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?
20081207
Coffee at 0500
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.
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.
20081013
CCR
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
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
20080921
Stitches
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.
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.
20080914
3.5 days
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?
20080816
Desireless
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.
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.
20080730
To be on your own
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
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
20080720
half a litre
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.
20080714
Harpoons
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.
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.
20080628
Fingertips
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.
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
20080604
An idle night for trashwriting
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.
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.
20080523
An end. A beginning
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.
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.
20080519
Skypehoppin'
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!!
PS:
1. Don't take no shit from no one: An evening with Billy Joel
2. Late late yestreen: Ballad of Sir Patrick Spence!
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!
20080511
To the only woman who ever mattered
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.
20080501
When you move like a jellyfish
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.
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
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
20080423
.
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
20080422
कारवां
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?
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?
20080419
Juice
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!
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!
20080416
20080414
chchchchanges ...
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.
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
Which is the most universal human characteristic - fear or laziness?
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