multiple invisibilities

'..Ayna-e amar mukh, du aanar udgrib saloon-e...
Ayna-e ama r mukh - koroti porjonto dekha jae...'

Having a hircut in a "salon" (earlier i used to fit myself in the Italian arrangment, if you know whta i mean) is one of the most organically motivating and insecured experiences of life. The man with a sharp tool, a man who's name is hardly known to you, a man who's skills are hardly heard of, a man who is hardly among our known faces - is just caressing your outgrowths to shape, to make you look good. i mean, what gives you all your heart's support and reckoning that the man can take care of your head and skin and hair and blood and flesh to smooothen you to almost that is close to image perfect ??? He touches you, caress through the narrow valleys and allies of the corners of your face and shoulder to do the job.

Another imperative of a "salon" is its frightening aspect of the mirror images. It's a room with a view - a view with the climax of Bruce Lee's Enter the Dragon - where you find multiple unknown mid close shots of a familiar body but with different souls. One is busy entangling it's shoulder, another is only visible from the rear and a few is only visible on a profile with a split-face effect. You can never catch them in their entirety. All the images are brittle, they lack consistency in their approach, they are loosely joined only by coincidence. And i wonder why.
I feel my invisibility is multiplied.
i feel you are not there to tell me what's going on.
i feel you are not there.

lucky man

after a broken consistency with the blog world, i have decided finally. Finally for the
horizontal fall.
i have been sad all these days. may be this is just to pull myself out of an inexplicably affection-hatred pit which i cant crawl out from.

all these past years are hurling abuses at me. what have i done?
What Have I Done ??? circumstances pick you up, and leave you like a dot on a paper. thats when the insult starts to sting and you dont remember anything - the dot might advertise itself as a waiting, or a spot.

Lucky Man is a song by the verve. and this song has transformed this dot into a big sun. in this wrong season of harvest, i found out a way to shred this sad masquerade. i heard the song when i was 17. Now i am 26. the previous year i have discovered the song again excavating this philosopher's stone in the rumble called virtual reality. 'happiness' is really something in my own place, a love that i had been blind to, is something in my own mind, in my work.

i had been a student like most of you, falling in and out of love, having crushes every now and then, so many animals playing themeselves in inside me and institutions to tame them to ice. but now i amaze myself - i have been working, teaching not so young people, trying to fill their mind with the passion that the creators have died for. its a strange crossroad, your soul leaving you to savour the body and its ghost. the song atleast whispers to my stumbling thumb to search courage in my pocket, even in this moment of innocent farewell.
well am a lucky man, with fire in my hands... i am discovering the age old missions of discoveries i vowed for.