Leitmotif

Reason as the Leading Motive

Archive for the ‘Pasha – A Vignette’ Category

Demands

Posted by Jerry on January 11, 2007

“You cannot achieve anything just by demanding it–neither self-esteem nor a lover. Both have to be earned.”

“You can only demand that which you should deserve. Demanding the best in life is a demand that you make upon yourself. Fulfilling that demand is, in fact, the process of living.” — Pasha, Ergo Sum

Posted in Favorite Quotes, General Work/Life, Love and Romance, My Theories and Ideas, Pasha - A Vignette, Rights and Morality | 1 Comment »

Hidden Gems Unearthed

Posted by Jerry on June 13, 2006

I was just going through my old “Pasha” posts in order to categorize them under “Pasha – A Vignette,” and I realized what true gems of insight I had buried in there! They certainly deserve highlighting and a re-focusing of attention. So, here I’m isolating certain quotes and excerpts from my short story:

“When Pasha walked his innocent gait, the twinkling lights of the city danced down the streets with him; each the harbinger of a happy day, singing a glorious surrender to the youth of his gait, a joyful laughter at the inspiration in his eyes.

Pasha smiled back.
He smiled at the men who built this city. He smiled at their pride and their spirit – to the testament of their power. For this one moment, Pasha wished there were a God in heaven, for He would have lowered His head in quiet homage to Man.”

 And,

“You can only demand that which you should deserve, Jardin. Demanding the best life is a demand that you make upon yourself. Fulfilling that demand is infact the process of living.”

Some more,

“it was in the perfect trade of unspoken words that they had discovered each other. When they met in person for the first time, the words they had exchanged became the faces they beheld.”

Now, if these excerpts have whet your appetite for more “Pasha,” go on ahead and click on the category link to read all of “Pasha – A Vignette.”

Posted in Favorite Quotes, Pasha - A Vignette, The Best of Leitmotif | 1 Comment »

Pasha

Posted by Jerry on January 9, 2006

When Pasha walked his innocent gait, the twinkling lights of the city danced down the streets with him; each the harbinger of a happy day, singing a glorious surrender to the youth of his gait, a joyful laughter at the inspiration in his eyes.

Pasha smiled back.
He smiled at the men who built this city. He smiled at their pride and their spirit – to the testament of their power. For this one moment, Pasha wished there were a God in heaven, for He would have lowered His head in quiet homage to Man.

Posted in Pasha - A Vignette | 9 Comments »

Pasha et Jardin, contd-

Posted by Jerry on December 20, 2005

Jardin did not answer. He did not have an answer. Everything Pasha said made sense – rational sense. But Jardin could not shake off the instinctual feeling that life is not always rational, and things do not always make sense. Humans are not unfeeling, unemotional robots, he thought.

“Right now I feel horrible, and it is only rational for me to want to end it – whatever way I can.” He could not bring himself to say those words.

Jardin raised the fork of salad over to his mouth – and a pang of guilt pierced him. His consciousness could not handle the massive contradiction before him: His body acting in self-preservation while his mind contemplating and desiring non-existence.

Pasha picked up on that momentary hesitation, and knew what Jardin had realized. Both of them knew nothing more was needed to be said – the choice had been made.

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Pasha et Jardin – Revised

Posted by Jerry on December 20, 2005

It was in a moment’s instance that all the chatter of their surroundings dissipated. A giant chasm suddenly ripped their table apart from the rest of the world; everyone else rapidly sank into the descending mud, while Pasha and Jardin rested solidly on a narrow pillar of ground. It seemed like the only sentient purpose of the booth they sat in was to protect the lonely intimacy of these lovers.

In sadness he spoke. His whispers echoed through space like a prophecy come true on judgment day. Jardin felt an odd distance from his words, like as if they were not his. Like as if he were not capable of uttering such emotions.Pasha made no attempt to mitigate the sadness in Jardin’s voice. The greatest insult one could hurl at another in such a situation would be to descend into an elaborate pretense at empathy, and utter the greatest lie of all: everything will be okay. That is the surest sign of the fact that the person cares a damn about you.

Jardin clutched the napkin in his hands, holding on to it like it would slip away. The plain, white napkin was marred with faint blotches of red sauce. He looked down at his food, thinking how strange it was that he was eating – feeding his body – to what end?

“I cannot go on living this life that I find so disappointing. Shouldn’t I want to demand the best, and only that? How can I live and hate my life at the same time? Isn’t that a particularly repulsive kind of dishonesty?”

“You can only demand that which you should deserve, Jardin. Demanding the best life is a demand that you make upon yourself. Fulfilling that demand is infact the process of living.”

“But it’s not worth it”

“Should your life be worth anything more than itself?”

Posted in Pasha - A Vignette | 6 Comments »

Pasha et Jardin, contd-

Posted by Jerry on December 5, 2005

It was in a moment’s instance that all the chatter of their surroundings dissipated. A giant chasm suddenly ripped their table apart from the rest of the world; everyone else rapidly sank into the descending mud, while Pasha and Jardin rested solidly on a narrow pillar of ground. It seemed like the only sentient purpose of that booth they sat in was to protect the lonely intimacy of these lovers.

In sadness he spoke. His whispers echoed through space like a prophecy come true on judgment day. Jardin felt an odd distance from his words, like as if they were not his. Like as if he were not capable of uttering such emotions.

Pasha made no attempt to mitigate the sadness in Jardin’s voice. The greatest insult one could hurl at another in such a situation would be to descend into an elaborately constructed pretense at empathy and utter the greatest lie of all: everything will be okay. That is the surest sign of the fact that the person cares a damn about you.

Posted in Pasha - A Vignette | 4 Comments »

Pasha et Jardin, Resurrected!

Posted by Jerry on August 22, 2005

Pasha could see words all around him in this restaurant.
He saw words being uttered, propelled into the air like shooting darts, bouncing off of peoples faces, finally falling onto to the floor. Every word fell with a clang — like a hundred empty vessels hitting the ground in quick succession.

No one really bothered to pick up those words. Everyone had taken up the task of simply spouting more words in the hopes that if enough were produced, there would be a better a chance of someone actually grasping it, and reading it.

Pasha and Jardin always picked up each other’s words. In fact, it was in the perfect trade of unspoken words that they had discovered each other. When they met in person for the first time, the words they had exchanged became the faces they beheld. The meeting was merely an extension of their conversation started long ago.

And today, at this table, the conversation of their life together still continued.

"I know there is a purpose to life," Jardin said,
"and I still feel some remnants of the joy for living I felt as a child. But I am losing it now, Pasha. My life seems to be slipping out of my hands, and trying to hold on to it is hurting me too much."

His face was numb and expressionless. Pasha knew that such stoicism could only mean a pain too profound to bear any physical expression.

Posted in Pasha - A Vignette | 2 Comments »

Pasha, contd-

Posted by Jerry on August 4, 2005

As he raised his fork to his mouth, he became aware of the sounds around him. It was like a chorus of incessantly senseless chatter.

"I'm on a low-carb diet now," said the woman sitting diagonally across from Pasha. She spoke through the half-chewed piece of juicy steak in her mouth as she reached out to sip her Diet Coke.

Pasha noticed how easily she had spread herself on her seat – like some thick liquid spilled onto a chair, having the tendency to flow over but being restrained by its own viscosity.

He quickly looked away and tried to focus on Jardin.

Posted in Pasha - A Vignette | 13 Comments »

Pasha, contd-

Posted by Jerry on July 26, 2005

As he was walking down the streets of the city under the evening sun, Pasha felt the distant thoughts of Jardin beginning to rise in his mind.
There were times when Pasha felt he had no capacity to communicate. He knew the language, he knew the words, he knew how to string them together to make coherent sentences, but for some reason, the meaning of his words were either lost to his listeners, or he was unable to grasp the meaning in the words they had spoken to him.
Pasha was better at reading people than listening to them. He understood a lot more about people by watching them. Silence, he thought, should be the barometer of effective communication.
Pasha enjoyed his moments of silence with Jardin — the only friend he had with whom he felt no need to explicitly communicate. Jardin was more than a friend to him. And now, as he felt the soft glow of lights from the buildings fall upon him as he passed by, it seemed only appropriate to him that this experience of serenity was matched by the warm thoughts of Jardin.
He had sat across from Jardin at the restaurant table during his lunch hour. Jardin had made it a habit to take his lunch break with Pasha as often as he could.
"How are you?" Pasha asked.
"Good," Jardin replied.
Both knew fully that neither the question nor the response was obligatory; that they had no need for such casual talk between them. Every instance of verbal communication that they exchanged was a real manifestation of their thoughts – genuine and sincere. Their words were not grapplings of vacuous space.
They both had a clear but implicit understanding that no purposeless words should ever be uttered by their mouths; that language has a necessary function which is to communicate, and it is only to that end that words should be used.
Pasha despised people who used language not to communicate a genuine message but to escape from the responsibility of having to be genuine. For them, language was a like a filler that took up space, occupied their empty minds, and sheltered them from the reality of their discomfort; like a balloon filled with air but empty nonetheless.

Jardin sat back in his seat and looked around. He was glad to be sitting down, finally.
"It was a long day at work today. And I yelled at one of the workers,"
If he was frustrated, he didn't show it. He said that as if he were telling a joke.
And Pasha laughed in response.
"So you have started yelling at people now? I'm surprised you even care that much!"
"I don't. I only remember that I yelled at this guy. I can't remember what he did or what I said to him. You don't expect me to waste my efforts at remembering those inconsequential details, do you!?"
"No", Pasha smiled in reply.

Posted in Pasha - A Vignette | 5 Comments »

Pasha

Posted by Jerry on July 18, 2005

Pasha.
That was the name he was given.
He never really cared much for his name; he believed names were so arbitrary. What is more important than a name is that there is something to be named. He had always had an indifferent awareness of his own life as important and as necessary, to someone, to something, or maybe only to himself.
Today, he stood looking out the glass door of the train at the evening lights of the city through which it advanced slowly. His one arm was bent at the elbow, resting on his hips, while his other arm gently touched the surface of the glass door of the train. He did not notice that his patrician posture betrayed a callous pride–in the way an emperor would seem as he surveyed his kingdom, satisfied with what he saw. He felt this was his kingdom; in fact, more intimately, he felt this was his own living room.
The deep rumbling of the slow-moving train did not seem to bother him as it gingerly navigated the spaces between tall towers. He thought it was only appropriate for the train to be so cautious in its movements, as if showing respect to the pantheon of gods standing proudly all around it, as if entering into the hallowed space of a cathedral and being overwhelmed by the large pillars supporting an arched ceiling.
Pasha got out onto the platform at Quincy. He walked down the stairs of the station and onto the street; he walked like he had a definite purpose and knew where he had to go and the place he had to be. But he had nowhere to go. His purpose was simply to walk the streets of this city that he loved so much. He took such delight in that simple purpose, like walking alongside his old friends and delighting in their company.
The last few rays of the evening sun reflected off of the glass towers and onto the narrow sidewalks, crowded with busy bodies hastily buzzing all around Pasha. But he gaily walked down the empty sidewalk, knowing that he was the only one at this moment walking through this city — it was a love affair that no one else knew about, and no one else could share.
His slender neck was slightly raised so that his eyes could meet the highest point of each building as he passed.
Nowhere else did he feel like the way he felt right now. There was no human interaction that could replace or even match the clarity of understanding Pasha shared with these buildings in his city. Humans, he thought, lacked the simple honesty that these tall buildings portrayed.
These tall structures of steel and concrete, of glass and stone, stood in naked display of their ornamented pride and utilitarian purpose. There was no hiding of their conceit nor was there any hint of shame in their function.
Pasha wished he could be complete in that way. He wished all humans could at least have a shred of that innocent pride and frank nakedness. But he was keenly aware of the fact that people hid behind more layers of ostentatious facades than the buildings they erected.

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