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Pronounce this tongue twister thrice:
"For the blast blasted blubber beyond all believable bounds..."
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Then, in-between the pull of rosaries and the rigorous fondling with the complexities that boredom and the need to survive present, we find new ways to die.
Let me offer an explanation. Few things in the world explain themselves. A bat is eaten in China, and the world is forced to clean its mouth, simultaneously.
And then, it expands from there.
The mouth-cleaning presents more complexities. We close down businesses and are forced to stay at home. We are not sure what our fates are. How long we will continue to kill boredom with Tik Tok videos and challenges that are borderline depressive. A bottle of Orijin gulped at once. Don't Rush glam videos in the background. Do we want to die fast or we want the eternity of drip? Maybe, BOP Daddy has the answers. I'm offering explanations.
The first week expires and we don't understand who we should listen to anymore. There's a dystopian village outside our windows. Scenes Sci-Fi writers couldn't have thought up. What's up Keanu Reeves, the world killed your dog?
Our minds, ceded to idleness begin to present theories. We think: what if, hear me out, the development of a faster bandwidth technology is the cause of the spread of this disease? You know, 5G? A sneeze at the back of our necks and we run with our phones. What we offer up are conversations that do not matter. Because our minds are a pack of cards, shuffling. Boredom is a roulette.
Everything disappears. At first, it's just the job that was our whole life. Then, it's the room we love to stay in. Then, it's the person we love. Then, it's the Vision 2020. Then, it's nothing. We begin to realise that nothing matters more than staying alive. That, in this pale blue dot, a beating heart matters. So small a fact we never thought about the essentiality.
Just few days ago, we never thought beating a disease was something to be celebrated. Yes, we celebrated beating cancer. But only if we knew the survivor. Yes, we celebrated surviving sickle cell. But only if we knew those who fell in love. The reality of being alive after standing at the fringes of death becomes a daring action. It becomes standing at the battlefront, gun in hand, colossal explosions, dispersal of shrapnel, and we coming out, unscathed.
What informs the idea of survivors are obituary pages. Follow me here: January 10, 2020, newspapers roll out ADs for the buying of spaces in their pages for dead ones. April 10, 2020, newspapers are filled with pages of the names of the dead. Though, newspapers are cemeteries for the negatives, the return on investment of the AD is amplified beyond predictions. They are unsure what to do, they begin to mention names of those who survive. Celebrate them on headlines. People we don't know become survivors for a virus personal to them. And we praise them like heroes.
Hero. Such distasteful word?
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History is performance. Sometimes, it comes with rehearsals. Sometimes, it comes in choreographed moves. Sometimes, it clarifies. I'm offering an explanation.
On 9 November, 1970, a 45-foot sperm whale washed up on a beach in Florence, Oregon, USA. This, obviously, wasn't an everyday occurrence.
Considering the length of the whale, there were debates on how to dispose off the whale. Three suggestions came up:
1. Leaving the whale to decompose. Rotten gradually at the edge of the sea with its naked foul smell.
2. To cut it up and bury. Such an arduous task.
3. To blow it up with dynamites. The resulting scattered parts eaten by seagulls.
For obvious reasons, the officials of the city of Oregon went for the third option. No one wanted the smell of the whale. No wanted to cut up a 45-foot whale, dig up, then bury. To explode it into bits was the best. The seagulls would finish up the task.
In setting up the dynamites, the official in-charge of the explosion, George Thornton wasn't sure of how much dynamites to use. He opted for half a tonne. To erase the largest mammal in the world, he thought, would require that much.
An ex-military man thought otherwise. He advised Thornton that his assumption on needed dynamites was too much. A few sticks would be enough, he advised. Thornton and his fellow officials ignored this advice.
An orchestra of dynamite sticks of half a tonne was set up around the dead whale. November 12 in front of eager spectators, the detonator was pressed. Boom!
The flaw of this plan immediately became apparent. With the weight of the explosion, large chunks of the whale flew in all directions. Spectators ran homeward as rotten whale plopped down on them. A car, about a mile away, was crushed by a huge lump of blubber. The seagulls, scared by the explosion, escaped into the air. The main bit of the whale remained unmoved by the explosion. The resulting effect was disastrous. The whole town was baptized in the smell of the whale.
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How do we die? We ignore the warnings of death.
We, spectators, watching those who have ignored the advice of an expert have an explosion of rotten whale cover us. We, officials innocent enough to ignore the words of an expert explode a whale. The whale lying fallow at the end of a beach, unyielding to the pull back of the waves.
To try and explode a whale, we create survivors. Those who survived the smell, those who may have been crushed by the blubbers, those who may have, by the explosion, carry the foul history of the explosion.
It's in this brief history that we understand what heroes do. How they're created. How all they do is listen to an expert. Because in the weird scheme of things, all that matters are those who understand our situation. And in their words all we need to do is Stay At Home. Avoid a carnage of rotten whale plopping down on us.
On Desk
This time, I have to tell you, it's been harder to create. Everything seems to be crashing and words escape their description. No, I'm not interested in writing a COVID isolation diary. Days are free-flowing and we really don't have the time to start gauging. I don't think you've to come out of this lockdown with a skill. I don't agree that you're wasting your time on Tik Tok. These times are uncertain, we all are just trying our best. So, nothing new from me.
Yes, I'm selling a course:
Before you say I'm contradicting myself, my point above is simple: you don't have to put pressure on yourself. If you think the course is necessary, create time for it. Don't take every course. Essentially, buy this course only if you think it's necessary.
Details here.
Musa's Gate
Since, everything is about COVID-19, I just wanted to show you some impacts of the virus.
Animals are asking, “are they still alive?”
And are checking up on us.
Cities are clearing out, and we realise that the keys to the Church of Holy Sepulchre in Jerusalem are held by a Muslim family:
We suddenly see that countries around the world aren't that great, they just have good PR. Movies, News, books, etc. Maybe, Joker was really true.
I also think you should check out this beautiful story from Tẹju Cole.
Alright, I think that's all for now. Thank you for reading this edition.
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🎶Bella ciao, Bella ciao, ciao, ciao, till the 25th, ciao.🎶