the bad hair days.

"the only way to deal with an unfree world is to make yourself so absolutely free that your very existence is an act of rebellion." albert camus.

once we came down with early onset pandemic, fact-checking became the new normal. and yet doubts and questions personally persisted along the journey. much of what i heard or read from all sides of the gurney seemed questionable, slanted, planted, unreasonable, unfeasible, non-sensible and often indefensible. pundits and know-it-alls trucked in belligerently arguing even today over yesterday and tomorrow. was it necessary to shut 'er down? were the jabs safe, mandates fair and was it right to cut my own hair? i don't know. but i can report with a high degree of certainty at least that cutting my own hair was, unfortunate.

taking an old dull beard-trimmer to my mop seemed reasonable at the time. it was all well and good while isolating and peoples never got closer than two hockey-sticks' distance outside, where there was supposedly less of the bad stuff floating 'round, and anyway i religiously wore a cap. but i stopped wiping down bananas with disinfectant soonest whilst continuing on to cut my hair. long after barbershops and salons opened, as i began mingling with humans in shops, cafes and even the gym, i stubbornly wielded that evil medieval contraption. and frankly i'm looking a bit like i tried to fix a radiation leak at our friendly neighbourhood nuclear power plant without proper gear.

before we were strictly staycationing i'd visit my favourite stylist on a regular basis. she was, and i presume still is, a vietnamese lady and we got on famously in spite of my inability to understand a word she ever said. of course you can't make a mercedes out of a volkswagen, i used to say, only she courageously tried and i'd end up presentable, like maybe a chevy. i really should find out if she's out there somewhere. 

unfortunately, it may be a little late for me. my hair just doesn't grow much anymore. it used to. my hair used to grow quite nicely, before pfizer, the virus and all that screen time. all i'm saying is that one bad haircut now lasts months, months and months, and i don't know why. i'd love to know why, the truth of a lost youth, mindfulness or mindlessness replacing confusion, subterfusion and i'm not holding out a lotta hope. was it ok to shut 'er down, vaccines safe, mandates fair, cut my hair, and who killed kennedy? 

there are a thousand ways to die, but only one way to live and "the older i get, the more i find that you must live with those who free you, who love you from a lighter affection to bear as strong as you can to experience today's life that is too hard, too bitter, too anemic, for us to undergo new bondages, from whom we love. this is how i am your friend, i love your happiness, your freedom, your adventure in one word, and i would like to be for you the companion we are sure of, always." albert camus.

an issue revisit.

'dedicated to everyone who wonders if i'm writing about them. i am.' alex weber. 

all articles i've ever posted through the years on facebook were gone. gone. i started wondering if i still existed. i mean, it is conceivable that having a presence on facebook or one of the other main social media platforms will become a pre-requisite for deciding whether one does actually exist, if it isn't already. then, no, if a tree falls in the woods and there's nobody there to hear, it does not make a sound. all those yogis and naga-babas meditating in their himalayan caves, all those off-grid and van-life non-youtubers, they're not here. they're not actually anywhere in that case.

just to add to my growing sense of unease, i was told that my site may have been targeted intentionally. that felt like a kind of e-murder. and as i sunk deeper into my paranoid thinking, distractedly wondering who might've e-killed me, i very nearly pissed into a garbage can beside the toilet. how bad is that!? of course the posts miraculously reappeared after a few days, the world went back to abnormal. it was 'an immaculate correction,' according to one of my buddies.

be that as it may, it occurred to me that this would be a right time to write an article about writing an article. in fact it'd probably be a right time to write a book about writing a book, only that's not gonna happen. i've cobbled together a few books of articles, short stories, a momentarily memorable memoire, a blog, but no novels. i'm no salmon rushdie. but i've nevertheless managed to ruffle the feathers of quite a few fine feathered folks. and, the odd time my advice has ever been solicited, i've spouted off such platitudes as: "are you a writer or are you just writing?" or: "stand up on your hind-legs and speak your truth." now i realize i may have been unfair, even callous. 

the harsh reality is that by throwing caution to the wind, by being uncompromising and bold, one may well find oneself languishing in a dimly-lit cabin, fretting neurotically over who you may have offended most recently and then mindlessly pissing into a garbage can. i've always thought that if i lose a few friends along the way due to the drivel i write, well, so be it. wasn't it groucho marx who said he wouldn't wanna join any club that'd have him? i think that somehow fits here, just not sure how.

there was a time in india when i discovered that someone told our guru that i had done something kinda nasty. i hadn't and was outraged, fervently wanted to defend myself. but guruji was simply uninterested, kept sloughing me off. when i asked why, he finally turned to face me and said something i'll never forget. nor will i ever forget the way he said it: "you don't need to defend yourself," he said smiling lovingly, "because i know you." that's the sort of club you wanna join.

on the other hand, consider the fate of the aforementioned mr. salmon rushdie. i obviously do not put myself in his category. he's a real author. but, whether he purposely, glibly or simply satirically insulted the islamic faith by writing 'the satanic verses' is kinda irrelevant at this point. he's paid with an eye and the use of an arm. telling the world to for fuggs sake lighten up seems to be spectacularly useless. so simply be aware that, if you seem to denigrate family, friends or somebody's prophet, it probably won't go well. and if you do insist on foolishly following my example, then just stay calm, carry on and pick yourself up a sparkling stainless-steel garbage can. 'cause you may need it.

"i can shake off everything as i write. my sorrows disappear, my courage is reborn." anne frank.