The Ballads of Gravity

I found a space between foundationalism and anti-foundationalism. Here I stand! There's ontology on the one side and epistemology on the other. Me, the new born baby, wonder on their alien outfits. Here they come. Ontology asked first: "What’s out there to know?” Well, not in a micro-nano-micro seconds my receptors passed the waves of the utterance to the brain, epistemology appeared and asked: “What and how can we know about it?” PS.1. Reality is largely light bouncing off particles and into your eye. PS.2. How does dream occur to a 'born blind' person?

I wish if I could arrest the time and melt into one. proposals of future dispose the vivacity of now, I wish if I could find a space outside the realm of time. worries of beloveds, anticipations of unknowns rive my free bird flying high.

I need to break the bubbles where I’m fragmented in to thoughts and memories of her. I’m suffocating, unable to breath I’m dying in her thoughts. I’ve compromised my life, thoughts, words and what else to say, the time became constant and I myself became a non being. Am I losing myself? I’ve almost became a carrier of her memories. What are her memories? The world might have never heard of such a love story! They were memories of a soul I chased anonymously. The dominant and gargantuan presence of silence conceived the memories of a soul. Somewhere in the vast and timeless universe, my soul met her and ever since then she was mine. Memories contradicted each other for the given definitions of their existence in the normalized paradigm. How can one indulge in the memory that has no physical entity? Memory always associates us with the people, things, time, past, with which and whom we have had enough time to spend. However, how can you have a memory of a person you have n

‘ Wil l y ou re member me?’ I said: ‘I w ill.’ She asked: ‘But How.. .? Oh my god! How would you remember me! You haven’t ever seen me. How will you remember me?’ ‘Your sign is t here ev erywh ere around the globe!’ She asked wi t h pain: ‘Around the globe ? … Why are you flattering me?’ I said: ‘I’m not flatte ring you.’ “Your sign is there everywhere around the globe.” I looked at her again and again. Each time I looked, she became a celestial body of luminous anticipation. Everything else around me was changing , she was my constant universe, and it seemed as though it was a constant constellation of madness, love, beauty, hopes and anticipations; she was crowned the queen of that vast tranquil and luminous celestial universe which was drawn into mine. Time was trapped within the monstrous vacuum of eternity and disentangled into the fragments of memories and dreams. The infinity carved the picture of her and it started to bleed, my heart was

Apart from the structural and dual or multiple paradigms of existential life, of theories and definitions, of meanings and of beings I fall in love. I am a little Keats singing the songs of love. A conscious undertake from the self to keep the equilibrium of life and imaginations. My love for her incinerates the credibility of human comprehension over the archetypal images and experiences of love. I’ll never get exhausted writing about her and the unusual affair of love ever told.  She’s beautiful without knowing it. And possesses charm that she’s not even aware of. she’s like a trap set by nature-a sweet perfumed rose whose petals cupid lurks in ambush. Anyone who has seen her smile has known perfection. She instills grace in every common thing and divinity in every careless gesture. Venus in her shell was never so lovely, and Diana in the forest never as graceful as the girl. ‘I figured I shouldn’t talk to you, but I don’t see how that’s going to make any differenc

The realm of my feasibility struggled itself for a stationed equilibrium of  responsibility and existential credos. The inconsistency of romance often withdrew into her absence of silence. Pastness of the present and presentness of the past along with the absurdity of the future, but the certainty of death made things more vivid, though with a thin frame of perplexities. The universalized-self triumphed over the perceived meanings and languages of humanity. Time was captured within the gargantuan vacuum of absolute nothingness. Sound was trapped, light was trapped, and momentum of the entire vicious cycle was trapped within that monstrous non being of nothingness. Theoretician of mine demanded the theoretical frameworks and critical edges of every existing being and non being, the imagination weaved a web of beauty and absurdity of that chaos and serenity that originated from the absolute nothingness and caused it.

Yes, I am a narcissist, but not selfish. I celebrate myself, I love myself and I love my life, what else I can be other than a narcissist? I have prayer now as Gibran prayed, “Keep me away from the wisdom which does not cry, the philosophy which does not laugh and the greatness which does not bow before children.” ‘Who am I?’ was the next question I had to answer. An age-old and worn out thought extinguished within itself was worthless to answer, but I had to; everyone has to. I didn’t struggle much. I found my meanings, destinations, purposes, existences and myself and I became multiple; myriads and myriads of selves and extensions of a single source of energy. I am many now. In addition, I don’t have to answer the question ‘who am I?’ I am you, everything born and unborn, living and dead; I consist of that source of ultimate energy which resides in every atoms, molecules, particles structured into different forms, figures and elements like, earth, water, air, fire a

I stopped searching for the parochial extensions of my existence. Like every youth, burning inside and blinded by definitions or interpretations I fought well like Don Quixote raging a war towards the shadows of existence and vanity. A paradox disembarked on the shores of my constructive paradigms and horizons of freethinking. Like a free bird, soaring in the endless azure sky, I trumpeted shadows of thoughts, which were repressed, subsided, othered, and muted by the elite, socialized, civilized, classed reverberations of social acceptance and code of existence in a society living in vanity. Freethinking was not free. It was unconsciously dragged unto an undefined school of thought that never existed in any frameworks of existing or non-existing theories and philosophies. I was a paradox within freethinking. It made me an aesthetic and cognitive anarchist I am now. Celebration of soul transcended the limitations of somatic existence. Expectations were removed from the

The realm of my feasibility struggled itself for a stationed equilibrium of  responsibility and existential credos. The inconsistency of romance often withdrew into her absence of silence. Pastness of the present and presentness of the past along with the absurdity of the future, but the certainty of death made things more vivid, though with a thin frame of perplexities. The universalized-self triumphed over the perceived meanings and languages of humanity. Time was captured within the gargantuan vacuum of absolute nothingness. Sound was trapped, light was trapped, and momentum of the entire vicious cycle was trapped within that monstrous non being of nothingness. Theoretician of mine demanded the theoretical frameworks and critical edges of every existing being and non being, the imagination weaved a web of beauty and absurdity of that chaos and serenity that originated from the absolute nothingness and caused it. P.S.  Why should one try to be a star when one can be

you are breaking my heart. eyes piercing my soul, hitting hard and years for now bleeding infinitely there's a stream of blood running unto the abyss of memories, there you go, with the fathom of perplexities and anxieties. remember the story he once said, (...). "the wind disentangles itself from your frenzied body as hurricanes of dreams follow me." yeah, the world is not enough for us. and it was snowing on the Chapel Bridge, do you still hear that echo, poet singing, "grow old along with me, the best is yet to be."