Did you hold your head up high as you walked away? Did you laugh when you burned our bridges? Was it so easy? Are the ghosts that haunt you silent now? Did your wounds heal? Did the pain fade away? Could you forget? Is this what you wanted? Can you hate me now? Will you be happy?
I couldn't.I didn't.It wasn't.They aren't.They haven't.It didn't.I couldn't.It's not.I can't.I won't.
So who's laughing now,now that the joke is on US?
Wednesday, December 29, 2010
Monday, December 6, 2010
Dog eat dog !!!
Why do we hurt the ones we love the most? I think that in our secret hearts, in the very core of it, we understand that the people we love the most wield the same power, the power to hurt us, and so it becomes imperative that we destroy them before they do us. A defense mechanism, so to speak. The animal instinct to survive, because (let’s face it), take away the three-piece suit, the fancy house, car, social boundaries and what do you have? We are animals, no disguise can ever hide that…..and the only reason we’ve come so far is because we are the most dangerous motherfuckers to ever inhabit this planet. We do what it takes to survive…… born killers…..all of us.
Saturday, November 6, 2010
SECRET SIGHS
A dying sun bleeds into an autumn sky,
The darkness soon follows nigh.
And somewhere beneath close-by,
Under the star-crossed autumn sky,
By a field of golden rye,
The shroud of silence stifles a sigh.
On a bed of thorns, do they lie
Here a widow and her lover try
To wipe each other’s tears dry,
And to love each other in the sly.
To love each other in the sly,
A widow and her lover must try.
Whispers he to her "Dear, you mustn’t cry!"
"My love for you will never die."
But by the light of an intruding fire-fly,
She spies a tear roll down his eye.
Outside a soft breeze kisses the rye,
Inside the silence stifles a sigh.
Try as she will, she cannot deny,
Hidden within her bosom is a lie.
Promises of love, oh how they fly,
Like birds in winter, towards a warmer sky.
So as this cold night passes by,
From East a little light has begun to pry,
On their dying love in the sly.
And here under an early sky,
Amidst a field of sleeping rye
Slowly he rises, from where they did lie.
Looks away and says "good-bye"
For once bitten, twice shy,
Giveth a lover a lying eye.
Outside a soft breeze stirs the rye,
Inside the silence stifles a sigh.
The darkness soon follows nigh.
And somewhere beneath close-by,
Under the star-crossed autumn sky,
By a field of golden rye,
The shroud of silence stifles a sigh.
On a bed of thorns, do they lie
Here a widow and her lover try
To wipe each other’s tears dry,
And to love each other in the sly.
To love each other in the sly,
A widow and her lover must try.
Whispers he to her "Dear, you mustn’t cry!"
"My love for you will never die."
But by the light of an intruding fire-fly,
She spies a tear roll down his eye.
Outside a soft breeze kisses the rye,
Inside the silence stifles a sigh.
Try as she will, she cannot deny,
Hidden within her bosom is a lie.
Promises of love, oh how they fly,
Like birds in winter, towards a warmer sky.
So as this cold night passes by,
From East a little light has begun to pry,
On their dying love in the sly.
And here under an early sky,
Amidst a field of sleeping rye
Slowly he rises, from where they did lie.
Looks away and says "good-bye"
For once bitten, twice shy,
Giveth a lover a lying eye.
Outside a soft breeze stirs the rye,
Inside the silence stifles a sigh.
Friday, October 22, 2010
the haunting..
...and then there are memories ... echoes of whispers, almost silent as the colors of a faded picture and yet they haunt us, undeniably.And we lay in their bosom as they sing forgotten lullabies not realizing what you thought was the embrace of a long lost friend is the cold grasp of the tentacles of reality.
There is no such thing as a "happy memory" is there?? For what is memory if not the death of time?Your first step,the 5th time you saw rain fall,the 52nd time you scraped your knees,that first kiss,that bright winter night,the old woman at the window with the sad eyes,the 23rd of a particular month...all gone,snatched away the very moment it came to be ....like a still born baby.....beautiful but never there again.Each memory we have is but a burden,a shadow of what was,our foolhardy will to outlive the enevitable,to make sense of this malady....and like drowning men we clutch at the straws of memory ...while memory drags us down deeper...and deeper....
There is no such thing as a "happy memory" is there?? For what is memory if not the death of time?Your first step,the 5th time you saw rain fall,the 52nd time you scraped your knees,that first kiss,that bright winter night,the old woman at the window with the sad eyes,the 23rd of a particular month...all gone,snatched away the very moment it came to be ....like a still born baby.....beautiful but never there again.Each memory we have is but a burden,a shadow of what was,our foolhardy will to outlive the enevitable,to make sense of this malady....and like drowning men we clutch at the straws of memory ...while memory drags us down deeper...and deeper....
Wednesday, October 20, 2010
To the Girl with a broken smile....
..And if there was such a word,a word to say it all....a word to breathe life into these dead letters,to bleed out the hurt inside of you,to tell you how sorry i am,to make you understand that i tried my best,to tell you that i loved you once,that letting go of you doesn't come easy,that you are and will always be,a part of me.........if only there was such a word..
Metamorphisis
Broken smiles painted ,
On faces tainted,
by ebon fears and crystal tears,
borne with malice of a curse.
In pain resurrected,
Colored jaded,
Dreams faded.
Bled of our own,
In darkness sown,
hope forlorn,
Under starless nights we've grown,
Eclipsed by shadows of gods of stone (alone we moan).
Calloused heart,unflinching guard,
Words on a placard,
Distort the songs of a bard.
Verses of Faith, tunes surrogate,
choices made ... Sing or suffocate.
lips dry,tounges lie,
glorify
a heaven too high
No catcher ,just withering Rye
and an end never nigh (alone we cry)
On faces tainted,
by ebon fears and crystal tears,
borne with malice of a curse.
In pain resurrected,
Colored jaded,
Dreams faded.
Bled of our own,
In darkness sown,
hope forlorn,
Under starless nights we've grown,
Eclipsed by shadows of gods of stone (alone we moan).
Calloused heart,unflinching guard,
Words on a placard,
Distort the songs of a bard.
Verses of Faith, tunes surrogate,
choices made ... Sing or suffocate.
lips dry,tounges lie,
glorify
a heaven too high
No catcher ,just withering Rye
and an end never nigh (alone we cry)
Monday, August 16, 2010
OPERATION "Fetch or Die"
DESTINATION : Kanpur
DISTANCE : 888 kilometers total
OBJECTIVE : Retrieve luggage left in train by cousin.
INVENTORY : 1.One bottle of water (not entirely necessary)
2.Two packs of Cigarettes (or according to your comsumption rate)
3.Three bottles of "(unprescribed) prescription syrup" (very important,carry as much as can be afforded)
4.Rs 1400
5.one equally optimistically oblivious buddy
6.Stupidity (lots of it)
TACTICS : Beg, kiss ass,bribe (in same order)
MISSION BRIEFING :Leave New Delhi Railway Station by 1600 hrs by first available train. Arrive at Kanpur Central at 2200 hrs.Drink Tea.Rendevouz with contact,code name : Station Master,at 2215 hrs.Collect all material.Hi-five Buddy.Celebrate victory by consuming "aloo puri".Leave Kanpur central by 2330 hrs.Arrive at New Delhi at 0530 hrs following day. Be showered with compliments and love by adoring cousin.
PLAN B :Jump out of running train, terminate self
************************************************************************************************
MISSION DEBRIEFING:2100 hrs 16.08.10
Left N.D.Railway station at 1630 hrs by wrong train(not cost effective).De-boarded Train by jumping off at Unknown location at 1700 hrs due to unforseen financial risks (Rs 1100 per person).Sorrounded by locals at location.Suspected of being "Chinese" nationals.Friendlies advise take local train to Gaziabad and board, code name : "Janlok", to Destination.Arrive at Gaziabad at approx 1830 hrs.Suspected of being chinese nationals again.Cannot confirm the existence of "Janlok".Information scarce due to language barrier.Friendlies advise board ,code name : Vaishali,at 2030 hrs to original destination.Team totured by native Culex pipiens (mosquitoes) for 2 hrs. Vaishali late by 30 minutes.Additional toture for 30 mins.Escaped Gaziabad on board "Vaishali".Realised Vaishali in control of hostiles and more Culex Pippens.Totured for 6 hrs,made to stand near toilet sorrounded by obnoxious nose picking hostiles.Medical assistance required.Hostiles demand compensation for transportation services.Negotiated Deal at 50 % by bribing.
Arrived at Kanpur Central at 0300 hrs (approx) following day.Team fatigued.Rendevouz with primary contact not possible.Secondary contact ill-informed of mission.Team on wild goose chase for 1 hr.Team morale very low,contemplating PLAN B.Neutral native provides sensitive information on goods although native suspects team of being "chinese" nationals once again.Goods location secured,team morale boosted for short time.Goods held at Secure location by local authorities. Nature of Authorities unknown.Confirmed authorities neutral although suspicious.Team debriefed,related events leading to mission to involved and uninvolved parties every 5 minutes,Access denied.Special "kiss ass" tactics deployed.Authorities not convinced but agree to deliver goods at 0700 hrs same day after key witness confirms.Team complies, set camp on concrete floor of location after surveying environment.Bedding unavailable,team use newspaper as mattresses.Team on stand-by.
Arrive at secure location at 0630 hrs.Key witness missing, no information on current position available.Team applies special tactics ,begging.1000 hrs key witness arrives.Team granted permission to speak at 1020 hrs.Explained situation. K.W sympathetic of team's cause.Hands over goods to after team produces proper identification. K.W advises team eat breakfast and evacuate area ASAP.Depature confirmed at 1220 hrs. Transportation arrives at 1330 hrs,occupied by neutrals.Transportation demands extravagant compensation,threatens to turn hostile if not complied with.Team deploys dual special tactics,"begging" and "bribing".Threat neutralised but available funds compromised. Team extraction sucessful but slow. Arrive at N.D. Railway station at 2215 hrs.Locals demand compensation for bearing goods, loading and unloading.Negotiated at 50 % . Available funds depleted.More capital required.HQ informed, okays financial request.Arrive at Base at 2300 hrs.Cousin unimpressed.Mission "Fetch or Die" Complete.
MISSION STATUS : COMPLETED
MISSION TIME : 33 hrs
MISSION COST : Rs 1450
CASUALTIES : 2 Egos,1 T-shirt,2 boxers,unknown number of Culex Pippens
POST MISSION OBSERVATIONS : Team members display an avid fear of trains and have temporarily lost their sense of smell.Acute improvement in bargaining skills.
DISTANCE : 888 kilometers total
OBJECTIVE : Retrieve luggage left in train by cousin.
INVENTORY : 1.One bottle of water (not entirely necessary)
2.Two packs of Cigarettes (or according to your comsumption rate)
3.Three bottles of "(unprescribed) prescription syrup" (very important,carry as much as can be afforded)
4.Rs 1400
5.one equally optimistically oblivious buddy
6.Stupidity (lots of it)
TACTICS : Beg, kiss ass,bribe (in same order)
MISSION BRIEFING :Leave New Delhi Railway Station by 1600 hrs by first available train. Arrive at Kanpur Central at 2200 hrs.Drink Tea.Rendevouz with contact,code name : Station Master,at 2215 hrs.Collect all material.Hi-five Buddy.Celebrate victory by consuming "aloo puri".Leave Kanpur central by 2330 hrs.Arrive at New Delhi at 0530 hrs following day. Be showered with compliments and love by adoring cousin.
PLAN B :Jump out of running train, terminate self
************************************************************************************************
MISSION DEBRIEFING:2100 hrs 16.08.10
Left N.D.Railway station at 1630 hrs by wrong train(not cost effective).De-boarded Train by jumping off at Unknown location at 1700 hrs due to unforseen financial risks (Rs 1100 per person).Sorrounded by locals at location.Suspected of being "Chinese" nationals.Friendlies advise take local train to Gaziabad and board, code name : "Janlok", to Destination.Arrive at Gaziabad at approx 1830 hrs.Suspected of being chinese nationals again.Cannot confirm the existence of "Janlok".Information scarce due to language barrier.Friendlies advise board ,code name : Vaishali,at 2030 hrs to original destination.Team totured by native Culex pipiens (mosquitoes) for 2 hrs. Vaishali late by 30 minutes.Additional toture for 30 mins.Escaped Gaziabad on board "Vaishali".Realised Vaishali in control of hostiles and more Culex Pippens.Totured for 6 hrs,made to stand near toilet sorrounded by obnoxious nose picking hostiles.Medical assistance required.Hostiles demand compensation for transportation services.Negotiated Deal at 50 % by bribing.
Arrived at Kanpur Central at 0300 hrs (approx) following day.Team fatigued.Rendevouz with primary contact not possible.Secondary contact ill-informed of mission.Team on wild goose chase for 1 hr.Team morale very low,contemplating PLAN B.Neutral native provides sensitive information on goods although native suspects team of being "chinese" nationals once again.Goods location secured,team morale boosted for short time.Goods held at Secure location by local authorities. Nature of Authorities unknown.Confirmed authorities neutral although suspicious.Team debriefed,related events leading to mission to involved and uninvolved parties every 5 minutes,Access denied.Special "kiss ass" tactics deployed.Authorities not convinced but agree to deliver goods at 0700 hrs same day after key witness confirms.Team complies, set camp on concrete floor of location after surveying environment.Bedding unavailable,team use newspaper as mattresses.Team on stand-by.
Arrive at secure location at 0630 hrs.Key witness missing, no information on current position available.Team applies special tactics ,begging.1000 hrs key witness arrives.Team granted permission to speak at 1020 hrs.Explained situation. K.W sympathetic of team's cause.Hands over goods to after team produces proper identification. K.W advises team eat breakfast and evacuate area ASAP.Depature confirmed at 1220 hrs. Transportation arrives at 1330 hrs,occupied by neutrals.Transportation demands extravagant compensation,threatens to turn hostile if not complied with.Team deploys dual special tactics,"begging" and "bribing".Threat neutralised but available funds compromised. Team extraction sucessful but slow. Arrive at N.D. Railway station at 2215 hrs.Locals demand compensation for bearing goods, loading and unloading.Negotiated at 50 % . Available funds depleted.More capital required.HQ informed, okays financial request.Arrive at Base at 2300 hrs.Cousin unimpressed.Mission "Fetch or Die" Complete.
MISSION STATUS : COMPLETED
MISSION TIME : 33 hrs
MISSION COST : Rs 1450
CASUALTIES : 2 Egos,1 T-shirt,2 boxers,unknown number of Culex Pippens
POST MISSION OBSERVATIONS : Team members display an avid fear of trains and have temporarily lost their sense of smell.Acute improvement in bargaining skills.
Friday, May 21, 2010
Sunday, May 16, 2010
Saturday, May 15, 2010
Tuesday, May 4, 2010
Why do fireflies have to die so soon?
Why do Fireflies have to die so soon?
Do they die trying to teach us that beauty lies even in the inconsequential and is ever so fleeting?
Do they die trying to light up our blindness?
Why do Fireflies have to die so soon?
Do they die trying to teach us that beauty lies even in the inconsequential and is ever so fleeting?
Do they die trying to light up our blindness?
Why do Fireflies have to die so soon?
Friday, April 23, 2010
The ballad of Ranchu
He was born for great things, that he knew. What it was ,he did not know yet but he could feel it, he could feel it beating along with his heart in constant competition ,teasing and reminding it that Faith was just as important. The others did not understand, they were too content within the confinements of the “see-through” wall, for them it was the world and it was enough. For Ranchu, it was a prison, a prison that shrunk along with time. Sometimes he could swear that he felt the wall closing in and then the cold invisible hands of panic would choke him ,leaving him gasping for breath. The dreams of the world that lay beyond the wall haunted him and grew on him like a tumor.
The wall was a marvel,it could not be seen but it was there..cold and solid like reality . There were times when the fortification would vibrate ,as if awakening from a long deep slumber ,sending ripples of unadulterated excitement through his body and on excruciatingly rare occasions when the light from the “small sun” (inside)and the real sun(outside) embraced like long lost brothers,the wall would rejoice and mimic life of its own.Ranchu spent hours staring into the eyes of his ghost,sometimes with the playful pleasure of the young and unwanting, sometimes with the deep melancholy of a lover looking into the eyes of his beloved for the last time.It was hard to imagine that the humans had created such a wonder,but then again humans were capable of great things,evil things,the invisible prison stood testament to that end.
The wall was a marvel,it could not be seen but it was there..cold and solid like reality . There were times when the fortification would vibrate ,as if awakening from a long deep slumber ,sending ripples of unadulterated excitement through his body and on excruciatingly rare occasions when the light from the “small sun” (inside)and the real sun(outside) embraced like long lost brothers,the wall would rejoice and mimic life of its own.Ranchu spent hours staring into the eyes of his ghost,sometimes with the playful pleasure of the young and unwanting, sometimes with the deep melancholy of a lover looking into the eyes of his beloved for the last time.It was hard to imagine that the humans had created such a wonder,but then again humans were capable of great things,evil things,the invisible prison stood testament to that end.
Friday, April 2, 2010
"sweet dreams" she said...
“In the land of Memory the time is always now. In the Kingdom of Ago, the clocks tick…but their hands never move.”
I dreamt of you again today… We are at a party, friends all around us, people dancing, drinking and just shooting shit , celebrating some mundane occasion I can’t recall.. And then, somehow, we find ourselves alone, just you and I. We are trying to make conversation, talking about nothing really..We don’t have to. Somewhere, very far away from where we are, the music plays on and someone yells and people laugh in response. I look at you and you just sit there smoking, lost in your own thoughts. You turn around suddenly and catch my eye for the first time tonight, I try to look away, feigning innocence, but I can’t. I look into your eyes, the world fades away. And for reasons I’ll never understand, you lean over to kiss me… I wake up.
I dreamt of you again today, the dreams are not so frequent now but they come and they still hurt….
"When you're dreaming with a broken heart
The waking up is the hardest part"
I dreamt of you again today… We are at a party, friends all around us, people dancing, drinking and just shooting shit , celebrating some mundane occasion I can’t recall.. And then, somehow, we find ourselves alone, just you and I. We are trying to make conversation, talking about nothing really..We don’t have to. Somewhere, very far away from where we are, the music plays on and someone yells and people laugh in response. I look at you and you just sit there smoking, lost in your own thoughts. You turn around suddenly and catch my eye for the first time tonight, I try to look away, feigning innocence, but I can’t. I look into your eyes, the world fades away. And for reasons I’ll never understand, you lean over to kiss me… I wake up.
I dreamt of you again today, the dreams are not so frequent now but they come and they still hurt….
"When you're dreaming with a broken heart
The waking up is the hardest part"
Tuesday, March 9, 2010
Zorbing
(Definition:
zorbing noun
/ˈzɔː.bɪŋ/US pronunciation symbol/ˈzɔːr-/ n [U]
an activity in which someone rolls down a hill in a large transparent plastic ball)
Another sleepless night.Back hurts like a bitch and why wudnt it?How long have I been awake?Tried readin,cudnt do it! Tried sum crosswords,head almost exploded.Tried eatin even.Just feel bloated now.Being sober is such a pain ,isn’t it? Being sober gets you thinkin.And dat aint a good thing,cuz it gets you thinkin but it still can’t help you think straight. Its not like I’m sober by choice, I’m sober by reason…I just don’t enjoy trippin like I used to. When you do somethin long enough,it gets boring.Thats the “exit”cue, I think.
Now Im not THAT dumb either(its what I’ve convinced myself of).Sure,tripping was getting boring but dat wasn’t enuff to get me off it.No,I needed “inspiration” and ,damn, I got a shitload and an extra serving of just dat.In the days that followed, I got the shit kicked outta me by four guys (all high too)and ended up with a ruptured eardrum.It’s healed now but ,man ,my ego is FUCKED. Those pricks sure knocked the chip off my shoulder for real good.The trippin dint stop there tho, a few days later to commemorate the ocassion of being dumped (yet again) I carved two new “love” lines into my left palm cuz the one I already had wasn’t doing me any good!! How stupid can I get? I leave the answer to your imagination. Self pity is self destruction and I’m aces at it.
But comin bak to right now ,Do I miss the trips? Damn right ,I do…but I still have I life ive got to live (whether I like it or not) and although the pharmaceutique numbess and distilled dreams that trippin brings seems so alluring I gotta move on,achy back and all.Yea,yea,yea… “…but it’s a good thing to be sober ,etc ,etc ..so on and so forth”.I’ve heard it all before so stuff it.I’ll tell ya this..being sober is so fuckin overated.It’s just as shitty as shit can be.
Man,I wish those four dumb fucks were bak..maybe they cud beat me senseless this time……
zorbing noun
/ˈzɔː.bɪŋ/US pronunciation symbol/ˈzɔːr-/ n [U]
an activity in which someone rolls down a hill in a large transparent plastic ball)
Another sleepless night.Back hurts like a bitch and why wudnt it?How long have I been awake?Tried readin,cudnt do it! Tried sum crosswords,head almost exploded.Tried eatin even.Just feel bloated now.Being sober is such a pain ,isn’t it? Being sober gets you thinkin.And dat aint a good thing,cuz it gets you thinkin but it still can’t help you think straight. Its not like I’m sober by choice, I’m sober by reason…I just don’t enjoy trippin like I used to. When you do somethin long enough,it gets boring.Thats the “exit”cue, I think.
Now Im not THAT dumb either(its what I’ve convinced myself of).Sure,tripping was getting boring but dat wasn’t enuff to get me off it.No,I needed “inspiration” and ,damn, I got a shitload and an extra serving of just dat.In the days that followed, I got the shit kicked outta me by four guys (all high too)and ended up with a ruptured eardrum.It’s healed now but ,man ,my ego is FUCKED. Those pricks sure knocked the chip off my shoulder for real good.The trippin dint stop there tho, a few days later to commemorate the ocassion of being dumped (yet again) I carved two new “love” lines into my left palm cuz the one I already had wasn’t doing me any good!! How stupid can I get? I leave the answer to your imagination. Self pity is self destruction and I’m aces at it.
But comin bak to right now ,Do I miss the trips? Damn right ,I do…but I still have I life ive got to live (whether I like it or not) and although the pharmaceutique numbess and distilled dreams that trippin brings seems so alluring I gotta move on,achy back and all.Yea,yea,yea… “…but it’s a good thing to be sober ,etc ,etc ..so on and so forth”.I’ve heard it all before so stuff it.I’ll tell ya this..being sober is so fuckin overated.It’s just as shitty as shit can be.
Man,I wish those four dumb fucks were bak..maybe they cud beat me senseless this time……
Thursday, February 25, 2010
relapse
So..we meet again,dear reader.I wasn't really expecting you back but i guess u're a glutton for pain...or mebbe just plain stupid.Well a burning candle attracts moths and shit attracts flies...either way u're here and i must confess i am pleased.Thank you for humorin me.No sarcasm there.I've gone cornier over the last few weeks (maybe i was already,but who the fuck cares?).It's true,we gotta go a bit bollywood sumtimes,keep our miserable selves happily disillusioned,bend over reality so much so we can kiss our own ass...cuz nobody else will do the job.Its a shitty job anyway.(cue)HA HA HA !! My attempt at a funny.
You ever had a lotta loose change in ya pocket? Ya know how they rattle about,i say rattle cuz jingle sounds too happy..now nobody wants to read happy shit..right? We all wanna know how fucked up the other person is...it makes us feel better about ourselves.Human nature!! We reap what others sow.Man,I get so derailed sumtimes,i forget the point I'm tryina make.Right,so the coins....yea..well i got a lotta "loose change" in my head...and they rattle about...and it's drivin me absolutely nuts.Its the noise. So many voices in my head,i can hardly tell which one is me anymore.Now,imagine a conversation going on in your head..u think ure talkin to yourself...and then another voice joins in..and then another,and another...and then its no longer a conversation..it's a fucking orgy.
Man, i wanna disappear(it's a phase i go thru every once a while,brain's menstrual cycle..i guess ),i got no clue where i want to be or what I'm gonna do,but i sure as hell don't wanna be here doin wotever the fuck it is i think i'm doin.Everything bores me..music,movies,video games even.I got so bored,i started this blog.Fucked up,right? Everythin is so black and white.Ya know, i think haven't felt happy in a long time. I mean really really happy... guess I've actually forgotten how that works.I dreamt big dreams and choked on them. Now sum smug bastard is probably living it ...and i think im caught in his nightmare.Great fucking deal huh? My dreams for your nightmares. You know what i think, Hell exists...and this is it ,right here,right now.
Aww...screw this shit..think i'm gonna go crawl into a hole.Mebbe i'll catch ya later !!!
You ever had a lotta loose change in ya pocket? Ya know how they rattle about,i say rattle cuz jingle sounds too happy..now nobody wants to read happy shit..right? We all wanna know how fucked up the other person is...it makes us feel better about ourselves.Human nature!! We reap what others sow.Man,I get so derailed sumtimes,i forget the point I'm tryina make.Right,so the coins....yea..well i got a lotta "loose change" in my head...and they rattle about...and it's drivin me absolutely nuts.Its the noise. So many voices in my head,i can hardly tell which one is me anymore.Now,imagine a conversation going on in your head..u think ure talkin to yourself...and then another voice joins in..and then another,and another...and then its no longer a conversation..it's a fucking orgy.
Man, i wanna disappear(it's a phase i go thru every once a while,brain's menstrual cycle..i guess ),i got no clue where i want to be or what I'm gonna do,but i sure as hell don't wanna be here doin wotever the fuck it is i think i'm doin.Everything bores me..music,movies,video games even.I got so bored,i started this blog.Fucked up,right? Everythin is so black and white.Ya know, i think haven't felt happy in a long time. I mean really really happy... guess I've actually forgotten how that works.I dreamt big dreams and choked on them. Now sum smug bastard is probably living it ...and i think im caught in his nightmare.Great fucking deal huh? My dreams for your nightmares. You know what i think, Hell exists...and this is it ,right here,right now.
Aww...screw this shit..think i'm gonna go crawl into a hole.Mebbe i'll catch ya later !!!
Wednesday, February 17, 2010
tyrant heart
So, I was tryina write a piece the other night(yea,I need a life and if you’re readin this,so do you) ,I sat down ,tried to put together the constant jumble of words that seems to clutter my ..errm….well,my perspective. I mean …I did have a sliver of an idea on what I was going to write about but what I failed to realise was that some ideas sound so much better in your noggin than on paper (or in this case, the screen). So I went ahead and typed away.Big mistake. After I was done with it,I read it,re-read it, then re-read it again for a good measure and all I could think was “fuck” !!!You see, I was tryina describe something I could never fully understand.I think that’s the worst one can do,try to talk about things one has no clue about.I was fishing for words,coaxing them,bribing them with potato chips even. Man,When you gotta think about something to write ,its gonna come out soundin all constipated.That piece of crap probably stank all the way to Timbuktu.Thank God (if there is one)for small favors,thank God for the “delete” button,huh? What would I do without it.
Now I don’t wanna insult your intelligence by making you guess what exactly it was I was writing about.If you know me well enough,you’ve probably have an idea and if you don’t ,well, congratulations. Anyway,Point is ,it bothered me some not being able to write about somethin I wanted to,When it comes to stuff like that ,there are far too many ways to pen it down .Words are clever little bastards,arent they?Always on the tip of your tounge,but never really there.Right,so there I was, re-reading the crap I had just spewed,feeling a lil’ sick(I’ve always underestimated my talent for bullshit)and then it struck me,I couldn’t write about it because there was nothin to write about,that maybe,just maybe..I didn’t really care enuff and that all it required was one word to describe it. “over”. Just like that …It was that simple.
Speak no more, oh tyrant heart,
You know you’ve had your say.
Let the silence drown your voice,
'fore the echos carry your lies.
Be gone, oh tyrant heart,
You had your days in the sun.
Let the shadows hide your face,
‘fore I come undone.
Friday, February 5, 2010
15th August 2009
THE INDEPENDENCE FOOTBALL FINALS (siliguri), BEETH GENDA VS SHIV MANDIR
(took a break,wrote the first part)
went back to field,previous seat (rock) already occupied,Match begins 4 pm,saw only 8/10ths of the game , the other 2/10 ths of the view is blocked by jumping monks. During the half time,commentator annouces lottery results, small fight breaks out in one corner.Chickens join the field after half time, nobody bothers.Commentator silent during the entire match,except a couple of times when the spectators enter the field and once to warn the people squatting on the club roof that there is an electrical line behind them and that shud anything go wrong the club will not be held responsible.
match results Bg 1 - Sm 1,Bg wins in penalty shootout 3-2.
THE INCIDENTS AND THE COMMENTS THAT FOLLOWED :
1 )DURING KICK OFF:
"abo yahlow le jaadoo dekhaucha hai"
now the yellow (yahlow)team will show magic.
2)BEETH GENDA SCORES :
"keeeee meetho hali deo hau"
that goal was sweet!!
3)PLAYER KICKS AND MISSES BALL:
"yoh le chai chepara khaye cha"
this guy has eaten a lizard.
(i have no clue wot the connection was)
"yoh jhatha lai chai kina khelako?"
why are you letting this pubic hair (player) play?
4)KEEPER SHOOTS BALL,BALL DOSENT GO VERY FAR:
"laaa ehle tah aju bhaat khaye na kya?"
oooh,i dont think this fellow ate rice today
5)PLAYER SHOOTS OVER THE POST:
"tero laagi chai abo GOAL POSE maaaaathi po bannaunu hola ho?"
should we make a higher goal post for you?
"eh le bhaat besi khaye cha"
this fellow has eaten too much rice
6)BEETH GENDA PLAYER GETS INJURED:
"apuuuiii luuuuu,OYE RAFREE, eh le chai EKTING gareko hai"
ohhh see,YOU REFREE, this fellow is acting(ekting)
7)SHIV MANDIR EQUALISES:
"aamamamamam, yoh match chai GOD GEEF ho hai"
wow! this match is god's gift
"keeee meetho hali deo hai?"
wasnt that goal sweet?
"abo chai UURGEENOL mech suru bhayo"
now the original match (mech)has begun.
8)MATCH ENDS IN DRAW:
"abo chai PLANTIC huncha"
now there will be a penelty kick (PLANTIC) shoot-out
9)DURING PENALTY SHOOT-OUT:
"malai tah kosto chum-chum bhai sakyo"
i am feeling like i have ants in my pants
10)SHIVMANDIR PLAYER MISSES PENALTY:
"dubaaaaayoooo chutiya le"
the fucker has sunk the ship
"thuiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii
i spit on you
11)GAME ENDS:
"amamamamamam , daaaaaaaaammmmmi bhayo MECH chai"
wow, the match (mech) was really superb
Sunday, January 31, 2010
FACES IN THE DARK
for Neha,who listens
flotsam
He lay in bed, smoking his last cigarette. The ash-red dot ,smoldering and dimming,blinking,between his shaky nicotine stained fingers,light and dark,dark and light. He had been smoking a lot lately, what was he averaging? Two packs ? The one he held was probably the forty-third nail (of the day)on his coffin, but who was counting? Not him for sure. He’d have to scrounge around for a butt or two later. The night was still at adolescence and he needed the cigarettes. But more than the smokes,right now he needed to get out of the bed. The bed felt too vast, too cold and was covered with memories instead of sheets and blankets,memories of the worst kind. Then again,there are no such things as good memories, are there? All memories bring hurt because in one way or the other they are ghosts haunting us,reminding us of what could have been.
Slowly, he stumbled out of bed. His head felt heavy as if it had been replaced by a block of concrete and his heart as empty as the bottles of cheap booze and sleeping pills that cluttered the floor.Even breathing was tiresome now. The clock ticked meaninglessly, endlessly, absurdly. “Life” he thought. Outside a lone mongrel? wailed into the bleak dark void that was the night, sounding more human than anything. What it was crying for, nobody cared. It was alone (“like me!”) A sudden chill sliced its way through the hollow pit of his stomach ,came to rest upon his equally empty heart and finding enough space, decided to roost there a while. He moaned. He moaned because he could not cry anymore, he had run out of tears. Even tears had forsaken him.
He was lonely, his only “companions” other than the night (and perhaps the lone mongrel outside) were his demons...and some demons could not be exorcised. He wanted to escape but he was a prisoner of his own consequences and he was in for Life. He was tired and longed for sleep but he was scared too because when the dreams came, they mocked him. The pills didn’t help either nor did the alcohol .Hell, it made it worse. He was tired, so damned tired. Dark spots danced before his eyes and suddenly the bed seemed like a million miles away as if it was on another galaxy. He managed three steps before his feet gave away; He teetered, clawed the air blindly for purchase, knocked his head against the bed post and then collapsed into a heap.His last thoughts were of cigarettes.
It was the summer when he was seven years old, he had made an amazing trade with a not so bright cousin. He had bartered his magnifying glass in return for for a one legged (and slightly rusted) tin soldier .Of course, after an hour or so of looking at people and god-knows-what through the glass, the cousin having lost all his former enthusiasm when he realized that a magnifying glass could only do so much, had wanted the handicapped soldier to report back to base that being his jean overall’s front pocket. He might have gotten his AWOL toy back had he been a foot taller or maybe a year older, but that wasn’t the situation, hence, had only succeeded in getting knocked flat on his chubby rear. The sore ended cousin had run off wailing retribution but still clutching the magnifying glass.
An hour and an amputated soldier later, both casualties in the old grudge war of "trump" to a friend (who happened to be both a foot taller and a year older) he trudged towards lunch planning fantastical covert operations to free the POW. And then over at the neighborhood sand-pit, he had spied the cousin bent over a mound of dirt, his snotty face taunt with sweat and concentration. In his hand he held something that glimmered harshly in the blazing sunlight. He thought of evil wizards and witches in the fairy-tales about to cast a spell that would turn the handsome prince into a toad or the pretty lass into an ass. “Lass into an ass” now that was poetic, a real beaut.He’d have to remember this. Poems like these would make him famous. He could barely stifle the laughter as he stealthily made his way towards the young wizard meaning to wedgie him ( for practice)when he had realized what was going on. His cousin was using the magnifying glass to burn ants! He had knelt beside his cousin filled with awe and watched the ants twitch and burn. Right then he felt a peculiar feeling rise within him. He had felt pride?(was it pride?)”The retard aint so slow after all” he thought and then affectionately patted the boy's sweaty head. The cousin had looked at him beaming and declared “look! I am god!”...
God (if there is one) is cruel and fate is his favorite toy
high tide
...He woke up, shivering, quite unsure of where he was. His head felt two sizes too big and halfway empty.The left side of his body had transformed into a pin cushion. He needed a smoke and stretched out to grab his pack, that was when he realized he was squatting on the floor. He had no idea how or why he was there,or why his head felt like it had been used as a football.He figured he might have dreamt his way out of bed but not quite believing it. Had he been asleep? Had he been dreaming? Was he still dreaming? And somehow the idea of still being in a dream felt catchier so he crawled back into bed (the cigarettes forgotten for now) and waited for the waves of sleep to carry him away. And as tiredness steadily gave way to sleep, a thought occurred to him “We are but ants” “and God..God is the kid who sits besides the ant-hill holding a magnifying glass” Such a thought would have normally surprised him but right now he was walking the thin gray between sleep and awareness so he just chuckled at the walls...and the bare walls just stared back at him, silently, perhaps angry to be disturbed at such a ghastly hour or perhaps just contemplating the irony of his thought. The waves of sleep didn’t steal in, instead they swelled into huge tides and they crashed into him. He panicked (had he taken too many pills? had he taken ANY at all?)He tried to fight it, but he was tired. The tide broke upon him relentlessly until he gave in and finally it enveloped him. Silence.....Pitch Black Silence.. and he felt himself drowning ......drowning...drown..
George Jenkins from down the street was a fantastic bore and perhaps the only thing that exceeded his legendary talent for boring the shit out of folks was his cursed optimism. He was so optimistic that if someone had mailed him a sack full of horse-shit, he would assume that the person had simply forgotten to include the horse (Maybe that’s why he was such a bore, because nothing would/could bring him down. No sirree!! His was a world of dreams, rainbows and fucking butterflies).Now good old George had nothing,literally,except for his mother, his optimism and his damned dream.Every time you ran into him he would give you an earful of his mother and the house he was going to buy for her. He would grin that insufferable grin of his and tell you,"Momma says...this " and "Momma said...that”. A regular Forrest Gump in the making, except he wasn't as slow. He taught math and social sciences at the Holy Cross preparatory school.The kids there must have known what came out of Ol' Georgie's beloved momma’s ass every time she took her mid-day dump.
Any-a-ways, after years of carefully planned financial savings and two suits (always Dogshit Brown and Snotty Green) per year Georgie's date with destiny arrived,He had pulled it off. He purchased for his mother ,a modest cottage ,just like he had told everybody and (probably)any unlucky soul who happened to pick the wrong time to visit our side of town. The poor bastard had been so happy that week...that was until he tripped over his mother’s knitting,skewered himself through the neck and turned into a human kebab. And then as if things could not get any worse, his mother, after seeing her beloved boy writhing and gurgling in a pool of his own blood, had just rolled up her cataracted eyes and taken a dive, face first, in her Georgie’s blood. After Seventy Three years of uninterrupted service her old ticker had called it quits, just like that!!
Georgie had barely survived the accident but the people who saw him now and then (he had sold off the cottage for his mother’s funeral and moved back to his old one room shit-hole apartment) said that Ol’ Georgie had been buried along with his mother. George Jenkins never spoke of his momma again, he hardly ever spoke at all..
Georgie was a fuckin ant, and ants got burnt...
flotsam
He lay in bed, smoking his last cigarette. The ash-red dot ,smoldering and dimming,blinking,between his shaky nicotine stained fingers,light and dark,dark and light. He had been smoking a lot lately, what was he averaging? Two packs ? The one he held was probably the forty-third nail (of the day)on his coffin, but who was counting? Not him for sure. He’d have to scrounge around for a butt or two later. The night was still at adolescence and he needed the cigarettes. But more than the smokes,right now he needed to get out of the bed. The bed felt too vast, too cold and was covered with memories instead of sheets and blankets,memories of the worst kind. Then again,there are no such things as good memories, are there? All memories bring hurt because in one way or the other they are ghosts haunting us,reminding us of what could have been.
Slowly, he stumbled out of bed. His head felt heavy as if it had been replaced by a block of concrete and his heart as empty as the bottles of cheap booze and sleeping pills that cluttered the floor.Even breathing was tiresome now. The clock ticked meaninglessly, endlessly, absurdly. “Life” he thought. Outside a lone mongrel? wailed into the bleak dark void that was the night, sounding more human than anything. What it was crying for, nobody cared. It was alone (“like me!”) A sudden chill sliced its way through the hollow pit of his stomach ,came to rest upon his equally empty heart and finding enough space, decided to roost there a while. He moaned. He moaned because he could not cry anymore, he had run out of tears. Even tears had forsaken him.
He was lonely, his only “companions” other than the night (and perhaps the lone mongrel outside) were his demons...and some demons could not be exorcised. He wanted to escape but he was a prisoner of his own consequences and he was in for Life. He was tired and longed for sleep but he was scared too because when the dreams came, they mocked him. The pills didn’t help either nor did the alcohol .Hell, it made it worse. He was tired, so damned tired. Dark spots danced before his eyes and suddenly the bed seemed like a million miles away as if it was on another galaxy. He managed three steps before his feet gave away; He teetered, clawed the air blindly for purchase, knocked his head against the bed post and then collapsed into a heap.His last thoughts were of cigarettes.
It was the summer when he was seven years old, he had made an amazing trade with a not so bright cousin. He had bartered his magnifying glass in return for for a one legged (and slightly rusted) tin soldier .Of course, after an hour or so of looking at people and god-knows-what through the glass, the cousin having lost all his former enthusiasm when he realized that a magnifying glass could only do so much, had wanted the handicapped soldier to report back to base that being his jean overall’s front pocket. He might have gotten his AWOL toy back had he been a foot taller or maybe a year older, but that wasn’t the situation, hence, had only succeeded in getting knocked flat on his chubby rear. The sore ended cousin had run off wailing retribution but still clutching the magnifying glass.
An hour and an amputated soldier later, both casualties in the old grudge war of "trump" to a friend (who happened to be both a foot taller and a year older) he trudged towards lunch planning fantastical covert operations to free the POW. And then over at the neighborhood sand-pit, he had spied the cousin bent over a mound of dirt, his snotty face taunt with sweat and concentration. In his hand he held something that glimmered harshly in the blazing sunlight. He thought of evil wizards and witches in the fairy-tales about to cast a spell that would turn the handsome prince into a toad or the pretty lass into an ass. “Lass into an ass” now that was poetic, a real beaut.He’d have to remember this. Poems like these would make him famous. He could barely stifle the laughter as he stealthily made his way towards the young wizard meaning to wedgie him ( for practice)when he had realized what was going on. His cousin was using the magnifying glass to burn ants! He had knelt beside his cousin filled with awe and watched the ants twitch and burn. Right then he felt a peculiar feeling rise within him. He had felt pride?(was it pride?)”The retard aint so slow after all” he thought and then affectionately patted the boy's sweaty head. The cousin had looked at him beaming and declared “look! I am god!”...
God (if there is one) is cruel and fate is his favorite toy
high tide
...He woke up, shivering, quite unsure of where he was. His head felt two sizes too big and halfway empty.The left side of his body had transformed into a pin cushion. He needed a smoke and stretched out to grab his pack, that was when he realized he was squatting on the floor. He had no idea how or why he was there,or why his head felt like it had been used as a football.He figured he might have dreamt his way out of bed but not quite believing it. Had he been asleep? Had he been dreaming? Was he still dreaming? And somehow the idea of still being in a dream felt catchier so he crawled back into bed (the cigarettes forgotten for now) and waited for the waves of sleep to carry him away. And as tiredness steadily gave way to sleep, a thought occurred to him “We are but ants” “and God..God is the kid who sits besides the ant-hill holding a magnifying glass” Such a thought would have normally surprised him but right now he was walking the thin gray between sleep and awareness so he just chuckled at the walls...and the bare walls just stared back at him, silently, perhaps angry to be disturbed at such a ghastly hour or perhaps just contemplating the irony of his thought. The waves of sleep didn’t steal in, instead they swelled into huge tides and they crashed into him. He panicked (had he taken too many pills? had he taken ANY at all?)He tried to fight it, but he was tired. The tide broke upon him relentlessly until he gave in and finally it enveloped him. Silence.....Pitch Black Silence.. and he felt himself drowning ......drowning...drown..
George Jenkins from down the street was a fantastic bore and perhaps the only thing that exceeded his legendary talent for boring the shit out of folks was his cursed optimism. He was so optimistic that if someone had mailed him a sack full of horse-shit, he would assume that the person had simply forgotten to include the horse (Maybe that’s why he was such a bore, because nothing would/could bring him down. No sirree!! His was a world of dreams, rainbows and fucking butterflies).Now good old George had nothing,literally,except for his mother, his optimism and his damned dream.Every time you ran into him he would give you an earful of his mother and the house he was going to buy for her. He would grin that insufferable grin of his and tell you,"Momma says...this " and "Momma said...that”. A regular Forrest Gump in the making, except he wasn't as slow. He taught math and social sciences at the Holy Cross preparatory school.The kids there must have known what came out of Ol' Georgie's beloved momma’s ass every time she took her mid-day dump.
Any-a-ways, after years of carefully planned financial savings and two suits (always Dogshit Brown and Snotty Green) per year Georgie's date with destiny arrived,He had pulled it off. He purchased for his mother ,a modest cottage ,just like he had told everybody and (probably)any unlucky soul who happened to pick the wrong time to visit our side of town. The poor bastard had been so happy that week...that was until he tripped over his mother’s knitting,skewered himself through the neck and turned into a human kebab. And then as if things could not get any worse, his mother, after seeing her beloved boy writhing and gurgling in a pool of his own blood, had just rolled up her cataracted eyes and taken a dive, face first, in her Georgie’s blood. After Seventy Three years of uninterrupted service her old ticker had called it quits, just like that!!
Georgie had barely survived the accident but the people who saw him now and then (he had sold off the cottage for his mother’s funeral and moved back to his old one room shit-hole apartment) said that Ol’ Georgie had been buried along with his mother. George Jenkins never spoke of his momma again, he hardly ever spoke at all..
Georgie was a fuckin ant, and ants got burnt...
Prologue
I ask myself “why?” There’s a gazillion reasons (I tend to exaggerate) why I shouldn’t be doing this. Most of them pretty much obvious, like the fact I have the literary skills of a potato. Some people ,they use words beautifully…bend them to their will and can just about create worlds so vivid, you feel that if you reached out you might just be able to touch them. There are others who write total crap but can do it with such flair, they might just convince you that the pearls they’re tossing are real, not just cheap imitations. And then there is yours’ truly, a potato or perhaps just another “phony “as the late J.D. Salinger (God rest his soul) might have said.
Anyway, I’ve been thinking a lot lately and let me tell you, it’s not an exercise my brain is used to. Nothing in particular, just the regular clichéd stuff… Life, the existence of God, momos , my seemingly void future, plans for murdering the cold hearted bitch of an Ex. (Hey? If she “has an accident” can this piece be used as evidence?) Oh don’t get your panties in a bunch! I’m not gonna kill her, although I did mention to her that I would if I met her again. Pretty stupid thing to do, especially ‘cuz when she said wanted me back I went running like the wind. Of course that’s a different story, but my point is that some of these thoughts may seem (are) pretty chaotic, a bit insane and maybe even a little disturbing, but hey..Whose thoughts aren’t? It’s just a bit of dirty laundry, isn’t it? I mean think about this for a sec will ya? Isn’t this sorta voyeuristic? Not that I have anything against voyeurism..I mean..I wouldn’t wanna be “watched”..But I wouldn’t mind watching either. You see?(pun intended). This is exactly what I mean, my first post and you probably think I should be in a padded cell wearing a straight jacket. Well, I’m just trying to be honest, and I guess this is probably gonna cost me some, but fuck that, sometimes you have to scream,not so the world can hear you but so that you can get your head clear.
People don’t understand, do they? They pretend to listen, look at you with sympathetic eyes and nod their heads.People don’t understand, heck, they hardly even listen, they just judge!! . That’s the problem, isn’t it? And so we do only what is natural, we lock our true selves in the deepest darkest corners of our secret hearts, and hide away the key hoping to keep the world at bay. But the truths we hide pile up like dirt and you realize that what you’ve locked away will not stay put... They wail and cry out their innocence, like prisoners and demand their freedom.
So here I am again asking myself “why?”And the voices of reason/treason whisper “why the fuck not?” It’s hard to ignore the voices, isn't it? Especially when they’re your own…these voices, they add a certain compulsion to the matter at hand, like an itch that needs to be scratched, it’s irresistible .So if I’m gonna do this .if I’m gonna hit “PUBLISH POST”,perhaps I ought to see a shrink too, I could be going loco, riding Charlie the Choo-Choo to Cuckoo land and it certainly feels like I’m getting there quick. But on the contrary I read somewhere that that its only the sane people that think they’ve lost it and it’s the nutsies who think they’ve got all their screws intact. Crazy,isn’t it?
Oh well, I’m going off track(think Charlie just changed course), so lest I forget what I’m doing here…Dear Reader, Let the snare drums roll, wear your top hat and your three piece suit, twirl your baton and wave your banner. Welcome to the parade
There might be more to come. You shall hear. Fair warning?
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