The Art and Joy of Destruction

Creating things gives you a God-like power. And this power is intoxicating. It gives you the authority to destroy your creation; which in turn gives you an unmatched satisfaction, a joy of destruction and a pious feeling of being a demon thereafter.

I enjoy creating sand structures, Lego structures but the true essence of existence of those structures is only when you enjoy them destroying. You must be able kick with your most creative and funny way and it should collapse like those feeble card structures.  It gives you a high that no drug can or will offer. It’s the same feeling you get when you make your futile efforts to kick a crashing sea wave. Your conscious thing ignores the reason of your action but deep down your unconscious thing, you know the reason of its existence.

Similar feeling dwells in me with my lab experiments and projects. I use a great deal of mind assembling all those cords and meters. I perform the experiment to its full; still anyhow I feel that the sole purpose of experiment will remain untouched if I don’t disassemble those cords in my own crude, harsh but satiating way. They lose their ambition of being, every single time they are left as they were, in nodes and among meters. They feel snubbed. They feel their value is agitated among the brainlessness of the project synopsis.

The same feeling is emoted by a calm lake with lotsa pebbles and few kids on its shady shore when no kid disturbs it. Everything that’s meant to be disturbed that is not disturbed feel waves of ignorance and this haunts them. Badly. Pebbles too doubt the purpose of their macrocosm if you don’t toss them, spin them across valleys or lakes or rivers.
Equivalent gust of misfortune is touched by mount-vale structures when you don’t even try to obliterate its silence by echoing your voice. They are made for echoes apart from the flora it has to offers us.  All you get are reverbs from artificial halls or your bathrooms. You’re limiting the joy of getting yourself heard by not murdering the silence. Silence gives serenity, but destroying it might give you serendipity.

I wish I owned a JCB.

I wish I had earthmovers at my hand’s reach.

I wish I had lotsa tubelights to crash. I wish I had infy square meters of bubble wraps to pound upon.  I wish I had n numbers of phones to savor those peel offs.

Shake the dust off your curtains to behold the beautiful Tyndall effect and stop blaming Osama.

Cheers
Book of the mo : Wisdom of Psychopaths - Kevin Dutton

Tune of the mo : Raabta, Converting Vegeterians
Pathos of the mo : Metanoia