The Dead

All art is quite useless- Wilde, Preface to The Picture of Dorian Gray

Words are deceiving; the astute weaver plots the angles, measures the distance, ropes in the music and sprinkles the noises while keeping the soul within kissing distance of the parchment. The thing about the parchment is, since it is now immortalized it begins a never-ending journey. As it passes through the hands and fingers of the mortals it waxes itself up, boots up the visibility and gains a whole new personality. Sometimes, it even forgets its own identity and becomes but the image of the beholder. Somewhat like a mirror.

Not all are fortunate enough to evolve though. What then makes it great? What keeps the mirror shining brand new for every latest entrant to the scene, shows him his true colors, brings him to his own conclusions, keeps his mind whirring about random lines, random words and random characters? Does the plot matter or is it just the fashion in which it is told?

When observations become a technique and the technique becomes an observation the beholder grapples with anxiety and bewilderment. Every time you hold the mirror aloft, it shows you a different image. The contours do not change, the expressions do. It is in moments like these that you sometimes wonder- was it the nature of the mirror to change or was it you who perceived it that way? Was it the magical charm of the craftsman or your naivete that was responsible for the purportedly flawed display earlier?

The magical thing about a mirror is, it does not show you what you want to see, which is a perfect face; it shows you the face you have been allotted and with which you cannot run away from. It shows you your true colors open to interpretations. Is it then fair to paste another’s face above the handle just so its pleasing to look at?

the cracked looking glass of a servant

I am deviating here but will ever so continue to do. I love doing it.

When you look into another man’s mirror do you see him or do you see yourself? Is it not the mirror’s motive to owe allegiance to none and lean wherever it is tilted to? Yet, everyone loves a little nudge. A push and a shove in the right direction works wonders for people. It brings in renewed appreciation, acknowledging eyebrows, heaved sighs of despair and valiant movements of the head. One who calls a spade a hammer is corrupt. One who likens it to a scimitar is a cultivator gone astray. One who calls it a spade cannot be anyone other than the forger himself. A connoisseur refrains from nouns and accentuates himself with vague adjectives, relying on verbs alone to display his craft. He might as well polish the spade such, that it becomes an elf set free from his master.

the rage of the caliban at not seeing his own face in the glass”

the rage of the caliban at seeing his own face in the glass”

the rage of the caliban at seeing someone else’s face in the glass?”

Mirror mirror on the wall

Mirror mirror on the wall
show me something unknown to all

Mirror mirror on the wall
would you answer my clarion call?
Mirror mirror on the wall
give me my cafe latte’ tall
Mirror mirror on the wall
is it so unbecoming to fall?
Mirror mirror on the wall
I have climbed out to crawl
Mirror mirror on the wall
would it suffice to toll
as i scrape through the wall
would you be my savior at all?


I would strive to come back with more on the Gabriel saga; perhaps Lily would be literally run off her feet again. Who knows eh?




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