Descent into Dystopia

The descent into dystopia often happens in deafening silence. It happens by normalizing the absurd, by justifying the unjustifiable. It happens through the silent strangling of morality, the whitewashing of lies, and the unnoticed yet violent evanescence of truth. At first, the darkness creeps only as a grey shadow; unthreatening, almost charming, like nostalgia on a cloudy day. In moments of fleeting clarity, those guarding the light can sometimes notice the gaping abyss that lies beyond. Some may even try to speak, but only to have their whispered words dissolve into the wind. And those who already lived with the shadow in their hearts, notice nothing, as they are cradled softly into the sordid embrace of the night.

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Linked But Not Tainted

F: I could accuse you of the same fault Terence, of sweeping generalizations and knee jerk aversions. T: As is your prerogative of course. But do tell more. F: Your constant tirade against modern science and rationalism , bears within it many contradictions you know. It seems like your demonization of science is solely calling for the glorification of the irrational. How can that not be anything but simply reactionary? T: Granted. I do have a particular bent for the irrational and absurd . And I do seek out and revel in finding the edges of the impossible , the improbable , the unexplainable , and to some the indigestible . But, the way I see it, I am simply tooting for the underdog here. Don't you think the irrational deserves a mascot too, like science is for the rational? F: But don't you find that to be quite myopic, un-ruminated? T: Rationally, yes. Irrationally, well.... F: Now that is just aversion! T: Okay. You got me there friend. But my reverence for ...

The Meaning's Edge

The Soul of Time by Trumbull Stickney THE SOUL OF TIME T IME'S a circumference Whereof the segment of our station seems A long straight line from nothing into naught. Therefore we say " progress, " " infinity " — Dull words whose object Hangs in the air of error and delights Our boyish minds ahunt for butterflies. For aspiration studies not the sky But looks for stars; the victories of faith Are soldiered none the less with certainties, And all the multitudinous armies decked With banners blown ahead and flute before March not to the desert or th' Elysian fields, But in the track of some discovery, The grip and cognizance of something true, Which won resolves a better distribution Between the dreaming mind and real truth. I cannot understand you. 'T is because You lean over my meaning's edge and feel A dizziness of the things I have not said. ...

Haunting Echoes in the Night

Yesterday, my city, the place of my birth and childhood, was bathed in blood and tears. Deep wounds were inflicted, during an overnight orgy of brutality and violence, in a stunning degradation of all things sacred we have ever held dear. For 13 hours the nation watched, helpless, petrified, and terrorized. The victims: They were one of us Reports that emerged first read '20 foreigners killed in terrorist attacks in Dhaka'. Even as the standoff was diffused, the narrative remained the same - ISIS militants have specifically targeted foreigners in Gulshan area, the diplomatic zone of my city. Its reiterations had reverberated worldwide by last night, when I get a call from a friend abroad. He says 'I am sorry to hear it man. A tragedy. Although it is not a direct tragedy for Bangladesh, really.' Really? Did it really make a difference? I told him how confused we were all feeling about what had just happened. Does it have to matter that apparently no Bangladeshi...

Kafka in Berlin

In Berlin, you can actually feel the air fossilized in its history. While one can argue about the phenomenological contradictions inherent in that, the sensation of it is undeniable. The city has seen itself as the focal point of geopolitical watersheds that have shook the foundations of human civilization in the last few centuries - blinding flashes of human achievement, alongside some of the darkest moments of human history. Keeping aside the subjective judgments on these historically gargantuan episodes, Berlin has been "the time" and "the place" of immense significance, many times over. I had heard that the Germans loved their beer. But their newfound pride in their wine was news to me. Therefore, although I found it strange to be having the grape brew one evening in Berlin, Professor I. F. was a man of very specific tastes - namely vino rojo. Sitting on the window ledge of a spacious apartment in Wedding, we had been mumbling through the didactics and reveri...

Reality and Fiction: Collective Hallucinations

This is a story set in my city, Dhaka, when one autumn day in the early '90s, hundreds of people gathered outside Dhaka Central Jail in protest. They were seeking to stop the hanging of a man who was apparently on death row, within the premises. However, the problem was, the man was not in the jail at all. In fact, he never existed. When I was 8 years old, Bangladesh was a country of 120 million. Dhaka was a city of 7 million. And we all had 1 television channel we could watch - Bangladesh Television. Back then, a TV was a matter of novelty. And coloured TV sets were only the luxury of a select few in Dhaka. It was a time when people across the country were crowding around the one television set in their villages. Congregations formed inside lone huts juiced up by a stolen power line, where scores of people would gather to watch the entertainment. The magic box would bring us a select range of programming - from the state-scripted nightly news, to heavily censored 80's Ame...

Remusings

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