Subir Das is a former Montrealer, once a Serai Theatre Troupe member and currently living in California.

Fri, November 4, 2005 - 7:31 PM

You are feeling the amplifications and light of what is inside you. You are at a planned revolution, lying on a the floor left alone by the enemies you made today.

You are certain that everyone will ignore that you are capable of destroying a wide range of silence this morning. You know this is the falseness of releasing beyond your body. It’s the calm feeling of walking up to to the ocean. You open your eye and you breathe.

You can precisely push apart the trivialness of our history (on your own); as well as shut off the chaos of your mind to lead into what has been falsely pleasing you. You are prohibiting yourself to be a hero of the stillness of the now, as well as taking action and relieving responsibility for your past or should you think absence.

You ease into this moment for not to be an analytical dream (drama? delirium?) and decide to be a physical being. It is a humble attempt at maya (gibberish which I have always shit on) as insignificant as the complexe success of destroying who you are, so that you can instill the positiveness to the demons you hate. Your air is cold.

At the momment of your death you are ignorant that the Devil's Hate and Curse is from ignoring "in here" and is partly exposed in the noisy exposure and arguements with the illusion.

You rest yourself softly, like when you hold yourself into an awareness. You breath out the muck as you push your head into the Fish Tank. Dry and cursing the death, you quickly fixate on the demon lying across from you who is silent and frown.

"The sea rises, the light fails, lovers cling to each other, and children cling to us. The moment we cease to hold each other, the moment we break faith with one another, the sea engulfs us and the light goes out."

-- James Arthur Baldwin (1924-87), American writer, critic