pools of madness

Mohsin Hamid’s ‘The Reluctant Fundamentalist’ was a quick and interesting read though I didn’t care much for a narrator speaking to someone who is never given a voice through the entire book.  Nevertheless, I’m glad I read it in the last month here.  If all goes to plan I’ll be a little better prepared to engage in a similar yet completely different culture, soon.  So, the next book on your list, I can’t keep William Dalrymple’s latest waiting anymore.

Six students showed up this morning and a few straggled into the office during the day.  I cleaned up the desk drawers and will empty my cabinet later.  The plethora of files on my desktop wait to be saved or deleted.  And for the second day in a row my internet connection in flat #4 has been disrupted.  The connection at the office is miserably bad, as if the depletion of students prompted the wankers in mission absurd control to fiddle with the bandwidth and slow us all down.  Wankers.  It isn’t coincidence it’s blatantly obvious it’s intentional and for no good reason.

Resist comment, silence speaks loud but what does it say one must know the spirit and intent to understand which is greater than to be understood.  And what do you wish to understand, begin with yourself. 

I remain on the grid, connected and disassociated, chosen isolation has few benefits though the social animal requires what, acceptance, acknowledgment, affirmation.  Does the social animal need love.  How does a pigeon show love when it flits away leaving its eggs to danger.  Love is everything, love is a necessity so minute for it churns the pools of madness.  Passion in isolation is easily remedied without the mythology of emotional affections.

Nevertheless in physical isolation no one knows who you are unless you throw out pieces of life and this is done and even then no one will ever know you.  Perceptions are in the mind’s eye.