There are riots in London. People are on the streets. Looting shops. Burning cars. It began with the police shooting and killing someone who happened to have a dark skin.

When I first heard of these riots, I thought they were violent protests against police brutality. But as I read more, I realised that these riots were raids carried out by young men.

My first reaction was of shock. Then rage. Then outright disgust. After calming down. I tried to analyse what it was, that stung me so. Was it the poverty, the blatant lack of direction, the clear absence of education as opposed to literacy? Probably no. Where I come from, such pillaging would fail to surprise anyone. Then why, was I moved so.

I found the answer in my own life. In my own strife. My existence, my condition, is a result of my choices and my actions. I was born into a family where we do not have much, except education and vision. Whatever I am, I have worked for. Hard. And I thought about the victims of the riots. The shop owners. The people who owned the cars which were set ablaze. I wondered if the things that you work so hard for can just be taken away like that. If someone can own a new pair of trainers by just walking into a shop, picking them off the shelf and walking away with them. How I would love to do something like that! But I have chosen the harder way. I have chosen to work for those trainers. To run bare feet before I can wear them. And I wonder if all this means nothing. If all my hardships are in vain. Because there will always be someone who can just walk into my house and take everything I have. Who can own everything I have built with my sweat and blood. Where is the fairness in this?

The answer to this question is that there is no fairness. There are no guarantees in life. The rights which are given to modern man, are a creation of the society. And they are fake. The questions which are never asked are - who gives these rights? Why must a man follow them? For his own safety? What if he refuses to trade his freedom for his safety? Will he then be at war against the whole society? Every right, in fact, is a chain intended to shackle the beast which rages inside each and every human. And these shackles break, at times. And the beast roars. And prowls. And devours. This is real life. Devoid of modern social bondages. Devoid of the beautiful but counter-evolutionary ideas of liberty, fraternity and equality. This is the intended fate of the earth.

Men like me are dancing with the breeze. Are living within these walls of fake reassurances which modern society gives us. Fairness, in fact, is a meaningless notion. It was created for deception. It is the blindfold covering the eyes of Justitia. It is what makes a cripple out of modern man.

I do not support anarchy. I support harmony. I support the right to dream. I support the right to trust, and be trusted. I support a utopia.



" I like my town, with a little drop of poison
Nobody knows, they're lining up to go insane.

I smoked my friends, down to the filter
But I feel much cleaner, after it's rained ... "
A cycling trip the other week. Five days of craziness. Exhaustion. Broken chains. Strained left knee. Ibuprofen. Amazing scenes from rural northern France. Meeting the one and only citizen of an old abandoned mountain village. Forest camping. Wood and fire. Getting drunk. Making new friends. Bœuf bourguignon. Alabama 3 in the dead of the night in a pine-forest. Kim-chi soup. Orphans: Brawlers, bawlers and bastards.

Coming home to rejection. Sleeping through it. Friends.

What next? What now?

I am tired of the fight. I am tired of defending myself. Of saving up for the rainy days. Of stifling. And gasping. And I want out. I want to breathe. At least for a few careless moments. I want to put down the guns and the binoculars. I want to stop looking at the road which lies ahead. I want to pick a flower from the field, now.

But all that said. I am happy. And I am dissatisfied.

" Leave me alone you big ol' Moon,
the light you cast is just a liar... "

PS1: little drop of poison, tom waits
PS2: shiny things, tom waits


Alone you stand with nobody near

A new flat. Rearranging stuff. Stocking up the fridge for a nuclear winter. Trying to get a move on in life. At 24, it is indeed alarming.

The next mission is to obtain a guitar and make a few home recordings. There are ideas in my mind. Two days of conversations with you have flooded my head with new shapes - deformed and changing, ready to be poured into a mould, but until then, mating and reposing.

Here is a little something I wrote yesterday, derived from a picture SdS shared with me. I can't put up the picture because of copyright issues.

Je pense à toi

In the snow, many feet deep
there are little snowmen
waiting to be born out of a touch
Waiting for their stick arms and bead eyes
Silently biding time
as we walk all over them with our strong winter boots
mildly discussing the possibility of their existence
Giving them hope
and then, being content with little snowballs
which we throw at each other
Eggs. Snow-eggs!
Look how they smear on your jacket
Look, look! And smile

And after the rampage
A coffee?

PS1: Picture showed by SdS
PS2: 'It's alright, ma (I'm only bleeding)', Bob Dylan


don't touch my poodle

sometimes you sit down over a cup of coffee and you wonder, whether the little things which lined up the day were real. you ponder. you scratch your head. and scar your palms. you make faces at the stars. throw bombs at the guillotine. that's how you spend your time over a cup of blue sky and a plate of twinkles. a spoonful of insanity and bonobo.

and then there's people. paranoid. tangled up in their own web. so bad that they misplace words. they fragment memories. and jumble them up into a bitter collage. and in the midst of their dark-room, they hang a picture of you. and break your skull with their dementia. till you are the centre of all evil. and their whole existence detests you.

after rummaging through a lot of fish, the final conclusion - one must learn to strike off. to let go without qualms. to digest guilt. to take small but healthy doses of cruelty. one must learn to harden one's soul. and hand out roundhouse kicks generously. for each roundhouse kick is a cathartic phenomenon. it expunges kilogrammes of useless debris that every human carries. the remains of abandoned solar systems. and planets.

one must walk on. and set up newer and more handsome solar systems. one must kick ass. mercilessly.