The dot from the fables.
March 28, 2009
We’re talking about a dot here.
There exist the hollow dots and the filled dots in this world.
The hollow ones like to sit on their own edge and look at other dots. They walk over and converse.
The filled ones like to stay indoors. They mix with themselves, like milk does in coffee. And when there’s coffee, there’s conversation.
The dot can label, point and enlist.
It can be a city, a state or a country in the kingdom of cartographs.
It can be the point where x and y draw a consensus.
It can be where the compass places its stable leg and pirouettes.
It can be the third point under a subheading which carries one whole mark.
It can be the runway of the airport from where an artists idea took flight.
It can be you; when the arrow pointing at it says ‘YOU ARE HERE’.
It can be an accidental blot on a skirt that carries a moment in its’ fist, an inside joke, a work of art.
These are all filled dots and have always stood for something important.
Although they say, ‘It’s just a dot. Nobody will notice.’ -
We, are talking about a dot here, and IT IS important.
This dot is white and beautiful. The same white as its’ foster home- the paper. It’s true to its’ roots.
It stands out as all the other dots are black.
They were mostly hollow dots originally. Some were alike, others worked on being alike; and in the process they filled themselves in (black nailpaint identity). You could see it- the blacker black of their boundary.
So they clotted together to make a sea of black. They were happy like that, and glue starts drying up when it sees you happy.
They lost their secret lottery ticket which god gives each being he makes.
They became the background.
The background on which our white stood. Neat, round, clean and crisp.
The dot won all the lotteries- her own and those of the others. It couldn’t see gods’ effort being insulted.
Its’ name was seen on the books given away as prizes.
It was sought after and consulted- as it was the only one still in touch with paper.
We’re talking about a dot here. A crisp white dot.
An epicentre whose tremors are seen by a few, whose impact is chewed by a few.
No ink was used to make it, but it left a blot on the page that followed it.
And the page will never see the enamel white fluid, I promise.
That blot, I call, My Dot.
March 29, 2009 at 8:44 am
I don’t get it…….sorry
April 10, 2009 at 10:40 am
nice… very descriptive and very poetic!
loved it… i see this ‘dot’ is very amicable!
but very nicely written, i thought. i love the use of such nice analogies!
May 8, 2009 at 3:56 pm
It’s a reeeally well written post. I love your descriptions!
But you lose me sometimes.
For example, what do you mean by: “An epicentre whose tremors are seen by a few, whose impact is chewed by a few.”?
May 11, 2009 at 6:16 pm
Oooo.
You’re the first person who ever asked me a question about my blog!
Anyway. Think of the diagrammatic representation of an epicentre and its tremors. There’ll be a dot and these tiny lines that comic people might call ‘movement’. Not everyone sees these lines because they think she’s a filled dot (an introvert), but she emits those tremors. Not everyone can chew the impact of these tremors because they’re just too blonde to.
This blog is about a friend. You need to meet her. She’s beautiful.
May 13, 2009 at 7:54 am
Oh alright. What about “No ink was used to make it, but it left a blot on the page that followed it.
And the page will never see the enamel white fluid, I promise.”?
And by black and white, you mean good and bad, right?
May 21, 2009 at 9:20 pm
“No ink was used to make it…”
I’m the page. The blot is an impression.
The enamel white fluid is whitener. Refer to ‘The doodle that went paranoid’.
And no, white is just how she’s original, genuine. Black is the soot- societal soot.