book in my bag and have to leave the city for a day. i know ill read there and i know ill be alone. Escalation of commitment dictates that i have to read the book. i hope the writer stop using negative emotions as a marketing tool.