“GloomBoomDoom” thunders Marc Faber. The cycle holds true for the secondary markets; should also hold true for life itself, after all analogies are drawn from our lives. I don’t remember the “Gloom” and the “Boom” now is a fading sequence of sepia film frames. The “Doom”, a nose dive, from the towering heights is blatantly pungent and acerbic. Along with a world awaiting a boom, I await the “Gloom”.
By enlarge it was a rat race down the trodden tracks, though it varied accordingly to the means of each one. The very race I imperiously stepped out to beat, strangled me like a rat. Thousands of instances of rats shooting out of the tracks to unprecedented glory, but one conscious step outside the same turned out disastrous. Apparently, as in Vegas, “one can never beat the house”, holds true, here the system. With arrogant confidence and probably pig-headed, I tried, again and again, numerous times to beat the system, only to be smothered each time. And now, I try to join the race again, only to find myself miles behind those who were trailing me or were alongside.
Yes, I solely am the accused, rightly so, for the mess. I can massage my sore ego with the fact that, keeping at bay the divine and human forces, I penned my fate. But the forces of nature did try to!, with a neural Glioma. Well, so far I’m one up but have to await the future. The rats have now grown horns and extra legs and are on a different playing field altogether. I can but do choose from one of these options, engulf myself in a wave of self-pity or smile and shrug it off. I mostly pull of the latter but on rare occasions the wave washes me over.
One word springs to the mind. PARODY. An obscure, intricate dull-witted satire directed by “Force Majeure” and me the protagonist, albeit with a freehand. I along with the viewers, am not quite sure if there are any, eagerly look forward to the ending. The reaction to which, either of these, a sigh of relief after one hell of a roller coaster ride or a wry smile and a resigning shrug.