I don’t understand people.  So many of them don’t understand themselves and yet they want me to live my life by their rules.  I don’t know what goes on in their brain, what makes them think that the way they think is better than the way I think.  So many of them, lost in their own hubris.  And they don’t want out, no,  not ever.  It’s comfortable for them to continue what others started.  They can’t be bothered to sit down and cogitate.  And still, they want me to listen to their inanities.  But I believe, I’m a perfect bitch.

I prefer people who are honest about their insecurities.  I like them because they’re not lying to themselves or to me, even when they’re vociferously defending their cause.  I do not like people who blindly adhere to principles that were never their own.  They do it for expediency and emergency.  I find it so glib and unprincipled.  I have principles of my own, and they come from a more heartfelt place than theirs.  My principles tell me not to think too highly of myself, not to judge someone before I know their story and not to be a total cunt.  I must admit that I’ve failed to uphold that last one quite a few times, but that’s just because being a cunt to someone is a nebulous concept of its own.

I have feelings and it’s okay because I’m human.  But I think about those feelings too.  I try to ratiocinate their existence, to a certain extent at least.  I don’t want my fleeting feelings to rule me, that’s why it’s important for me to think about their origins.  At the very core of my being, is a deep-rooted mistrust for other beings.  I cannot help it, I’ve read history.  So sometimes, when I feel this way, I like to write it down.  Even if it’s unappealing.



There’s nothing in this world that’s worth a smidgen of worry.  Literally nothing.  Zilch.  If someone tells you that’s not true, they’re either lying or they’ve been misled.  I cannot tell you how utterly easy and simple everything is.  There are only three rules, you need to feed yourself, you need social interaction and you need to make money.  That’s it.  There’s nothing else to it.  So why do you spend so much time ruing over things that don’t matter?  I know it gets hard at times and you get caught in the heat of the moment, I know worrying is universal because you’re constantly being told you’re not there yet, I know sometimes you feel like a pariah and you long to hear those three magic words, but you know what else I know?  You’re gonna do fine without it.

The moments when you’re the most vulnerable will define how you will treat your fellow human beings.  And there’s nothing more beautiful and more magical than the ability to reach out and empathize with someone whose ordeals remind you of your own.  The whole shebang about being human has nothing to do with those worldly, unattainable goals that you’ve set.  Being human is about the slew of experiences that will enhance your belief in being alive.  It’s about savoring every living moment, even the tragedies, even the melancholy.  Being human is being true to your inner self.  Even though you might be the shrewdest, bitterest asshole on the planet, you’re still very much human and you deserve to be loved.

There is no perfect human and those that claim to have eschewed all cruel ways leading up to their big moment of realization, are lying not only to themselves, but to the entire world.  Your past actions do not define your future, and if someone just can’t stop themselves from hammering a false sense of self into your mind, they don’t mean well.  No matter the depths whence you were hauled up, you are now at the very top.  You’re not going to fall again, unless YOU want to.  Let the fucking past hang in the fucking past.

The slave morality of this zeitgeist dictates that you judge yourself more critically than you would others.  It tells you, you HAVE to belong, otherwise you’ll be ostracized.  And if they don’t ostracize you for not wanting to belong, they will ostracize you for myriad other offences, which include but aren’t limited to; failing to abide by anachronistic social mores, championing your individuality above all else, holding politically incorrect opinions and so forth.  But those same rules are always being skewed and bent by spinmeisters in favor of individuals in positions of authority.  Basically, there’s no higher morality than that which you decide to act upon.  Do not feel overwhelmed by the norms and mores that are being lobbed at you from every possible direction, they are inherently worthless.

Of course I’m not saying that you should be a criminal.  As long as you’re not hurting your fellow human being- as I emphasized in the beginning of this essay, empathy is key to achieving the ideal human experience-you are entitled to your own set of rules and norms.  Nothing is going to overwhelm you, to ignite a flurry of negative emotions, when you’ve chosen to steer clear of the slave morality path.  Instead, you will be left feeling underwhelmed, because you will face the reality of what it is to be alive.  And what it is, is very easy and simple and millions of graves have been defaced by their own occupants because they ascribed a ludicrous urgency to it.

Wayward People Make Good Friends

The sky was ominous, you could tell it was going to rain by the way the clouds had turned ashy gray.  I was waiting for him because he said he’d come to see me that day.  I had not seen him in months, and the last time we met, was pretty chaotic.  We have this strange friendship with bouts of complicity and weird lapses of pure hostility.  We’d been careening toward the former so we decided to give our friendship another shot.

We both are strange people with stranger pathologies.  I know I like him because of it.  I don’t know if he feels the same way about me.  But even though we take turns unfriending each other on social media, for reasons that range from the utterly absurd to genuinely mind-boggling, we always end up finding ourselves in the same mental corner that pushes us toward one another.  Sometimes, it works out, sometimes it does not.  But like I said, I like him because of that.  At least for now.

Our friendship is peculiar because we don’t excel at that small-talk thing.  We’re both people on the spectrum.  We cannot do normal and we do not expect each other to.  He is probably the only person with whom I could discuss a whole gamut of topics without him nodding them off, and shutting my impetus down.  You see, he’s a pretty deep person.  And I like people like him.  There’s nothing better than those deep conversations you have while hiding under an umbrella in the midst of a chaotic downpour.  That’s why I like him, for now at least.

It was tense.  It was real.  We were discussing politics and how politicians in Mauritius are soulless cunts without an iota of compassion for the people who voted them in.  Shells.  Mindless drones masquerading as humans.  Just the worst kind of people, you know.  And I felt good.  I hadn’t had that feeling in a long, long time.  I’ve been hanging out with the wrong crowd, people devoid of substance and ethos.  People who never get your emotional cues.  People who don’t understand the concept of random hugs and just spreading the love.  He does.

We huddled beneath that umbrella for what seemed like ages (but in reality, it was more like 15 mins) while waiting for the rainfall to wane and it felt good.  It feels good to have a friend to enjoy the rain with.  It feels good to have a friend who knows when you need a hug.  It feels good to have a friend who gets isolation, as much as you do, and who doesn’t seek to undermine your perception of isolation.  I mean, what more could a human being ask for?  I genuinely believe a solid friendship, even with all its flaws and idiosyncrasies, is better than romantic love.

I do not know when we will see each other again or where the tide will veer regarding our friendship, but what I know for a fact is, it’s very hard to find people who enjoy the rain as much as you do.

Human Nature

I was misanthropic before I even knew what it was to be misanthropic.  I was young and a dilettante in life, I was rowing clumsily in the lake of wisdom, appropriating feelings that were never mine.  What did I have to be misanthropic about, then?  Sure, it made me feel special and different, and somewhat aware, but it never occurred to me to question the origins of my ersatz despair.  And I wonder, how many of us walk around with apocryphal pathologies that we trained our minds to believe.  How many of us have sacrificed real, unmitigated happiness because we deluded ourselves into believing something we never really felt?  But then again, how many of those schmaltzy feelings were later vindicated?

Depression is one of those feelings.  When you’ve hit rock bottom and you have nothing to look forward to, then yes, depression is a normal feeling.  It doesn’t need any explaining for a person to come to the obvious conclusion that certain situations in life leave us feeling utterly miserable.  And that’s completely normal.  But how can someone be depressed when they have myriads of stuff to look forward to?  That’s when it enters the realm of mental illness.  As does bipolarity.  How many of us have juggled differing personalities, as a result of being trapped in complex, diametrically opposed circumstances?  Whilst feelings of elation and misery are a juxtaposition, it doesn’t mean we cannot entertain both at the same time.

But many of us fake it, because we believe it to be true.  We feel placated by our desire to have something to label what we’re experiencing at a particular moment.  We feel vindicated without actually being vindicated.  But my opportune run-in with my deep-rooted fears helped me understand the drive behind general misanthropy.  I hated what had become of the human race, so morally depleted and consumed by their glib desires.  So utterly bereft of any substance or real direction.  Always at loggerheads with one another, one cutthroat religion battling another.  It was all fun and games until I realized that that’s not what misanthropy is about.  It’s normal to take one single glance at this cesspit and philosophize what I just did.

My real foray into misanthropy came at a cost.  Delving into my own arsenal of bitter emotions, I grappled with something that I couldn’t really situate.  The noble savage absconds from his primal abode to fight for the death, and he’s not really noble of course.  He’s consumed by irreverent motives, he endeavors to leave the battlefield without hearing a single plea for mercy.  Because he’s bludgeoned them all, and mercy isn’t something he understands.  He’s good when you know him, but he will still bludgeon you on that battlefield.  It’s a game, with distinct results at the end.  Either you, or him.  That’s when you know, misanthropy is a valid feeling.

Hinduism & Higher Consciousness

Before delving into the nitty-gritty of the subject, let me begin by expounding on my personal exposure to Hinduism.  I was born into a Hindu household, and while my parents aren’t fervently following the Hindu calendar to the letter, there are certain things that are expected of one born into such a family.  Piety and devotion being the primary goals of the life of a Hindu and certainly, as a corollary, blind piety and blind devotion have become the norm.  As I grew up, I came to view the religion I was born into as my ancestors’ legacy on Earth, a legacy that my family and I ought to respect lest we would offend the ethos of their existence.  But then, in high school, I endeavored to learn more about my religion, and I embarked on a spiritual journey with a very philosophical concomitant.

As a child, folding my hands in prayer and saying nebulous Sanskrit phrases while doing so, seemed like the end-all of religion.  There was no underlying purpose, it was all about fulfilling this need, this obligation to qualify as a good Hindu.  My grand-father eschewed all that ”hogwash” as he would call it, and would openly declare his skepticism, often labeling Hindu priests as ”charlatans”, whilst in their midst.  My grand-mother would pray in the evening, somehow managing to turn her prayers into selfish soliloquies whereby she would harangue all the Gods on the shortcomings of everyone in her life.  My mother would embrace a more spiritual approach although she too, didn’t have the answers when my sisters and I would question her on her faith, or faith in general.  My dad wasn’t much of a believer, similar to his dad, although he chose to blindly adhere to the notion that his ancestors’ religion is the true religion.

For the first time in my life, I was given reading material that resonated with my views on life, although no one from my immediate circle touched upon those themes.  I was reading the Purusha Sukta, the Nasadiya Sukta, the Mahabharata and the Upanishads.  I was reading about Hindu reformers and great souls like Ramakrishna Paramahansa.  I was reading about Swami Vivekananda and his countless victories in exploring the spiritual aspect of this physical entity.  All this positive imagery stuck in my head and I began to feel the changes in my life.  Whilst reading the Upanishad, I realized that Hinduism called for its adherents to respect other living things.  I became a vegan for a while and I can fairly say, there’s nothing quite like experiencing this physical and spiritual makeover.

Hindu texts speak extensively about unity in consciousness, as did Swami Vivekananda.  Consciousness is a primary theme in many ancient Hindu texts; in the Suktas, Gurus opine that we either know about the Genesis or we do not.  The dualism is even more present in the Mahabharata whereby Krishna espouses violence as a means to overthrow the draconian usurpers.  This dichotomy in Hinduism doesn’t end there, it leads to the  Nietzschean conclusion that whatever we do in this world is confined to this world only.  The soul rises above the material plane and continues to do so until it reaches enlightenment.

Moksha (enlightenment) becomes the primary goal of the Hindu faith.  One has to work their way through this maze to finally reach an epic explosion of mindfulness and complete knowledge.  Moksha happens insofar as the devotee hasn’t strayed from their spiritual path.  Moksha is the ultimate goal of every scientific pursuit, of every single human experiment ever undertaken; it is after all the obtainment of every piece of information about humanity, the planets, the gods and Genesis.  Come to think of it, Moksha is tantamount to finally acquiring that software that contains every bit of information spanning from the beginning of time to eternity, and embedding it within your consciousness.


Ode To A Great Being

There was something in his eyes that screamed he needed help.  His aura was so bright you could never look away.  I got to know him at his peak and ever since, I count myself lucky I did.  He was unlike the other men I had loved before him.  He was simple, pure and beautiful inside and out.  He radiated goodness and vulnerability but most people didn’t get it.  He wanted the world to flourish and he embraced his enemies, but most people would shun this.  I wanted to be his forever because I was young and carefree like him.  I wanted to intertwine my vulnerabilities with his because I thought he wanted it as well.  As we grew older, I started to feel younger.  Being with him was the antidote to the eons of misery and melancholy that had been my music.  Being with him was like nothing else in this world.

I saw him for who he was, a child trapped in a man’s body.  A mind so curious and invigorated that it would rarely sleep.  A touch so unassuming and risky that it made me yearn to be touched by him.  He wasn’t just different from other men, he was different from other humans.  His speech was mellifluous and sotto voce.  He would speak pithy words in a gentle tone.  He would present his points without seeking to undermine his opponent’s words.  He would hold forth about love and camaraderie more than he cared to complain about things.  He saw people as secondary and consciousness as primary.  His ideas were the floodgates and his aura the deluge of perfection.  But he wasn’t at peace.

We hold our vulnerabilities in the palm of our hands, always looking around us for the one who would snatch them from our grip and release them into the chasm of oblivion.  He never deigned to resort to such a thing.  He bottled them up inside his very being, until they consumed him.  Every day he escaped in his dreams but when he came back to life, he felt deceived.  He sought refuge in man-made ecstasies.  His was such a gentle soul that he could never be happy in a world like this.  He would let the high consume him, and at the very end, it consumed the whole of him.

I do not care for the terse analogies.  I do not care for the fake apologies.  And I certainly do not care for meaningless paeans.  His vulnerabilities made him human and his mistakes reinforced his humanity.  In this endless absurdity that we call life, he could never get over everyday injustices.  He was an empath and he let the energy take away his life.

This post is a celebration of his goodness.  Rest in peace.


The Philosophy Behind Face Tattoos

How far are you willing to go to profess your allegiance to fashion?  What are the riskiest trends you’ve adopted in the process of setting yourself apart from your contemporaries?  And more importantly, would you let your individuality in the guise of your own fashion preferences shine through, in a world where conformity is the rule?

If your answers to those questions reflect a resounding affirmative sentiment, then you might just be the type of person to understand the appeal of face tattoos.

I was transfixed the first time I saw a woman with face tattoos doing a vlog on Youtube.  She was so uncharacteristically chic, for someone whose entire body, including face is inked, that she struck me as the exception to the rule, not the rule.  But as my exposure to face tattoos increased, I realized that not only do they possess an inherent charm, they exude the nihilistic proclivities which make up the crux of Absurdist philosophy.

Lucy Molloy

Fashion is ever evolving, trends change at a faster rate than technology these days, designers come up with the most outlandish ideas in their bid for relevancy.  But often pushed to the sidelines, is the philosophical aspect of it all.  Whilst fashion at the core is seen more as a matter of tastes, how a person presents themselves says a lot about them and often more than they would wish to convey.  For that reason, face tattoos aren’t just markers of rebellion, they’re signs that someone is comfortable enough to be an individual in a very homogeneous world.

Tattoos in general have that appeal, which I would argue, doesn’t seem so obvious these days.  Tattoo trends are the most conformist trends I’ve ever seen, tribal and psychedelic designs are feted among fashion dilettantes who do not want to miss out, gory imagery for people with emotional problems, striking sleeve tattoos on assertive people who let their image define them.  But face tattoos are completely different.

Face tattoos have 3 prerequisites : moxie, chutzpah and resilience.  To face the leery stares of strangers requires the utmost inner strength and a particularly healthy self esteem.

The philosophy behind face tattoos makes them even more spellbinding, as they tacitly project a modicum of self-awareness and stoicism.  The level of care differs among face tattoo enthusiasts in that some wearers of face tattoos tend to care more than others, but there’s still an extant commonality among all these people; they understand the link between mortality and aesthetics more than any other group of people.

I thought it would be fitting to use the image of Lil Peep to illustrate this article, because no one else perfectly embodies the ethos of face tattoos than someone whose youth will always define his existence.  With old age, all tattoos will shrink.  What used to look menacing and intimidating, will lose its vigor and sturdy feel.  And I think that’s another philosophy that bolsters the appeal of face tattoos; the longevity of one’s youth.

Extreme fashion trends are not met with the same fulsome reception as rudimentary, salient trends.  But that’s okay because those with an eye for aesthetics finally get to detach themselves from other fashionistas whose claim to fashion intelligentsia is ironically their glib adherence to conformity.

6ix9ine’s colorful personality shines through his tattoos.