Timecode Rahul Pratap's Weblog

Writing Exercise: Bliss

A world exists on one side of a green hill in Sonoma, California. An unchanging blue sky masks an infinity beyond. An unmoving procession of cowless, rabbitless, faceless clouds casts an ominous grey shadow, portending the same unarriving future since 1996. A distant mountain is frozen on its way out of the horizon.

There is not a stirring subject in sight.

The wind has been caught in an awkward moment of pointlessness writing nothing of significance on the grass. A path leading from nowhere to nowhere has tired of pondering its purpose.

The night has tired of eternal day.

Life thrives on the other side of a green hill in Sonoma, California. An unseen artist watches his sky blue paint dry. An invisible child stares on at unyielding white. A shiny red car dashes across the slopes unheard. Shadows move with their owners, out of habit.

There is no beholder in sight.

The wind scribbles messages in vain, perhaps turning a windmill or two to grab attention. Roads are built, eroded, relaid and repainted. Paths are made, trails are blazed and broken.

The stage has tired of an absent audience.

What kind of angst could so inspire 500 million creations, communications, crimes, songs, hopes, egos, souls, lives and livings a day? Of constancy under surveillance? Of unnoticed change?

Of being sucked, without choice, into a camera on a day Charles O’Rear saw fit? Of needing to be right-clicked on to be put out of this misery?

Bliss. If only we knew.

I gather it isn't perfectly clear from the piece, so if you couldn't guess what it was about, this should help: http://bit.ly/3vkPKU.