Sisyphus keeps on trudging forward, up. Never rests. No breaks. The goal is hollow but the task must be done. We must imagine Sisyphus to be happy, wrote Camus. I say, we must imagine Sisyphus to be curious. The next defines the now, a choice chooses that next, and this choice makes Sisyphus free, independent and un-machine. The choice, perhaps, makes him happy.
The blindness becomes a creative volcano. Sight overwhelms. Construction and destruction are violent decisions, daily chores. The choice of letting the camera be, inside a bag, safe, unimportant. The panorama that the eyes imagine is beautiful, real and intoxicating. But so is the crossroad under a trafficked flyover.
A city wakes up. We refocus every day; to work, to pray, to fight a legal battle, to live a life. Then we reject this redundant glamour. A vast landscape of barren land with machinic interruptions welcomes us. There are pigeonholes of solitude and socialization. You go so blind doing your task, that curiosity vanishes, again. Existence-less. Pre-existence. The body merges with the environment as light falls through, almost. And then we are born again.
Computer. Numbers. Hospital bed. Bed pan. Art. Friends. Husbands. Kidneys. The impossibility of everyday life. There is nothing harder than living, though existence is a given. You try and achieve a feat so noble, so novel, it hurts. Such optimism comes to nought. This, my dear friend, is as good as it gets.
I wonder if the gods will descend one fine day and reveal their blessed selves. In the riot that will follow, they will make their voices heard. They will shout with the might of centuries’ worth of unused power. And they will ask, how do you live? And for once, in a gesture of good faith, we all will look them in the eye and breathe a conscious breath, and say, we live like cave men, ever curious.
In a way, Ship of Theseus is like the final chapter of The Clockwork Orange. So optimistic, so utterly magnificent in thought, ‘feel good’ (as a blog post put it about SOT). And this goes for the film both within and without. This, that, the other, the othered that and the this that that could have been; everyone, everything has seen pain. The bad has become the norm. The complexities of life are omnipresent, in politics, arts, science and relations. This post-modern world demands its own movement. As Anand Gandhi tweeted a while back, changing the cultural environment beckons. Let us all participate. Cynics should sleep, at least for this one.