Black Hole.

There is gravity. There is a pull. It is impossible to escape. It keeps coming back. It keeps sucking in.

It is dark; so dark. It comes slowly, creeps up, engulfs. It is always there, lurking in the back - waiting. And it calls. It whispers. Softly, so very softly. Insistent. Soft, but strong. Too strong. It cannot be fought. Only run away from. Every stumble makes it stronger.

There is only temporary relief. A Mindlessness. A blocking of view - but not closing of eyes, for darkness resides behind the veil of closed eyes. Sleep is worst. It is a cruel necessity that allows the darkness to take over - pushed into the abyss of torment where demons devour and chase.

The heart. The poor heart. Shackled in cold, dread and fear. Beating - crying out, loud - to no avail. The heartbeat, like a war drum; pounding, raising alarm. Alas, the only ears the siren reaches are deafened by the screams and wailing from within. It is futile. These are deaf, others are blind.

Deserter: Courage. Abandoned friend in the hour of utmost need. Why and how are not answered. Prayers and begging are wasted.

It cannot be explained, it cannot be shared. It would be easier to bear if there was someone to reach out to, to understand. Someone to take the extended, begging hand. To step forward and pull at the drowning weight. But no, there isn't. There is no lifeline. There is only shouts - of encouragement, cliches of hope and greatness. But their effect is not soothing. Only safety lies in silence - where there is no need to say or explain or pleading to understand. And in distance.

There are also gurgling noises, of the quagmire swallowing.

It is a lost battle. There is relief in giving up. There is a place beyond pain, where there is only acceptance.

There is comfort and companionship in the blanket of darkness.

'Hilarious'? Sad, Really.

There is a new application doing rounds on Facebook. It invites people to see what they'll look like in the future.

Strangely, everyone's future seems to look the same: there is only one impression of everyone's face. Without exception.

There is also an automated comment that appears when someone is tempted to witness their evolution from this side of the time line: "hahah mine is hilarious!!! check yours out :)".

I suppose, since it appears quite often on profiles, and randomly selects 'Friends' to pass on to, it is popular by choice. 

What is stranger than the popularity of the of the application is the fact that people do actually find it funny. 'Likes' and '=D' appear on the link. Morbid sense of humour.

But let's be generous. Let's make excuses for people. Perhaps they find it funny that the same face appears no matter who clicks on the link. Or even that the 'cutting-edge technology' does not differenciate between the genders, blending 'future' male and female faces into the one and same lined face, toothless mouth and balding head.

But is it really funny? 'Hilarious'? No. It is not.

What is being laughed at, is old age. What is being humiliated is an old man's life. A life that is mirrored on his face. A face etched with worry lines. Lines cut into the papery skin, the fleshless features. Features that seem locked in the act of weeping, with faults marking the perpetual journey of tears from the anguished eyes. Haunting eyes. Pained eyes. Pleading eyes. Bruised, red-rimmed eyes. Eyes uttering the cry that is not heard from the toothless mouth. A mouth that frames a ghost of a smile. A smile that may have once appeared atop a strong, proud chin. All reduced to humiliation. 

Yes, "See What You'll Look In The Future". Old Age visits most of us. And fortunes turn tables too. 

One Wonders.

From Wikipedia:

'As of 16 February 2011, there were over 156 million public blogs in existence.'

It is hard for me to imagine what 156 million actually looks like. The magnitude of the number does register, it seems 'big', but the physical reality seems vague and the mind begs to seek a visual reference. And yet, the numerical is proof enough somehow - 156 million is a lot of blogs.

What does a hundred and fifty-six million blogs mean?

It definitely means a lot of information - what sort of information is perhaps a rhetoric question; I doubt if it can be categorised at all. 

It means the need to express, the need to communicate, to share, to reach out. 

Arbitrarily assigning one soul per blog, 156 million people have a lot to say, assuming also that their blogs are active. But hasn't the need to communicate always been there? People have been known to keep diaries and journals - to catalogue their thoughts and to contain 

their emotions. Then why the need to 'publish' online? Perhaps the vague hope to attract an audience, to elicit response(s)?

It also means access to internet - that a lot of people still don't have. 

Perhaps most of the blogs are merely a form of catharsis; perhaps they do not have the need or potential to reach out and appeal to a greater audience. I wonder about the ones that can. Somehow, the print media is still more accessible than the digital. Do these blogs limit their authors? To be satisfied with virtual publishing and not pushing for a greater goal? Or does it polish their abilities?

I wonder whether the dream of becoming an author dies slowly. 

I also wonder about the ones who do not have internet access. It bothers me - this unfair digital divide. I wonder how many potential bloggers make up the numbers of the non-digital-world. I wonder how many authors stay buried in those not-yet-bloggers. 

I wonder about the people who have a lot [and more] to say, the need to reach out - and do not. I wonder if we are evolving into a species with less and even lesser time for each other - so less that more and more people will prefer virtual communications to real ones. Is it not strange that we spend more time staring into virtual windows to the digital world than the real windows to gaze out? 

I wonder if the 156 million blogs herald a sort of loneliness, the one that can be experienced in a crowd, say of 7000 million or so.