Random thought !
Clouds are smoke sculpted by wind...
*with all due poetic license*
Was listening to this aweseome song "Nirpathuve" from Bharathi. These few lines struck me hard.
In the era of wikipedia type of knowledge (collective); movie making should be geared in such direction. After all movie should cater to audience utlimately; so I propose a movie in which people collectively write scripts; dialogues; situations etc. There could be a vanilla plot; say it is the story of a guy and girl meeting each other in college and a story that revolves around them; (hey thats the story of 90% of tam movies anyways), there should be a website where we can write our own plots, dialogues etc. One should also be allowed to vote for their favourite scripts so that we come to a conclusion on what the movie is gonna be.
Unlike tools which are created for a specific purpose, e.g., hammer to drive nails; man's existence is without a meaning or purpose.
A physicist would remind us that the things we see "out there" are not ultimately seperate from each other and from us; we perceive them as seperate because of the limitations of our senses. If our eyes were sensitive to a much finer spectrum we might see the world as a continuous field of matter and energy. Nothing in this picture resembles a solid object in our usual sense of the world. The external world of physics has thus become a world of shadows. In removing our illusions we remove the substance, for indeed we have seen that substance is one of the greatest of our illusions.
I looked anxiously around me; the present, nothing but the present. Furniture light and solid, rooted in its present, a table, a bed, a closet with a mirror-and me. The true nature of the present revealed itself: it was what exists, and all that was not present did not exist. The past did not exist. Not at all. Not in things, not even in my thoughts. It is true that I had realized a long time ago that mine had escaped me. But until then I believed that it had simply gone out of my range. For me the past was only a pensioning off: it was another way of existing, a state of vacation and inaction; each event, when it had played its part, put itself politely into a box and became an honorary event: we have so much difficult in imagining nothingness. Now I knew: things are entirely what they appear to be- and behind them... there is nothing.