Saturday, 6 February 2010

~Almost-idea; in search of finis~

1.Nobody reads my stories anymore, possibly because I don't write stories anymore. Stories cannot be incoherent and disconnected fragments. Neither can people be reduced to merely story or anecdote. I am not trying to be profound here, it's just that something is puzzling me. Something elusive and intangible...let's call it the almost-idea. Now that brings us to question of what an idea is in the first place- that which is in the mind at the moment of conception maybe, a fundamental ontological category of being? So is there something in the mind before conception?For that (even though we shall inevitably resort to reductio ad absurdum) I shall use....

2.Hypothesis. Every hypothesis is ultimately not-quite-true and resides in this horrid liminal zone, caught between truth and untruth. That devastating word perhaps qualifies a hypothesis just as it colours every poem that a poet writes. This "perhaps"-the whiff of the counterfactual-is what makes life worth living, whether you choose a scientific method or a poetic path.

3.Poets are charming idiots. Every poet is a charming idiot, except Rabindranath, Shakespeare, Chaucer and I don't know enough about Milton. Eliot is an idiot because I think he should have written at least one novel. Don't ask me why, just. And don't call me presumptuous/audacious. I will give you a turd made from curdled uhhhh...curd?

4. And since we speak of Eliot, is it time to speak of time? Or do we not have time?
Q: Why are you reading this?
Likely A: To kill time.
So it is obvious that you have some time to spare if you are killing it so mercilessly in the first place. (This entire section is an allusion to our dear friend Alice who once dreamed an entire book and then her author turned it into a complex mathematical conundrum, but why do we digress? Suppose you ate her cat Dinah for dinner....actually let's not suppose this horrible pun. Let's not suppose anything at all...let's start tabula rasa...)

5. Memory. Which always succeeds time. And again. Our minds are never a clean slate. The earliest memory I have is jumbled up with a couple of other memories and any one might have preceded the other. This is where I return to the idea of hypothesis. ὑπόθεσις- an explanation that you may propose for a phenomenon you observe. You shriek in horror; do not get Socratic! You ask in curiosity; you have the semblance of a scientific method? And then you wonder; is she true?
And since your memory(memories) are entangled and enmeshed with mine until there is a complex web of truth untruth reality fiction freedom anarchy love hatred compassion cruelty revulsion attraction good evil relevant redundant anticipation certainty there can be nothing but a semblance and a mirror....each reflecting the other...why do you reduce? Why is the entire canon so reductive? Especially the Western world which divides and subdivides ideas ad infinitum. But what about our almost-ideas? What happens to those? What are we going to do?

Tentative answer: Even an infinity mirror, a mirror that contains a strand of lights that appears to repeat forever, a mirror that has an apparent infinity of images, is nothing but an optical illusion.

~I rest my case~
- finis-


precisely said...

Why, oh why, do you write so painfully well?

AUROBOROS banerjee said...
This comment has been removed by the author.
AUROBOROS banerjee said...

an infinity mirror, a mobius strip/
self-perpetuates a meaning, another's meaning making trip/
pink elephants witness Eliot's exclusion from the ilk of the moronic creep/
happy and free at last, he accompanies freddie mercury and sigmund freud across the subconscious savannah in a post WWII Jeep/
pointless thoughts, ideas and torrents of emotions flash across a stupid mind, making other minds in proximity weep, weep, weep, weep/
I had cabbage-something for dinner (quite understandably), and now want to sleep...

Baudolino said...

Did you know, Ahona, that the word aadarsha--which Bengalis use to describe their ideals--literally means a mirror?

Holy Ghost said...
This comment has been removed by a blog administrator.
Anushka said...

Oh man. Your blog is the most intelligent form of rambly entertainment I've had in a long time. God bless it.

Rahul Saha said...

Isn't a hypothesis which is eventually proven to be a thruth, true all along?

Arse Poetica. said...

Yes, but you don't know it's true, do you-while it's a hypothesis?

Also depends on how you define "thruth". I define it as a thrush with a lisp. :P

Somewhere Circus said...

I have discovered who you are, O Ahona Panda.
I am the ShameOnYou kid who thought she could guess your name.
Godawesome your blog is.

Arse Poetica. said...


Ok little one, your blog was very nice also. i esp love the tender and affectionate allusions to deepteshinflames er poetry- he reminds me of one poet i was privileged (?) to know. nevermind.more on this later!

Holy Ghost said...

Shakespeare isn't a charmer to you, isn't it?

He is like you, isn't he?

So you're basically not happy with yourself.

Shakespeare had said " Jealousy is a green eyed monster. "

"Grass is always greener on the other side."

One is always jealous of others.

If one is happy with himself or herself, Shakespeare has to be buried alive.

Priyanka said...

Ahona, here. *offers devotion*

Madhuri said...

OOO but then if there was no reduction followed by two mirrors and a strand of light in between, would it be mighty infinity itself?