slow country ...

Huskies are mysterious. They wail. Have sad eyes. And run like arrows. Arctic foxes are super cute. So are wolverines and Arctic Owls. Reindeer are tasty? Evil, tc?? It was weird. Saw reindeer. Fed reindeer. Kissed reindeer. Ate reindeer. Husky sledges are totally awesome. Jack London makes more sense. Skiing. Whee. Died, almost. Arms still aching. Totally suck at skiing, hence, love it. Santa Claus. The feeling that it's all a lot of oysters, but no pearls (Counting Crows). 5 minute lunch. Museum of the Arctic. Weird recordings of birds and Lapland acappella. The Aurora show. Bon fire. Waiting for Borealis. Clouds. Shoes filled with snow. Thawing by the fire. Bus rides. 24 hours. More? Bum numb. Gorillaz, 6 times over. New acquaintances. Old acquaintance. Español. Hola! Puta? Puta puta puta?? Crazy 28 night. Belote, almost. The snoring orchestra. Pride and prejudice and zombies. Fun fun fun!

And still. You won't leave my head. Puta ...

PS: slow country - gorillaz


Sing another song, boys

This could've been our song neh? I remember sending it to you. And you never listening to it. I hope you never do. It'll creep you out! Or make you laugh till your breath chokes.

Tallinn is pretty. And old. Stockholm is crazy. With naked women lying face down in the city square at +8C. Lapland. I have heard you're a cold one. Save an ice embrace for me, my twin. Here I come!


even flow ...

thank you. pearl jam. for keeping me sane and real. if not for you. i would've spilt my brains on these crazy white sheets today. every scream. is an alarm. i am waking up slowly ...


fuck ok

I am tired. Of being happy and sad. I want one, not both.

Everything is dressed in white today. Such a pretty picture!

It hailed on me while I was biking. Was fun, initially. Then it really started pelting down. We took the refuge of a K-Market

What I wouldn't give to play with Jenny right now. Not 179€, I guess

I don't know what I want. Yea. Same old same old. But this time, I have even run out of short term goals/distractions

Somewhere in my heart. There is a fear of tomorrow. I go to bed feeling scared of it every night. I want to go to sleep. Knowing it will be safe to wake up

Fuck. I want to tell someone. I saw snow. For the first time today


Back to the war?

I am surrounded by people. Hence, lonely. Why does it have to come like this to me. Upside down. Everything. Upside down. Or maybe. I am

It was the shape of our love that, twisted me. Cohen

I am fed up. I want to write. But it won't come . I want to sleep. Nopes. Won't come either. Want to talk. No one. Want to cook. No one. Want to read a book. Won't come. Want to jenny. No jenny

There's no shapes in life sometimes. It's all ghosts and smoke. You want a shape. A definite tangibility. And there's nothing then. At those particular moments. Only vagueness. And the saddest thing of all. The vagueness is in direct proportion to your yearning for its lack


Ou est u?

Remember, we had a pact. We agreed not to breach any lines that might be drawn. And then we drew quivers of them accross every surface we could find. We promised there'd be doors that would never be knocked. Never be opened.But you know, I have been secretly breaking the pact. Many times, I have stolen in. I have prodded. I have lifted things, turned them over. But I always replace them exactly. Sometimes I have the feeling you leave the window unfastened on purpose. You deliberately leave your diary on the coffee table. You leave your wardrobe open. And countless hours I have spent in there, like a skeleton. Waiting for you to come home. But you always return way past the decent time for any thief to be caught waiting in a broken-in house.

Anyway. In case you should ever want to break in somewhere too - the key is inside the mailbox. And I never return until all the ghosts have disappeared.


Here's a little multilingual gibberish thingie I wrote



hei tei hei hei ?

In the whole world. You can be a traveller. You can be an observer. A partaker of ceremonies. A spectator of seasons. and lives. You can breathe in the history through arches and bridges. You can smell streets and lakes. You take pictures. You make friends and parties. You experience the air. You eat the flesh. The living heart of a people. The soul of a city. It is a feast. A carnival!

And then. You move on.

All the while. Knowing that your journey is incomplete.

(And you fear. Inside the laughterest of your laughters. Your very core weeps)

That it always will be...



Unreal expectations?
Dilli has put on its best weather in weeks! Rain. Cool breeze. And yet. There's people here who are not charmed. Who carry a desert with them. Nothing less than the sea turning itself upside down would satisfy their parched appetites. Perhaps, this is the secret of so many deserts dragging themselves around these streets nowadays
Reasons can always be found
  • To stall
    Because there's always something better to do on the internet! Of course
  • To end calls
    Because you know what is going to be said next anyway
  • To avoid certain conversations
    Like 'unconsciously forgetting' topics, never to take them up again
Let not familiarity breed contempt. Let not familiarity set itself up at all! Twisted thing this - familiarity. So yea. The lesser the better
The little rain comes
and the little rain goes
  • How does one become interesting?
  • What itch causes scratch-the-keypad-every-five-minutes syndrome?
  • Why do some people need more communication than others?
I am sorry Mr. Rain. For insulting you so



I didn't know such modes of desperation existed. Trying to smell through a telephone. Axis bank ATM pauses.

Voices. Memories. In little flashes. At bus stops. In bed. During conversations. The most dangerous ones, while driving.

Why the sad phase? Brighten up!
No no. Not in blood red! In nicer shades please.

I wish I was a telepathic-headache-curer.


You're everybody's satellite

I want to let go. The thing is I don’t know how. Now I understand. The microbes don’t mean no harm. They just want to get noticed. Or maybe they’re really angry. Listening to Counting Crows is no way to beat the blues. But they’re fine company. Duritz is a weeper. It feels terrible to know that you're blowing up 5.5 grand on getting embarrassed and there's nothing you can do about it. Playing 28 is a bliss. I wonder if tea will ever taste the same again. If I could only have some more time. If only many things about me were not true. If only I was visible. If only the whole world was upside down and the seasons worked reverse and Finland was a south-Indian state and Louis was not so mean and you promised, then, I'd keep you like a scar. Forever.

Recovering the satellites - Counting Crows


Cholera in the time of Love


Knowing many, loving none
Bearing sorrow, having fun
But back home he'll always run
to sweet Melissa

I like the word gypsy. I feel like a gypsy. Also, I don't think I want to be indifferent any more. In fact, I am tired of indifference, within and without. But then, isn't indifference a sign of gypsydom?

Whee. That's the new buzz word. Say it when you cross the road. When you eat a chocolate. Shake hands. When you're running on a treadmill. Riding a bike, your features twisted by the wind. Go whee.
And then. Think of me


Amidst a bad cold and a terrible body ache, one realises how foolish it is to forget the little box of Vicks.
I think I am suddenly afraid of growing old alone


Are the French tawdry? No no! Not you!! Sweetheart?
Why is it that I must play the fool every time I see you? Maybe I shouldn't see you then? I still remember the construct, verbatim. You had said "I am terribly". It was quite funny at the time. I thought you'd complete it later and you thought it was as complete as
I am not going to look. I am not going to make it - tawdry? Anyway, where the hell did I get this word from in the first place? Tawdry. It is as stupid a word as can be. Taw-dry. T-aw-d-ree. Broken down, it is still as vile. Vile. Vai-l. V-a-ee-l. Hmpf. So much for sanity. See. That's how dumb you make me.
All this. For a guitar? Or maybe a pack of strings? And who will fix the intonation? My goodness. I dread the coming Saturday when I will have to fix you. Fix you. Coldplay?


This is one of my worst crashes. My wings are crooked. My security systems have failed. My rudder is twisted. And my radar's jammed dead. I'm plane old crashing into this desert that is the weekend. I can't tell the earth from the sky. The sky from the sea. And then there's you and me. And all the stupid things there be. Between we. You see. I have finally. Turned. Loony.


Melissa - Allman Brothers Band
Apologies to all the folks to whom I mailed the word.

Ruth Marie - Mark Kozelek

Fix You - Coldplay

Thank God I'm a Country Boy - John Denver



He is not just words. Or maybe he is. A S
I wish I could go to Iran.
I wonder if they'll kick me out of the consortium consideration list for the e-mail I sent them. Jackass me.
How do I word this effing e-mail to L R ?
I think I should stop troubling her so. She's OK. R P
Jeff Kashiwa is good.
The Economist is good too.
I don't think I like being manipulated. I don't like manipulators either. I am surrounded! Hell. I am one of them. I hate getting manipulated by myself.
A third new start in a single month. Gee. I am nervous. Am I nervous?