Chew on me? It'll cost you Love

I'm real late. My mother does not run My life anymore I love you I k(em)iss you. My mother knocks And helps me nock You up.

What have you in store for me today?
Predatory instincts sharpened before we pray.
Dunk the Lord's Head in the pond
till he splutters out the benediction you want

Never lionize Schrödinger's Cat

Everyone has their own personal way of reacting to a piece of numinous prose. Mr. V comes up with a lot of those numinous proses. But I feel we should NOT comment on Mr. V's deep ruminations lest we undermine them with the platitudes of plaudits or criticism. We should just dwell on them and apply them to our individual experience of existence and see what comes of it.

The only appropriate way to handle Mr. V's impassioned assertions is with a pregnant silence as you turn the matter over objectively in your mind. The slightest iota of rhetorical applause or condemnation (especially on public fora) can jeopardise the impact or outcome of a potent maxim. Never lionize Schrödinger's cat!

1). If the assertion hold true, we'll have attained a priceless Truth for free;
2). If it doesn't, we'll know that either Mr. V has been experiencing something authentic, unique but non-transmittable or that he is, disingenuously or deludedly, propagating a fabricated paradigm.

Only the first scenario is worth pursuing.

"Hey waiter, I'll have what debate"

The entire paradigm of The Debate is based on the notion that the most apt conclusion can be reached only by letting a host of germane viewpoints hammer and crash against each other, at the culmination of which will emerge a conclusion, battered and dented, but all the more mature and polished for it. I say debates (at least the way I see they are conducted and pan out) are more a fanfare-creating device than a forum for honest discussion. If you need a debate to convince you of an ideology, then maybe you haven't thought it through well enough to be part of the informed debate in the first place. This is not, whatsoever, a plea to be stubborn or parochial about one's own views. It's a plea that one must substantiate any idea for oneself, of one's own steam.

Debates are perpetuated by the belief that diversity of opinion is something to be cherished. This can be a grossly misleading idea, if you're not careful.

Now, I know that not every issue is black or white, but how many legitimately different ways can there be of describing -- to employ a proverbial specimen as an example -- an elephant, unless one is holding up a limb or a tusk or a tail and purporting it to be a comprehensive definition of the elephant?

Debates, as we know them, involve a panel of persons groping and grasping at the isolated perspective they are given to as individuals. My plea is, let us not allow the individual to be reduced to having to play the role of providing one of the many ingredients of a debate. Each individual should be armed with a holistic vision on an issue that must resemble the truth as closely as the individual's fallibility allows. If there is but one truth, there should never be two different takes. If you differ from another's viewpoint, that is just what constitutes the variance -- the different viewpoint, the different location; you need to just shift your locus and align with the other perspective to reconcile the discrepancy. But with such a shift, the elephant, or the truth does not, in itself, ever change.

Now, I know the vicissitudes of life make it nigh on impossible for there not to be different perspectives. Life offers too many caprices, too many discombobulating contours for a solid stance to view a phenomenon from (unless you are powerfully ensconced in your Meditative Zen State) and is too unreasonably hurried for the truth not to be often formed in a blurred haze.

So, I know we live in a complex world that's rendered even more inscrutable by its tendency to be unstable. But honestly, that does not mean we allow spades to be called geranium flowers. Of course, a spade may well appear as a geranium flower to somebody else. But you'd be a fool to yourself to allow them to con you into calling what appears as a spade to you as a geranium flower. The key is to know your spade and your geranium flower well enough, be able to distinguish between what each represents in your universe and hold fast to the truth of both definitions, that you can stand your ground if and when you are presented a hot, boiling pot of lies.

Sing and dance, Powerpants!

God for me

Atheism has to be a false notion. If someone says they are an atheist and purports that they do not believe in the existence of God, they are surely misspeaking or misguided, right? Surely they mean to deny and defy formal religion and the insidious mores of men that seek to indoctrinate, not God per se!

If some young, naive wannabe renegade, impressed by the machismo embodied by atheists, should buy into the malarkey that God does not exist, he should let himself in for a world of pain, desolation, dissolution and fecklessness.

For me, God, incontrovertibly, is. That which gives me power is God. Energy is God; and the universe runs on energy. Ergo, there is God. Booyah.

It only remains to find and employ the means to harness God.

The angel asks me, "What may I do for you at this juncture of your existence?"

I want to milk this divine offer. So, I contemplate a while so as to conjure up the optimum request. Then, I consult the phrase I had carefully calligraphed a recent enough while ago that it should still be fresh and germane. I clear my phrenic passages and think:

"I want to discover undying precepts of my very own. I want, then, to define and articulate these ruminations by dint of my incontrovertible finesse as a usageaster. I want to apply these precepts, which should infuse me with strength and vigour, with sagacity whenever beneficial."

The benign seraph says benevolently, "Will do, Mihir. Stand by for fulfillment of your wish. Nicely composed request too, by the way, if I may."

Come, kiss

Transient, but it lingers
For long enough to be tasted.
Fleeting no longer,
It ceases to elude capture,
And embeds itself softly
But surely in the pores
Of my mind.

A vast fullness
Envelops the atmosphere.
There's no space
That's beyond my eyes.
If some does lurk,
In some shadowily painted corner
Its screaming secrecy
Betrays its presence
To me.

Wait till I unleash
My eyes on your form.
You won't know
Which way to look,
Or which way to swarm.

Would it really be
So bad if you just
Came over
To my place
And stayed there
Till I drink
You up
To
My
Fill?