Unhappy people. FTW.

No, really! 

If I have to give you one reason why unhappy are for the win, it’s this - They don’t have to pretend. Conversely, if you are unhappy and just want to be happy - Just pretend. You see, happiness is relative. At any point of time, no two people are equally happy. It’s not because of lack of science that no one had ever invented a scale to measure the happiness of beings. It’s just is like that. Like, science itself. Neither measurable nor countable.

If you leave the uncertanity, that is life, out of equation, what you have with you is a plate full of your favorite food. Before you lick your lips and control the reflexive salivation, you realize that your mouth is already stuffed with something you had gorged on but forgot to push down your throat. You ask your hands to help in the process but they don’t move because they are busy elsewhere. They, being maximum in degrees of freedom, loathe that they still are tethered to you and can’t just be on their will. When it comes to your desperation, you are on your own.

That brings us to more basic question - What constitutes as your own? If you can’t get your act together, who will you complain to? Against what? Seeking what? And you say, you are happy. May be. But, equally important bite to chew on, may be not.

If you don’t pretend, you would’ve never got to where you are. It’s that simple. You lied at every chance when you thought it takes you one step closer to whatever you wanted. You lied when your dad’s money learnt magic by itself and levitated out of his wallet. You lied when your love asked you about what you dreamt the previous night. You lied your salary to a friend who Skyped you from US of A. You lie to yourself every time you type, ‘Doing good. Life’s really good.’ on an IM client. You lie to be happy. Your happiness is a lie.

Voice of a voiceless voice

What do you mean you got lost in there? 

See, am this voice you hear when there is no one around you and you are all fucked up inside. If you ever had a hungover followed by a pink-slip, you know how I sound like. Just around 5 minutes back, I was laughing over you guys. A little birdie told me that most of you think me as your inner voice and move on. Seriously? How desperate are you guys? And, I am here to end this once and for all.

AM NOT YOUR FUCKING VOICE. INNER or INTESTINAL!

This is the first time I got a chance to do something, so I should get the sweet symphony played around me so that I can pretend that I can still have a voice of my own. It’s fucking ironic that being a voice myself, I don’t have a voice but, hey, it’s okay! All eyes are blind too for they don’t eyes of their own. See you can stop me from digressing but you gotta have a compatible voice. It’s like, If you want to talk to a God, you gotta be a God. You see what I mean?

Back to the voice at hand - It’s just that my chords have gone for a break and am sniffing around to see whether you can hear me. I want to escape which, I know, will be in vain. After all, if you don’t know where I am coming from, why would you care to take me along with you? 

                                                                                                 Snack The royal palace has no windows. Doors have no knobs. It’s by design and that’s not what amazed him when he set his foot inside, chained at ankles, with his fellow prisoners. It’s not a palace. It’s one hell of a place with an elephant right in the middle of the room. He tried to touch it, while passing, but he couldn’t. A hologram.  The king was sitting on his throne while his heir-apparent was standing beside him with a drawn sword. Son wants to kill the dad and he chose not to hide it. Dad had killed his dad before, for the throne, and decided not to mock himself by sending his son to prison. So, he moved the palace. To prison. At the centre of royal prison, beside the holographic elephant, was a bench made of wood pulp. On it was a 2-day old baby wrapped in a silk robe. Cute? Not for the king.  King rose. Everyone who gave a damn to their life, rose. King walked to center. Everyone who hoped to see the next day didn’t make a move. Except heir-apparent, that was. With his son behind him, King reached the table. There were no chairs around the table. There were no chairs in the bloody prison anywhere. King was frustrated. He looked around. Only his son was in a reachable distance. So, to the surprise of no one in the royal prison, he drew his sword out and decapitated his son. Son’s head didn’t fly. Blood didn’t splash out. But he died, nevertheless.  No one moved. Except a bird, a parrot, that came flying into the prison. It found the baby’s cheek to be a perfect position to rest its ass. It did rest its ass. Then it stretched its neck a little towards the king and made a sucking gesture. King was no more frustrated about little things. He was all cool about what had happened before and his brain was overwhelmed with something he came to believe as a signal to approach his evening snack. He raised the bloody sword. Broke it into a smaller one, the one he hold comfortably in his hand and cut the baby into tiny chewable pieces. 
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                                                                                                 Snack

The royal palace has no windows. Doors have no knobs. It’s by design and that’s not what amazed him when he set his foot inside, chained at ankles, with his fellow prisoners. It’s not a palace.

It’s one hell of a place with an elephant right in the middle of the room. He tried to touch it, while passing, but he couldn’t. A hologram. 

The king was sitting on his throne while his heir-apparent was standing beside him with a drawn sword. Son wants to kill the dad and he chose not to hide it. Dad had killed his dad before, for the throne, and decided not to mock himself by sending his son to prison. So, he moved the palace. To prison.

At the centre of royal prison, beside the holographic elephant, was a bench made of wood pulp. On it was a 2-day old baby wrapped in a silk robe. Cute? Not for the king. 

King rose. Everyone who gave a damn to their life, rose. King walked to center. Everyone who hoped to see the next day didn’t make a move. Except heir-apparent, that was. With his son behind him, King reached the table. There were no chairs around the table. There were no chairs in the bloody prison anywhere. King was frustrated. He looked around. Only his son was in a reachable distance. So, to the surprise of no one in the royal prison, he drew his sword out and decapitated his son. Son’s head didn’t fly. Blood didn’t splash out. But he died, nevertheless. 

No one moved. Except a bird, a parrot, that came flying into the prison. It found the baby’s cheek to be a perfect position to rest its ass. It did rest its ass. Then it stretched its neck a little towards the king and made a sucking gesture. King was no more frustrated about little things. He was all cool about what had happened before and his brain was overwhelmed with something he came to believe as a signal to approach his evening snack.

He raised the bloody sword. Broke it into a smaller one, the one he hold comfortably in his hand and cut the baby into tiny chewable pieces. 

The Local Tea Party: The television is not a family thing

localparty:

Have you tried watching TV with your parents? Don’t. If you still want to do so means, all the best.

First of all it is the most confusing and frustrating experience you will have in your life. You will be watching some movie for a long time. Nobody will be around. But I don’t know from where…

Source: localparty

Minimal Mac: Microsoft's Biggest Miss

minimalmac:

One of the benefits of a long car trip with my wife is the opportunity to have really great and insightful conversations with the smartest person I know. Yesterday, on the first leg of our trip, we spent some time discussing Microsoft’s many missed opportunities. The failure to take the iPhone…

Source: minimalmac