Open letter to people in general

Dear People You are doing all very well. No qualms there. In whatever you are doing and no qualms about that. Not that I want to say things necessarily to confront. But then the obsession with mere belongings is kind of heart wrenching. Although even that’s not callous. The point is that the liberation, that fuzziness, that nimble sort of existence has been left behind. Living lacklustre seems to be the norm. The mannerisms to live, the do’s and don’ts, all seem itched and stoned. One way to realize could be to walk barefoot on the dawn dew that layers the grass at that time. The misty realisation of the current hazy existence would metamorphosis better then perhaps. When ranting on those lines vanishing to the woods and dwelling there doesn’t sound much out of synch as well. May be the errant hills snow clad so benevolently are again so much of a respite. One could feed on plants or hunt there. And lie down on grass and swill from river water. But apparently we are vying more for concrete jungles and corporatisation. Makes only miniscule sense that. Hum, and play and work and dance and write and act and make jokes and do whatever shit that pleases you. But please do not down tread yourself into capitalistic junk ventures. Do not be party to flawed concepts of happiness just because that allows you to rear two kids and fly your girlfriend to locations perhaps exotic. That should not work in great measure. Or does that? When they tell me to buy stuff because it is on television and social networking, I understand it to be all advertising puke. You do get it too or don’t you? The callous amounts of backbreaking work with unfair amounts of pure stress dangling in your head only to be buffooned into purchasing some god forsaken articles that have colourful imprints on them. We are anything but grazing animals to be lured by brands and ogling over them. Jerry Seinfeld instead or Mirza Ghalib are kind of better engagements for bliss. Why don’t you try and glean the awesome sarcasm out of Calvin and Hobbes or whatever? How could you murder yourself (as in make your life worse enough, obviously not literally) over some metal concrete and rubber tyres? It is fun to ride one of those but for how long, and is the juice worth the squeeze? Please appreciate that ‘pleasure’ and ‘happiness’ and ‘magnificent conversations’ are what we are kind of carved for. Anything else is just so much fluff. Capitalism is far more injurious than smoking up I guess. More than that is your slow wit. Please do not imprison yourself in voluminous and mindless and helter skelter of any whatever tasks. One could start by liking art over and above doing the brilliant work that you do day in and day out. Please indulge, but otherwise. Please get your ass up and smell the pie around. Self-loath a bit, a self-loather