the storyteller...

you know, the last post really happened as an outburst! a need to reaffirm my sanity through the remaining shards of rationality torn asunder by my anger and jealousy. in fact, anger would be a mild word. rage is more like it. and knowing that i am capable of such, it is scary not knowing where such emotions come from. but it passes. and then the tranquility of reason re-establishes itself as the keystone of my day. like i said,

"being prone to my emotions and feeling each and every nuance of it's existence and it's power and sway over me is not something that i am ashamed of. i can feel, and i am proud of it!"

***

i have always loved stories. i grew up feeding on them. they have nourished me from a child to a man and now it is my ardent desire to pass on the same to the next. there is something about our life and our mode of education today that makes us more passive. more impassioned to the world and to ourselves. we see the world through the eyes of scientific rationality and technological advances. it is a world of social averages and anything that is on the verge of extreme is seen as vile. and maybe it is rightly so. but i grew up with a different mindset. yes, i too had teachers who taught me about 'this world' and how to be a part of it within it's definition of successes and failures. but then, i also had 'my stories' that made me see things differently.

...not just stories that told you how everyone came back home and lived happily ever after, but stories that when read between the lines told me how savage we men could be; how beautiful we could be; how vile we could be; how passionate we could be; how volatile we could be; how despite being everything that we were taught not to be we still were each uniquely unparalleled in a world of chaos and uncertainty; where every step we took was equal to ten steps taken by the one's before us, and yet where at the end of the day we found ourselves back to where we had started from. in a world that was staged to exhibit the basest of our habits and where nothing mattered, and yet everything was at stake, and how we have the capacity within us to walk this stage as the Colossus of our times...

sometimes the stories become more than just words...

***

Friday the 13th...ominous? maybe not. have had crazy weird dreams for a while now. cannot exactly remember the details, more precisely the faces. but what strikes as weird is the fact that the objects that were part of the dreams have somehow remained vaguely etched in my mind.