The maybe alive cats

The world was silent except for two voices. One was mine and the other one was mine too. But the world is never silent, is it? It is in fact too loud and clamorous all the time. Could this too be a myth and another random half-assed but fully believed fact? It does seem so at dawn when the birds are having their last dreams for the night and I have more to say and when I am frantically and eagerly trying to tell God how much I love everything.

The silent hour has more to say than possibly any other hour of the day. It is truly a miracle how one certain shade of blue on the sky of the limits of our eyes can be of such a wonderful event to our hearts, a little revolution every twenty four hours, limited time offer, catch it in the 20 minutes of it’s existence or keep on dying on the inside with not a speck of golden brown relief in the blinding red canvas of your life. Time is amazing. I can never not think of that one Sci-Fi film, Lucy, in which they say that time is the only dimension and we exist in a tiny portion of it (obviously) and that if time ran a bit faster (enough to cover our life span in a nanosecond or even more of a negligible period), we won’t even exist.

That makes me think of how if some kind of a glitch happens in the universe right after I post this and time jumps 50 years ahead (give or take) and I cease to physically exist (above ground ,at least), what will become of this post? I guess that depends on how long WordPress survives or if someone copies it down to some other website or some magazine or a piece of paper or a memory or anything that holds art and literature and other attempts at knowledge, it would survive as long as they do even after I’m dead and the microbes have had many many feasts in my head. Like classic literature and the mural paintings, the scratched words on a tree and the permanent footprints on a cement side walk.

The duality paradox lives in my head rent free. I can’t help but think of everything in those terms on some level. Is the true nature of light particle or is it energy? Many people never presented these arguments before Einstein did because the dual nature of light was nothing peculiar to them. They must have always had believed in the soul of the universe (yep its a reference to the alchemist by Paulo Coehlo. read it.). It’s not a new concept. I bet humans knew from the beginning that we are body and soul not body or soul. (As long as we are alive, at least). It’s ridiculous how scientists got so confused over it and carried out so many diffraction and interference experiments and not to mention, put an imaginary cat in an imaginary box for it. Science is astonishing.

Do we exist outside of our time or not? Would the particle nature of light have a shorter life span than the wave nature? Do photons ever die? Energy can neither be created nor destroyed, first rule of thermodynamics, something of the thing lives on. Maybe, time has nothing on us.

One thing that really hit me while watching “Interstellar” was when Brand says that she still loves Edmund even though he is on a different planet so very far away from where they were that travelling there alone could make them lose hundreds of years on Earth and then she goes you know what “love is the only truly perfect dimension” or something along the lines. It made sense because space and time are painfully limited but things manage to exist and even thrive beyond the four obvious dimensions. There must be something that anchors them to existence; that convinces the future of its right to being. I hope that something that keeps me alive is something beautiful.

Maybe, just maybe, love is the greater, more reliable dimension. More valuable than time. It must be more intricate, more widespread but less confusing and less delicate than time. I sometimes think that time had to take the L just because it’s so confusing. (We did lose our minds watching ‘Dark’).
So Schrodinger’s cat was more alive than it was dead. Shakespeare and Sappho are alive. My great-grandmother who I never met but heard about in so many of my mother’s stories is alive. Dante and Dali are alive. We’re all alive and that was one of the many things that I was and am grateful for.

The birds that were dreaming their last dreams for the night woke up and I had to hand over the sacred duty of marvelling at the universe to them as I went downstairs to have some tea.

The Picture of Dorian Gray (sort of a book review)

7.8/10

No one:

Definitely not Sibyl Vane

Not even Lord Henry

Dorian Gray: anyways so what if Hallward is a cake?

Now this book is a master piece. Oscar Wilde has truly eaten every writer up with this one. I can almost picture him with a smug smile and sad eyes on his throne somewhere in the afterworld or downworld (in case he is a vampire). I can understand why this book is a dark academia favorite.

The metaphors in it are insane. The whole theme is insane, to begin with. I’d list all the metaphors but I am afraid I didn’t get half of them. (will reread at some point). I think that every other line was an epiphany that Mr. Wilde decided to throw at us. Consider this

Because to influence a person is to give him one’s own
soul. He does not think his natural thoughts, or burn with his natural passions. His virtues are not real to him. His sins, if there are such things as sins, are borrowed. He becomes an echo of some one else’s music, an actor of a part that has not been written for him. The aim of life is self-development. To realize one’s nature perfectly,—that is what each of us is here for.

And this

There was something tragic in a friendship so colored by romance.

And

We live in an age when men treat art as if it were meant to be a form of autobiography.

And many many more that make you take a deep breath and smile to yourself then silently curse because what the heck was that?

So Dorian is this disgustingly rich dude with an angelic face (same old white boy charms tbh) golden hair, blue eyes, pink lips, whatnot and everyone who has ever seen him believes that he is an angel amongst men. On top of it all, his innocence is noticable and praised left right and center. Later on in the book, when he is slightly older, everyone thinks that he is that bitch for sure but also not shit. He still looks like a Greek god but his mind is in the gutter; is what the general public opinion is.

So in the prime of their youth, his friend Basil Hallward paints a picture of him. This very picture makes Dorian realize that he is hot. (I blame that on Harry of course). And Dorian totally loses it and becomes jealous of his own picture for remaining young forever and ever and ever. Youth is the biggest happiness and aging is dumb; or so dude thought. Let’s talk about Harry now. He is mood, for starters. Secondly, Wilde used Harry to unleash his philosophy of literally anything and everything on our already deliciously over burdened brains. Thirdly, Harry needs to chill. Basil said he is a bad influence and we trust Basil, as the owner of the only brain cell in the book, to tell the truth. I mean look at what he brought Gray to but honestly, Gray would have walked himself there too (Ok so I knew for real that he isn’t right in the head by the way he was simping for Sibyl)

Our boy Dorian is always the talk of the town of course and God knows what awful agendas he used to have in the London of that time because he was infamous. He doesn’t age a day. Nor does sin write itself across his face but guess what happens to the painting? Guess what happens to the painting ??

Well well well I shouldn’t just spoil the whole book like this. So take my world for it. It’s crazy good.

It’s one of those books that I really regret having read from a screen. It deserves to be held and put themed bookmarks in, put on a shelf and given admiring looks to now and then.