The First Sin

Jean Baudrillard and hyper reality

Why bother? Why bother with blogging? Why even bother about Baudrillard?

Where do these blogs exist, where indeed? As if we can touch them, feel them. This whole world spawned by the Internet, this real but magical creation only exists out of an effort. In other words, it lacks reality because it is so artificial and so hopelessly contingent.

There are so many other universes, lives, stories that go untouched by this un-necessary world. That they exist in their own right, unhinged and resolute is a testimony to the desert and the sea.

If this activity, this parallel, unparallel world of disparate consciousnesses exists, it lacks music because that can only belong outside the world of the web.
Yet, something seethes inside, where the definitions are......where the tides rise, where the moon shines sometimes. Something inside restless, where the emotions are......where the tides recede, fall back then back away slowly , like in shame, in defense of some anger, some hidden slip of the lips.

The fingers tremor, the heart beats faster, the wind rushes and roars. One assumes this torment might cease after a while. A little later, these words erupt, inspite of their unequal music, inspite of this hyperreality, inspite of Baudrillard.