A Transparent Man
Reflections on writing
Written by: Zeus Ghosh
It seems like I am always trying to write that which will forever elude me; all the broken, stained pieces of glass that reflect memories of feelings that once sabotaged my soul will bleed me forever because I will forever try to grasp at them, with a madman’s intent. I will keep on grasping at them, by which I mean I will keep on writing about things which don’t wish to be written about — like how I despair, like how I long for you, like how I wish to die.
I am always getting thwarted by the voids in between my thoughts — those nasty blobs of silences that suck you in every so often, those emptinesses which seem to be governed by a ruler different from the one which governs my thoughts. Yet, I write, I trudge through this battlefield where thoughts and silences are waging an eternal battle. But, I am a solitary pawn fighting for no army.
Last Monday, when you kissed me in the dark, winding streets of the hill-town, I think, then, for a brief period, thoughts and silences coalesced into one big euphoric delusion, before they started fighting again. But, your lips! How I wished to be subsumed under the cold mist of our strange love, under the flickering neon of our corporeal explosions.
I will keep on oscillating between meaning and meaninglessness, knowing, believing, and trusting that there is meaning and there is meaninglessness and that they both must be discerned with assiduity. But, I fear that late one night all the meanings I ascribe to my being will finally strangle me.
I want to write as if with a foreign pen, one that makes visible, through the sentences that get written, not the writer but the absence of him. To write only with the firmament of a transparent man… A transparent man.
