Showing posts with label Creator. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Creator. Show all posts

Fantasy For Friday


 

Fantasy.

You know, I personally hate it when people criticize fantasy. I am often told to read and write about the real world, the social life. They say I am just too lost in my “inexistent, imaginary, unreal” world. They say that people like to read about what’s real, about society. And that fantasy doesn’t exist, you have to be real.
It makes me wonder, that a thousand years ago, this world would’ve felt like a fantasy, does that make this world unreal? Philosophy, something, which is just as real as it gets, even it says that fantasy can be real. Under metaphysics, subjective possibilities, branch epistemic possibility, it is clearly stated we do not know whether something is true or not (no one has come up with proof yet); so it is (epistemically) possible that it is true and it is (epistemically) possible that it is false. But if it is, in fact, probably true (as it may be, for all we know), then it would have to be (subjunctively) necessarily true; what being provable means is that it would not be (logically) possible for it to be false.

It means that we might know beyond a shadow of a doubt that it is not raining outside—but that would hardly mean that it is (subjunctively) impossible for it to rain. 
So fantasy can be real for all we know. And why do we read social articles? Aren’t we having enough social problems in our life, that we should go read someone else’s (likely an “unreal” character’s) problems? Or so we seek solutions to our problems? Well, guess what, it’s a fiction world. The only one with the solution to your problems is you. Social articles ain’t getting you anywhere. They are, in fact, “fiction” too. Fantasy. You see, most writers hate giving sad endings. They just “imagine” a good ending and put it in a book, and everyone just loves it.

At least when we write about fantasy and unreal stuff, we kind of admit we are writing about it. We don’t put it under the name “social” to increase our readership. You see, fantasy is imagination, and so, every fiction book, is, as a matter of fact, fantasy. It is imagination. Non-fiction, I got nothing against it. But fantasy broadens the mind, perspective. If humans didn’t imagine that we could go to space, we could not have gone to space. If everyone just turns their back to fantasy and becomes close-minded, narrow-minded, we humans are getting nowhere.

So, we can just spend our time worrying about tomorrow, or we can literally create our tomorrow. A fantastic tomorrow. Fantasy starts where reality ends, but is itself endless. Nothing beyond fantasy exists, it is infinite. But I can assure you, that even, by any chance, the fantasy ends, humans will cease to exist.

Divulging Facade

 


As I laid with my head on the pillow,

Staring at the fiery sun, and the beautiful willow,

With mugged up thoughts crammed inside my mind,

And Lucifer whispering at my side,

One after the other, fell my dreams like petals from a flower,

And the tears escaped the cage of my lashes, making my sweet mouth sour.

Self-told words had now proven to be lies,

And the fake façade had come with a price.

No longer could I make believe,

No longer could I just live.

Bounds were unbreakable,

But my imagination had turned out to be killable.

And as it took its dying breath,

It planted one last seed in my head,

Told me it wasn’t the boundaries,

The true Devil was the lies.

It wasn’t bound by any line,

Imagination wasn’t made to falsify.

I rose and fell,

Over the chime of bell.

I had trouble standing,

But was it the costume I wore that led to my crash-landing?

Soon, the Angel reappeared at my shoulder,

And I felt a little less colder.

The realization hit, the illusion divulged,

The mask dropped,

And I saw my face,

Just as pretty, but no longer hidden behind a veil.

The Forgotten

 Legends often become myths. But one good thing about them is that even as myths they are remembered. In storms, earthquakes, calamities, the working class is usually forgotten. The working class means the class of poor people. It doesn’t just comprise of one, two or a dozen people. Around 54% of India comprises of working-class, that is, the poor people. Shocked? Now imagine, them all being forgotten.

Scientifically, people are born, they grow old and they die. No spirits, no reincarnation, nothing. Then how do we live after we die? Most of us would be “forgotten” a hundred years from now. What happens after that? We are the forgotten. Burned and just simply, forgotten. Why? Because we are have not made an impact. Paint a piece of metal. After years, it will wear off, and then one day, it will seem as though it was never there. Forgotten. But now, make a big dent on a piece of metal. It will stay there, no matter how much you try to undo it, it will stay there, forever. Like a legend. That song, Legends Never Die, what does it mean? It obviously does not mean that the people in legends would live forever, or does it mean that. Maybe. Yes. It does mean that. Physically, everyone dies. But their soul lives through words written by them, for them, forever. Einstein. Existed 150 years ago, we still know him. Didn’t he accomplish the purpose of living? I mean, what is the purpose of living if you are just gonna be forgotten after a hundred years or maybe less?

We are born, we grow old and then we die. But what if, we can live even after dying. Through people’s heart, their minds, through words. We could live forever. Then why not live forever? Then why not do something, that makes us remembered? Then why not make a dent on metal than paint it? You know death does not scare me, but being forgotten really does. Some people think that it is superstition, that it is impossible, but maybe it isn’t. I mean we remember the ancient kings and queens and them all.  Why can’t we make ourselves remembered like them?

There are rich people owing big factories and all that. But even most of them would be forgotten. Because being rich does not ensure your placement in everybody’s memory, being something does that. Then why don’t we set the goal of our life to be remembered for at least 50 more years than we are most likely to?


New Trilogy-Crime

 


As a theft takes place at Lyric's mother-in-law's place, she must reopen the horrific events of the past and to find the hooded thief. But with spies in and out, the case takes a mysterious turn when someone jeopardizes their traps and all the clues become undependable and Lyric must face her old enemy from the past. When the survivors die and dead turn out to have survived, Lyric is forced to face her past and separate the truths from the lies.

Phoenix


 

Burn me down,
I'll rise from the ashes,
The fire's crown,
Raging over my lashes!!

~Janushi Raichura
Author of the novel series Ventures of Gem Land

Imagination


 

Imagination is the creator of all. It ignites curiosity which is the base of all humankind.

~Janushi Raichura

Tangent

  The sun outside has taken shelter behind a thick sheet of dark grey clouds. It's raining like it hasn't rained all year. What am I...