16th October, 2017

Seamless hours bleed into each other, their vile guts, all composed of events, moments and memories
etching a day as it painfully passes away.

Every day dies, ever minute, every second dies at the hands of the beast that created them to add
synchrony to their desperate lives. Time dies every second, despised, cursed yet maintained at the hand
of man. We as a species, created time, made it and killed it ourselves.

Trees receive their daily dosage of pheromone urine, as does the pole beside Mathilda’s bedroom, that
boulder by the creak and the new policeman on his shiny bike. But dogs aren’t the only beings that
mark. So do humans and with dignity, pride and achievement, giving the grin-o-the-ape as he
enumerates things, giving them namesakes as per his convenience, and thus erases as he sails through
the world that has lost its own identity – artificial and mechanic – humanity sails on his grand ship of
thesus he sails.

17th October, 2017

Its decided waywardly as always, that I should record these. For no apparent reason though. Just
something that can store what I think or feel. I wish I had no use for this and I don’t but still somewhere
something inside me ticks that this is what I should do. There is one assurance in this though that makes
it easy to ease than burning papers or diaries that physically exist. It’s comforting to know that this is
virtual as all of us are. This is just an electronic charge in an electrical device and all it takes is the
pressing of three buttons in a pattern. And it would be possible in an instant to etch it away from the
occurrences in this physical plane of existence. I wish I was digital, I was virtual. I wish this reality was
virtual and could be wiped away with the pressing of three buttons. But the controls lie in the hand of
the operator and that being, I refuse to call God hasn’t given us the privilege to do so. That is logical,
isn’t it? You don’t give your flag and your command to your pawns.

We the supreme naïve beings treat this land as it is ours as if we have created it. Every step becomes a
challenge very second of the clock scares me and it is because every passing second that has passed or
every second that I going to come may bring with it the unknown that might upset the delicate balance
which is to be maintained so precisely.

I hate the womb that birthed me and I hate the holder of that womb – and I hate the impregnator for his
played his part flawlessly as well. Everything went the way it did. What was the need, I ask, to bring
another misery to this world? Another of its burden to suckle from its drying brooks from its emptying
bosom? This life reeks of death and therein lies the essence of life. They say death is freedom but does it
actually set us free? Because post-death do we actually feel the pangs of freedom. We don’t. Because
death switches us off. Switches the unnecessary noise off. They say yellow stone is raging, swelling up.
But so slow- so slow. The Earth needs to pummel up faster, all the hatred and anguish it holds against us
and swallow us whole at once. No regrets, no wishes, no commandments, no fulfilments.

I hate this fucking document because it serves no purpose that give me a headache that refuses to
subside – a bit like this world that refuses to subside. An insignificant person once noted casually the
following words in quotes that I hold to this day. With an elegant insignia, this person noted “Life has no
Ctrl + Z”.

If you read this and I hope with every bit of it left inside me that you don’t don’t try to make sense out of
this. Trust me it has none. That justifies the title of this shit named – Rumblings. Fuck this thing. I am not
going to write anymore. This effort seems too pretentious and that is what I have been all through my
life and I can’t be anymore.