Thoughts Arise

I peel the skin off the calluses on my hands. I can smell the rust that they’re covered with. The sharp smell tingles my heightened senses, taunting me to cut short my rest, enticing me to continue. I grip the barbell once more and pull. The weight comes off the floor smoothly, and with a fluid motion I set it to rest on my shoulders. I am smiling, but the mirror shows me grimacing. My mind is focused on balancing the weight; I don’t have control of my facial expressions. I push the weight and raise it over my head; I lower, and then push again. It gets exponentially harder; the adrenalin pumps through my blood, but my shoulders fatigue with each repetition. I feel the muscles tighten, starved of oxygen, I see the veins on my arms bulge out, then around my shoulders, I can feel them throbbing. And then I cannot lift anymore. The weight hangs in the air, halfway through the upward motion, threatening to fall and crush my skull, I still try to raise it but it’s over. I lower the barbell

Walking down to the library to study; something that I haven’t done for years, carrying my backpack; heavier than it’s been in years, I realized I was smiling. The realization surprised me. Why were my lips curled up in this smug display of contentment when all I had to look forward to was more work and a more stressful schedule than I’ve had in…well…years? Since there isn’t much else going in my life other than work the answer was pretty obvious; I am deriving some kind of satisfaction from my current life style. It isn’t from the work itself, because I am by no means a workaholic. The contentment comes from the people that I’m working with. I realize I look forward to meeting them, while the idea of being alone in my room is becoming ever more distasteful. The extrovert in me is finally emerging from the cocoon of my insecurities, after being trapped in it for ages.

I love it when it rains. The raindrops free falling, merging with each other as the clouds purge them with gusto, regaining identity as they splatter against the window, yet only to lose it again as they form rivulets and flow down the glass. I love it when it rains without thunder and without the ominous darkness in the sky. But what I love most comes after the rain stops and the clouds break; it is the breeze that carries the scent of the rain. I close my eyes and fill my lungs with her and then I hold my breath. I feel the caress of her cool skin, the kiss of her moist lips, and I let visions come to my mind. I don't know when I formed this mental connection; whether such a breeze was blowing when someone first described paradise to me, or whether this breeze really does awaken something mostly lost to me, but somehow it brings to me the purest visions of harmony. I go to a world with lush hills and blue skies, and of course with this mellifluous breeze at its merriest. And in t

There is so much misery in this world that when one realizes even an ounce of it laughter feels like a sin. But, fortunately perhaps, such realization is rarely achieved and always fleeting. However, feelings of one’s own misery are only too evident and intransient. While going through a bad patch in my life I have been facing these bitter feelings with such perpetuity that I have begun to loathe them. The constant companionship of such depression itself has become a source of misery. Almost too late, I realized I have been plummeting fast towards the depraved depths of self pity...

The following is a fictitious depiction of a victim in the recent tragedy at Virginia Tech University . If you think your sensibilities might be offended by this write up please do not read it. For me this is a means to express my compassion. He stifles a yawn, trying not to think about lunch as he muses over his lecture notes. His gaze shifts towards the clock as he counts down the minutes to the end of the class. A sudden shriek breaks him out of his reverie. There are gun shots in the corridor. He hears a cry cruelly cut short. The class becomes deadly silent as the shock hits everyone. The student nearest the door runs to close it but she is too late. The villain burst in with and a deadly shot rings out. He tries to snap out of the steel grip of fear; he curses his inaction, but the suddenness of the crime, the barbarity of this man’s act leaves him stunned. The villain, however, seems completely unfazed or unaware of the utter depravity of his actions. Tears fill the stud

“Ok fresh intakes! Raise your left hand and read aloud your oath.” “I reject God, I reject Satan, My soul is governed solely by the holy board of directors. My body is not my own; It is for the firm to use as it desires. I will subject it to sleep deprivation, To cramped chairs and claustrophobic cubicles, And I will submit my eyes to the constant glare of the computer screen; For productivity is important and sleep is for the dead, Physical discomfort prevents laxness, And it is an honor to set my eyes upon sacred company text. I will dump my girl friend, I will practice abstinence, For the company needs all my energy, And with my current pay I cannot afford any progeny. I will follow the CEO’s directive for toilet breaks; ‘Once every six hours’, that is. If I find that impossible to obey, I will wear diapers to work everyday. I will work on weekends, I will not fall ill, I will not socialize, And for family members I will not

A lofted spear catches him on the thigh. It is only on this battlefield that the agony can be ignored; in fact it has to ignored, for to falter for even a moment would mean death. But there is a momentary lull in the fight around him. As he looks down at his wound he realizes the irony; his fate has already been sealed. For this battle cannot be won, and with this wound there is no possibility of retreat. There is no despair or panic, but instead there is a feeling of headiness. For a man who was trained for war since he learnt to stand, for a man with iron resolve for the cause he fights for, for a man who knew this moment would come, there is no fear of death. What matters to him is the honor in it. He drops his shield and casts aside his helm. He takes a deep breath and readies his stance. They sound their horn; legions of evil steel and brawn mocking this small group of men who have the audacity to take a stand against the armies of an empire. The horn bellows again and ano

Consider that when you die, you do not cease to exist. Instead your mental abilities and your sensory perceptions mutate. They transform in such a way that every memory, every moment of your life, becomes clearer to you than when you were alive, or even when you were actually living those moments. Is it hard to imagine your memories becoming more lucid than the actual experiences you have had while being alive? Generally memories tend to be less complete or detailed than the actual experiences, but there have been cases in which epileptic patients have claimed that in seizures they have relived past experiences with profound clarity, accurate to the minutest detail. So if the hyper activation of a few cells in the brain can cause such an effect, it shouldn’t be too hard to imagine one reliving his entire life through the memories possessed upon his death. In this supposed spiritual existence the lucidity of memory would be followed by a heightening of sentiments. We would exper