Redhya

Life is a continuous interaction with the system i.e., the cosmos, and the awareness of this interaction is commonly known as consciousness. This interaction whether being abided by a set of principles or not doesn't actually affect the totality of the system. One restricting life to merely some inherited information from surrounding cultures (subsets of the system) is like keeping oneself inside certain sized spheres only. But living inside these unchanging spheres is a free will. Furthermore, it's not an inferior way to interact with the cosmos. As a matter of fact, there’s no standard way to interact. This is majorly because of two reasons: Destruction and creation are intrinsic parts of the cosmos. The totality of the cosmos vibrates between them. Death is the destruction of information; whereas, life is the creation of information. Plus, information can be passed on through events. During the transition of an entity from life to death, information also transforms. The tota

A blank white sheet, spread over my computer screen, pulls through my psychotic gaze that has consumed my several NOWs . And yet every NOW looks the same as though the “god” stopped time. A glass of water on a table beside me has been untouched for two hours now. Unwanted particles are lying on its surface; they want to cut the top layer of the shaped water to coalesce with the water. Later, the water and the particles will entangle with particles in my body. And this tiny series of entanglements will become a part of one supreme entanglement. “The First Sentence” Gradually, the sheet is getting blurrier than before. My gaze is still fixed on the screen; however, the sheet fades into oblivion. As I lose myself in the moment, I see myself (matter) exploding into infinite indivisible particles leaving only a void behind. And each particle is being entangled with other particles in nature. My consciousness, which has kept me busy and sane until now, has disintegrated into particle consci

tiptoe when you enter my mind, else you might stir massacred thoughts and gagged verses. tied together and hidden in the attic, they sometimes come alive in the forms of remorse and ulcers. it’s not a good day. thus, tonight, before i sleep, i may kill some more imaginations. scrumpled papers, backspaces, and deletes are to be blamed some keystrokes animate a blank page if a paper is a plane, words are its wings. a shadow, cast by a table lamp, stares me down until i slash those wings a strange fear prohibits me from being myself i want to be free - free from fears perhaps, some day, i’ll burn the attic down to ashes and you'll see me unfiltered and fearless i’ll be raw *** buy my books on amazon -  redhya