Box O' Candy

1st May 2010

Photo by Pieter Peeters

"Oh you got your hands on that one!” I said, a large Cheshire Cat grin stuck to my face. My attempt at happy face was a futile one, and the disappointment, my irritation that reflected on the outside was a tiny slice of the turmoil within. She, Evil-She, just beat me to the best candy in the box.

My favorite, the one who gave me many sleepless nights – the dark chocolate with a hazel-nutty center, not too bitter, not too sweet, not too hard on the outside, just precisely gooey on the inside. As my eyes brim with tears, I want to howl for the sweetness.Poking out evil-she’s eye may feel better though!

I don’t cry nor poke an eye, remind myself to breathe “Inhale... Exhale... Inhale... Exhale “. I tuck my tummy in, shoulders pulled in an upright position like a soldier maintaining his dignity after a battle lost. Stick my Cat face again, be brave and SAY THE “RIGHT” words - ”That’s a fantastic choice, hope you like it, it’s ONE of my favorites “

So much candy in the box, so many choices to make. So what if I didn’t get the one I wanted, I have the whole box to choose from. An attempt, a pathetic one, to make peace with myself.

I don’t care…I don’t care…I don’t care..I don’t care. I don’t care…. I don’t care…I don’t care.

Maybe if I chant a million times, I will start believing it too. That I truly don't care.

I won’t tell you, because I am a proud peacock, but psst... I am hurt. Can someone just be as perceptive as I am and show me some Love?

Ah! That’s the perfect solution for the heart broken lady, a chubby heart-y piece of sweet sitting pretty on the rosy wrap. ”What lies within you, O’ who sits there all prim and propah ?” a little amused at my own ignorance, a little intrigued by the intensity of a fairly simple question. Scavenging through a box o’ candy, what lies within is the question I ask.

It’s just candy, why do I care?

If this one is too mushy,

there are another twenty in there

So wreak havoc on the box,

spare not a single bite,

for you can have them all

except the one that was right.

Why is life so unfair? Why so much pain? The biggest why – Why Me every time?

SWEET REVENGE!

Whoever coined that term was probably talking about exactly this. Down went all the contents of the box. The choco-heart, too hearty tarty. The nougat, too clingy. The white, too white. The dark, too dark. I feel sick and it’s entirely your fault. If you hadn’t intruded, Mi favorito would be mine. Thanks to you I feel sick now; thanks to you my box o’ candy is all gone now. Another box I will not buy again, for losing Mi favorito, getting sick and losing you is quite a pain.

So much of bitter

over something so sweet?

What is with the damned box o’ candy….

what is really beneath?

I hear myself asking the question once again,

I need an answer, before I go completely insane

JUMP scene, musing about the time gone by. It feels like yesterday, the little angel at her impish best, in the stillness of a muggy afternoon treading into forbidden territory, the dingy hole we called the kitchen. This was the most action packed section of the old ancestral home most of the times, right now though, it was just the old mole with so many tales to tell trying to breathe, BREATHE till it would be running at neck break speed once again, keeping pace with the incessant chatter and the broth’s futile attempt at being true to its existence.

Being true to ones existence. How does one do that?

Too many cooks spoil the broth they say. But what is spoilt broth?

Is it the broth’s futile attempt at staying broth? Or is it just his evolution into something new?

If I were the broth, I wouldn’t want to be plain broth all my life

and if it takes so many cooks to “spoil” the broth…Well, just BRING ‘EM ON.

But then, that’s just me.

The broth exists because he wants to exist,

He broods about not being broth anymore because he thrives on his miseries…

He sometimes evolves because he wants to be no goody two shoes broth anymore,

He discovers his potential within…

AH! The bliss of discovering the potential within…

FLASHBACKS within a flashback… we live in a kaleidoscope don’t we?

Jumping back… little angel at her impish best, in the stillness of a muggy afternoon treading into forbidden territory. Her gait, that of a cat moving towards it prey - padded foot step, abated breath, lest the hunter became the hunted. sniff…sniff …

The sweet whiff of fresh toffee was still in the air… sweet…the cat transformed into a crazy pup … SNIFF SNIFF…it’s here somewhere, just need to find the right box. Trust the catty instincts or just dog my way through? Now that is a difficult one. Hmm.

If a Cat or dog… there is no problem. It’s when the humanoid robot steps in, is when the trouble begins. The animal instincts tell me GO…GO get what you want, nothing will stop you…

The potty-trained human gets me wondering…

Should I?

Should I not?

What if I fall getting the box down?

What if someone catches me in the ACT?

The moment is lost… what could be is NOT anymore. So many such precious moments lost to … reason... fear … guilt or something as stupid.

Only if, I got back to being the animal…

Only if, I could get back to my basic instincts…

Only if, I could act on the basis of my instincts.

“ONLY IF”…

My instincts… the toffee... Mi Favorito …THE WORLD …

It’s all about how passionate I am about getting what I WANT Isn’t it?

There is no place for mediocre… NO PLACE

The cherub …. Rabia…an imp…an angel..

Fresh toffee… the ONLY thing that mattered

Little Rabia…the wild child turned “human”

ANIMAL… That was the pure animal moment…

The angel said NO…

The devil said GO…

So GO it was… it’s always the GO that’s more fun , that’s life and the way to live

DAMN THE RULES!

I WANT THE TOFFEE…. and I want it NOW!!...So loud and clear … That’s all that matters

Little mop head in her pretty summer dress, onto the kitchen counter in a swift feline move. Rabia always wanted adventure… well…ok it wasn’t something that she yearned for…nothing that she was “looking for “ when I think, of it today… It was just her way of life …she saw life for what it was, and everyday was an adventure of a different kind.

SPOTTED…There it is… all that toffee sitting in the jar on the top most shelf.

That’s a very handsome jar… akin the royal guard in protective armor, sealed lid, grim composure et al… thought Rabia

He is just doing his job…

“The toffee is your liability now, guard her with you life “ they said

“ Live by it…die for it”

Did they really mean for him to die for it? Was the toffee really so important?

So easy to tell someone else to die for a cause…

SACRIFICE…

Be MODEST…

Always put someone else’s needs before your own…

If you say “I” too often ….ITS SELFISH

You never want to be called “selfish”

He was the sentry trained by the Old mole though… the shelf had been his home for many eras and he was not programmed to contemplate about his existence …

He lived by the rules and would die by it… no questions asked.

“How are you today … Mr. Hand-me-some-toffee Jar Sir? “ asked Rabia. No response.

Rabia was the enemy … she belonged to the “brood”

It was she …and many more like her that he was supposed to guard from

And then… no one had really asked him the question before.

“ Why is the brat asking me about me anyways? “

“ She does not care about me!!”

“ She only cares about what I carry today”

The crowd started stirring inside the arena…

Mr. Hand-me-some-toffee Jar a.k.a. Maximus forgot his dialogues for the day

The crowd gathered to watch the Gladiator was beginning to see the Beautiful Mind

He forgot he had to throw Little-demon-Rabia off the kitchen counter

He also forgot he had a cause to live for…some toffee to protect.

Just then … the clutter-headed-cutlery started clamoring

Mr. Hand-me-some-toffee Jar Sir … you have committed a crime this afternoon

YES …A CRIME…

You said “me”, “me” and another “me”…

AND if that was not crime enough… an “I”? How shameful

Have you forgotten your code of conduct?

Is all the history lost?

Have you forgotten about the cause? “Your” cause?

Mr. Hand-me-some-toffee Jar …It wasn’t his job to think

He panicked, “Have I really committed a crime? “

Oh damn! Something isn’t right “ I am thinking once again” Panic…PANIC…

Everyone was saying he had committed a crime

If everyone said that, not possible that all of them are wrong…(or are they?)

He tried…tried REAL HARD…but the thoughts wouldn’t stop…

A flood gate had opened somewhere … all hell broke loose

Rabia had “hoped” to make a new friend;

She had seen the sweet core…sweet core of the sentry so stern. She had “hoped” to understand “How…so much bitter over something so sweet”

Little did she know that Mizz Life was standing Just around the corner and she had some cruel lesson to teach…

Rabia reached for Mr. Hand-me-some-toffee Jar…

Someone has to make the first move…someone has to reach out… Rabia did

Rabia’s mother always told her she was “the spring”

She was the tiny bud on the frozen tree that marked the arrival of spring…

She was the beautiful chirping of birds heralding that spring was here…

She was hope of a beautiful day after the long cold winter had passed away…

Someone had to reach out…Rabia did…

Mr. Hand-me-some-toffee Jar… saw the onset of an identity crisis

He had never questioned before…

He had never been accused before…

HE HAD committed a crime and it was time for him to go…

Mr. Hand-me-some-toffee Jar…plunged three shelves down

He plunged to his death…

All the sweetness amongst shards, did not look sweet anymore

Did he die being true to his existence? Or his existence just did not feel worthwhile anymore?

Rabia was shocked…

The spring stood frozen in her shoes and all hope was gone

The wild child turned human

She blamed herself for all that had happened

She cried in hope that she could take back what she had done

She promised herself she would never reach out…. never ever

CHOKE! Am dying... Bad chocolate.

Am allergic to walnut...I can't breathe...

Don't these candy boxes carry a disclaimer.

Just like the M&M candy pack ...'this may contain nuts' or something like that.

Only if My box 'o candy came with a warning...'BEWARE OF THE WAL-NUT' .

Only if life came with a disclaimer...

'A BEEP BEEP Nut warning'

OR something louder like a fire engine WAIL, to stop me from making all the bad choices I made. Sigh!

What a Pickle!

Teleported

Sultry summer day, as I ride down to work in a super rattle of a rickshaw… I catch on the air, a whiff of greens from the vegetable market, below. The early morning market by the flyover, with the freshest of peas, spinach and all things green.

The cars whizzing past, from the opposite direction… Miles Davis playing in the ear phones …This could be a wonderful shot for a new age documentary... a fast paced stylish thriller maybe!

Jump scene ~ there I was, dressed in a white linen blouse and a beige skirt; a wide brimmed hat, and beige stilettos that also worked as a back up on the ammo front. And the super stylish Jackie Kennedy shades of course. How can any picture of the Mediterranean thriller be complete without that piece of gorgeousness .

Sitting at the street side cafe ... in a shaky hand held camera frame... I waited for that message. A note on crisp white handmade paper, embossed in gold the words "the Alpha & the Omega". I waited for it to surface from the mugginess of the air , a clue to what was in store for me ahead.

Restless... sitting in a shaky frame can be as disturbing as watching the rain come down on a bladder ready to burst. "Tap tap tap ", my heels added to the rhythm of the wobble ... the Miles Davis thrown in, I could see the order in the chaos now. I could feel myself getting ready to drop the act in the Moroccan drama and get back to the rickshaw sans the exotic. Maybe break into a dance on the roof of the rickshaw even.

How do I get back to reality though? Which one was my reality anyways!? Whatever happened to the message, I wondered. Messages are supposed to come easy. Easy & Effortless.

Waiting for the "sign".... still waiting... some more.

I decided to spend my time waiting, over a cup of kahwa. I took a tiny sip of the dense bitterness...a tiny sip is all it took & the world around me collapsed...a tiny sip, and all the pieces fell into place right away. As quickly as I jumped from the rickshaw to the exotic Moroccan tale...I was transported back to the mundane.

In my hand, I held a folded piece of handmade paper. My heart skipped a beat, at the sight of the message that surfaced out of thin air, I carefully opened the folds to read the message it held.

"The Alpha & the Omega" ... is all it said. That was all it was, all this while, easy & effortless. Truly, the beginning & the end.

Faux Peacock

He had been in a foul mood all day, kicking up a storm, cussing his heart out. I had no idea, what it was that had him twisted in a knot.

Poor pup dopey had gotten kicked a few times already; the next kick and Shraaz would lose a chunk of his foot. I was very sure. Any more cussing and a snapped head, that’s what he would have. Of that I was doubly sure.

Shraaz went to the cupboard, it had been in the family through many generations, seen many a skeletons. When one has lived so long, nothing really ever shocks. He pulled out an old tin box, it held candy once, the fading print last of its memories of better, sweeter days. Shraaz now pulled out a tuft of fuzz, a five strand hair piece. It looked like something the cat brought in. It was his prized possession. The men in his family, up until four generations before him had worn the bit with great pride. It had seen better days, days when the strands were many more.

With his preciousness held gently in the palm of his hands, Shraaz pulled out a can of silver spray. Like an artist working on his masterpiece, he sprayed across the strands with utmost precision. Out came the tube of glue , “ Stick ‘em up Pardner”, the energies looked like they were brightening up, all ready to cut through the gloom set by the Shraaz-ness all morning.

The glue went onto the fuzz... he slapped it onto his scantily clad head. The foul mood was all magically gone. The furry silver crown had brought out the peacock in Shraaz. With his silver fringe, the shining glory, he strutted around in circles, arrogance dripping all over.

It was a difficult choice, didn’t quite know what I liked better, his crass or the royal, pain in the rear end arrogant version.

Shraaz was in all surety the last who would use the head piece.

A silver crown is all that’s required to change the drama? A piece of magic ... did it do the exact same thing five generations in a row?

How can a harmless piece of nothing become a piece of program so vital to ones existence? I wonder... I wonder about my own program peacock, that vestigial bit of my psyche which has overstayed its visit. Time for the faux peacock hunt!

Peacock Man by John Coulthart

Mighty Cherokee

Voices streamed from the room outside, sounded like visitors, a friend. It sounded like her.

I thought she had been haunting my dreams, but this one wasn’t a dream. Every time I sensed her presence, she left me shaken. The experience, with time, had become less emotional, but I was yet to figure why she was always around , that bothered me.

Well, think about it, if she wasn’t around for a reason, she would have disappeared into the scenery, I would have never noticed her. But this one, yes, she was always there, standing around silently most times, being the devil’s advocate the other times. The chink in my link, who I knew would never harm me, but still bothered me. I am annoyed. I have to figure this out.

I am Cherokee , the mighty Cherokee. I cannot be bothered. I should never be bothered.

My room was dark.

How did it get so dark? How long had I been asleep, I wondered

I felt around for the light switch, turned it on... No illumination... I hit the button a few times hoping that it would work. No such luck.

Why do we always believe that hitting the button a gazillion times will make the broken work!? I still haven’t figured that one out.

Maybe she could help. Is that what she was here for? ...To be my oracle!?

The light was out for now. No one ever gets anything right around here . I would have to tackle this too on my own . What would happen to this place if I wasn’t around... sigh!

Sounds like a job for Miiighty Cherokee... Cherokee will save another day! Cherokee Powerrrrrrrr!

What was with all the darkness anyways? Why could I not see? My eyes were wide open , I knew it. But not a peep, could I see.

I got up from my low bed, crawled some, stumbled some, as I felt my way around – A carton, table... no chair...SQWACK!..Oops...squeaky toy. Where am I ? Where am I going?

I tried walking towards the voices. It was all suddenly very far away. What had happened!? Had I gone blind?

This wasn’t right. I couldn’t see, but I could see - A silver, lining the darkness, kind of surrealism.

As I stumbled about, I don’t remember a speck of fear, a kind of peace had set in.

I found my spot and settled myself in . At that very moment, there she was. Right behind, I could hear her breathe.

I reached back for her hands, brought her arms around me. As her hands rested by my side for the shortest while, I knew I was safe.

Her arms my shield from the darkness around, I knew at that moment that I did not need to do it all on my own. Somebody had finally got it right.

I didn’t care about being blinded anymore, and the voices from the distance were gone. Her work here was done ... she blended into the dark.

I, Cherokee, went freefalling into the black...Mighty Cherokee finally learnt to fly

The Great Britannica

The Great Britannica is shutting its gates forever”, she said.

“This is our last chance to go visit... the last 80 days”

I sneaked a peek into the schedule in her hand. The yellowing paper broken at its edges, the old school cursive script a tint of brown- It all looked like it belonged to another time.

Why a shutdown?, I wondered

I don’t have a visa to get there, be part of the last 80 days. The line outside the consulate will be a long one. How will I get there? I want to be there! London!, My mind rambled away.

Wait! I grabbed the schedule off her hands –

“Flying trapeze artists, Fire eaters, the bearded lady and talking lions”, What is this all about?

Uh Oh! A jumped scene. Accidental tap of the Kaleidoscope ONCE AGAIN. Ugh! I need to stop doing this ever so often. It is very confusing to my reality.

The Great Britannica - The circus was to stay in town for two weeks. Twenty years later it was still around. It ruled our hearts and washed out our brain all yellow.

Everyone loves a Circus, we loved it too. We clapped our hands and shrieked in Joy as we saw the Jesters hit each other with giant hammers and cannon ball themselves to faraway places. We sat astounded as the magicians painted us illusions of another world. We loved the oasis of colour and joy, all things wonderful, we would never let it go, never ever.

We plotted and schemed to make them stay, and the circus soon spilled over the town. For twenty years while we stared in awe at all that was vibrant, we lost our own sparkle within. Every day that passed, we clung on tighter, for fear of losing that which was dear.

Soon, the town itself was a circus, with a string of aping monkeys, and folks jumping through loop holes for fun. When that stopped being the fix, we moved to human cannon balls. More brutal, much more entertaining.

Ho hum! All this sadism is not much fun anymore, so we took the toxic to another level. Our hearts soared as blood founts spurted all over; we had finally reached that state of pure joy. This must be what they call Nirvana.

The last of the Magicians lay in the circus tent, the final act by the troupe. Only that he wouldn’t conjure up rabbits and doves out of the hat this time, it was his time to go. As the axe fell to a grand finale, he whispered, The Great Britannica is shutting its gates forever. Last 80 days. The circus is moving to another town

For us the circus ended that day. We were satiated, in a state of bliss. Little did we realise that in the absence of the others, the circus was now us.

The aping monkeys had no one to ape now and soon gave up the ghost, the absence of loop holes made our everyday life more and more tedious...

We had to find our peace; he had to hunt once again. In the midst of the new found realization that the circus was still not dead, we started hunting for that piece of peace, we turned against ourselves.

True to the words of the master illusionist, The Great Britannica shut its gates forever. 80 days, a town painted red, the circus had moved to another town

The Monarch

“ I have been thinking about what hurts more the jar or the pins. And I think I can tell you that it is not the pins. Because the monarch in the jar is already dead when it comes to the pins. At some point things stop hurting; and from inside the jar, with eyes that see in all directions, maybe it is possible to look into the future, well beyond the pins, to where the compass in your head tells you that you need to go”

These lines from the movie PU 239, have been stuck in the crinkles of my cranium for a while now. They are for me, a story of the phoenix rising from the dead. A story that can be, only if the Monarch is ready to rise.

At some point things do stop hurting. But does all the hurt make the Monarch stronger or leaves him numbed, with a broken soul?

By the time one sees that glimpse of light at the end of the tunnel, is it possibly too late? Is it possible that the bonds of the jar and miseries of life have pinned one enough to not care whether the light at the end of the tunnel is a train heading in their direction?

We struggle through our share of cuffs and chains, and our eyes, through the glaze, see the beautiful future ahead. A beautiful future , so surreal, of another world, and the mind refuses to believe. And yet, with a future as an excuse we continue to tread - Eyes shut tight, fingers crossed “Please let it be true, Please let there be that heaven I was promised”

Leave all the fun for the "One fine day in some remote future ahead", now is about the challenges. Now is about following rules blindly and suffering, for some day else will be a day to rejoice.

When did we pin ourselves into these jars? How did we forget, it is within us to break ourselves free?

It is time for the Monarch to ride the zephyr once again. Time to break the Jar. The power to break free is in the Now, not some distant future ahead.

Will the Monarch rise from the dead though, will he take back his throne in the winds!?

********* 28th September 2010 *********

Came across the Big Fuzz Skeptical Caterpillar in my inbox, reminded me of my Monarch . It's quite an interesting tale.... The Big Fuzzy Caterpillar

Sleep Walking the Walk of Life

"Azure , when she was a baby slept off as soon as she got into the car", I overheard my mum say.

I smirked, thought of the many times I had heard that, not too long ago

"Azure still sleeps off as soon as she is put into the car" , I mumbled to myself.

~ JUMP SCENE ~

"Is that a new painting on the wall? " I asked my pal

"NO"

"How the heck did I never see this before?"

"Must have slept through it" , we said in unison

We broke into peals of laughter. Very Funny.

Azure became the butt of all jokes sleepy. Be it sleep talking for a "M&M Candy" breakfast in bed, being woken up in the middle of a guided tour - WAKE UP! Look around , you're on vacation or never being able to recognise what part of the city it is, even after having driven around the place a million times (all while in slumberland!)

Thirty something years of a daze. Some crystal clear moments of a beautiful dream like quality, the rest of it a blur. The sleep over the last few years gradually grew to become an issue . I never did decipher the subtle signs, the fact that my life was headed to becoming somewhat mechanical & pointless.

And while I sleep walked to the edge of the cliff, Miss life smacked another lesson into my face.

" Love sleeping with your eyes open, don't you?"

"No more subtleties then"

"Here, sleep , sleep and sleep some more until you decide to wake up!

Azure was cursed to stay in slumberland, until she decided to take the reins of her life in her own hands and tread forward with her eyes wide open.

Ever noticed, if you are allowed an addiction, sans guilt, you eventually do get over it!? Become more responsible about it?

It is ingrained in me, testing the boundaries, wanting to do more, wanting to do exactly what the other person said not to do or said I cannot do. More the restrictions around something , greater the thrills of putting it as an accomplishment on the records.

All that was accomplishment once, did not resonate with Azure anymore. It all seemed like it was someone else's, and the one thing she had become good at, "Sleep Walking", was now being forced upon her in all obviousness. Not something she liked very much.

But then, a curse is a curse, and sleep I would have to. There is no kiss from a handsome prince that would bring me to life this time. I would have to be my own true love now, and bring me back from the dead.

So I slept and I slept for many years thereafter, with an air of dark around me.

How could Azure awaken herself from death like slumber? Especially, someone who slept through her waking hours, how would she ever awaken in her sleep?

I have always loved the loop holes in fairy tales. There is always a way to break the curse. A fairy godmother, the prince or a toad. Always the means available when you have a purpose in mind. The portal to the happy ever after. Azure got her share of the loop hole too. Azure got her dreams.

So as I slept, my dreams came visiting, and every dream that came by awakened me some more. The dreams that I never could recall once, when they woke me up, now spoke to me as I slept. I saw the minutest detail of everything it showed me, my own personal bioscope to the world of the animate.

Everyday, Azure saw the picture a little clearer than the day before, everyday she focused some more. The day came soon enough when she saw it all crystal clear in her head. She finally saw what she wanted to see, and not the picture tinted by someone elses expectation or the urge to prove someone wrong.

I finally found the NOW, where I belong and could stay inanimate no more. I woke up to a beautiful dream, that was a dream no more, never to sleep walk again.

Black Sheep, White Sheep, All the Right Sheep

I am made in the Image of the Big Guy they say, and I am not questioning that fact. Although, for a long time now, I have felt the complexes of being the underperforming child of a brilliant parent.

I should have made it big by now! I should have invented that super gadget that changed the history of the world! Learnt to teleport ! I should have mastered telepathy at least!? The last 9 years were supposed to be different. I was to be Popular, Rich and Famous by now!

Wait! WAKE UP CALL ... Aren't you all of that already?

Well alright, let me rephrase - I am more Popular, Richer and more Famous than I was, but not as much as I imagined in my head. The bright side though, my journey hasn't ended yet. Being popular, rich and famous however doesn’t matter anymore. I have wandered away from the herd. I am on a path to find me.

The non conformist is born, not because he wants to be different, but because conforming does not make sense anymore, because he realizes he does not know how to conform.

From my side of the fence, I believe it’s easy to conform. The herd works well with the set rules – Sit, stand, baa, bleat, bull. You program once and program well, you now have a herd that will work by the program, no questions asked for many generations to come.

Contrary to popular belief, being a Non conformist is a difficult task. When one strays from the norm of the herd, there are no points of reference, no road signs, no data...most importantly no one there when you look over your shoulder, to nudge you and tell that everything will be fine.

You either follow the system or get branded as the one who will never succeed and branded you will remain until you don’t find your personal herd that will follow you blindly off the cliff without a bleat!

While you learn to have faith (almost blind that!) in the Big guy, in yourself and the infamous gut, you are left with only yourself to follow. This is a lonely road. So you wander, and wander some more hoping to impress, with some radical, with some charm, with a promise of a land so perfect, so far away.

Here begins another vicious cycle. The non- conformist creates an army of conformists. Some water under the bridge, the faith in real has turned into slavery; mind restricted by rules, objective a blur. Zero maintenance. The assembly line is working like a dream. No one questions anymore, no one feels. Repeatability and Reproducibility is the name of the game.

There is always a herd out there that will provide you with the security blanket and accept you as their own. This, till your anomalies act up and then you’re on your own once again akin the pied piper leading little children and Rats down the cliff, and some nicer places.

An anomaly,that's what I've become. A world running at break neck speed. Emergency brakes. Collisions. I have survived the crash. Now to cruise along in my power saver mode, taking life as it comes. No more screeches in my head, no more rusty wheels. Happy times.

A system can only survive when the constants overpower the dynamics. This system of the blinded herds is on the verge of a collapse. The so called “anomalies” are increasing everyday. This time will go down in history, as the time when the will to live free was larger than the safety of a security blanket. A time, when large masses chose to be happy, and took responsibility for their own personal happiness and it didn't matter whether you were Red, Black or a Blue Sheep, for you were happy being just that. The time has come.