insomniac ramblings

“after all… it’s probably only insomnia. many must have it.”
-Ernest Hemingway, A Clean Well-Lighted Place

What else explains the sheer inability to fall asleep at 4 am and having to sit up and wonder the hours away and edit pictures and read short stories online and wonder just how it is that people like these somehow find each other. it must surely be among the phenomenon worthy of a sociologist’s study -like that recent article in the newsweek magazine that tracked volume of telephony between the big apple and the rest of the world and tied it to all sorts of sociological phenomenon and the effects of globalization. go find and read it, it’s dandy. sorry i read it in the print edition and am not in a state to dig up the online link for you now. anyhow, yes, how is it that of all people this place must be stumbled upon by someone like baekho of -i saw the blog and found hemingway’s short story. sure -part of it must be the way the algorithms of search and the statistical probabilities and the what not line up and of course the tags and categories i post unders. but no sir- something bigger must be a work here that lead people like jenny and baekho and janey and cliff burns and who not here and until i find what it is… well, i would have said i won’t sleep, but that aint happening anyways.

speaking of which, i should remember when i get back from this trip to scan and post these incoherent insomniac ramblings i had once scribbled down on the margins of several pages of a paper i had sat up to read well into the early wee morning hours. i think it was titled something like “an insomniac hard at work to find the right words” -now this title in of itself would make some sense, but in reality it was only a mnemoniac (memory aide -right spelling?) to do three posts here on the vignettes; one about each insomnia, hard work, and the importance of finding the right words. why do i need mnemonias? because often there is no electricity and i cannot just power up and put this otherwise handy little machine on my lap to type it all away and have to remember things. and some things just evaporate away with the seconds -so unless you find some way to remember the key words, it is gone forever -that figment, that thought, that product of those circumstances. and the even sadder thing is that often you might not forget the thought, but forget the words that happened to describe it precisely -and the two are so intertwined that not remembering the right words would sometimes pretty much render the thought itself worthless. which is probably i never got around to do the three named posts about insomnia and hard work and right words. the insomnia piece i may eventually get around to posting because it is an everpresence and recurring thing; but the other two, i don’t know.

by the way just so they do not remain there and keep bothering me; let me throw it out. the hard work thing was supposed to be this little self-centered spiel about how i work so hard (i often spent 12 straight hours in office) and that in some odd sense in is redemptive. redemptive of what? i don’t remember that part. maybe some sin i committed on that particular day was on my mind then. and the other piece about finding the right words; i think it had to do something with this quote i had read from milan kundera or someone else about writing; and about how the search for the right words is at some level equivalent to the search for truth. there you have it. the other one, the insomnia piece if rather self-explanatory; it was a self-victimizing ramble about how i am suffering from that quaint little disease i never understood how could people suffer from. if anything, sleep itself was an affliction that was suffered. then insomnia must be a liberation- the cure. except if then the sleep that otherwise you would get over the five or six or eight hours is spread all over your day and dulls your twenty four hours.. then, no. it is no fun. and it is not liberating. and there is no liberation from it. but for momentary relief brought on by strong shots of espresso or rushes of adrenaline both of which invariably leave you even more tired and fatigued save for that momentary rush of life; or, what you can always count to be there, simply more hard work. maybe that is where the redemption lies… a reprieve from the grey qualities of insomnia by simply burying yourself in something infinitely darker. like this crystal of black tourmouline that i saw today in a gem shop: jet black, dignified, dark and yet not gloomy, utter blackness and total darkness; like some of my thoughts.

tourmouline chrystal

now if you want to be really amazed, take a minute to think about how this was formed over thousands of years and just the right conditions of pressure and moisture and patience… as that poem goes in farsi:

سالها باید که تا یک سنگ اصلی زآفتاب
لعل گردد در بدخشان یا عقیق اندر یمن


~ by safrang on March 8, 2008.

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