Melancholia

..I felt that I would go inside my room,close all the doors and windows to the outer world.I would sit in a corner and sulk with blackened eyes of sorrow. My eyes will stay awake, unblinking and the dark spot around it will make it look like the flaming eyes of a panther in a dark forest..it burns alone..it burns inside and outside.I would wear the black robe of a monk to observe my days of mourning.Then I also thought that maybe I would start painting my grief.An unconscious,soundless seething grief that had swept up from my feet to all over my body.It had no face, no sensation no bodily manifest..but it was just there all over me like that black dress.I would dance grotesquely in front of a mirror with my black robes on.I would express emotions and contort my face like savages to show myself that I was in pain.I would create this grand spectacle of my sorrow for myself and I would then paint all of those.With most cruel and vile manner I would whip the canvas with colours and paint the pictures of horror,pain and suffering in a dark isolated corner.Disgusting, disfigured, twisted faces..charred with dolour.

-‘Thorneer’

Hide and seek

Once the famous Persian poet Saadi said- ” Lie is virtuous if telling the truth is evil”. I have seen lie lingering in the corner of a girl’s lips,whom I loved(also her lips)..like a smile of a furtive devil. We all lie or hide ourselves. Though hiding and lying are quite different. In the business of trying to find something more about this matter I chanced upon a wonderful essay ‘Of Simulation and Dissimulation’ by Francis Bacon. He writes about it with an astonishing insight into people’s mind and analyse them with precision. I couldn’t help but put up the whole essay in this blog.I am sure you will enjoy it with that same evil smile.
-‘Thorneer’

Of Simulation and Dissimulation

 DISSIMULATION is but a faint kind of policy, or wisdom; for it asketh a strong wit, and a strong heart, to know when to tell truth, and to do it. Therefore it is the weaker sort of politics, that are the great dissemblers.

Tacitus saith, Livia sorted well with the arts of her husband, and dissimulation of her son; attributing arts or policy to Augustus, and dissimulation to Tiberius. And again, when Mucianus encourageth Vespasian, to take arms against Vitellius, he saith, We rise not against the piercing judgment of Augustus, nor the extreme caution or closeness of Tiberius. These properties, of arts or policy, and dissimulation or closeness, are indeed habits and faculties several, and to be distinguished. For if a man have that penetration of judgment, as he can discern what things are to be laid open, and what to be secreted, and what to be showed at half lights, and to whom and when (which indeed are arts of state, and arts of life, as Tacitus well calleth them), to him, a habit of dissimulation is a hinderance and a poorness. But if a man cannot obtain to that judgment, then it is left to bim generally, to be close, and a dissembler. For where a man cannot choose, or vary in particulars, there it is good to take the safest, and wariest way, in general; like the going softly, by one that cannot well see. Certainly the ablest men that ever were, have had all an openness, and frankness, of dealing; and a name of certainty and veracity; but then they were like horses well managed; for they could tell passing well, when to stop or turn; and at such times, when they thought the case indeed required dissimulation, if then they used it, it came to pass that the former opinion, spread abroad, of their good faith and clearness of dealing, made them almost invisible.

There be three degrees of this hiding and veiling of a man’s self. The first, closeness, reservation, and secrecy; when a man leaveth himself without observation, or without hold to be taken, what he is. The second, dissimulation, in the negative; when a man lets fall signs and arguments, that he is not, that he is. And the third, simulation, in the affirmative; when a man industriously and expressly feigns and pretends to be, that he is not.

For the first of these, secrecy; it is indeed the virtue of a confessor. And assuredly, the secret man heareth many confessions. For who will open himself, to a blab or a babbler? But if a man be thought secret, it inviteth discovery; as the more close air sucketh in the more open; and as in confession, the revealing is not for worldly use, but for the ease of a man’s heart, so secret men come to the knowledge of many things in that kind; while men rather discharge their minds, than impart their minds. In few words, mysteries are due to secrecy. Besides (to say truth) nakedness is uncomely, as well in mind as body; and it addeth no small reverence, to men’s manners and actions, if they be not altogether open. As for talkers and futile persons, they are commonly vain and credulous withal. For he that talketh what he knoweth, will also talk what he knoweth not. Therefore set it down, that an habit of secrecy, is both politic and moral. And in this part, it is good that a man’s face give his tongue leave to speak. For the discovery of a man’ s self, by the tracts of his countenance, is a great weakness and betraying; by how much it is many times more marked, and believed, than a man’s words.

For the second, which is dissimulation; it followeth many times upon secrecy, by a necessity; so that he that will be secret, must be a dissembler in some degree. For men are too cunning, to suffer a man to keep an indifferent carriage between both, and to be secret, without swaying the balance on either side. They will so beset a man with questions, and draw him on, and pick it out of him, that, without an absurd silence, he must show an inclination one way; or if he do not, they will gather as much by his silence, as by his speech. As for equivocations, or oraculous speeches, they cannot hold out long. So that no man can be secret, except he give himself a little scope of dissimulation; which is, as it were, but the skirts or train of secrecy.

But for the third degree, which is simulation, and false profession; that I hold more culpable, and less politic; except it be in great and rare matters. And therefore a general custom of simulation (which is this last degree) is a vice, using either of a natural falseness or fearfulness, or of a mind that hath some main faults, which because a man must needs disguise, it maketh him practise simulation in other things, lest his hand should be out of use.

The great advantages of simulation and dissimulation are three. First, to lay asleep opposition, and to surprise. For where a man’s intentions are published, it is an alarum, to call up all that are against them. The second is, to reserve to a man’s self a fair retreat. For if a man engage himself by a manifest declaration, he must go through or take a fall. The third is, the better to discover the mind of another. For to him that opens himself, men will hardly show themselves adverse; but will fair let him go on, and turn their freedom of speech, to freedom of thought. And therefore it is a good shrewd proverb of the Spaniard, Tell a lie and find a troth. As if there were no way of discovery, but by simulation. There be also three disadvantages, to set it even. The first, that simulation and dissimulation commonly carry with them a show of fearfulness, which in any business, doth spoil the feathers, of round flying up to the mark. The second, that it puzzleth and perplexeth the conceits of many, that perhaps would otherwise co-operate with him; and makes a man walk almost alone, to his own ends. The third and greatest is, that it depriveth a man of one of the most principal instruments for action; which is trust and belief. The best composition and temperature, is to have openness in fame and opinion; secrecy in habit; dissimulation in seasonable use; and a power to feign, if there be no remedy.

The yellow brown room

I am sleeping in a bed..perspiring. The room is dimly lit. Everything is looking yellow and morbid.I am having a very strange sensation in my head. I can feel something very heavy and also very light..they look like giant chunks of concrete but little cloudy.I am touching them..grabbing them..holding them at the same time. My eyes are literally sticking to them as if they are the part of my eyes. I can hear their sound as they have a strange sound.I can’t explain it but I can hear the sound..i feel like somebody is shouting at me, those concretes? I don’t know but I can feel that they are rotating and moving, changing shapes.Its like an earth moving through the vacant space. And I can see then the walls are coming to me..the Almira, the mirror, the dim light..everything coming toward me. The space is getting shrunk..the walls are trying to devour me.Some yellow colour is melting mixing with the floor. Oh, so little room for me now..i am perspiring even more..thirsty..my eyes popping out of my head in fear ,in a claustrophobia.This was the first time I had an hallucination or whatever it was.I still remember it vividly,I am shouting out from my bed writhing in pain, ‘they will kill me, they are coming, they are coming..dad, save me please, please dad.My parents were worried..they were trying to calm me down anxiously.Their voice was calm and soothing and it was eerie. The more I heard their voice the more I felt that probably they were also the part of that horrible real dream..as if i was in some strange medical facility where some sinister experience was being conducted on me and the they were the doctors and workers who were trying to calm me down.Their voice made me even more frightened. I never felt any emotional support, i felt they thought I am crazy.Their calm voice sounded ominous..unholy.As if they knew I am just being stupid..silly,I felt so hopeless, weak.How strange the paradox..a child is feeling weak in the hands of his own parents. How much I trusted them emotionally in my real life ? My parents.Probably not too much.I always felt they could not feel me the same way I feel this world.Yet they love me and I love them too.I treasure them. But at the same time I can’t confide myself to them.

-‘Thorneer’

Me

Me

See that’s me. That little brown dot near the centre. If your computer screen is dirty clean it up.If your eyes are fuzzy scratch them well and now you can see me. That’s me, there I am ! Welcome to … Continue reading