How every deformity demands a story

There are stories, which a slightly bent little finger, or a scar below a person’s eyes can tell. Some helps you create a child hood story, of that person who exhibits such distinct marks, which excites your imagination while some end up being plain simple marks of memory.

When a person with a bent little finger comes in to the room, you cannot straight away ask how he got that because:
a. That would be stupid and
b. Very stupid.
So you wait. You wait for him to be enough acquainted that then you can slide in your curiosity without looking stupid. But in that gap of oblivion that you are in, you tend to fill in stories that you create on your own; with absolutely no input from the person involved or any signs of conformity that it is true.

When I see a person with a bent little finger, entering in the conference room to give me a presentation, I imagine of the run this guy might have took sometime in his childhood that ended up not very well. The fall he had, and an absolute wrong way of stopping himself with his hands that he might have attempted, which ended up having his little finger between the ground and the still-in-air hand, in an angle that will make even the strongest hearts twitch. What results? Crack! Ouch! and a bone – broken, dislocated, and suddenly rushed to a doctor. Wow what a pain that man went through. God! How would he have endured so much pain as a child. That is when I think of my own little finger. What if my little finger was to have such a bad fate? Ouch! That hurts to even imagine it.
And while the real reason can be anywhere between a natural painless birth-time bent to an escape from a catastrophe that luckily just harmed his little finger only, I have now wasted a good valuable 4 minutes of this man’s presentation, living a story on how his finger was ‘probably’ bent.

What did I gain from that? Nothing. But somehow this man has now got some hero attributes – those of endurance, courage – which makes me have some respect for him. Why am I so obsessed with this man with the bent little finger? Because he is for real and this episode is true.

It is sad I don’t have any great marks to show. I have two good parallel scars on my left hand, but the only first inference people take from that is that I was a psycho who had cut his hand for some girl. The truth lies far away in the midst of “an unfortunate fun game, a wrongly placed piece of metal and a carefree attitude towards the stitches”.
Oh yes then these is this other scar on my face, slightly above my left face cheek. People tend to have really good stories about this in their head like a rough fight, a fall, an adventure going wrong, till the time they ask me what it is – “A wild mosquito bite”.

Its sometimes funny and sometimes terribly misleading how we end up creating stories – if not as fully formed as the ones I have in my head but at least some wild speculations – when you see deformities and anomalies in a person’s physical appearance.

The gaping wait between the birth of an urge to have an explanation to something, and the moment you get the truth – is always a fun ride through your imagination to fill up the gap.


Stop It! F*** You!

Fuck you heart! No wait, you don’t even have anything to do with it, you just pump blood innocently all the time, totally unaware of what kind of deep shit the brain is in sometimes. Sorry heart, and Fuck you brain! Ya you, up, on my head, fuck you!.
How can you still have idle time when I try to keep you occupied with work and studies all the time. How can you forget how much time we sat together and deduced many sayings, stories and experiences into one simple fact – “An idle mind is love’s workshop”. We had a deal! I keep you occupied with things all the time, you will not venture into the regions governed by complicated logics and ill-logics of love and romance.
I gave you work to keep you busy, studies to keep even your remote idle parts thinking, and creative constructions of many kinds to make sure both of your hemispheres have enough to feed upon. But you have not changed a bit.
When the whole world keeps accusing their heart for their emotional traumas and unwanted complex dilemmas, it is always you. The poor heart takes it all up for you, and you selfish prick, you keep your ways unchanged.
Learn something from Nikola Tesla’s brain. It was so perfect – always engrossed in work and avoided love and relations whole-‘brain’edly. Why cant you be like that, I know I should not be comparing brains like this, but hey if you quit being an asshole and cooperate with me, maybe I will stop all this.
At least let me blame things on the chain of thoughts. You are too obvious. I mean the other day I was eating an ice-cream, and enjoying it peacefully, and you fucking flashed love in my head. I sat there love-struck with absolutely nothing relevant, for a God damn half an hour. How can you even pop up love when all I did the entire day was work and I got up to have a cup of coffee? I mean, you don’t see a “Hot Singles in your area” pop up when you are reading about the ‘French Revolution’ on Wikipedia, do you? That is relevance, you ass. It should not be too hard for you to look up the meaning of that word in your vastly ignorant and bullshitted database.
You have had your chance, to play those hormones of love, and in the end it fucked up you, me and even the poor and remotely involved heart.
Hey, c’mon, we are homies here, closest buddies, literally – closest. Give me a little cooperation man. I mean I don’t want to be completely against love, and I am not, but its just that it doesn’t suit me that well. I have not yet forgot how beautiful it was when I was in love, the peace of mind I had, fights there were, but even the biggest fight, was small, very small in front of what we had and … What the fuck man! Stop it! Seriously!