Submerge at your own peril.

Let yourself go. But also imagine doing it... Imagine exiting yourself to examine the same self from a short distance. You would note that you see yourself but hear nothing. There are visuals of course in your imagination but no sound otherwise. Now, stay here for a while. With yourself. You might soon miss this person who knows. This mindlessly obsessed individual before you has rarely accomplished anything worthwhile in his life so far, at least. On the contrary, the evidence suggests that he probably never will; anything remarkable anyway. A few more off springs is barely something that our world can appreciate right now. And with those genes; he's fortunate that the fold of events even transpired him. What is he doing here? Wherever it is that you have found him. In his office; or bed; or somewhere strange, in the darkness? He does look calm and still. He hasn't thought this long for a while. Not that it's going to do him any good, not by any stretch of the imaginatio...

The most significant event that can ever occur occurred technically back when you didn't have a time to begin with. Those that tell you to hurry up and not waste your life waste their own like they've been at it for thousands of years. What's all the rush about? What is so incomprehensible about a time constrained activity? That's all a life is in the end; an activity that began at a certain universal point in time, if there can be one, and ended on the same timescale at a different point. You can't tell about the end yet unfortunately since you are wired and embedded with the same means into the very same fabric of space-time. Now please save all the extra-normal claims about the meaninglessness of a nihilistic view of life. Because that's not what I am selling today. I don't necessarily even agree with the hollow and sad atmosphere that enveloped the 'Nihilist' view long before there even was such a thing. It's almost as if our phobia of r...

He knew what he had to do. Never ask questions. That had always been his job. To do as told. He lay in his car waiting outside the interest’s house. He waited inside the cold warmth of his car drenched in the scent of coffee from the freshner. The man inside the house had no clue that death awaited  patiently outside, waiting for the right time. After eagerly waiting for what seemed like an eternity, he checked his watch. He rubbed his palm over his razor edged 5’o clock on the neck and face, checked his gun and took a deep breath. “One more time.” He said to himself. He left his car unlocked and slowly walked towards the door. He stood outside the door for a while, like he almost heard something. A strange feeling. It was as if he had been here before. But that is not possible. What is happening? He felt so strangely good. He circled around slowly to the side that he had chosen to get in from when he had strolled past the same house today. Did he smoke something wron...

My name is Rana. I am a tree. I've seen boys grow old and old men die. I've listened to the crying of women and attended the burials of their daughters. Fifty years have passed and a thousand more will come. I would weep if I could at the misery of life, albeit I cannot. I am alive but lifeless, strong but helpless. With every fruit, every leaf that I drop, I grow weaker. Take away all the summers that will come, give me a day to feel. I long to understand the hope, I long to feel, to weep. I have given and taken. I haven't though felt or mistaken. The boy that climbed me not so long ago, has hung himself tonight. On my arms Munkar rested after play, now he hangs, in shame and filth. I fear I'll never learn how did he do that. Rest my old friend; rest. A new sun will rise in the morning and into the ground you will go. Like all before you and those that are to. I shall remain however. Here and here; with myself. Maybe I'll name myself better...