The Great Gig and the Old Star

The Great Gig in the Sky 2.0

There is some mystery in the sky. But I know not the language it speaks, leave alone the hidden meanings. Maybe it has nothing to say; the fact that it exists is more than the words. And no words can get its essence.

The reality is deceitful, lying only in its idea. For example there is no chair except your idea of what a chair is. Yet in an attempt, or an appreciation of its artlessness, there is always something we can pick out, of course not in its entirety, rather in a momentary expression that we are able to capture through the use of our maximum mortal strength.

So here it is, the version 2.0 of the great gig in the sky. See the Great Gig in the Sky 1.0. I'm always so obsessed with the sky; in an instant, I don't even care how much Ibobi has plundered and saved and invested for his lineage of five generations. Ten generations?...don't exaggerate, please. And don't be jealous, but the truth is that in its bareness, the sky is far more attractive than you. You are just terribly clothed in human folly, howsoever beautiful you are imagining yourself in your vanity.

The two images were taken from a location along the Delhi-Rohtak highway (where there is never a blockade)

★★★ Guest poem ★★★

Made in Tamu Moreh 

   by Akhu Chingangbam

We don't care for you, Obama
whether you are in China or Burma!
we only care of these canvas shoes
my favourite ones are yellow

PS: Thanks Da:Akhu:o for the improvisation on the text-o.
A nice-oh Moreh spirito! And the me always wearo a-blue and a-black.