The Dictionary of Dark Pains is a collection of words coined by John Koenig. Any original definition aims to fill a hole in the language – emotions that we could all experience but don`t yet have a word to give a name. The author`s mission is to capture the pains, demons, vibrations, joys and impulses that wander in the desert from the psychological interior. Each sorrow is bagged, marked and calmed, then gently released into the subconscious. What kind of disaster did you imagine/hope for?, he wrote. Any type of accident that amputates my left arm or legs from the knee down. Instagram took far too long to include your account in my suggestions. I think so. I would like to be part of a team that knows each other perfectly and works with people I know best and worst. Just belong somewhere, I replied. Humans are the only species capable of communicating complex hypothetical ideas in the future form through their use of language.
Years of suffocation in a metaphorical box made me believe that there was nothing beyond the darkness of my world, and being close to the right people allowed me to drill a hole in the wood and understand the photo puzzle from the roof of communication – and most importantly, where I was in it. I had found a place to belong to, and it was no longer riddled with self-doubts. “Nodus Tollens” is a word from the Dictionary of Dark Pains: a word that highlights the realization that when we scroll through our story, some parts of it do not correspond to what we imagined on the back cover because there is no such thing. That we, as writers, can choose our own genre, our own narrative in this adventure to choose from. And despite these nuanced discrepancies in the narratives, we Homo sapiens still share enough life to make lasting connections. As you go through the years, you may never know where it`s all going. The only thing you know is that there is more to the story. That soon you will go back to our days to look for clues about what was going to happen, and reread all the chapters you went through to get to the right parts – only to learn that you should choose your own adventure all the time. It may have been strange to discuss our favorite ways of tragedy – perhaps even immature – but it was stranger to have someone to engage in this conversation with in the first place. Normally, we are aware of our role, our lines in the room, but it has rarely been the case that another person would agree with the attraction of wanting to experience chaos as a means of self-realization.
“Lachesism,” as the Dictionary of Dark Pains calls it, referring to the desire to be struck by a life-changing catastrophe. It was an invented word, more niche than age-related slang, and more unofficial than ever. It was a new experience to touch the museum room I had been living in for some time. A convenient alternative to get to know someone over years of awkward hellos and small conversations and give me the opportunity to look at myself from an objective perspective: What kept me from experiencing belonging? Am I a social chameleon? The more I played with the piece, the more I became familiar with its weight in my hands when I saw parts of it that I was sure were just for me. How is it that someone who is on the precipice of such academic annihilation is desired by someone in the fast lane? Who would graduate with a cumulative grade point average of 10.0 and come to one of Canada`s top universities on a scholarship? The answer became simple when I realized that an answer was missing: context. Coming from an Indian CBSE educational background, the system was such that I could only choose my own subjects in the last two years of school, and the simple addition of choice bridged the gap between my skills and academic success. During those four years, my life could be represented as one of those stock images of up-pointed charts that are almost too predictable to be realistic. I was surrounded by like-minded people and went from the four walls that permeated my years of poetry to a real audience. It was an easy gender change, I realized, and no one was to blame. When I had a purely epistolary friendship on Instagram, an image-based social platform that was also altered by expectations of what the media has to offer, I realized that I was superficial because I believed that only superficial things could be conveyed by the image. I now realize that the universally understood rites that accompany media sharing mean that there may be someone who reads my work and understands themselves better because I was able to control their inner “state” or something they thought was doomed to be limited solely to their minds.
to be formulated. The feeling of being able to identify with something as the crow flies and look at it, of finally being able to understand a mystery that has lived in them, is the ultimate goal I want to achieve. Nodus Tollens (name): The realization that the plot of your life no longer makes sense to you – that even if you thought you were following the arc of the story, you continue to immerse yourself in passages that you do not understand, that do not even seem to belong to the same genre – which forces you to go back and reread the chapters, that you originally flew over to get to the right games, only to learn that you should choose your own adventure all the time.* Do you have some kind of overall dream?, my correspondent once asked me when we talked about immortality. On June 8, 2019, social media opened a door for me. I felt compelled to remove it from its hinges. It was early in the morning, a month after I graduated from high school. My hands went to my phone the second I woke up and ritually pressed the broken “On” button with color. A direct message greeted me. The act of introspection is largely attributed to Homo sapiens, the “wise” thinking men. Consciousness has made us the first species to conquer the planet – and yet the act of disentangling it from our judgment is a sacred art. As I live with social anxiety as a passive passenger in my vehicle, the practice of self-knowledge for me was very similar to how one becomes familiar with one`s facial features – the restricted mirror when it comes to seeing oneself openly from all angles, and the characteristics to which you have access, are completely burned in your faith in yourself.
My observational poetry allowed me to believe that I knew everything there was to know about myself, an action, as I later learned, was ultimately useless.