Still cold and damp .... I haven't left the stranded man's stone yet .... I told him I was not blessed with a name when I was born ... may be he lost his ... I never had one .... "I was cursed by no name my dear" he murmured .... " Does a name mean Identity less you become a God?"
I could sense his disappointment for even those who became Gods were sanctified with a crime ... the halo drawn around their existence is mere .... signs of an ancient murder.
"My blinded companion .... human glory was all in murder ... either sanctifying the murderer and giving reason for his crime or sanctifying the victim and calling him the lamb"
"You're in a stranded universe .... stranded ... which makes no stranger of you" I said .... "I will be there someday .... It doesn't make me sure I will meet you ... for strangers have being strange in common ... and they never get to meet"
"My blinded companion .... You can call me Damien as long as we meet here .... for I know my stone has no name or epitaph" ... He said
It was cold when I felt the silver sky is about to rain, I do not remember if it was a feeling or a desire.
I passed by the silent place where my turmoil was the loudest roaring out of my brain, and where my disturbed soul disturbed him in his sleep.
I stood before his stone .... only his stone as I felt his serene existence after a long battle he lived.
"I was once like you are .... I could not settle down till I found this stone .... I never felt serene and I can hear a voice of what they called your insanity rising like mine when I was in your place .... I once had a name ... it was denied and I was branded madman, described as stranded .... I was stranded out of the mine .... yes out of the mine deep down .... we all lived there ..... and with time we grew, it's the easiest thing to happen to every one .... when your face gets bold and defined reflecting you ... and only you it can reflect ..... and your mind is forged reflecting all it holds .... and all it held in me was birthless rebellion of my soul .... I was led out of the mine .... I was alienated with a million finger pointing at me like a stranger, a million word and all meant deranged ..... escaped the whim of fear and feared not but fear itself .... gave no definite forms to keep the word aesthetic .... the world was my shrine .... I could feel an unknown spirit ..... I did not want to give it a name .... but everything is meant to death ..... just like myself now ..... they came out of the mine .... my whole shrine crumbled when they sold lies ..... and filled the shrine with scarecrows .... and before highness of their need even the highness of divinity crumbled ...... I found shelter in the mine ..... and died ..... like you found shelter in blindness and never noticed your listening to a dead man who heard you feelings"
I think it started when I had the delicate feathers, I was so open to the colours of the universe, so I painted cosmos in my head, and thought my chest is vast and spacious to inhale the cosmic knowledge. The delicate feathers which created my wings had no strength to carry the slightest weight of my presence, but my will was enough to bear with the weight of the world as my perception about it was not as the perception of the blind crow writing now .... which I regret, but I like in a way.
Growing older is the easiest thing that can ever happen to someone who painted all th colours in the head and lost sight and vision then realized the truth behind the visual illusion and hypnosis painted in the living portrait of chaos. The growth of will I believe is not the same as the growth of the delicate feathers ..... for my will planted the thorns on the cross the day they painted the portrait of my crucifixion. I really don't know if I am blessed or cursed ...... but all I know is I joined philosophers, madmen, and even prophets in both belief and solitude.
I always have a different view of titles. They sometimes ring different bells in my head from which I get the inspiration and words are the hardest to get afterwards.
The first time I came across this title was long ago, it was the title of one of the songs which was about a chapter from a book by Ernest Hemingway with the same title "For Whom The Bell Tolls".
I am not writing a review so please allow me to draw the image I have seen, the analogu I have interpreted with this world. If you don't mind using my humble logic for few minutes lets do that now. The church bills always rings for a village's residents to call them to come to the church, one possibility of not answering the call is being already dead, and the other i being drawn into derangement and disobediance of your normal function as a reply to the call ..... I would suggest HYPNOTIZED as a third alternative. Lets imagine the three, one is physically and mentally not there, the two others are mentally not there and physically mere scarecrows.
I don'y symbolize spiritual or religious calls as alerts or righteou calls for I admit this has fallen into the over controversial area, yet I am just symbolizing a voice some the vilagers used to obey in this case.
Lets get back to the three images which will not respond and this is how the world is nowadays, dead, deranged, or hypnotized by the call of capital or the system. Then "For whom the bell tolls?"
Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered weak and weary, Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore, While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping, As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door. `'Tis some visitor,' I muttered, `tapping at my chamber door -
Only this, and nothing more
. '
Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December, And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor. Eagerly I wished the morrow; - vainly I had sought to borrow From my books surcease of sorrow - sorrow for the lost Lenore - For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels named Lenore - Nameless here for evermore.
And the silken sad uncertain rustling of each purple curtain Thrilled me - filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before; So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating `'Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door - Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door; - This it is, and nothing more,'
Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer, `Sir,' said I, `or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore; But the fact is I was napping, and so gently you came rapping, And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber door, That I scarce was sure I heard you' - here I opened wide the door; - Darkness there, and nothing more.
Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing, Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before; But the silence was unbroken, and the darkness gave no token, And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, `Lenore!' This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, `Lenore!' Merely this and nothing more.
Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning, Soon again I heard a tapping somewhat louder than before. `Surely,' said I, `surely that is something at my window lattice; Let me see then, what thereat is, and this mystery explore - Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore; - 'Tis the wind and nothing more!'
Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter, In there stepped a stately raven of the saintly days of yore. Not the least obeisance made he; not a minute stopped or stayed he; But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber door - Perched upon a bust of Pallas just above my chamber door - Perched, and sat, and nothing more.
Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling, By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore, `Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou,' I said, `art sure no craven. Ghastly grim and ancient raven wandering from the nightly shore - Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night's Plutonian shore!' Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.'
Much I marvelled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly, Though its answer little meaning - little relevancy bore; For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being Ever yet was blessed with seeing bird above his chamber door - Bird or beast above the sculptured bust above his chamber door, With such name as `Nevermore.'
But the raven, sitting lonely on the placid bust, spoke only, That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour. Nothing further then he uttered - not a feather then he fluttered - Till I scarcely more than muttered `Other friends have flown before - On the morrow he will leave me, as my hopes have flown before.' Then the bird said, `Nevermore.'
Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken, `Doubtless,' said I, `what it utters is its only stock and store, Caught from some unhappy master whom unmerciful disaster Followed fast and followed faster till his songs one burden bore - Till the dirges of his hope that melancholy burden bore Of "Never-nevermore."'
But the raven still beguiling all my sad soul into smiling, Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of bird and bust and door; Then, upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linking Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of yore - What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt, and ominous bird of yore Meant in croaking `Nevermore.'
This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing To the fowl whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosom's core; This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining On the cushion's velvet lining that the lamp-light gloated o'er, But whose velvet violet lining with the lamp-light gloating o'er, She shall press, ah, nevermore!
Then, methought, the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer Swung by Seraphim whose foot-falls tinkled on the tufted floor. `Wretch,' I cried, `thy God hath lent thee - by these angels he has sent thee Respite - respite and nepenthe from thy memories of Lenore! Quaff, oh quaff this kind nepenthe, and forget this lost Lenore!' Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.'
`Prophet!' said I, `thing of evil! - prophet still, if bird or devil! - Whether tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore, Desolate yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted - On this home by horror haunted - tell me truly, I implore - Is there - is there balm in Gilead? - tell me - tell me, I implore!' Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.'
`Prophet!' said I, `thing of evil! - prophet still, if bird or devil! By that Heaven that bends above us - by that God we both adore - Tell this soul with sorrow laden if, within the distant Aidenn, It shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels named Lenore - Clasp a rare and radiant maiden, whom the angels named Lenore?' Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.'
`Be that word our sign of parting, bird or fiend!' I shrieked upstarting - `Get thee back into the tempest and the Night's Plutonian shore! Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken! Leave my loneliness unbroken! - quit the bust above my door! Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door!' Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.'
And the raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door; And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon's that is dreaming, And the lamp-light o'er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor; And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor Shall be lifted - nevermore!
I think it started when I had the delicate feathers, I was so open to the colours of the universe, so I painted cosmos in my head, and thought my chest is vast and spacious to inhale the cosmic knowledge. The delicate feathers which created my wings had no strength to carry the slightest weight of my presence, but my will was enough to bear with the weight of the world as my perception about it was not as the perception of the blind crow writing now .... which I regret, but I like in a way.
Growing older is the easiest thing that can ever happen to someone who painted all th colours in the head and lost sight and vision then realized the truth behind the visual illusion and hypnosis painted in the living portrait of chaos. The growth of will I believe is not the same as the growth of the delicate feathers ..... for my will planted the thorns on the cross the day they painted the portrait of my crucifixion. I really don't know if I am blessed or cursed ...... but all I know is I joined philosophers, madmen, and even prophets in both belief and solitude.
A story of quitting is always in line with me not fitting any where, not even to where I belong, my eternal alienation. I am a quitter when I am helpless, but helpless is always the main feature of a blind crow like me, all I have is a deaf and blind page to write upon my failures. even if I tried to perceive something else, it never works .... for the main feature is being a helpless loser .... si I will only believe in the reflection of the crow because I can see no other image, not even a mystic image, I was deprived of seeing by any chance .... I will only see what I believe .... and I believe am a blind crow .... in other words an eternal Loser ..... limited to blindness
This episode has no time line just like my life .... I don't believe in a regular sequence, logic sequence or time line ..... I believe in things eventually happening and I cannot recon when .... I cannot recon when I was ... Alienated ...
In the very beginning I believe my perception was built upon the fact I might look somehow like the peakock companion I had .... I did not .... I started looking at my kind .... I figured out that my kind is ugly ... as a result I am ugly .... but being UGLY by nature in addition to deformed .... that was step one in building my perception ..... at a certain point they did not understand my facial expressions ..... I apologize ..... I didn't mean misleading you .... it's just that my face looks like that.
Unintentionally the one who begot me stresses on the fact something is wrong with me .... something is wrong with how I look, something is always wrong ..... Someone is always wrong .... and the one taking the burden of being ... me....
Silence .... another phase of alienation .... I want to speak no bullshit ... I just want to forge my mental existance in a way ..... I am greedy, I want all the knowledge in the world .... I am wrong .... It means bearing the weight of the world .... But that was my decision .... The companion I decided to have was myself .... But what if it turned to be my enemy?
Actual turmoil arises when I say I Am. We live, we die, we breathe, we eat, we had phases in common that builds no interest for anyone, the moment that build real interest when someone utters "I Am" and finds authentic words to define his being. "I Am the creation" that's what I said every time I preached. I am a philosopher, I am a clown. I am contradicting, yet my contradiction goes in harmony. I'm Reason, Then I am the mystic message. I'm the child's observing eye,then .... I am the Blind Crow. The saint sometimes, yet the sinner.
I cannot tell if I am the thin line between the extremes, or my mind shelters it all. Sometimes my mind bears resemblance to rivers to a great extent, when it's in comfort water is mooth and soothing, and when turmoil comes it's like the flood .... water can break into the stone like the flood of thaughts break into my head .... and I fail to define my being ..... I Am ... Turmoil.
When a man loses track of the living he loses track of sensual deceiet. The story of incubation started when I lost track of my sensual existance, I rendered all my senses mistaken, conventionalism became no longer my playground.
I was once alive, I was once with perfect senses of living beings, I was once deceived by words I heard and believe are as true as scriptures. Touched the softest I can touch, tasted the sweetest a grapevine can beget from summer wine. I have never learnt about Aethetics till I lost my senses.
"From force fed impressions let us mortify the minds, each soul to violate, each instinct tobe rendered FALSE" That was the first step.
As I said I rendered all my senses mistaken, I got deep into myself, dug deeper, and over thinking and over analyzing separated my body from my mind, I could depart the one I have been to join the virtual foot steps before me.
My mind and soul enclosed me in gentle rains of cleansing. I have unlearned to relearn, and threw out the fed impressions and I've learnt in the conventional frame.
I was told I was a scattered part in the universe, and when the cleansing came I gathered the scattered parts of the universe in the vision I have had for Unity .... My authentic vision was the one I have seen after opening my eyes again after incubation.
Sources of inspiration ... Gibran Khalil Gibran, Dark Tranquillity
Sacrs might seem to be metaphorical, I'm talking about physical signs in my body. but the intangible part of it is the metamorphosis of pain and its transcendence to the extent of manifisting it on my skin ...... To me the transcendence of Ego made Gods, not necissarily real ones, and the transcendence of pain made philosophers and mad men.
Metamorphosi starts with an internal feeling of abstract agony, depression, ascending to hatered and sadness, real sadness, not the sadness you suffer when your parents deprive you of the morning candies because you did not drink your milk during the breakfast, it's the sadness you feel when you find no way out, just the wall, just the no where to hide, the nothingness, the sadness you feel when you feel alone in an over crowded life of strangers.
next stage is transcendence, it surpasses my tolerance, I manifist my inside and start the razor prayer, for my pain preached to me to mark every sign as a memory of pain, just like reminders and birthdates people celebrate.
next phase, years and years ... where did this magnitude go? is it the same direction? down and down? or was that magnitude of energy directed in a constructive manner? it depends on who I am nowadays.
Finally I take a look in silence and contemplate all the hatred and sadness,they were never but my allies, if it were not for hatred and sadness I woudn't have ever learnt about moving on. I admit it might sound sick, means lead to ends, we all revolve around death, we don't know when it will grant us eternity, but we have to walk the long destined road no matter what awaits.
I was resentful .... I was ultra resentful .... Imperfection was a curse to me .... I thought it meant keeping me inferior to divine beings I have seen throughout my existance, which I don't know if it's pathetic or blessed.
Before I got blinded I was resentful because of what I don't have, when I got blinded I have seen that senses are the soul of my deceit.
Before I got blinded I have seen imperfection as inferiority, when I got blinded I have seen imperfection as the essence of universal UNITY.
Before I got blinded, all my vision showed me the portraits painted with smiles and gestures we easily fall for, when I got blinded my soul led me by the hand to the fact colours departed the real potraits of their souls to paint their pale faces.
Before I got blinded I used the word UGLY to discribe a being I see in the mirror, when I got blinded I've hear my soul preaching to me "Medidate, essence of things are not reflected in he messages between your eyes and your mind, but it's emded in the souls".
In my blindness I've seen UNITY in imperfection ..... For my soul is the preacher.
The eternal issue of the Dole Crowner, when I was young they induced the dole crowner is all about fear, later on the revolution I had in my brain made me think he is all about oppression ... dole was an area where you have no choice .... and he monopolized it ... so he turned to get all my resentment .... revolution blinded my reason ... even reason is limitation to the cosmic knowledge I was seeking as a young rebellious crow in search of a better life ... but I never knew I don't fit anywehere but in being the crow .... and this is when the dole crowner became the oppression ... being in itself was my problem ....
Conclusion .... the dole crowner is a momentary perception .. when I was young he was fear ... when I was rebellious he was the enemy .... oppression .... and now I became his secret .... and he became my question .... even though the dole crowner gave me blindness .... I can't tell if it's a bliss or a curse ... I no longer see my kind's fear .... I live near the scarecrow with no fear ... for I can't see him ... so I found serenity in my blindness ..... was it granted??? or was it another tool to redirect my path to my well known fate .... how I will die .....
you might think it's a very long story ..... I assure you it's no different than Gibran's Madman's story when his 7 masks were stolen and he became the madman and then he could find safety in madness away from slavery of being understood ....
My story is short and simple .... my metamorphosis and evolution of my perception ... I started with semi open eyes ... I've seen the landscape ... tempting to someone who has never seen anything .... I've seen peacocks .... every where ..... they looked great .... displayed the best of which the eyes can see .... I've seen the odd and unaccepted ... felt sorry for my kind .... but even my kind of crows have issues ... I admit am no more than a crow ... I envy the colourful creatures ..... but I never lied ... and never had to ... my ugliness shows ... while peacocks are just liars .... tempting colours ....
I developed a third eye because the couple I have in the head did not see .... I've seen even worse creatures .... So I decided to trade my eyes for my peace of mind ..... my blindness is no more than result of my vision.
Time is assumed to be a straight line ..... I apologize this is not how I see it in my chronicles .... when I end up my life and take a glance back i will realize that i link actions and nothing is linear ..... linear sequence of things is an assumption of regularity .... can someone tell me to what extent their lives were regular??? .... to a great extent they have to get back in the linear map to pile up the actions and tell a nonlinear time line story just like the one i am telling now .... I don't consider my birth my beginning ... we all had the same beginnings that we were told about later ... the moments we all witness are not of any importance to be told ... I was an embryo, an infant, a toddler, and then i started joining a community of the same age group then started forging my feather .... when i started the razor prayer .... that was the beginning ....
Few years ago my mental incubation has started ...... the whys, memories, the hows ...... the whens are sometimes what we fail to remember, when we do then it must have been really precious ..... I don't remember the beginning .... I did not even know if it was that precious or not ..... I remember the dole crowner enclosed a body in a shell for a while .... and it came out to vitality not knowing it will turn to have chronicles .... interesting .... a movie can be based upon it ..... what I remember is when I decided my mental incubation ..... so I became the blind crow ..... and tried to touch the universe in me ..... cleansed .... reborn .... to figure out we are all liars ..... including myself
Episode 15 (His name was Damien)
