indie newsletter : free-fall form of work for free fallers // gravity is a friend // part creature, part story // brimming with a lot of love and a lot of rage // making a very human thing.

enjoy at your own risk.

For preventing school-going children in Pakistan, from being exploited on the premises of their prestigious educational institutions, and for curbing the spread of corruption in the land. 

It is a melancholy object to those, who breathe the rich air of this country, and pledge their life to the nation’s prosperity, when they see their children be raped on campus. We have come to terms with our napaki and the horrendous abjection of our bodies. We have tried covering ourselves with every possible piece of clothing. We have passed laws that, in theory, should prevent these vile acts. The statistics, however, continue to grow, despite our best efforts and faith in human justice systems. After deep probing thought, we offer yet another proposal, perhaps the last sane edict in this difficult hour. The proposal consists of two clauses: 

Any man, who is sure to be a man and not a robot, should sacrifice his genitalia - sticks, stones, and the rest - lest he should fall prey to his base desires. These should include anyone who has a physiological reaction when they see a female figure, be it a two-month-old baby, a corpse, or a burqa-clad woman. Their sacred offering will surely keep our honour intact, and it will fulfill their moral duty as our protectors.

If the previous condition cannot met, we must set ourselves on fire.

Unless a more workable solution is put forward, we cannot retract our proposal. The length of this manifesto is curated specifically for our short-form-consuming audience. Let us know if you would like to read more about our scheme: we are amenable to your terms. 

Everything begins in death. A pre-coital, post-apocalyptic body shakes you to the core and begs you to tell a story that lies between a pulpit and a grave. Good morning, good evening, how do you do? Did you have a wonderful time here? How many little deaths have you suffered in the last hour (not the fun ones), can you tell? Trust me, this is not some necrophilia variation. Look. They’re pointing you to where you’re headed next. There’s the waystation. What’s this you hear? Echoes from the dead? It sounds a lot like your best friend. Remember not to turn around.

Toni Morrison, Nobel Lecture, 1993.