observations of a ghost

Cum-castle?

2011-08-09T02:51:00.005+03:00

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.

Truthahn

2011-07-20T11:24:00.007+03:00

" 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

2011-02-03T12:37:00.007+02:00

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.

----------

Snow-walkers

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

2011-01-04T00:08:00.007+02:00

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.

Two Way Streets

2010-09-09T08:45:00.003+03:00

What we often fail to realise, is the two-way-ness of social human life. We fail to see, that in a social context, thoughts and feelings emanating out of the self are not enough to guarantee the same from others. To feel is not to be felt. To see is not to be seen. And so on.

of forgetting ...

2010-09-06T00:37:00.002+03:00

today. someone i'd remember even in my sleep, forgot my name. and instead, called me by what i actually mean to them. it hurts like hell. fuck.

genjo sanzo ...

2010-07-16T15:09:00.004+03:00

" ... embrace nothing. walking down the path - if you meet the buddha, kill the buddha. if you meet your father, kill your father. live your life as it is, not bound to anything ... "

finished watching saiyuki a couple of days back. not a very great animé by any stretch of imagination. but indeed, i could not have come across it at a better time. it is loosely based upon the línjì school of buddhism.

-----

there is no buddha outside yourself. if you see him at a distance - know, that it is not the truth. your redeemer and your guide. is you. it is there you must search for him. inside the many folds and layers of your own self.

right now. i see a multitude of buddhas coming towards me. in a neat golden line. like a thousand suns with much promise. and it is precisely at this moment they must be killed. for they are hopes and lights which stem from outside my soul. chains which seek to bind me. to suns which do not burn for me. or from me.

now. at this point. one might wonder if this is all a sad masochistic device, born out of fear. if this does nothing but to alienate the self from the world around it. to build a cocoon. but what one must realise is. for the self to meld with the non-self. for this union to satiate. for peace to follow. the buddha must be pure-born. of the seed of the self. for only then can this union be equal. for only then can the play be pure and unconditional. for only then can the self be saved from being alone.

"you want your freedom? then live ... "

To go home

2010-05-31T18:04:00.007+03:00

I am kind of lost. More like. I have lost myself. Somewhere. I must get myself back, I know. But I don't know how. Or if it is even possible. I sure hope it is. I hate floating around like this. Having known the shore once upon a time. I long to walk on the sand. To experience the surety of standing up on my own two feet. Have my lungs filled with air. Again. I am tired of yielding to the currents. I am tired of the smell of the sea. I have started believing the sea is me. And that the mermaids and the dolphins are real. That the land is a hallucination. But there is memory. And there are ghosts. And they will not let me be. They haunt every idle second. Every storm-less night. And somewhere inside the sea of me. There is a tiny piece of land. Floating. Constantly reminding. Of the continent I used to be. If only. A man could gather himself from the sea. If I could. Arrive. Grain by grain. Till the whole shore was me again. And the trees. And the footprints. Were me. For the hundredth time. In this continuing erosion of a million years. I resolve. To go home. But maybe it is already too late. But maybe it is not.

PS: To Go Home - Daniel Johnston

New Day. Huh, what?!

2010-04-23T12:51:00.002+03:00

Things are looking up. After a long time, am meeting people. I am able to concentrate on things. Bené is behaving more agreeably. I am able to work, build acquaintances, go out, and generally enjoy the little things life is putting on offer. I think I might be returning to normalcy. Yeah, right?! Might be. Still have panic attacks, extended bouts of insomnia-depression-loneliness and weird asphyxiating-on-my-vomit times. Still space out. But I am pulling through. Have a feeling that pretty soon I will start writing again too. Hell. I'm smiling so loud!

Latest development: A trip to Italy. Found my favourite part of Europe. The first thing which struck me was that everyone is literally dancing when they talk! And everybody is loud. And nobody thinks it ridiculous.

The architecture is lovely. Old, and yet maintained really well. The streets are clean. The traffic is Dilli, especially in smaller cities. Everybody is fond of dandy cars and pedal-flooring. If you take the freeways. You feel like you are blocking the traffic at 140.

O yea. The Last Supper is everything it promises to be. Don't miss it if you're around.

Food. Delicious! And prepared with much love. And not so expensive. The coffee is absolutely the best any place has to offer. So are the pizzas. Most food is fatty though. Nevermind.

Life is relaxed, easy and people love to be on the streets and in parks. At all hours. And not just them young folks. People of all ages!

The company was good. We roamed the streets, as opposed to trying to fit in the same frame as some giant famous monument. We did visit some of them, but they were not the focus. The focus was breathing in a bit of Italia. The aroma is strong, and leaves you wanting more.

evolution

2010-02-19T13:45:00.004+02:00

today
i rise
from the depths of you

to leave
for a different ocean

for the ocean
that had cradled me
has chewn me
and spit me
and does not want me
any more

PS: i woke up today. with the ashes still on my eyelids. all around me i could see, the bombed city of us. and i decided, to leave. just like you had, a long time ago ...

merry christmas

2009-12-25T12:38:00.001+02:00

my sentiments, exactly ...

emptiness

2009-12-12T22:02:00.001+02:00

in dire need of inspiration ...

slow country ...

2009-11-30T17:32:00.004+02:00

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

2009-11-25T23:27:00.003+02:00

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 ...

2009-10-14T19:01:00.004+03:00

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

2009-09-30T17:54:00.003+03:00

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?

2009-09-23T23:21:00.004+03:00

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?

2009-09-13T19:15:00.003+03:00

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

Y
Yo
You
Your
Yours
ours
our
ou
u
?

hei tei hei hei ?

2009-09-07T23:09:00.005+03:00

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...

Peut-être

2009-08-11T11:23:00.005+03:00

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

-----

Questions

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

floating

2009-08-07T13:43:00.010+03:00

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

2009-06-02T21:38:00.004+03:00

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

2009-03-20T13:06:00.003+02:00

20090317

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

20090318

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

20090319

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?

20090320

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.

PS:

20090317
Melissa - Allman Brothers Band
Apologies to all the folks to whom I mailed the word.

20090318
Ruth Marie - Mark Kozelek

20090319
Fix You - Coldplay

20090320
Thank God I'm a Country Boy - John Denver

Breathe

2009-03-09T13:18:00.002+02:00

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?

Signs

A lot of oysters but no pearls

2008-12-22T20:19:00.006+02:00

Arranged marriages love marriages. NFS Most Wanted. Travelling at night. Playlist turned very low. City lights. Bus window without a pane. Chennai suburb. Winter winds. Darkness. Scary subway. Lessons in making अंडा curry. चपातियाँ बेलना. Listening to someone explain their first love - history and all. Application forms at 12 at night. Reading a given blog for the 5th time. One paragraph without me. Damn. Here we go ...

Where the hell are you?

Coffee at 0500

2008-12-07T03:38:00.005+02:00

Sleepless night. Old friends. Old times. Chit chat. 28. Bitching. Coffee at 0500. Blog at 0730.

Dustaaneman

The hours come falling down. And the days are candle wicks.
The rain. The wind.
To and fro. Our leaflet dreams under a crazy sunrise.
And in the middle of all that commotion.
You.
The grain of sand.
That blows inside me. Outside.

CCR

2008-10-13T15:37:00.004+03:00

I went to the beach yesterday. After a long time. With someone I hadn't seen in an even longer while. I felt very old. And sitting there on the sand drawing stuff with a stick. I was aware of being weathered. Then it rained. The lunch was perfect. The evening was sweet.

There's one head I can enter. Although with increasing difficulty. But still, I am allowed inside. And I am grateful. Because I know. There's people who keep going in and out of heads. I call them wind-people. Because they are so like a draft. Homeless. I guess too many people want them. And nobody actually needs them.

I am afraid my last oasis is closing its doors on me too. I don't want to become one of them wind-people. I don't want to blow forever.

'Someday, never comes' - CCR

Stitches

2008-09-21T07:42:00.006+03:00

So. What do you do now? Do you turn back? Do you keep walking. Do you sit down on the faded yellow bench?

The other day I heard this mountain weep on the air. It was sad. The mountain I had lived on. It crumbled.

Standing there I heard the thunder and felt lightening cracking through my spine. I tottered. There was much silence and less movement. There still is.

How in the world? There's only a few leaves you keep in your books. Three in total. And there's people. With heaps buried between their pages. How then, does the wind need one of your three? How then, does one of your three need the wind?

If only there was music that never faded or stopped. Then you'd be a tree, and the rest of the universe would be the tip of a pin.

3.5 days

2008-09-14T06:32:00.008+03:00

Thursday

Home alone. Ahab. Cooking. Jenny.

All is well that ends Jenny.

Friday

Headache. Missed stop. The walk back. Lovely night. The call. The news. Stillness. Dogs. Buying rice. Feeling stoned. Feeling ghost. Entering. Trying to weep. Trying to laugh. Cooking. Reading. Eating. Dishes. No sleep.

Don't go.

Saturday

Damn alarm. Breakfast. The long double-bus ride. Friends. Adapters. Books. RPD. Delhi blasts. Sadness. Hostel. Conversation till 0300. Aching. Non-stop.

Die with me?

Sunday

Birthday greeting. Internet. Roads to take. Places to be.

Home? Somewhere?

Desireless

2008-08-16T07:19:00.004+03:00

You know I'm such a fool for you
You got me wrapped around your finger

Three cheers for the Irish accent! And the angel in her voice.

Yea. So the job's fine. No internet though. I am learning Persian. If there's someone with any help to offer. ASAP, tell me! I added this new blog-list thing to my blog. Suddenly stopped writing. Started composing. In the mornings. Recently watched Trainspotting and Kill Bill. In one go. Observed a pattern. All the pleasant women are married. Damn. Miss my hometown. I don't know what exactly I miss. Because most of the time I just wandered around like a vagabond there. Alone and without purpose. But I still do miss it. This city is so not good for purposelessness. There is work. Maybe it is a sign. Maybe I am not supposed to be purposeless. Pole star. Pole star. Speak up! There is only one thing worse than a dead man. It is the last rites. Saw how they sang and danced around him and painted him and drenched him and finally set him ablaze. Wonder if they would've dared to even touch him had he been breathing. I was sorry. When you break into my house and there's me on the sofa. Blue and stiff. Just bury me under the nearest tuft of kindergarten grass. No aerials above me please. And bury me at night, so that the children don't know I am there. I have always dreamed of being invisible and watching little ones at their games.
Nah. Despite all my rolling in shite, I am still purposeless. Desireless even. Just wrapped and doused in corporate feces. I come home and take a bath every evening. And only then, Jenny.

To be on your own

2008-07-30T20:13:00.004+03:00

I

It's like I am sitting on a dock. And there's stones in my hands. I throw them so that they glide on the water. Then they sink. There's circles they make. And the circles come right back to me. I wish they wouldn't. But they do.

II

If it were, that we were all invisible. It'd still go the same for us.

III

Somewhere. There's smiles. And perfumed hair.

IV

Resting beneath the yellow sun. I think it'd be better to sink. For the ocean much resembles a desert. And you much resemble the sun.

V

Today, I saw a girl cry. He went away. He ate grapes with her before he went. And he kissed her too. The sun was too strong when he did. So I turned away and climbed the stairs into an empty room.

VI

There's the ocean around me. And I am clueless. Pole star. Pole star. Tell me. Where do you want me to go? Where must I turn my boat? Where lies the shore? I shall believe, whatever you say to me. I promise. But you must speak. Just speak.

PS:
Sitting On The Dock Of The Bay Otis Redding
Stone Thrown Turin Brakes
Like A Rolling Stone Bob Dylan
I Shall Believe Sheryl Crow

half a litre

2008-07-20T17:25:00.004+03:00

The view from the roof of my hostel is impeccable. There is a church a mosque a railway tube a canopy of lovely spring trees glistening granite skyrisers and a beautiful dancing sky! I have always wanted to climb up at around sundown and capture the whole thing. Skyline and all. So. Armed with a modern state of the art point and shoot, off I marched into the twilight battlefield. And I was eaten up. In one go! The colours the call from the mosque the riggity raggity of the train and the trees all dandy and bright in their oranges and yellows and supermodel poses. I looked at the puny little camera in my hand and then at the formation of birds gliding across the sky.

There's beauty. And it doesn't want to fit inside a box of transistors and LEDs. It cannot limit itself to pixels and 2-D. It wants to flow. Through time and space. Through us.

Our memories are like little tumblers dipping inside a whole ocean of beauty. Why then, must I hold on to the half a litre inside my miserable little head? When there's infinite gallons of it, waiting to be poured out. It must be drunk aplenty. And pissed aplenty. Mother earth is a gracious host. She doesn't mind us helping ourselves to a millionth serving.

And so thinking and so dreaming, I wiled the dusk away. Without a single click.

Harpoons

2008-07-14T22:24:00.006+03:00

I have been thinking lately. There's green in the trees. You know. A beautiful rich kind of green. And there's a terrible ash of brown, slowly encircling all that glorious green. There's a slow steady pulse. There's nice things sacred things. They dance. There's city lights at night. There's skylines and uncharged cameras. There's much loss of beauty. Still. There's a pulse.
The other day I was caught ticketless. They dug a whole trench in my pocket. And I forfeited two days of brilliant dining, just to get back to budget. I was sad. I could see the brown slowly circling in. I was not sad for it. I was sad because I could also see a brown slowly spiralling out. My leaf has been turned over too many times. Both sides's dabbled black and brown. No place left to write. Shall then I stop writing? Shall I lay down my crazy ash pen and turn the leaf over twice and thrice and fling it away? Does the monkey like his tail? Does the dog like his yelp? Does the Green Lantern like Hawkgirl? And many more such questions still unanswered, shall I then let my leaf fall?
I love asking stupid questions I already know the answers to. Just to see your 'Aww, poor pussy cat' smile. And so. Moonface. Here's my leaf, one more time. See the little corner there. Still green. I shall write on it. And you must smile.

Fingertips

2008-06-28T23:30:00.008+03:00

I am in constant sleeplessness. I am tired. I haven't gotten myself a house. My ears are still ringing with the rattle of train tracks as I write this. I find out newer and more horrible definitions of loneliness everyday. It's pretty cool. Kind of like a horror movie. Hilarious and Gross. I miss my music. I miss Jenny. It has been at least seven thousand years since I heard the Shirelles sing Will you still love me tomorrow. I have started on To kill a mocking bird. I hate beginning each sentence with a possessive. Fuck.
Steaming vadai are a lovely breakfast. Thunder Road and Human Touch are haunting. Jenny is the bestest thing to touch any given day. Bugatti is super sexy. Differentials have a weird gear arrangement. Nothing beats waking up to an alarm on a holiday and repenting your existence. Sardars are more universal than the universe. Pretty HR girls are dangerous. The mind refuses to forget stuff it really must forget. It is adamant and self destructive. So is friendship. That's that.

" Sometimes it's like someone took a knife, edgy and dull, and cut a six inch valley through the middle of my soul. At nights I wake up with my shirt soaking wet and a freight train running through the middle of my head ... "
- Springsteen

An idle night for trashwriting

2008-06-04T00:17:00.005+03:00

I should be so used to things not turning out my way. But somehow, I get freshly disappointed every time stuff happens. Damn it.
I've gotten super duper lethargic. I am trying. I think. Hehe.
I don't know what awaits me. I am not very keen on finding out either. But I guess I will have to. What a shame. It gets uglier as it comes closer. I could write a bunch of stupid philosophical blah blah on it. But I choose to spare this keyboard. And my own imagination. And your eyes. I always spare eyes. There's pretty they are. I am not so kind to ears though. I cut them off and add them to my own.
I think people are drifting away from me. Not the regular current, I mean. The ones I supposed would be kind of more solid. They's going off. Creeping away slowly. And I don't know how to stop them. Because they's moving so slow I cannot say they's moving at all. But I know they's on a course away from me. And I don't even know why. I am already lonely! Damn. I have to make some new best friends soon. First I will have to make some new friends though. Nah. This time I will take it the other way round. Because they's all going to go here and there after some time. No matter what way I start.
All the stupid English is from Mary Ann Evans and Richard Llewellyn. Good company on Jennyless days. In fact a whole month with no Jenny this. Drats. And double drats.
Two posts today. Of which, one was a desperate cry for an escape plan. Just deleted it. Now now. So much for uncomputerated. But the slow connection is a good repellent. It is 0300h right now. I am sleepy. But there's no reason to sleep. I am not sleepy. I am confused. I think. I don't know. I tried sleeping. I could only think of the fact that I was not asleep.
I have had time to review my old poetry. Gosh. I was so dumb. Gosh. Ten years down the line I will look back and say the same stuff. And there's wheels that turn you know. And we keep coming under them like little berries and stones. And then they keep rolling over us. And we's all some nutwhacks and doodledums and we keep going round that spiral. Spiralling into some great center in the middle of our noses. You know. Right between the nostrils.
Hm. There's other forms of discomfort at home. There's things that happen that you've been trying to get away from for as long as you can remember. And every time you is close to them you shudder out of disgust. There's the apple of your eye. There's much love. And there's worms over everything.
I miss writing poems. I cannot write anymore. I is drained I am. Damn him old harry. That damned crazy old fool old harry. I is troubled I am.
But I am happy. Because I am beginning to see the light. Um. There's an album by that name by the Acoustic Jazz Quartet. Wonderful stuff. I Recommend.
Wow. This post turned out way longer than I thought it would. And I will disappear for some time now. Unless fate throws such a night at me too soon.
I have a feeling I have overpunctuated this transience. Whatever ... ?;':!,." ?!? !?!
O ya. And (on insanely repetitive asking) my dad gave me this übercool rosary. It once belonged to some Tibetan Buddhist monkie. Yey! There's 108 beads in it.

An end. A beginning

2008-05-23T22:54:00.002+03:00

I am leaving school today. This is my last blog as an undergraduate. After this I have to pack my computer. I am giving it to my baby brother. I shall be un-computer-ated hence forth. But I will stop by to write posts now and then. And maybe read and write a couple of mails. But don't count on it. You gotto call me!

To the many days that have come and gone. To the many nights. To chances and dreams and other ephemeral things. To the most ephemeral of them all.
The future.

Skypehoppin'

2008-05-19T08:14:00.005+03:00

Yea. So. It's over. I am through college. Besides the legalities. Runarounds. Damn them. Now what?
Yestreen. Late late yestreen. I was randomskyping. And I randomed into this person. Sort of helped me with the question. O boy. I am so behind every other 21.9 year old in the universe. Whatever. At least I started. So yea. I am supposed to know what I want in life. I mean I don't see the point. But there's no point in not wanting anything either. So yea. The procedure's simple. You make a list of every damn thing you want to do. Sane things. Insane things. Impossible things. Unpossible things. The next step is to wear earplugs. This is crucial, especially for mediocrity-struck dreamers like this guy writing all this trash. Whatever. Mediocrity is a shitmyth word made up by astute social climbers who cannot appreciate stuff which is not written down in papers and reports and books. So yea. You wear earplugs. And you keep climbing the building, like deaf frogs. And don't listen to no one. Don't take no shit from no one. Just keep walking. And having fun. And all the while, an eye on your list. Again. One might wonder (as I still do) why the fuck do you even need that bugging list. It's distracting. But yea. What else will you do?! You know. Fly someplace? You won't even have the money to walk when papa stops pushing. Whatever. Yea. So. The best thing to do is keep walking. With a list and a walkman, or as in my case, with Jenny. Your nostrils full of oxygen. Your ears full of music.
Whew. I think I wrote that down as a quick reference for myself.
Whatever. It's just a beginners guide to obtaining direction you know. So yea. It's childish etc. But it's what I will be starting off with. And yea. Hurrah for Latvians with free advice!!

Funeral home, funeral home
Going to the funeral home
Got me a coffin shiny and black
I’m goin’ to the funeral and I’m never coming back
- Daniel Johnston

PS:
1. Don't take no shit from no one: An evening with Billy Joel
2. Late late yestreen: Ballad of Sir Patrick Spence!

To the only woman who ever mattered

2008-05-11T17:48:00.007+03:00

Is the moon broom Kiki? Mushroom?
I was wandering meandering like a flautist in F in an orchestra of G and I got hit by this train. I wonder where in Lebanon? Black ribbons windblown Hi Hi!!

Mother. Many twenty years and one ago we were one. I was a seed straw-piping your blood. You didn't mind. You never mind blind to cancers. Your breath. Like the atmosphere. Moving. Breathing for all the earth.
But you know now. Now. The vampire is tired. The vampire wants to cut off his fangs thangs and lie down in his box. Wants to far float on green clouds. Some place there is no friend. Nor foe. A new identity. An old trade. Anonymous. But nun any sweat you. Still your blood running in. Running out. Of this stupid contraption. You made it. Look. It pulses. Whack O Whack O. What courage! Look. Floating in shit. Still. Whack O Whack O. What dogged determination. You put some of your Whack O in it while they weren't looking, didn't you? Now it jumps. How it jumps! That's far enough little Whack O. Look. Look!! What unending perseverance. As if it wants to break free. As if it wants to tear this bosom apart and run right back to you. Someday then. When I nun need it nunymore. I will wrap it in a white sheet. I shall wrap it. Just like you had done me. It shan't be easy to get rid of it. But I will do it. I must. So. I shall take it, and send it to the postmaster. The moon shall be full that day. And beside him Lucy. Strong as when she was when your feathers were not so grey. And when you see her there, you will know how brutal I was. And how sad for my lack of blood. But for now, I must. Just a little more. One drop of shining glistening red. Then no more. Then no more. I am ashamed.
Much embraces. Much gratitude.
Much loves darling.

When you move like a jellyfish

2008-05-01T19:12:00.003+03:00

Just a little more now. Three steps, to be precise.
Druggies and Junkies. They represent us. They beat us. Time after time. Us. Non fliers. We are the bedrock, on which barbiturate must build its strong and cruel empire. While we lay down our souls to Jenny. In white. And we lay down our flesh to Mephistopheles. In black, not red.
Yeah. So there's this exam tomorrow. Lots to study still. I think it's going to be a long night. I hate such nights. And it's a beautiful cool breeze outside too. After a 42C day!

Walk. Keep walking. The road don't end. Nowhere. Keep walking.
Alone?
Alone.
If the road don't end why don't we just call it a day and camp right here?
We aren't sure the road never ends.
But you just said ...
I am the voice in your head. I lie habitually. Now walk.
But why?
Bubbly toes did too.
Ok.

It's as simple as something that nobody knows that
Her eyes are as big as her bubbly toes
On the feet of the queen of the hearts of the cards
And her feet are infested with tar balls and scars
- 'Bubbly toes', Jack Johnson

.

2008-04-23T16:09:00.005+03:00

no classes these days what to do then, except write posts and complete my schoolwork the tension doesn't let me go out I'd love to go out been so long since I actually went out and met a normal human being, which, in my universe means some who doesn't mock or hurt or judge me yes, such individuals do exist, albeit in extremely small numbers and in extremely far away places where one dare not go unless one has a lot many hours (even days!) at hand when did time become so precious to me? I hate overpriced commodities people memories whatever but then, everyone must bow to demand and supply even the mighty Soviet empire had to o ya, I also miss mint chocolate chip ice cream almost as much as friends getting really hot these days and humid kind of hollows out your head and you start typing stuff without full-stops

कारवां

2008-04-22T19:19:00.006+03:00

Everywhere I turn to
To cast down my burden
There is a fire already burning
So I burn with a thousand fires
Do I stop looking then?
Do I sit down under the midday sun
And let the vultures and the hyenas devour me?

And
Suppose
I do find an oasis
And drink aplenty. And am fed. And am nurtured
What then?
For indeed the desert is vast
And indeed the traveller is stubborn
Bent on crossing this terrible and ghastly wasteland

PS: Thomas Stearns anyone?

Juice

2008-04-19T23:24:00.003+03:00

I think I might be getting my creativity back.
I have been reading.
And watching movies. Just got done with Requiem for a Dream. Ya. I live in the past. I love my arm. I love natural insanity too. None of my requiems shall have sacrifices. They shall be soft dirges. With simple chord changes.
Writing. Wrote something I didn't think was trash. Lightyears since that happened last. Nevermind the fact I wrote it in class.
Listening to Coming Back to Life in an infinite loop. Damn I don't want to turn it off even when I sleep.
Sulking. Being happy. In an infinte loop.
Packing and unpacking Evil Jenny. Again an infinite loop. Loopy days these.
So there was this amazing dusk sky yesterday. And there were trippy colours. It is all about being reminded. Like blue stripes on white. Swanky palette shoes. Beautiful un-black hair. It is also about imagining the rest. Like half clouds.
Kitchen elves!

प्रतिज्ञा

2008-04-16T11:30:00.003+03:00

I will not move till my mind is at peace. Till I have freed myself. Till I know.

chchchchanges ...

2008-04-14T20:16:00.002+03:00

Voila!
A new look for my blog. Sorry about all the hearts. But there's birds too. And a tree. I started and deleted a music blog today. Another sign of my current instability.
Watched a lot of movies, long pending.

Waking Life: Well. It cleared up a lot of clutter in my brain. And replaced it with ten times
The Neverending Story: Reminded me of all the lovely things we did in school. I think it was our Geography teacher who took us to the video library to watch this one. Ondrilla. That was her name, I think
Stand By Me: A lovely movie. IMDb description - 'For some, it's the last real taste of innocence, and the first real taste of life'
Kiki's Delivery Service: Another studio Ghibley production. Weird settings. Weird storyline. A very engaging film!
She's All That: The worst movie of the lot. Sappy dripping chic flick. Not recommended for people above 12. Watched it only for Rachael Leigh Cook!!
Sweeney Todd: The Demon Barber of Fleet Street: Burton + Depp. Need I say more?
Grand Hotel: A real oldie. 1932. A script that makes you wonder whether the papers reported the writers' strike 50 years too late
The Broadway Melody: Another oldie! 1929. It had a lovely description of an artist/performer's life. Their reasons to carry on. Their reasons to stop.
I am Legend: A modern shoot 'em up zombie movie

Quitting coffee is hard. It is equal to 8 hours of sleep and 2 hours of headache per day. Both highly undesirable. All the worrying about the project is killing me. Scaring me. Making me lazier? And finally it boils down to this one question I remember from Waking Life.

Which is the most universal human characteristic - fear or laziness?

Shamsa Kanwal

2008-04-10T15:41:00.002+03:00

When I see you a blanket of stars covers me in my bed.
-Counting Crows

I've seen new born babies, crying like a moaning dove
And old men with broken teeth stranded without love
-Dylan

It's really nice what you wrote

2008-04-09T19:39:00.002+03:00

There's pieces of people. Inside other people. That is what makes lives surpass their duration. So theres future in the now.

Not nit not

2008-04-04T16:12:00.007+03:00

Yesterday night was Hostel Night. Celebrations. Drinks. Toasts. Laughter. Tears even, they said. Strummed three tunes. They choked in their dance. The electric whimpered too. The stone was stone.
Later, the rooftop. The stars. The clouds. Tagging them with shapes. Burdening them with meaning. I am certain of my loneliness now. Any many company, any much talking can't make me not alone.
So no grief.
No desire for shapes.

I’m not your larder. I’m Alife your guarder.

Yes grief. For the no grief. I am scared of having turned ice. I don't want a frozen heart.
Warm me.

Alife my larder. I can't forsake you or forsqueak you.
- Robert Wyatt. Rockbottom.

Elec Nite

2008-03-28T18:26:00.008+02:00

Here's to walking out halfway through an adieu party .
Here's to remembrances. To people who half-exist. Who drive you out of your own. Drive you towards a cup of coffee. Toward a lonely evening with a table lamp.
Here's to running away from freedom.
Here's to 'You're the closest to heaven that I've ever been. And I don't want to miss you right now'.
Here's to incorrect lyrics that sound better than the correct.
Here's to running into yourself. Again and again.
Here's to being struck. Being sleepless. Being used. Being unused.
Here's to wanting. Here's to not getting. Here's to nowhere and no how.
Here's to council from the deads and the fools. To the warmth in their company. To the reassurance in their wretchedness.

Here's to all that. And to silences broken by tch-tchs from a keyboard.

Ourselves

2008-03-19T08:27:00.004+02:00

' Emancipate yourself from mental slavery. None but ourselves can free our minds ... '
Redemption Song by Bob the Hippie Rasta.

The song is supposed to carry with it airs of political rebellion. Of unrest. Of a strong desire to be free. And those airs it does carry, faithfully and in abundance. But today, fighting with myself I realised - behind those melancholy staccato strums, behind the sad heart breaking recital lies a simple plan. A simple lesson. As much personal as political. The plan called action. And yet, at his point of time, this simple plan is a blow to my very concept of freedom. For me freedom stood for free fall. Letting go.
But for the simple minded rasta freedom lies in strife. In effort. First, for the attainment, and then for sustenance. And it is not the pot, but this freedom that I gratefully accept from you, brother.
I am scared of the impending strife. I am not good at it. But I must accept it. Must find a way to feel one with it. Because after all, it is my freedom.

Credits: Staccato. TB(oO) and Vane.

façade

2008-03-12T05:47:00.022+02:00

Today I realised that saying 'Hello' out loud is not mandatory. People have already warned me umpteen times against this horribly anti-social habit. They say that a smile is a much better alternative. Less messy, low on calories and high covertness. In other words, I said, a very effective façade. I was furious, almost to the point of being pitiful. The sham, the artifice!
But today, walking back from breakfast I came across this guy I don't know too well, and have no desire to either. Mostly because of his/my smugness. Automatically, without the slightest thought or provocation - out came a smile. A less messy, low calorie, highly covert smile. And at that very precise moment, I took back every Hello I have ever said. The sham, the artifice!

Over the past few days I have also realised my mind is not free in its musings. There is a dark cloud of logic gathered above my skies. It filters every soulward ray emanating from my atomic brain, so that all that reaches my shivering core is a faint smudge. There is no warmth. I think too much before I think. In zeros and ones. I have an OCD, whence every sentece must be spic and span. Perfectly ordered. Blacks and whites, clubs and spades.
Yesterday I read Heaney. Listened to Van Morrison. I realised how ordered my life is. How free their art is. How free I am. Only I refuse to accept it. I refuse to work towards it. And therein lies the issue. The arid monster. So, today, I want to be inkorect. Polætically offtrackened. Ethicaly chällenged. Erothik eveन! And so, I presen to yuo, the most wvile of ऑल human kreationß, I presenn to यू, a meop ...

not to be deflected
the arrow, puffed up
speeding busily
straight to its
          targjx

- an excerpt from 'Interferences: a sequence of nine poems' by Edwin Morgan

pablo

2008-03-05T08:03:00.012+02:00

Every once in a while, I have these days. Of utter nothings. I am sure you have them too.
They are not necessarily Sundays or Saturdays. And they definitely don't start at a comfortable five in the evening. They are normal full-fledged working days which begin as soon as you unsleep for the first time in the day.
Yesterday was one such Day of Utter Nothing.
It hit me. Smack in the middle of an average hectic undergraduate week. Left me so so off balance. Tottering. And as always - suicidal, but for the memory of.
I awoke. And then awoke. And was finally awake at noon. Then the nothings. One after the other. You can't help it. It is worse than sleepwalking. Because you are perfectly conscious. Skipped lunch. Avoided company. Sent people away. Stared at the wall. Read something about an ubearable lightness or so. Let the phone ring.
Basically left one day of my life blank. Maybe it is a space, between two chapters. Maybe it is only a space between two words. Deliberately streched out into a vast void. The book, is only written once. Maybe. Maybe I am too tired of writing.
But in all probabilities I am just writing a lot of fancy lies to cover up my chronic dumbass laziness. I have a thing for masks and self destruction.
Sometimes I wish I were not so stranded. These strands never intertwine. Each one stretching out, like an infinite arm of the sun. With me in the center. Alone, unarmed. And burning.
There is no one to blame. Maybe.

Bulleted

2008-02-28T09:31:00.004+02:00

I was on gtalk today, and in one of my emphatic moments of decisive randomness declared that pineapple juice makes you say whatever you want to say to strangers. From there, I went on to deduce that apple juice is better than pineapple juice, the reason being too obvious to state. But still, I will state it. Pine is useless. In curing inhibition, that is. Whatever. So yea. I was wondering. If Adam had juiced the apple and Eve and him had just sipped their glasses of cool apple juice. What then? Technically, he would've been safe. No getting kicked out of Eden drama, no leaves around the waist, no running from God like morons when you know he is omnipresent. But alas, Adam and Eve were primitive people. They didn't think of fishing out the loopholes in God's conditions and using them to float derivatives and contracts. They didn't care for all the benifits of a good healthy relationship with God their Creator based on clear cut bulleted rules. Eve was a spur of the moment woman and Adam was a dumbass. So of course it figures they ended up having two very stubborn children who kept fighting all the time. Oops. Getting wayward are we. Hm.
Oh damn. They didn't have juicers, did they?

How to identify the 'You Are Here' sign

2008-02-25T17:10:00.006+02:00

Yea, so somebody wants to know where the 'You Are Here' sign is. Though I fall well short of the qualification demanded by the person, I can't help breaking into one of those Buddha sessions. Clear everyone, here it comes ...

Hm.
First and foremost, you are already there. Isn't the 'You Are Here' sign supposed to be like a downward arrow blinking above your head?
Further information.
The roller coaster is to the right and the rest rooms are to the left. You will have to look around for the other rides because I am also kind of new and lost around here. But yea. The 'You Are Here' is pretty much everywhere you go.
Be sure to check out the House of Mirrors. Or maybe, by the sounds of you, that's where you are right now. Don't let them mirrors fool you! They're just for fun. You're not that fat. Or thin. Or ugly. Or whatever. If you walk a few extra meters north from there, the mint and chocolate-chip ice cream is whaaaaaa!!!
Be careful with your money though. The fun is a little overpriced at times. Unless, of course, you don't mind busking around like me.
And don't turn back! That's the exit.

PS: I know we've been wandering around for roughly the same time, and our tickets carry identical sets of directions on the flip side. So you know at least as much as me. But still. Sometimes we need stuff spelled out for us. Especially the blinking signs, right above our heads.

one centimeter away

2008-02-24T10:05:00.006+02:00

Never look at a dog with sad eyes before eating your last piece of an overpriced plum cake.

Never let a cat near you while eating chicken biriyani. Even the bright eyed ones. They will not rest till you are only left with rice.

Never make plans for Sundays. They're the trickiest of the lot.

I said my first sorry to a non-living thing today. It was too sad. I was too happy. The equation too unbalanced. Unless I added some guilt to the left hand side.

The Northern Lights

2008-02-20T10:17:00.007+02:00

Anyone here like the smell of capsules? Yea. The regular red and yellow and blue and what not coloured thingies with bitter powder inside them. Today lunchtime I realised I need to smell, and possibly eat a capsule. Hm. I wonder what it means. Do I actually like capsules or is it just another brain wave gone awry? Whatever. Everything we think is a brain wave gone awry. Otherwise they would only travel in straight lines out of our forheads. Pretty much like sunbeams, only not so bright or useful. So basically all our thoughts are aurora.
I received two lovely little cards today. One of them has the Revontulet on it. Beautiful.
Last night I slept well. Less, around 4 hours, but well. I even dreamt about something. I think.
I have re-fallen in love with Image Processing. And Counting Crows. But never watch their videos. Duritz is sad-eyed.
O yea. I finally bought them slippers. Bata. So I am a slipper-borrower no more. Yay!

Morsels

2008-02-12T21:18:00.000+02:00

Sometimes we are
Bah. What the ...
Sometimes I am scared. Of being happy. I have this feeling. That it is too good for me. Maybe it is. Maybe it isn't. But that's not the point.
What all this pushing and pulling ends up in is a huge huge wave that sweeps away whatever happiness there is. Even the tad bits which my super ultra pessimistic self would allow me. I keep throwing myself into an abyss. Till I realise that I have fallen way more than I have to. Till I have no way of crawling back up. I am tired. Of trying. Because I know no matter how much I try. In the end I will end up throwing myself back into misery. And believe me, it's not the life goes in cycles of happiness and sadness thing. I force sadness upon myself. It's like I am designed for it. Automated to seek out the smallest teeniest tiniest morsels of joy and to shred them. Stamp on them. Till blue mud oozes through them.
I don't wallow in the mud though. I don't. The only thing I do is to pick up a book or Jenny or whatever and be aware that there is a slight discomfort. But I never wallow. At times, I have tried the wallowing bit too. It sucks. It's like you are scratching a bad itch till you bleed. So you just go on with your day. Let the itch itch. No matter what happens. Don't scratch. Or you will end up writing blog entries at 0100.
Whatever. Yea. So I have borrowed a pair of slippers from this guy. I will buy my own. Someday eh. Nah. This weekend.
I miss plum cakes. Tiny overpriced plum cakes. I miss them at precisely 2300 every night. I also hate having coffee alone. Darn exams.
Wait. Happy thoughts. Happy thoughts. Hm. Does a strong urge to eat mint chocolate chip icecream count as a happy thought? Can an urge even qualify as a thought? Whatever. That's the closest I can get to a happy thought right now. No. Wait.
Naah. That's about it.

PS: Blue mud. Adrian Mitchell, 'Leaflets'.

Poker face

2008-02-08T04:12:00.001+02:00

I am tired. And I am not even finished yet. At this particular moment. A little lonesome. Lovesome. Etc.
Yea. So I made a decision yesterday. To try to take back control. Hard. Taxing. Tiring. And I don't even know why I am doing it. I think I want to stop thinking about whys. For a little while.
Still roaming around in my shoes.
Being haunted is bad. By lines. Faces. It's scary. I want out. Stop. Even colours. And leaves.
Sisters. Visitorless days. A heaviness of the heart. Of the soul. Sometimes. They say. When you cry much. And your eyes hurt. Because you're not letting them cry with the rest of you. The soul moans. It absorbs all the tears. And finally it cries. And gives birth. To another soul. Then it always rains. But stones are prisons. Trapping in themselves many souls. Till the rain wears them out. And the souls scatter away in ten different directions.
I wish. That I wouldn't wish. But I keep wishing.
Do you ever get that feeling. That it's no use. Do you?
Zinger burgers are not bad. But I always thought KFC fries the chicken a little too deep.
Slept two hours yesterday. That makes seven hours in the past three days.
I have realised. Sometimes. When you really feel it. You don't have to think about it. You don't even have to care. About the fretboard or the strings. You just keep feeling. And listening to your soul. Rain always helps. To keep time.
I want to sleep. I can't sleep. Closing my eyes is a poker draw. Sometimes it's a blank valium sea. With me floating around in the middle. Other times I find myself on a carousel. That keeps going round and round. Till I fall off. Still awake. And hurting. I was never good at poker. They say I can't keep a straight face. Of course, you do know poker is played with faces, don't you? I always lose.
Nah. I let you win. Just for the face of you.

PS: Sorry. I am thinking in short sentences again today.

Walk

2008-02-04T10:42:00.000+02:00

You know what's happening. My whole routine's turning inside out. I was awake for almost an hour last night telling myself to shutdown before I turned on the table lamp and gave in to the joy of trying to figure out a tracing algorithm for my project. Fucking long sentence. Whatever. But the point is. I think I slept around five and I was up at eight thirty. Kind of creepy, because I am not sleepy right now.
I have been putting off the actual programming for like ages. I have thought up and rejected a million algorithms. Nothing seems to fit. I don't have the objectives clearly defined. And all my guide wants are results. Don't even know what she means there.
Watched the first season of Grey's Anatomy. Kinky show. Whatever. What else can I do. Coffee breaks mean at least an hour. The cafeteria is so damn far off. The lead walks kind of funny. Kind of like this girl in my school.
Yea so someone asked me why I have to publish my diary for public consumption. Well, I was thinking about it and I don't think this is my diary. I have written a diary, for a month. It's way more personal and true. This blog is a sort of mask I love putting on. Because I don't have the stamina to be true to myself for more than a month.
In a diary, it's just me. I can't lie. I can't pretend. Because the reader me knows the writer me. There's just facts with footnotes. Which sort of have needle heads and saw teeth. I am tired of cutting and sewing.
So. I write crap on the internet.
Not to mention the free connection. Thank you, ye faithful taxpayers of this lovely country. Just a couple of months. Then you can juice me for all my worth. And then some more.
Damn. I broke my sandals and my slippers. And all my clothes are dirty and I have like just one fucking jeans to spend the rest of the week in. I have the laundary neatly piled up. It's not like the room's dirty or something. It's just that I don't have enough inspiration. To do laundary!! Sick bastard.
Whatever. But the sandals breaking is like totally horribly bad. Because now I have no decent footwear. I have to wear 'shoes'.YUCK.

Graphs

2008-02-02T11:50:00.000+02:00

Man. Have had some crazy days working on the programme. Now all that remains is to programme the graphics. But something tells me its not going to be that easy.
It's been a horrible day today. I had an extra class at 1000. I forgot!! Just slept in. Realised at around 1200 that I had missed it completely. Gosh. Stupid stupid stupid me. Whatever. I needed the sleep too.
Yea. I've been wanting to do so many things lately. But no time. Yesterday I played after a long time. Cricket!! I suck now, at bowling. But yeaps. My batting's still solid enough. Basketball!! I was never very good, but I am glad to see that I have not gone down.

Stones

2008-01-30T06:32:00.001+02:00

I was sitting here and wondering and wandering and stumbling when I fell into this drum labelled introspection. There was this poem I wrote, a long time back. Something about how stones on the road aren't loved, because no one needs to love them. And I was thinking. And twirling my hair around my index finger. And twisting my index finger around my hair. How the fuck do you graduate from being a stone to being a plant? Or a dog or a pair of sandals or you know, if you really want to over-reach, a human.
In the end, which was like ten seconds ago, and hasn't quite really become the end, I figured you're just you. You know. Then you're a stone for me. A parakeet for someone else. A broomstick for some other guy. You can't help it. Because you're nothing basically, outside your own self. And then there's people who know that. For whom you are you. And then you are a human. Which is kind of good. Because the whole chain of reasoning maintains that humans are nothing, but humans. The last sentence deserves to be read one more time. Please.
Whatever way. Don't think I am very human yet. Still some earth left in me. Here and there. And everywhere. So yea. I am still having a bummer of a time working through my project. Yesterday we went for a job-treat a couple of my friends threw. Whoooo! And the winner is - Haryali Kabab! Nah, its the Gosht Husaini Handi. Of course, we robbed the poor bastards. Whooooo!
Well, since this blog is in itself an act of self-promotion. Here's the poem I was talking about. Comment if you want to. Nobody hates comments you know. Anonymous, synonymous. Whatever.
-----

The whistles of a stone

* Text removed by author *

PS: This poem was first published in M.A.G. (Muse Apprentice Guild), so don't copy it. Or not me, but they will sue you. And they have shitloads of money to waste you know.

The Freeze

2008-01-28T16:51:00.000+02:00

Today's been so damn frustrating. Outright crazy. I have this thing to do. This programming which is kind of like my final project for my degree. And today I had set a major target, because tomorrow I have to meet my guide. I tried to sit and work. A million times. I can't. I'd rather sleep, read, strum, bowl, listen to music etc. But nopes. Can't get my darn head to think of the problem at hand. Gosh, if only there was some pill you pop in and all your energies get diverted to that singlemostest onliest thing you wish to focus on. F@%$.
Watched a string of movies recently. Training Day, Vanilla Sky, Hamlet (the direct from Shakespeare 1948 Academy Award Winner thing). Boy! Hamlet was hard to understand. It's a two hour movie, and I was able to complete it only after around four hours. It's all Shakespeare man. I still don't get some of the dialogues!! But it was fun, for sure. And the direction and acting are just awesome.
String reminds me. I am going to buy a rosary! The other day I found myself treating my key ring as if it were a rosary. So yea, let's see what I do with the real thing. Fun fun!! But it will be around a week before I go out to get it. So yea, till then there's keyrings and keyboards and stuff.

Lucky Ali concert

2008-01-26T18:55:00.000+02:00

Just came back from a Lucky Ali concert. Whoa! That guy is good. Really is. Most of the stuff I have been to has been loud and/or upbeat. But Lucky Ali was kind of mellow. Soft and soothing. Though some people still found reasons to leave their seats and jump about. But as far as I go, it was delight. No making the crowd wait. No dramas in between songs. Just solid music. His voice is good. It has depth and is capable of singing the kind of lyrics his songs have. There is also his distinctive style of song-making with them little no meaning rhymes thrown in between, just to make it all palatable. Altogether, a very satisfying blend. And I have to mention his band too! There was this amazing flautist. He was the soul of the music. Besides him there were two guitarists, a drummer and a percussionist. The base guitarist had weird rasta hair! Pretty darn cool. And he played mean too. Then there was this lead guitarist. He was on an acoustic! He played very beautifully, interspersing some very corny, but effective and tricky leads and riffs with good arpeggios and chords. The final point being, these guys gelled, and the outcome was some good soulful music.

Seconds

2008-01-23T13:26:00.000+02:00

Saarang, the cultural festival of our university begins today. It's the last one with me in it. Yeallow! I am not sure what I will do there, but I will certainly show up. There's a Lucky Ali concert. So that's bound to be good.
Today morning I was talking to this acquaintance of mine. And it drifted into the definition of happiness. Yea, quite weird a topic to discuss at 1000 in the morning eh! But during the discussion I realised that this feeling I had about knowing what happiness is. About knowing what I want from life. What life wants from me etc. It's a sham. I don't know anything. It took us around fifteen minutes to decide upon what happiness is. Our conclusion - it cannot be defined.
I realised happiness is not good food, lovely music, family, money, fame or anything of that sort. Issues like material and spiritual happiness (whatever both of them mean), like happiness of the mind or body, happiness as a form of obsession, as a form of appreciation. All these issues have stopped making sense now. Damn these stupid Wednesday mornings. What I was able to understand though was that happiness is a moment. Or something.
Today is pruning day!! I prune my gtalk list. I throw away people I know I don't know. I have been sharpening my axe for quite sometime now.
Watched Garden State today. It's quite good. Kind of one rung above a chica flicka, but only one rung.
Antibiotics suck. They make you drowsy. They double suck when they don't make you well.

PS: Notice the reduced use of full-stops

Banana Pancakes

2008-01-21T08:12:00.000+02:00

Looking back a couple of blogs, I realised this is turning out to be a crib thing for me. Too much I don't like this. I hate that. "Clever" sarcasm etc. Trash.
So this blog is about the stuff I have liked over the past few days.

The sound of the electric in the music room. Especially when I turn the amp up. And there was a couple of folks come to tell me it was good. Killed me. Right there.
Rediscovered my love for playing cards. He ho ho. Trying to learn a new game. Twenty Eight. Man do they treat novices like shit around here. Whatever. Fun.
Oh the joy! Attending all the classes in a given week. Wheeeee. Without getting bored or dozing off in a single one, I mean.
Watching movies. Watched 'Stranger than Fiction' yesterday. Emma Watson. Very powerful. Very talented. Very beautiful too!
Playing table tennis.
Playing with cats. Ocassional dogs and deer. Gosh. Realised how beautiful the word 'mrignayini' is. Damn. Them eyes. Large and kind and not dangerous and simple.
Coffee at dusk. With a little piece of overpriced plum cake.
Reading. Social science and Postmodernism. Muhahaha. Fuck off Gaussian Optics.
Planning for the entire week, taking into account the fact that the plan is never going to be followed. Believe me, it's quite a challenge to plan that way.
Watching Death-o-notto.
Listening to Mr. Vai and realising what his eccentric fiddling means. Really. It is not just a mad genius unleashing his fantasy. Every slide. Every bend. Every title. Thought out like an elaborate Tolstoy-ian plot. And yet. Not quite as clean as Tolstoy. Quite dark at times. Twisted. Only to emerge a masterpiece. Whew. I am biased!
Configuring Linux. It's simply lovely!! You get to choose every damn detail of your system.
O yea! And listening to Jack Johnson. Thank you Inta, for the introduction. The Horizon has been Defeated always intrigues me. And yea. I understand Flake. Other ties. Eh. Not that dumb eh.
But I'm so tired of trying.

Paper robotics

2008-01-18T18:47:00.000+02:00

Today seemed as if it were 'National Energy Saving Day'. No shop I went to had their burners on!! I was forced to eat veggie sandwitches at extra ordinary prices. Of course. The matter is. I had to eat something.
I love linux. It's quite customisable. But yea. If you don't have good internet speed. It's a dud. Just the sheer speed with which linux repositories have grown over the years stuns me. If the linux revolution does fully set in (yea yea. I don't think it's even close to that now), especially in the home PC market, internet would increase in value. Manyfolds. Somehow, that doesn't quite appeal to me. Internet is kind of stupid. You get to know stuff you don't need to. It's a different matter that you want to know stuff that you don't need. But who doesn't give in to temptation eh. Yeah. I connect to people I would have no chance of meeting otherwise. But is this contact neccessary anyway? Old mates who've never talked to me suddenly get chatty. Old mates who've talked to me all my life suddenly start stalling. I know people I don't know. I don't know people I have always thought I knew. It is all a waste of life. It is all a gain which we don't have means to measure. Whatever. At this particular instant. I feel it is bullshit.
Paul Simon rocks. Graceland rocks.
I think I am happy. Jinkies.

Meme sapiens

2008-01-14T15:56:00.000+02:00

I feel kind of edgy. I don't know what edgy exactly means, but I am pretty sure I feel edgy. It's like I can't do anything. I feel like doing everything at once. Read a book. Learn some leads I have been wanting to play for like a hundred years. Look around the Linux world. Do some BTP work. Sleep. Plan stuff. Go buy myself chappals. Call people I havn't talked to in ages.
Hm. I guess this is what time management is all about eh. And I guess I suck at it. Just can't get inspiration enough. I also guess that I make lame clichéd excuses. Whatever.
I just discovered a different species today. Well, at least became aware of their existence. It's the meme sapiens, or memes. Now a meme is not neccessarily a bad chap. It's just that he is obsessed by an activity called memeing. He can't think of nothing else. Never cry in front of a meme. He will never lend you a shoulder. Instead, he will start crying with you. In more general terms, never talk to a meme about issues which do not directly involve him. Otherwise he will follow a very convoluted zigzag of reasoning and finally relate everything to himself. Even the question of cosmic dark matter. Yeaps.
Now don't you go out there labelling memes and putting them in jars. There's a meme in everyone of us. No preaching. I swear! You. ME ME. Everyone. It is just that some people give in to him more than they should, till he takes over their lives and consumes their very brains and they become one with him. Memeing their lives away.
I think some of the dearest people I know are memes. Even that a!@#ole in the bathroom mirror. He just can't shut up. Seriously, memes get very irritating sometimes. Then I want to take them to the beach and sit them in front of that biggest meme there is on earth. Listen to that you bastards. That is how it feels. Only you don't look so fine.

Morning and linuxing

2008-01-13T03:17:00.000+02:00

Early morning. Sunrise.
No sleep. Just talking and listening. Started with Linux. Ended on E minor and A major. At 5, a stroll through the streets. Lovely weather. Cold. Hands in pocket. Then roadside coffee. Do gilas. One with and one without sugar. Decision, every cup from that shop henceforth shall be unsugared. Definitely tastes better. Came back. Found my first audience. Whooo! Hi!! *Waves*
Hm. Simple plans for the day. Try to dish out something for SB to chew. Install some form of linux that runs on my stupid SiS chip. Sleep early. Two days to make up for. Yeaps. Thats that.
O yea, unimportant update. I got rid of my job worries. I think.

Walk me through this one. Don't let me be alone ...

2008-01-08T18:56:00.000+02:00

I was wondering the other day. There's so many folks. So many faces. I think I love faces. I just look around and I see a hundred different faces. And I love them all.
I want to know what they've had for lunch. What is the biggest thing going on in their lives right now. And I don't want them to see me. If I could only become invisible. Then I could see them all I like. And make no notes. I'd watch and forget. And watch again.
I hate strife. I swear I do. I let people jump me in the line. I let people beat me to the booth. I let people take my coffee from the counter. I let I am an idiot for that. I know. But I can't help it. I think this attitude is ruining my career. I can't help it. I know they wouldn't like it if someone did to them what they do to me. Or maybe they would. Sometimes I do try to protest. But it's more to see what they have to say than anything else. I hear people laughing. And I accept. And I let them.
I think a lot. I want to work. I want to work in the field. I swear. I have stamina. I can lift them stones to wherever the builder is taking them. I can chop wood. And till them fields. I want to. But with dignity. With seclusion. And I know I can't. Unless I beat them at their own game first. And I know I can't.
Sometimes I wish there was someone who'd sympathise. I yearn. I see people yearning. And yet, I know we yearn for different things. I see them find their desire. I see them betrayed. Again and again. I see them betraying. And I know we yearn for the same thing. I have good ears, if you want to talk. Ever.

on new years day, we put our dancing shoes on ...

2007-12-28T21:01:00.000+02:00

Yea, well, so I was sitting here with a cat in my lap. Literally, I swear!! It's a stray cat, dunno when it entered my room! But it has been a regular here now. It's nice. Having company.
Hm. Still don't have a job. That's been playing on my mind a lot lately. I try to push it away, but it just keeps clinging on there. Sometimes I feel us humans (which basically means me, extended generically to avoid feeling alienated)waste our thought, our spirit etc on really trivial stuff. Trivial, not because it doesn't matter. Every grain of sand matters, for that matter. But trivial because all of our energy, all of our worrying or thinking, nothing will have any kind of impact on the matter at hand. Trivial because we understand our helplessness in the context. And yet. We keep wasting ourselves on it.
So, today is the last day of 2007. Can't say I have done myself any proud this year. Mostly it has been a down-down journey. I am trying. In fact, I am so jobless, I think I will make some resolutions this year. Their basic emphasis would be to not die. To not kill myself. And to promote life in general, in all aspects of my daily routine. To smile. To just glow!

1600
Never.NEVER buy cherry-mentos. They suck bigtime.

The Beginning ...

2007-12-25T19:09:00.001+02:00

Here we go round the prickly pear
Here we go round the prickly pear
Here we go round the prickly pear
At four o' clock in the morning

- Thomas Stearns