this is an anthropomorphic answer to every measure of control that i have grown to despise.they call it teenage angst.immaturity.irrationality.complacency.i call it my terms.i refuse to grow up.call it crap.call it some kind of monster.adds to my pride.adds to the limited worthiness i claim in a fruitless and purposeless life.
sweat blocks his vision.blurs everything out.much like how his future loomed up.unclear.hazy.unfinished.unfulfilled.like a series of bad loops veering into infinite patterns.vagabond.tramp.some loose end of an ambiguous junkie's spaced out soliloquy.lack of sense.purpose.reason.
existence? was that it?.the sweat burns thru his eyes.the opacity of it all obliterates the pain.ignites the anguish.win.lose.don't give a fuck.become a vegetable or a space monkey.pull a lever.push a button.do nothing.what made a difference?did anything make a difference.would anything make a difference? was he even trying?did he even want to try?
he reaches out to grab a protruding rock and dares to look down.the objects seem at a distance.and it ain't a rearview mirror either.he'd give it a hundred feet tops.bad day?bad rock face? probably both.neither the time.nor the occasion. was it control?was that it?
wake up.snap out of it.another fifty feet to go.would it help?get a foothold.pull.move.pitted against the elements.against gravity.against prudence.against the norm.would it work?the unknown lay beyond.death if he didn't try.he wanted to try.some measure of control.seiving the random thoughts into a cohesive mass.shape.structure.plan.move.avoiding certainty.making a choice.explore the realms of the darkness up ahead and more importantly,within.the laughing medusa atop the unknown suddenly suppresses a hiccup.enter murphy.the force retaliates.the force conspires to keep him in the matrix.his hand slips.he goes grinding down on the steep gradient.slits an eyebrow.loses a fingernail.lacerates a shoulder.foothold.stop.
excellent.blood tinges his vision with red.the rock gets washed with red.his finger spurts red.resolve.move.too many decisive moves by the force.time to give some back.he climbs with a renewed vigour.deterred enough.rebuked enough.refurbished and recycled with vague ideas of a foreign control enough.no more.
slowly.surely.decisively.he climbs.not for hope.not for redemption.but for a purpose.for something more than survival.for reinstating belief.for establishing a reason for not falling.for not giving in.for not giving up.for a belief that the future could belong to him.not for shouting from the rooftops to the nincompoops below.not to the sharks circling him.not the ants who feared being trampled on by him.but to himself.to the mirror.to the shrew and the monster within.he climbs.just a little more time.he holds on. winces. cries.bleeds.survives.lives.hates.loves.emotes.feels.
retribution.for himself.for those around him.redemption.for a soul tarnished by unworthy pursuits.no more.all like a monster gestating to come forth.his hand shakes.reaches the top.blood trickles down the rock like a macabre waterfall from hell.hauled up by inertia like a newborn leaving a bloody womb.control.he stands to claim his glory as the dusk salutes him.medusa implodes spattering a complete fadeout on the horizon.he smiles.
a monster annihilates.long live the monster.
Saturday, November 1, 2008
Tuesday, October 14, 2008
BLEED
this one is on karan's plot and he's been kept waiting for upwards of a year for this.i just hope that it suffices,though.
frozen in time. he kicked the machine back to life.faulty new age bitch of a bike.ditched him on the fuckin highway.yup,they'd add an air intake shaft.but make it so that water seeped through to the ignition coupling every fortnight.living in a dreary rainy climate didn't exactly help either.so,a highway ride,as u can well imagine was proving to be abject bliss.the road loomed ahead.the weather was as chilly as his spirit.he had to keep wiping his runny nose every now and then on the back of his gloves.the collar lapels kept hitting his neck.the effect made him smirk,but it was nowhere close to comical.the kind of mental framework he had,u cud have said that he almost wanted it to be.but yes,he continued headstrong.no idea where he was going.with just about enough fuel to reach the outskirts of oblivion and return.
he dropped a gear,pulled hard on the accelarator,watching that needle on the tacho quiver and went back two days in his mind.back to when his marriage vows were being solemnised.felt like another life altogether.fragile dreams only as real as the wind whipping on his face,but now seemingly as intangible as the wind itself.dreams he had dared to fathom,but the kind he knew were as unsure as the road up ahead.he tried blotting out the memory of the woman who left.his wife who left.
there was no judgment to be pronounced here,no tags of being unfaithful,no string of abuses attached,hell,not even regret.he had always been too calm.panic never came easily to him.parents called it an overdose of complacency,college mates called it indifference with a slightly cooler quotient.the basketball team just called it a good thing,the inability to feel pressure.his colleagues at the firm called it blatant cold blooded behaviour.but hey,it worked so no one was complaining.but for once,he wanted it to wear off.there was a bloody rarety of occasions when he could feel,let alone good or bad.his euphoric moments were just about enough to be counted on his fingertips.as much as he tried to blot it out,it was when he'd dropped a girl back after a date about a year ago.regular night at a club.there's hardly anything one remembers after five manhattans.friend's friend,roommate whatever.hardly mattered now.general discussion.they were playing the techno dark knight radio edit of die another day.and by jove,the woman knew almost as much about james bond as he did.that was probably the first time he felt an itch to drop a woman back.worked fine for the next three coffee dates,and one consequently where there were quite a few manhattans and rusty nails and a lot else.
both of them were final year law students.placements coming up in a week or two.it was the only time he'd gone for his placement interview with his fly open and his hair messed up,and not felt bad about it.went well.so did the torrid relationship.the first day of his job and he went in with his neck looking like the plains of thermopylae after the spartan massacre.but again,he kept the cash registers ka chinging,so no one was exactly complaining.marriage was on the cards,not out of any corny delusion,but guided by the faith that this was the only relationship that would in all probability work out for him.true,there were the roses,the diamond ring in the bubbly,the works.but it was something to him that wasn't bondage but exhilaration,maybe at the easy attainability of the nigh impossible.but there it was,as real as the rain hitting his face right now.and till a day back everything had worked out picture perfect.a house,a BMW,an R1,the works.the fuck up was that she wasn't there anymore.
he reminisced the entire scene back to his final year in law school.how his friends warned him that it was a real fast one he was after, a lot like a hurricane on florida keys. by the time he would be aware of it she would already have drowned him through and through and left. or the extremely simple logic of his conservative parents that a woman with a tattoo could not have been a nice and faithful wife. all his collegues as well as the partner who simply believed he was too young and non wasted to get married yet.
he reminisced as to who was the culprit who had lured the parasitic bitch away. he wiped his runny nose, dodged a car, dropped a gear and propelled forward punishing the accelerator. was it the ex boyfriend in college. naah, could not be, he was even more of a loser than himself. could it be the torts professor who gave her good grades when there were better students around? nope. was it her boss? could be. well he was taller. funny thought. he'd been really blind to the slut's absentee nights. should have paid more attention. but yes, though he fully believed and supported her independance he'd never expected her to leave him so fuckin high and dry. when she'd left he'd called everyone he could, including her folks who had managed to apparently miss the last flight to attend the wedding. they were'nt exactly complimentary. no help there. he tried the cops. big mistake. they roped in all the rudest of possibilities, from his being gay to her millions of affairs. the over diligent retards didn't even spare the classic cliched possibilities of her having eloped with the office chauffer. he did all he could to stop from laughing in their faces. chauffer??? he knew better than that.
he stopped short of crossing the state border, parked on the shoulder. he took out a soggy cigarette and lit it with a wetter zippo. the first drag after the strenous riding for the past three hours was as good as mexican gold leaf marijuana. he took off his gloves and saw the calluses on his palm from the riding. his cell phone buzzed.he winced. another condolence call ,he believed, from a friend. what were they so sad about anyway? it was his wife who had run away. fuck it, a voice said. just shut it, its fucking over. he needed a break. against his better judgement he picked it up. neighbours. the cops were there. he asked them to stall it for a half a day. he would get back. they guy sounded pretty flabbergasted. something transpired on the phone and he listened. still calm he said he would be back asap. another minute of silence, he cut the call.
he sat down in the mud right beside the bike. the rain still fell on the bikes hot exhaust sizzling with the heat. he tried lighting another cigarette. could'nt. tried again. gave up, he felt the uncanny chill of loss and panic crawling up his spine again. his wife was a horrible cook. by far, one of the worst ever born. she'd said that she'd bake mushrooms the day after their wedding. it hit him like a migrane that she'd gone out to buy mushrooms in the morning. he finally managed to light the cigarette, coughed thrice and dropped down on his kness in the mud and broke down. his cigarette fell out of his hand and sizzled before it joined the mud around and got darker. tears ran freely accross his already rain and weather streaked face. he got up with some difficulty and screamed out in the impending dark night. he remembered and still tried to register what his friend had said over the phone. his wife had been hit by a truck the previous morning and the woman was carrying a packet full of mushrooms. so much for the lack of faith. his eyes glazed over. the calm was back. he got back on the bike and took the u turn and wrung the accelarator fully open. his bike was found in the valleys about ten kilometers down, a hundered metre straight drop. the body was not recovered.
frozen in time. he kicked the machine back to life.faulty new age bitch of a bike.ditched him on the fuckin highway.yup,they'd add an air intake shaft.but make it so that water seeped through to the ignition coupling every fortnight.living in a dreary rainy climate didn't exactly help either.so,a highway ride,as u can well imagine was proving to be abject bliss.the road loomed ahead.the weather was as chilly as his spirit.he had to keep wiping his runny nose every now and then on the back of his gloves.the collar lapels kept hitting his neck.the effect made him smirk,but it was nowhere close to comical.the kind of mental framework he had,u cud have said that he almost wanted it to be.but yes,he continued headstrong.no idea where he was going.with just about enough fuel to reach the outskirts of oblivion and return.
he dropped a gear,pulled hard on the accelarator,watching that needle on the tacho quiver and went back two days in his mind.back to when his marriage vows were being solemnised.felt like another life altogether.fragile dreams only as real as the wind whipping on his face,but now seemingly as intangible as the wind itself.dreams he had dared to fathom,but the kind he knew were as unsure as the road up ahead.he tried blotting out the memory of the woman who left.his wife who left.
there was no judgment to be pronounced here,no tags of being unfaithful,no string of abuses attached,hell,not even regret.he had always been too calm.panic never came easily to him.parents called it an overdose of complacency,college mates called it indifference with a slightly cooler quotient.the basketball team just called it a good thing,the inability to feel pressure.his colleagues at the firm called it blatant cold blooded behaviour.but hey,it worked so no one was complaining.but for once,he wanted it to wear off.there was a bloody rarety of occasions when he could feel,let alone good or bad.his euphoric moments were just about enough to be counted on his fingertips.as much as he tried to blot it out,it was when he'd dropped a girl back after a date about a year ago.regular night at a club.there's hardly anything one remembers after five manhattans.friend's friend,roommate whatever.hardly mattered now.general discussion.they were playing the techno dark knight radio edit of die another day.and by jove,the woman knew almost as much about james bond as he did.that was probably the first time he felt an itch to drop a woman back.worked fine for the next three coffee dates,and one consequently where there were quite a few manhattans and rusty nails and a lot else.
both of them were final year law students.placements coming up in a week or two.it was the only time he'd gone for his placement interview with his fly open and his hair messed up,and not felt bad about it.went well.so did the torrid relationship.the first day of his job and he went in with his neck looking like the plains of thermopylae after the spartan massacre.but again,he kept the cash registers ka chinging,so no one was exactly complaining.marriage was on the cards,not out of any corny delusion,but guided by the faith that this was the only relationship that would in all probability work out for him.true,there were the roses,the diamond ring in the bubbly,the works.but it was something to him that wasn't bondage but exhilaration,maybe at the easy attainability of the nigh impossible.but there it was,as real as the rain hitting his face right now.and till a day back everything had worked out picture perfect.a house,a BMW,an R1,the works.the fuck up was that she wasn't there anymore.
he reminisced the entire scene back to his final year in law school.how his friends warned him that it was a real fast one he was after, a lot like a hurricane on florida keys. by the time he would be aware of it she would already have drowned him through and through and left. or the extremely simple logic of his conservative parents that a woman with a tattoo could not have been a nice and faithful wife. all his collegues as well as the partner who simply believed he was too young and non wasted to get married yet.
he reminisced as to who was the culprit who had lured the parasitic bitch away. he wiped his runny nose, dodged a car, dropped a gear and propelled forward punishing the accelerator. was it the ex boyfriend in college. naah, could not be, he was even more of a loser than himself. could it be the torts professor who gave her good grades when there were better students around? nope. was it her boss? could be. well he was taller. funny thought. he'd been really blind to the slut's absentee nights. should have paid more attention. but yes, though he fully believed and supported her independance he'd never expected her to leave him so fuckin high and dry. when she'd left he'd called everyone he could, including her folks who had managed to apparently miss the last flight to attend the wedding. they were'nt exactly complimentary. no help there. he tried the cops. big mistake. they roped in all the rudest of possibilities, from his being gay to her millions of affairs. the over diligent retards didn't even spare the classic cliched possibilities of her having eloped with the office chauffer. he did all he could to stop from laughing in their faces. chauffer??? he knew better than that.
he stopped short of crossing the state border, parked on the shoulder. he took out a soggy cigarette and lit it with a wetter zippo. the first drag after the strenous riding for the past three hours was as good as mexican gold leaf marijuana. he took off his gloves and saw the calluses on his palm from the riding. his cell phone buzzed.he winced. another condolence call ,he believed, from a friend. what were they so sad about anyway? it was his wife who had run away. fuck it, a voice said. just shut it, its fucking over. he needed a break. against his better judgement he picked it up. neighbours. the cops were there. he asked them to stall it for a half a day. he would get back. they guy sounded pretty flabbergasted. something transpired on the phone and he listened. still calm he said he would be back asap. another minute of silence, he cut the call.
he sat down in the mud right beside the bike. the rain still fell on the bikes hot exhaust sizzling with the heat. he tried lighting another cigarette. could'nt. tried again. gave up, he felt the uncanny chill of loss and panic crawling up his spine again. his wife was a horrible cook. by far, one of the worst ever born. she'd said that she'd bake mushrooms the day after their wedding. it hit him like a migrane that she'd gone out to buy mushrooms in the morning. he finally managed to light the cigarette, coughed thrice and dropped down on his kness in the mud and broke down. his cigarette fell out of his hand and sizzled before it joined the mud around and got darker. tears ran freely accross his already rain and weather streaked face. he got up with some difficulty and screamed out in the impending dark night. he remembered and still tried to register what his friend had said over the phone. his wife had been hit by a truck the previous morning and the woman was carrying a packet full of mushrooms. so much for the lack of faith. his eyes glazed over. the calm was back. he got back on the bike and took the u turn and wrung the accelarator fully open. his bike was found in the valleys about ten kilometers down, a hundered metre straight drop. the body was not recovered.
Sunday, August 10, 2008
BELIEVE
Do or do not,there is no try -Master Yoda
struggle,squirm,grit yer teeth.break away.at least try.give it a shot. believe.couldn't be that hard y'no.a miss is allowed.picture this.
bound in a dark abyss.the only ledge of land in a five mile radius.the abyss continues below you.take a 3d shot.the ends at the visual perimeter frame end of a canon D40 can't capture the other ends of yer chains.acupunctured head to toe in a paralytic state of suspended animation.but yer awake.witness it.all of it.the pain,the interminable wait,the hope of freedom.take two decades off in that shackled state.make one move,u're all splattered blood and ligaments because u have a thousand crossbows aimed at u,triggered by one move from u.
give it a week.yer senses go numb.more focus.appreciate what u had before that.learn the value of freedom.or appear to have learnt it.spend another week.u'll stop screaming.that is,if all those needles allow u to.heh heh.the only light u see is at the top of the abyss.a torch that sees that u stay bound and the only noise u hear is yer own chains grating against the ledge.feel the saliva collecting in yer mouth and going bitter.feel the stubble growing into an itchy beard and there's fuck that can be done about it.feel a fly lodged on yer forehead that keeps buzzing around u for hours and all u can do is endure.enough yet?pee and crap where u stand.would it be possible to survive the stench for a fortnight,let alone two decades.start counting seconds,minutes,hours,days,weeks,months,years,a couple of years.imagine last thanksgiving or the one before that.the last new year,the last watch u bought,the last material possession u felt passionate about.start hating yer state of being.loathe it.despise it.
stop wallowing in self pity.look at that torch.its not hope that yer staring into.its not the end either.believe.believe that it can be overcome.nothing is impossible.no feat unachievable.its just another level of a videogame.time to advance.throw all yer nuts in a basket and make a move.not sit back and hope for a miracle.no one's comin to save ya.no one cares.even if someone does,that someone ain't gettin u out of this one.look at that torch again.time to make those needles go numb for a change.u've spent five years like that.time to make a move.believe.there is no chain.cliched line now,but fuck it.look at that flame.power.energy.like a mustang gone crazy at a high rev on A.I.
rise.make everything else ineffective.feel it rush thru yer veins like an imploding wreath of pure energy.don't try and pull at the chains.one defining moment.flash of light.burn them thru.break it.watch it disintegrate in slow motion as it slowly loses each link,giving in to your resolve,the metallic clink almost making its agony of coming undone seem human.stop time.reign supreme.amidst all the filth.amidst the matter giving in to u,feel yer moment of total control.feel peace.then push play.the cross bow triggers itself.so does the next one and the endless ones after that.move.run.break the rules.reign supreme.above all else. neverbend.don't fulfil yer destiny.make it.
define freedom.
jump.
take the plunge.
break free.
rise.
believe.
struggle,squirm,grit yer teeth.break away.at least try.give it a shot. believe.couldn't be that hard y'no.a miss is allowed.picture this.
bound in a dark abyss.the only ledge of land in a five mile radius.the abyss continues below you.take a 3d shot.the ends at the visual perimeter frame end of a canon D40 can't capture the other ends of yer chains.acupunctured head to toe in a paralytic state of suspended animation.but yer awake.witness it.all of it.the pain,the interminable wait,the hope of freedom.take two decades off in that shackled state.make one move,u're all splattered blood and ligaments because u have a thousand crossbows aimed at u,triggered by one move from u.
give it a week.yer senses go numb.more focus.appreciate what u had before that.learn the value of freedom.or appear to have learnt it.spend another week.u'll stop screaming.that is,if all those needles allow u to.heh heh.the only light u see is at the top of the abyss.a torch that sees that u stay bound and the only noise u hear is yer own chains grating against the ledge.feel the saliva collecting in yer mouth and going bitter.feel the stubble growing into an itchy beard and there's fuck that can be done about it.feel a fly lodged on yer forehead that keeps buzzing around u for hours and all u can do is endure.enough yet?pee and crap where u stand.would it be possible to survive the stench for a fortnight,let alone two decades.start counting seconds,minutes,hours,days,weeks,months,years,a couple of years.imagine last thanksgiving or the one before that.the last new year,the last watch u bought,the last material possession u felt passionate about.start hating yer state of being.loathe it.despise it.
stop wallowing in self pity.look at that torch.its not hope that yer staring into.its not the end either.believe.believe that it can be overcome.nothing is impossible.no feat unachievable.its just another level of a videogame.time to advance.throw all yer nuts in a basket and make a move.not sit back and hope for a miracle.no one's comin to save ya.no one cares.even if someone does,that someone ain't gettin u out of this one.look at that torch again.time to make those needles go numb for a change.u've spent five years like that.time to make a move.believe.there is no chain.cliched line now,but fuck it.look at that flame.power.energy.like a mustang gone crazy at a high rev on A.I.
rise.make everything else ineffective.feel it rush thru yer veins like an imploding wreath of pure energy.don't try and pull at the chains.one defining moment.flash of light.burn them thru.break it.watch it disintegrate in slow motion as it slowly loses each link,giving in to your resolve,the metallic clink almost making its agony of coming undone seem human.stop time.reign supreme.amidst all the filth.amidst the matter giving in to u,feel yer moment of total control.feel peace.then push play.the cross bow triggers itself.so does the next one and the endless ones after that.move.run.break the rules.reign supreme.above all else. neverbend.don't fulfil yer destiny.make it.
define freedom.
jump.
take the plunge.
break free.
rise.
believe.
FALLEN
"what makes mankind tragic is not that they are the victims of nature,it is that they are conscious of it.to be part of the animal kingdom under the conditions of this earth is very well- but soon as you know of your slavery,the pain,the anger,the strife,the tragedy begins."
-Joseph Conrad (1857-1924)
at the risk of sounding quite quite immodest,not every person around is searching for a higher plane here.most are satisfied with their space monkey profiles which involve pushing a button,pulling a lever..etcetera etcetera.and i believe now that its a good thing.ignorance is truly bliss.fuck.should have taken the blue pill and stayed in wonderland.kansas goin bye bye ain't exactly a pretty sight.and a higher plane here does not include excelling in one or more fields,its more about being at peace with oneself.very very marginalized maybe,but hey,who gives a fuck? i sincerely never used to [ the keyword here being used to..keep a track,i shall revert to it later]a vow was very much in place that i wouldn't give in to the matrix,that i'd take the first exit as soon as tank would get me one,that i'd never let the agents or the sentinels get hold of me,that i'd not die out as a fuckin fading,scratched duracell alkaline battery totally spent on the machines,that i'd have my niche sumwhere and whether it sucked or flourished i'd stick to it.pity,all of it just got up and left.
yup,jerry bruckheimer did leave and the finishing touches were provided by a certain Mr. kubrick (ref to context 'hoist the colors').there was a time,not so long ago wen dropping out of college was a brighter option than gettin a life sentence with a lawyer's gown.but nope,just one wrong move and everything that i used to live for,just died.there were no signs of a struggle,it just flopped over,gurgled,quivered for a fraction of a moment,and died.a certain elvis inside just left the building.and it didn't leave with a bang,hell it made less noise than an unsuspecting ant's fart.
there was a time in the not so distant past where the pleasure..or rather for the laxity of my limited vocabulary,where the exhilaration of living was present,where the unexpected ruled and was moreover,reveled in.where having no cash for food used to end up in eyeing the half eaten moth infested rotten apple on the road.where denims weren't made happening by designer cuts in them,but were made so by either blowtorching them or by having accidents where they'd strategically get ripped.the amazing symmetry within the obvious asymmetrical seeming decadence was too good to be true.where the high point of the day was not having done anything at all,where newspapers were given a perusal at five in the evening,the rhythm in the cacophony was laudable to say the least.the laugh for the day was when u got soap bars on birthdays and for everything that u said,the meek would just shake their heads in utter disbelief.where the high point of the evening used to be getting into a debate where u had no bearing and come out making the other person question his faith in his argument.where metallica was more of a faith and less of a rock band,where the boots used to be mud caked because puddles and walkin in the rain were as normal as rubbing your eyes in the mornin.where fighting a headache was increasing the volume on the stereo.where good coffee could be killed for,where smoking in the rain used to be a kick in the head,each drag takin me closer to my questionable nirvana,to a place where solitude used to be a sought after boon,not a curse as it seems to be today.where a vacation was a thought away,where the balls to go out without even a backpack or cash was what used to happen at the drop of a hat.where mornings were spent snoring and the nights were debate sessions,coffee sessions,travel sessions and more sessons.in effect,all of it has died out.where u used to look cool not to appeal to anybody else but to do justice to yer own frame of mind .
-Joseph Conrad (1857-1924)
at the risk of sounding quite quite immodest,not every person around is searching for a higher plane here.most are satisfied with their space monkey profiles which involve pushing a button,pulling a lever..etcetera etcetera.and i believe now that its a good thing.ignorance is truly bliss.fuck.should have taken the blue pill and stayed in wonderland.kansas goin bye bye ain't exactly a pretty sight.and a higher plane here does not include excelling in one or more fields,its more about being at peace with oneself.very very marginalized maybe,but hey,who gives a fuck? i sincerely never used to [ the keyword here being used to..keep a track,i shall revert to it later]a vow was very much in place that i wouldn't give in to the matrix,that i'd take the first exit as soon as tank would get me one,that i'd never let the agents or the sentinels get hold of me,that i'd not die out as a fuckin fading,scratched duracell alkaline battery totally spent on the machines,that i'd have my niche sumwhere and whether it sucked or flourished i'd stick to it.pity,all of it just got up and left.
yup,jerry bruckheimer did leave and the finishing touches were provided by a certain Mr. kubrick (ref to context 'hoist the colors').there was a time,not so long ago wen dropping out of college was a brighter option than gettin a life sentence with a lawyer's gown.but nope,just one wrong move and everything that i used to live for,just died.there were no signs of a struggle,it just flopped over,gurgled,quivered for a fraction of a moment,and died.a certain elvis inside just left the building.and it didn't leave with a bang,hell it made less noise than an unsuspecting ant's fart.
there was a time in the not so distant past where the pleasure..or rather for the laxity of my limited vocabulary,where the exhilaration of living was present,where the unexpected ruled and was moreover,reveled in.where having no cash for food used to end up in eyeing the half eaten moth infested rotten apple on the road.where denims weren't made happening by designer cuts in them,but were made so by either blowtorching them or by having accidents where they'd strategically get ripped.the amazing symmetry within the obvious asymmetrical seeming decadence was too good to be true.where the high point of the day was not having done anything at all,where newspapers were given a perusal at five in the evening,the rhythm in the cacophony was laudable to say the least.the laugh for the day was when u got soap bars on birthdays and for everything that u said,the meek would just shake their heads in utter disbelief.where the high point of the evening used to be getting into a debate where u had no bearing and come out making the other person question his faith in his argument.where metallica was more of a faith and less of a rock band,where the boots used to be mud caked because puddles and walkin in the rain were as normal as rubbing your eyes in the mornin.where fighting a headache was increasing the volume on the stereo.where good coffee could be killed for,where smoking in the rain used to be a kick in the head,each drag takin me closer to my questionable nirvana,to a place where solitude used to be a sought after boon,not a curse as it seems to be today.where a vacation was a thought away,where the balls to go out without even a backpack or cash was what used to happen at the drop of a hat.where mornings were spent snoring and the nights were debate sessions,coffee sessions,travel sessions and more sessons.in effect,all of it has died out.where u used to look cool not to appeal to anybody else but to do justice to yer own frame of mind .
KRYPTONITE
"The job's done.The bitch is dead" - Bond,James Bond.
was that a tear runnin down ethan hunt's cheek?christ.what's the fuckin world comin to? i was watchin mi 3,dunno for what joy,but yes.watchin it nonetheless.the opening scene.ethan hunt begging,crying,wallowing in self pity like a cringing local druggie at the rehab center.disturbing,to say the least.saw the whole movie.the tears were just a prelude.ethan matthew hunt got married in this movie.married.now ain't that a sinful exit for one of the most explosive spies ever?hell,couldn't they just take a leaf outta jason bourne's book.if normalcy is what is sought,why go join the imf and sob yer audiences to sleep in the middle of the theatre.and this disturbing trend has more or less caught on now.
saw casino royale?first time u'll catch bond weeping his balls off[whatever was left of them once le chiffre was thru,that is]why? because the woman he loved,died.so? why wud we be interested in knowing what he was and how he got there?why?as long as he is a cold blooded psycho calm napalm brained car scrapper,why wud we care for anythin else?we go there to see astons and BMWs being torn asunder with disdain,women rip off their clothing to get the bond stamp and the villains cringing in awe over his immunity.not to see him drownin in his own tears over a woman.not done.
the trend is setting in i guess.bachelorhood doesn't seem to be the name of the game anymore.everybody's too concerned about settling down.wish i could figure out why though.sodden creeps,what the hell do directors want today? and to think that its the same guy who made goldeneye.what's got martin campbell spooked?i don't even know why i'm writing this.hell,did mi2 need any of the improvising shit?wasn't it just about stylish enuff? the concept of blazing into the sunset with the guys has seriously taken a hike.i'm down to the point of almost lookin for some reassurance onscreen.i just can't deal with my childhood heroes goin soft i guess.these are the guys who've been idolized for long...too long by my standards,the guys who mock adversity,stick their tongues out to approaching canonballs and manage to get away with it.the vulnerability creeping in is turnin out to be quite a party killer these days.i mean playin with an impressionable kid's imagination ain't a good thing at all y'no.will i have to turn to captain jack sparrow to get my quantum of solace?
was that a tear runnin down ethan hunt's cheek?christ.what's the fuckin world comin to? i was watchin mi 3,dunno for what joy,but yes.watchin it nonetheless.the opening scene.ethan hunt begging,crying,wallowing in self pity like a cringing local druggie at the rehab center.disturbing,to say the least.saw the whole movie.the tears were just a prelude.ethan matthew hunt got married in this movie.married.now ain't that a sinful exit for one of the most explosive spies ever?hell,couldn't they just take a leaf outta jason bourne's book.if normalcy is what is sought,why go join the imf and sob yer audiences to sleep in the middle of the theatre.and this disturbing trend has more or less caught on now.
saw casino royale?first time u'll catch bond weeping his balls off[whatever was left of them once le chiffre was thru,that is]why? because the woman he loved,died.so? why wud we be interested in knowing what he was and how he got there?why?as long as he is a cold blooded psycho calm napalm brained car scrapper,why wud we care for anythin else?we go there to see astons and BMWs being torn asunder with disdain,women rip off their clothing to get the bond stamp and the villains cringing in awe over his immunity.not to see him drownin in his own tears over a woman.not done.
the trend is setting in i guess.bachelorhood doesn't seem to be the name of the game anymore.everybody's too concerned about settling down.wish i could figure out why though.sodden creeps,what the hell do directors want today? and to think that its the same guy who made goldeneye.what's got martin campbell spooked?i don't even know why i'm writing this.hell,did mi2 need any of the improvising shit?wasn't it just about stylish enuff? the concept of blazing into the sunset with the guys has seriously taken a hike.i'm down to the point of almost lookin for some reassurance onscreen.i just can't deal with my childhood heroes goin soft i guess.these are the guys who've been idolized for long...too long by my standards,the guys who mock adversity,stick their tongues out to approaching canonballs and manage to get away with it.the vulnerability creeping in is turnin out to be quite a party killer these days.i mean playin with an impressionable kid's imagination ain't a good thing at all y'no.will i have to turn to captain jack sparrow to get my quantum of solace?
INEVITABILITY
yup.slow and sure.as bleeding slow as the wait for a marksheet you know u're gonna see a red mark in.and as sure as the butterflies in yer stomach wen ya extend yer hand to take that same marksheet from that unassuming bitch of an office staff.
how did it come to this? did i know it would end this way? and i'm still being assured that this is still not the end.its still not the sound of inevitability yet.can i still see clearly or are the ray bans still rose fucking tinted? why?what shud i do if it ends? is it just insecurity? if it is, is it misplaced or well founded? how do i react if it is? retribution or slink away with whatever's left of me?
am i myself to blame for this? is the rest of the world blind or am i finally human enuff to feel posssessive,possessive enuff to wrench an arm out? is it just a barbaric glint or is there more that can be attributed to it? i've lost whatever i've had a million times over.it just feels thirty million times more real this time.probably because whatever's gone till now hasn't been as valuable.maybe.maybe not.why do i give a fuck? am i in the dark about summin? its retribution then.and if its blooming oblivious to any malice,then i guess i'll just walk away.so can the human here. what's it gonna be?am i just postponing inevitabiliity? or inviting it? or doin absolutely fuckin nothin and just watchin it come out of the tunnel and trample me underneath as i stand with my opaque glasses and enjoy a last smoke?figure it out goddamnit.its better than waking up in a pool of cold sweat in the middle of the night for sure.how many times do ya think u can take it?hell,even balboa has a breakpoint.so do u.u ain't exactly invincible u know.unfortunately or rather fortunately its gonna be quick once the end arrives.one click.instant detonation.a flash of light that obliteraes me and all else as i see it,remember it.impending chaos to follow.shit.bullshit.with cherry on top.shud've listened to malcolm wen he said it.its all gonna end in chaos. its never a ride blazing into the sunset on the horizon.fairy tales never do materialize.fools die.so do romantics.they shud.stupid fucks.if i knew how to play the guitar,i'd probably come up with summin that wud've made cobain cry.why? why did i have to give in to summin that i knew wud make me as vulnerable as a fuckin piece of litmus paper?wish i cud make head or tail out of this.for once....just for once,thoroughly confused.stay away .aaaarrrggghhh. will u ever start takin ur own advice,u balding twit.
how did it come to this? did i know it would end this way? and i'm still being assured that this is still not the end.its still not the sound of inevitability yet.can i still see clearly or are the ray bans still rose fucking tinted? why?what shud i do if it ends? is it just insecurity? if it is, is it misplaced or well founded? how do i react if it is? retribution or slink away with whatever's left of me?
am i myself to blame for this? is the rest of the world blind or am i finally human enuff to feel posssessive,possessive enuff to wrench an arm out? is it just a barbaric glint or is there more that can be attributed to it? i've lost whatever i've had a million times over.it just feels thirty million times more real this time.probably because whatever's gone till now hasn't been as valuable.maybe.maybe not.why do i give a fuck? am i in the dark about summin? its retribution then.and if its blooming oblivious to any malice,then i guess i'll just walk away.so can the human here. what's it gonna be?am i just postponing inevitabiliity? or inviting it? or doin absolutely fuckin nothin and just watchin it come out of the tunnel and trample me underneath as i stand with my opaque glasses and enjoy a last smoke?figure it out goddamnit.its better than waking up in a pool of cold sweat in the middle of the night for sure.how many times do ya think u can take it?hell,even balboa has a breakpoint.so do u.u ain't exactly invincible u know.unfortunately or rather fortunately its gonna be quick once the end arrives.one click.instant detonation.a flash of light that obliteraes me and all else as i see it,remember it.impending chaos to follow.shit.bullshit.with cherry on top.shud've listened to malcolm wen he said it.its all gonna end in chaos. its never a ride blazing into the sunset on the horizon.fairy tales never do materialize.fools die.so do romantics.they shud.stupid fucks.if i knew how to play the guitar,i'd probably come up with summin that wud've made cobain cry.why? why did i have to give in to summin that i knew wud make me as vulnerable as a fuckin piece of litmus paper?wish i cud make head or tail out of this.for once....just for once,thoroughly confused.stay away .aaaarrrggghhh. will u ever start takin ur own advice,u balding twit.
BEER @ 15 BUCKS
drowned in self praise.gurgling,bubbling over in the froth of the wave after wave of the ocean of self oozing attitude.that's what defines today's generation,i guess.the inability to see beyond one upmanship.the abject disregard for feeling,any kind.superiority reigns supreme.jeez,they know the result of non harmony but they'll still keep at it.they know why the dinosaurs died out.why tigers are dying out.they'll still keep at it like jackrabbits are at each other's butts.everybody's got summin or the other to snap back with.nobody has the capacity to listen to anything from anyone anymore ,but themselves,they'll proactively dispense all the do good knowledge with an all pervading absolute authority.and y'no what the worst part is? the regular buzzards take it as well.don't listen to the happenin' lot.and egad..yer so fuckin unpopular the next instant.even that's cool.rise up in a mellow tone against it and these pricks'll come up with an instant quip to make u feel like u just shot gandhi in the balls.[could do that one though,if the bald twit had any,that is]but the core question is,what is with these fuckers? i have that same problem at times.or maybe wen i was six.or three.just quantify that with an infant's tantrum.but these,refuse to grow up.the lollipop has been replaced with the latest chick in class who has to be laid.some way or the other.hook or crook.the joint shall be rolled.degrees of being stoned shall be the topics of discussion on the public platform.alcohol is had in huge volumes to prove superiority again.the speech may slur.the dinner might come out with the last peg churning in the head as well as the stomach.but yup,the bottle shall be drained in one sitting.which is all good because the next morning,the other people at the sitting shall also not remember what it was all about except for the evidentiary proof of that same empty bottle of good alcohol lying on the floor or the table amidst the stinking glasses.sheesh.is this what college has come down to these days? god bless.
Friday, August 8, 2008
VICE VS. VIRTUE
this was probably another stoned reaction to the callous and shapeshifting nature of honour,honesty and other virtues in the greying hues today..it was not supposed to be judgmental at all ... but hell,whatever happens the fucken way its supposed to these days..i would like it to be viewed more as a comparative analysis of different times,however warped it may seem..
" Me..i'm dishonest,and the dishonest ...u can always trust to be dishonest.its the honest ones u have to watch out for,honestly...because u never know when they might do something...extremely stupid"
--Captain Jack Sparrow
Honesty...Valour... Chivalry are concepts which are by far dead and gone,buried..drowning to the crushing depths of davy jones' locker...screaming,swallowing gallons of murky saltwater.the air bubbles are all that remain...till the time they're also seasick and wary of surfacing...well,hope floats,literally and metaphorically speaking.the bohemian principles of truth, love ,beauty and freedom are all but a fashionable and painfully red itchy tattoo on the arm of an ardent baz luhrmann fan.that is all that remains of the fundamentals that have given humanity its so called principles of social justice and harmony.while the necrophiliac species of humanity is busy at raping and ravaging these very essentially dead principles,let's just play the desecrator as well as the evangelist and take on all of them,one by one and look back in pride over our spoils of war..honesty - considered a major virtue since time immemorial.what was it,what did it mean sometime back and what does it mean now? i'm guessing that the concept emerged as a basic level of transparency between beings for harmonious co existence.who is an honest man today?a man who probably does not get bribed too easily or more probably too often.the same man may beat up his wife to pulp after downing a coupla bourbons every night...but hell he's fucken honest,right? what about the sacrament of his marriage..what about his vows in holy matrimony to shield his wife from all evil? is he being honest to those? what about a good student who excels in all papers,is a dutiful son to the core,the kind who'd never forget to send his mom or his girlfriend roses on her birthday even if it was the last forty bucks in his pocket and he would'nt have enough dough to see him through the next three days.he slips just once,where he cheats in a paper to pass,or still better,gives the college peon a quarter of scotch to get a marksheet that says pass in big italicised bold print? would he still be an honest person?Valour.. Honour are basically integrated concepts which are tread on by millions if not more every second of the day.the oxford dictionary defines honour as a sense and a clear comprehension of what is right and then following that thought through with action.is it alive today?or does it also face the shimmering guillotine of corruption at the core of every living tissue?honour,in today's feeble comprehension,probably just means covering your ass enough for others not to see the stains of crap..but not a clean buttcrack.a woman in college today is called honourable if she doesn't fuck around .. or in more liberal terms is loyal to just one prick.she may cause a rift between the best of buddies, because as is known far and wide..and in the words of Odysseus,the fictional king of Ethaka.. women have a way of complicating things.she may do it for spite or as a resultant attention deficit problem[men do it just the same,mind u...keeping my personal chauvenistic beliefs and designs aside,if i may be allowed to add] or in a state of utter joblessness.will this bitch an a half be deemed honourable?maybe,but i fuckin beg to differ...on the other hand we have what are called institutional whores, the only known exploits for whom would be how big a cock she can swallow or a title of being the chick with the widest and most liberated clit to go around.in plainspeak,she gets fucked for fun or for material gains which could be monetary or gadget based as the case may be.lets assume the whore of a woman knows two guys on a fuck friend basis.both the guys are buddies and treat her okay. one's a teetotaller,the other's a junkie,but he's wild fun to be with in bed..one drunk and stoned night he fucks her and her happiness.she meets the other guy two nights later who seriously cares for her as a friend.she does not tattle to him ,though i fuckin firmly believe that she has reason to do so,and just for the non involvement of the good guy in the incumbent mess that's inevitably approaching..she is nonetheless,a branded slut for hire. to me, she'd be one of the most honourable women i'd have ever met,had she existed...Chivalry- yet another in the line of the dead and decadent concepts, a bygone virtue of the knights and their order,basically dealing with an ideal,moral code of behaviour.in a post modern connotation, it has come to define a moral code of conduct towards the ideal treatment of women.does anyone practise it today?is it restricted to opening doors and letting the lady enter the snazzy restaurant first or footing the bill for the uber chic candlelit dinner by the murmuring brook ? probably,a few centuries past, it might have meant laying down a silk cloak by a knight on the road so that the lady save herself from stepping into a puddle of mud...but is that all there is to these wondrous concepts of yore?why are we doing this ... why the degeneration,the decadence... the transcendence from glory to shame..from roses to ashes..why?
" Me..i'm dishonest,and the dishonest ...u can always trust to be dishonest.its the honest ones u have to watch out for,honestly...because u never know when they might do something...extremely stupid"
--Captain Jack Sparrow
Honesty...Valour... Chivalry are concepts which are by far dead and gone,buried..drowning to the crushing depths of davy jones' locker...screaming,swallowing gallons of murky saltwater.the air bubbles are all that remain...till the time they're also seasick and wary of surfacing...well,hope floats,literally and metaphorically speaking.the bohemian principles of truth, love ,beauty and freedom are all but a fashionable and painfully red itchy tattoo on the arm of an ardent baz luhrmann fan.that is all that remains of the fundamentals that have given humanity its so called principles of social justice and harmony.while the necrophiliac species of humanity is busy at raping and ravaging these very essentially dead principles,let's just play the desecrator as well as the evangelist and take on all of them,one by one and look back in pride over our spoils of war..honesty - considered a major virtue since time immemorial.what was it,what did it mean sometime back and what does it mean now? i'm guessing that the concept emerged as a basic level of transparency between beings for harmonious co existence.who is an honest man today?a man who probably does not get bribed too easily or more probably too often.the same man may beat up his wife to pulp after downing a coupla bourbons every night...but hell he's fucken honest,right? what about the sacrament of his marriage..what about his vows in holy matrimony to shield his wife from all evil? is he being honest to those? what about a good student who excels in all papers,is a dutiful son to the core,the kind who'd never forget to send his mom or his girlfriend roses on her birthday even if it was the last forty bucks in his pocket and he would'nt have enough dough to see him through the next three days.he slips just once,where he cheats in a paper to pass,or still better,gives the college peon a quarter of scotch to get a marksheet that says pass in big italicised bold print? would he still be an honest person?Valour.. Honour are basically integrated concepts which are tread on by millions if not more every second of the day.the oxford dictionary defines honour as a sense and a clear comprehension of what is right and then following that thought through with action.is it alive today?or does it also face the shimmering guillotine of corruption at the core of every living tissue?honour,in today's feeble comprehension,probably just means covering your ass enough for others not to see the stains of crap..but not a clean buttcrack.a woman in college today is called honourable if she doesn't fuck around .. or in more liberal terms is loyal to just one prick.she may cause a rift between the best of buddies, because as is known far and wide..and in the words of Odysseus,the fictional king of Ethaka.. women have a way of complicating things.she may do it for spite or as a resultant attention deficit problem[men do it just the same,mind u...keeping my personal chauvenistic beliefs and designs aside,if i may be allowed to add] or in a state of utter joblessness.will this bitch an a half be deemed honourable?maybe,but i fuckin beg to differ...on the other hand we have what are called institutional whores, the only known exploits for whom would be how big a cock she can swallow or a title of being the chick with the widest and most liberated clit to go around.in plainspeak,she gets fucked for fun or for material gains which could be monetary or gadget based as the case may be.lets assume the whore of a woman knows two guys on a fuck friend basis.both the guys are buddies and treat her okay. one's a teetotaller,the other's a junkie,but he's wild fun to be with in bed..one drunk and stoned night he fucks her and her happiness.she meets the other guy two nights later who seriously cares for her as a friend.she does not tattle to him ,though i fuckin firmly believe that she has reason to do so,and just for the non involvement of the good guy in the incumbent mess that's inevitably approaching..she is nonetheless,a branded slut for hire. to me, she'd be one of the most honourable women i'd have ever met,had she existed...Chivalry- yet another in the line of the dead and decadent concepts, a bygone virtue of the knights and their order,basically dealing with an ideal,moral code of behaviour.in a post modern connotation, it has come to define a moral code of conduct towards the ideal treatment of women.does anyone practise it today?is it restricted to opening doors and letting the lady enter the snazzy restaurant first or footing the bill for the uber chic candlelit dinner by the murmuring brook ? probably,a few centuries past, it might have meant laying down a silk cloak by a knight on the road so that the lady save herself from stepping into a puddle of mud...but is that all there is to these wondrous concepts of yore?why are we doing this ... why the degeneration,the decadence... the transcendence from glory to shame..from roses to ashes..why?
STAR WARS /episode 2.5/ ACADEMIA: The Unreleased Version
this article is an ode to the biggest farce i've played with myself and the people around me..u may find the characterization to be a wee lil bit over the top,but hell, nothin better than to incorporate a bit of a fairy tale in a life otherwise fraught by desire and frustration,is there?to the ones who know,they can silently chuckle..to the ones who don't.. go figure!!
The amalgamation of good and evil began on a very academic note. clarification... the evil was just formulating,taking one last half hearted attempt not to give in to the dark side. Our prospective Lord Vader fell from the graces of the Jedi order and dared to fall for a female, in a single move alienating himself from the holy and the unholy,paying the price for an affinity he could not have afforded. The Skywalker Syndrome had begun mutating him to the core,pulling at every tendon,every ligament inside his body leaving him vulnerable to attack.The macabre alteration in his thought process had been initiated.It began with flowers given to Amidala when Anakin returned her notes.The floral return of the academic favour reverberated in the palatial halls of amidala's residence. Darth Sidious, Anakin's mentor and trusted comrade,suggested a furtherance of the erstwhile formal acquaintance over a cup of coffee. Amidala acquiesced to the requested rendezvous.At the suggested venue, Jarjarvenus ,Anakin's dumb pal,entered the scene and analysed the situation.Consequently, the floral aroma coupled with caffeine proved to be too invigorating for the poor being and his brain cells blew off on all cylinders, thus making him blurt out a further cosequent scenario of a courtship between Anakin and Amidala.Anakin almost took out the light saber to sever the poor being's head for such a thought but could not resist the electric pulse of ecstasy going down his spine which doubled at Amidala's silent approval. theroya court went into unrest leaving Skywalker at his private whim.Only darth Sidious understood the meaning of this rabid act and saw the first glint of evil/ desperation in skywalker's eyes. he could sense the genesis of his apprentice , who was oblivious of anything but the apparent truth in Amidala's eyes....
The madness had begun...
RISE LORD VADER
The amalgamation of good and evil began on a very academic note. clarification... the evil was just formulating,taking one last half hearted attempt not to give in to the dark side. Our prospective Lord Vader fell from the graces of the Jedi order and dared to fall for a female, in a single move alienating himself from the holy and the unholy,paying the price for an affinity he could not have afforded. The Skywalker Syndrome had begun mutating him to the core,pulling at every tendon,every ligament inside his body leaving him vulnerable to attack.The macabre alteration in his thought process had been initiated.It began with flowers given to Amidala when Anakin returned her notes.The floral return of the academic favour reverberated in the palatial halls of amidala's residence. Darth Sidious, Anakin's mentor and trusted comrade,suggested a furtherance of the erstwhile formal acquaintance over a cup of coffee. Amidala acquiesced to the requested rendezvous.At the suggested venue, Jarjarvenus ,Anakin's dumb pal,entered the scene and analysed the situation.Consequently, the floral aroma coupled with caffeine proved to be too invigorating for the poor being and his brain cells blew off on all cylinders, thus making him blurt out a further cosequent scenario of a courtship between Anakin and Amidala.Anakin almost took out the light saber to sever the poor being's head for such a thought but could not resist the electric pulse of ecstasy going down his spine which doubled at Amidala's silent approval. theroya court went into unrest leaving Skywalker at his private whim.Only darth Sidious understood the meaning of this rabid act and saw the first glint of evil/ desperation in skywalker's eyes. he could sense the genesis of his apprentice , who was oblivious of anything but the apparent truth in Amidala's eyes....
The madness had begun...
RISE LORD VADER
ODE TO SIN
this,as probably would be quite evident to the gang was written in the honour of JK's return after a sabbatical..more so,it was meant to impress my trainer at the office so she'd finally agree to a coffee..pity,none of it happened.
ODE TO SIN - Feb. 06, 2006 at 03:54 PMits almost epiphany... seen harley davidson and the marlboro man?... relate to it and u'll get what i mean. sin is returnin to the heathen shores lined with the scum still livin off the pillage and pestilence of his last invasion.the dark lord had retreated with his minions to his terminal abyss, finally almost accepting defeat ... but hey... the key word is almost. he was regrouping and waiting to find himself, the sole survivor of the massacre of his kind. his council of lust,greed and gluttony had been all but eradicated.he stood alone, hunchbacked,facing the whiplashes of time, savouring the flow of bloodkeeping him away and safe from the scabs of decadence. his fortress of solitude rose again from its phoenician ashes.. stone by stone.. pillar by pillar.. until the tower steeple was tall enough to rip thru a passing by hawk's eye.the commonfolk , if they ever saw him would laugh at him, kick him, spit on him.. but to time, it was evident that hatred.. his lifeblood was rising to alarming levels inside him, waiting, refining itself to such a huge mass of constricted venom that'd make a black mamba scowl.the attack on the utterly stupid and senseless species of goodness and humanity was being strategised and planned with an alacrity possibly matched by lucifer himself.. if ever. time had given up on him, hell shook a thousand times over at the mere mention of his name and then, the commonfolk began to understand the consequences of their actions. only one dark knight of his army of millions remained.a prisoner of war, he waited, day and night for the return of his lord, for the fervour of his belief to be rejuvenated. a thousand mutilations on his war scarred body could not alter his loyalty. he denounced the rule of the so called good, his screams of pain and anguish making each stone of the dungeon reverberate with fear. he could sense the reawakening.. the stench and the filth around him could not deter his senses. the wounds gouged out on his body over and over again bore testimony to his fanatical faith in his lord, and more so. in his plundering return. the gates of sin's fortress finally open, grating on the rusty clockwork, crushing the moldy outgrowth on it, after a struggling eon of stunted growth.the drawbridge falls across the dried up moat. the weather sours all around as he canters out on his armoured steed.the steed, as blue as death, steps forward.. rises on its hinds and roars into the dusk... its breath reeking of cold death and seeting with vengeance. his dark knight feels the gallop a thousand leagues away and bellows out in the ecstasy of his impendfing freedom.the wounds open again and the searing pain numbs him to everything else. he pulls at the myriad chains that bind him to the ground and thru blood and flesh and the sweat mingled with it, breaks each one of them,blissfully unaware of the bones breaking in the process.. and reaches for his sword. with war weathered precision, he slit all the guards, loving the welcome spray of blood from someone's guts other than his own. he goes to the top of the towerand gazes at the sun, getting ready for a sabbatical behind the clouds. darkness falls and frost lines every heathen inch of the ground.sin arrives and with each approaching sound of a hoof on the dead grass... the world and the netherworlds tremble... he dismounts and his knight bows to him and howls into the long , ominous approaching night .... SIN LIVETH...
ODE TO SIN - Feb. 06, 2006 at 03:54 PMits almost epiphany... seen harley davidson and the marlboro man?... relate to it and u'll get what i mean. sin is returnin to the heathen shores lined with the scum still livin off the pillage and pestilence of his last invasion.the dark lord had retreated with his minions to his terminal abyss, finally almost accepting defeat ... but hey... the key word is almost. he was regrouping and waiting to find himself, the sole survivor of the massacre of his kind. his council of lust,greed and gluttony had been all but eradicated.he stood alone, hunchbacked,facing the whiplashes of time, savouring the flow of bloodkeeping him away and safe from the scabs of decadence. his fortress of solitude rose again from its phoenician ashes.. stone by stone.. pillar by pillar.. until the tower steeple was tall enough to rip thru a passing by hawk's eye.the commonfolk , if they ever saw him would laugh at him, kick him, spit on him.. but to time, it was evident that hatred.. his lifeblood was rising to alarming levels inside him, waiting, refining itself to such a huge mass of constricted venom that'd make a black mamba scowl.the attack on the utterly stupid and senseless species of goodness and humanity was being strategised and planned with an alacrity possibly matched by lucifer himself.. if ever. time had given up on him, hell shook a thousand times over at the mere mention of his name and then, the commonfolk began to understand the consequences of their actions. only one dark knight of his army of millions remained.a prisoner of war, he waited, day and night for the return of his lord, for the fervour of his belief to be rejuvenated. a thousand mutilations on his war scarred body could not alter his loyalty. he denounced the rule of the so called good, his screams of pain and anguish making each stone of the dungeon reverberate with fear. he could sense the reawakening.. the stench and the filth around him could not deter his senses. the wounds gouged out on his body over and over again bore testimony to his fanatical faith in his lord, and more so. in his plundering return. the gates of sin's fortress finally open, grating on the rusty clockwork, crushing the moldy outgrowth on it, after a struggling eon of stunted growth.the drawbridge falls across the dried up moat. the weather sours all around as he canters out on his armoured steed.the steed, as blue as death, steps forward.. rises on its hinds and roars into the dusk... its breath reeking of cold death and seeting with vengeance. his dark knight feels the gallop a thousand leagues away and bellows out in the ecstasy of his impendfing freedom.the wounds open again and the searing pain numbs him to everything else. he pulls at the myriad chains that bind him to the ground and thru blood and flesh and the sweat mingled with it, breaks each one of them,blissfully unaware of the bones breaking in the process.. and reaches for his sword. with war weathered precision, he slit all the guards, loving the welcome spray of blood from someone's guts other than his own. he goes to the top of the towerand gazes at the sun, getting ready for a sabbatical behind the clouds. darkness falls and frost lines every heathen inch of the ground.sin arrives and with each approaching sound of a hoof on the dead grass... the world and the netherworlds tremble... he dismounts and his knight bows to him and howls into the long , ominous approaching night .... SIN LIVETH...
GREAT EXPECTATIONS
ah..one of the corniest articles ever[certainly the corniest crock of shit i've ever dealt in ].. but hell,a man's gotta do what a man's gotta do..especially after vodka..cheers..clink!clank!.. glug glug glug!!..hic hic hic..corn aside, it was just an admission to myself of how extremely daft i'd been..and how i still revel in it..if u have a penchant for sadism,read on..
Hell, what do I want... what do i seek?? what is it about her?why is she so fucken drilled into the back of my cerebrum(not to mention the cerebellum,the medulla oblongata,the spinal cord, the spleen, the gall bladder,the kidneys,the nephrons...) why can't i just crap her out..maybe its because i still haven't digested the fact of her existence,an existence where i do not figure in even the most miniscule of proportions possible...she's still stuck there,somewhere.. don't ask me where.. like an undigested wishbonestuck in the oesophagus...and the worst fucken part is,she's gonna stay there till i choke..till i beg to god or my saviour below that either the wishbone get a passage to my stomach or i vomit her out...but, what if i'm too used to the pain of the stuck wishbone..do i wanna let it go.. its gonna kill me .. very very slowly if i might be allowed to raise the corny stakes a lil bit..its gonna rip asunder every tissue that it can..(obviously the lungs after the windpipe is thru)..its gonna stop me from being able to breathe..makin the hourglass slower and slower right in front of my eyes..and the best part is that i still won't be able to do fuck about it...i'm just gonna watch it,revel in the pain,because .. after all ,it is her,inside me...slowly moving on to puncture the heart and finally delay the flow of blood to a trickle .. and yeah.. even in the last fucken whezzing and sputtering breath its gonna be her... still inside...yeah...sad but true..this is probably all there was to the fucken bitch an a half called destiny,if the slut exists.coming back to the wishbone..she's not an introduction to the essay,scribbled in unintelligibly bad handwriting...but she is the body and the conclusion to it..highly inadvisable though it might be..she will be the end of it all...and why?could this be classified as another morbid delusion or does it have some substance to it as well..why is she the wishbone?Is it the unattainability factor?naah, not possible..why her,then? it could be any of those billions of bimbettes in town,but yet... its her..what was it that made her the sicilan thunderbolt..was it the moves?could it be the eyes? the hair... lets just keep the graphics out of it...But one fucken culprit would be seriously easy to blame..the rain.. it was no one else but those acid shots in disguise..(so much for air pollution and acid rain,eh?)..i guess its the feel of the wet shirt in the cold tropical shower, the kind that gives u goosebumps.. and the slushy boots that numbed me to the extent of having the time to watch each raindrop fall on her making each action and reaction of hers as excuisite as a chagall or a monet hanging on the wall of an art freak's residence..The way it used to drip off her hair,matting the jet black mass of it,bringing it down,caressing her skin,goin down her neck..the way it taxied on her eyelashes causing her to blink those metallic black resplendant eyes..exuding an almost beyond human radiance..the way it landed on the bridge of her nose..trickled down to her lips and fell off her cheek to join a puddle somewhere on the road..yeah, as u can figure,or probably not... it most probably was the rain that made her the wishbone,now desperately stuck somewhere..I still love it, I know it can never be rekindled.there is no hope but just a wish... i don't even know what that is..Is it for her to come back?when was she ever mine that she'd come back...?But hey, what else is wishful thinking all about.. as some wiseguy quipped long back,"if wishes were horses, then paupers would ride"....the pauper still stands in his stead..not hoping at all,but wishing nonetheless..looking up in the punishing sky..wishing for the dark clouds to part and a pardoning drop to fall,but is the raindrop ready to fall...? So the pauper shall wait in his paradox of a metaphorical desert for his treasured raindrop... a tear from heaven/hell..and carries on the false belief of gratification someday....
Hell, what do I want... what do i seek?? what is it about her?why is she so fucken drilled into the back of my cerebrum(not to mention the cerebellum,the medulla oblongata,the spinal cord, the spleen, the gall bladder,the kidneys,the nephrons...) why can't i just crap her out..maybe its because i still haven't digested the fact of her existence,an existence where i do not figure in even the most miniscule of proportions possible...she's still stuck there,somewhere.. don't ask me where.. like an undigested wishbonestuck in the oesophagus...and the worst fucken part is,she's gonna stay there till i choke..till i beg to god or my saviour below that either the wishbone get a passage to my stomach or i vomit her out...but, what if i'm too used to the pain of the stuck wishbone..do i wanna let it go.. its gonna kill me .. very very slowly if i might be allowed to raise the corny stakes a lil bit..its gonna rip asunder every tissue that it can..(obviously the lungs after the windpipe is thru)..its gonna stop me from being able to breathe..makin the hourglass slower and slower right in front of my eyes..and the best part is that i still won't be able to do fuck about it...i'm just gonna watch it,revel in the pain,because .. after all ,it is her,inside me...slowly moving on to puncture the heart and finally delay the flow of blood to a trickle .. and yeah.. even in the last fucken whezzing and sputtering breath its gonna be her... still inside...yeah...sad but true..this is probably all there was to the fucken bitch an a half called destiny,if the slut exists.coming back to the wishbone..she's not an introduction to the essay,scribbled in unintelligibly bad handwriting...but she is the body and the conclusion to it..highly inadvisable though it might be..she will be the end of it all...and why?could this be classified as another morbid delusion or does it have some substance to it as well..why is she the wishbone?Is it the unattainability factor?naah, not possible..why her,then? it could be any of those billions of bimbettes in town,but yet... its her..what was it that made her the sicilan thunderbolt..was it the moves?could it be the eyes? the hair... lets just keep the graphics out of it...But one fucken culprit would be seriously easy to blame..the rain.. it was no one else but those acid shots in disguise..(so much for air pollution and acid rain,eh?)..i guess its the feel of the wet shirt in the cold tropical shower, the kind that gives u goosebumps.. and the slushy boots that numbed me to the extent of having the time to watch each raindrop fall on her making each action and reaction of hers as excuisite as a chagall or a monet hanging on the wall of an art freak's residence..The way it used to drip off her hair,matting the jet black mass of it,bringing it down,caressing her skin,goin down her neck..the way it taxied on her eyelashes causing her to blink those metallic black resplendant eyes..exuding an almost beyond human radiance..the way it landed on the bridge of her nose..trickled down to her lips and fell off her cheek to join a puddle somewhere on the road..yeah, as u can figure,or probably not... it most probably was the rain that made her the wishbone,now desperately stuck somewhere..I still love it, I know it can never be rekindled.there is no hope but just a wish... i don't even know what that is..Is it for her to come back?when was she ever mine that she'd come back...?But hey, what else is wishful thinking all about.. as some wiseguy quipped long back,"if wishes were horses, then paupers would ride"....the pauper still stands in his stead..not hoping at all,but wishing nonetheless..looking up in the punishing sky..wishing for the dark clouds to part and a pardoning drop to fall,but is the raindrop ready to fall...? So the pauper shall wait in his paradox of a metaphorical desert for his treasured raindrop... a tear from heaven/hell..and carries on the false belief of gratification someday....
ENTER SANDMAN
as u'll get to know,this happens to be a set of new year resolutions..it was basically JK pestering me to write sumthin and it happened to be new yers day... i bet he wasn't expecting any of whatever's written down there..
Its 1st jan again.night or morn, that's hardly fuckin consequential.. but hey, new year blues ain't that easy to handle.i see the good fallin at every step with lucifer screamin those lines from metallica's first album..." exit light , enter night " it feels way too good. betrayed, broken, again at the same gate where the scales tip against my favour, enlarging the dimensions of my solitude. the opaque clarity is blinding enough to sear thru my veins and invigorate them to the point of ecstasy, burnin like vesuvius burstin at the seams.... every drop of blood comin alive to remind me that yeah baby, i do stand alone...call it weakness, call it virtue. the deal is .. i do not give a friggin penny's worth of a fuck. i take it as it is. it does not instil pride in me right now. it will.destiny get fucked , the past get fucked, survival has been the key till now... not anymore.roaches survive. so do reptiles. so do a billion other cabbage brain retards. my place will be above them. redemption shall be mine.i shall rise. vices shall be postponed, not sacrificed. there is way too much pestilence in the fields to be a productive grain of wheat. a weed would be more like it. don't eliminate competition, devour it, digest it... and then, crap it out. show the world what its worth.the smirk shall replace the smile and shall remain at the end of all things to come when i stand alone again to take the headcount and get a statistical no. that wud make the terminator wanna break down and cry. yeah, sure, the memory remains, ash to ash, dust to dust.... but the fade to black shall have to take a long hike for now. its just not worth it. the good times shall be buried in a moth infested stinky old album which shall stay cold, unopened ... as fucken lonely as the grave of paula schulz.yes, lust is more gratifying than love. its not the satisfaction which counts, its the fuel which fires me on to fuck some more.. spill some more blood. once the greed and gluttony dies, what the fuck is worth livin for anymore? love, in the words of agent smith, is, but a delusion, a temporary construct of a feeble human intellect, trying desperately to justify an existence that stands without meaning or pupose. no such problems at all with lust. simple policy... fuck hard, put ur pants on and walk... let the bitch know her twat's worth.yes, adrenaline is more gratifying than fear. in the words of hetfield..hug the curvelose the timetear the mapshoot the signfuck tomorrow, live today. ur terms only, fuck the world. the common folk shall talk, fuck them. when titanic sinks, take the surfboard, not the life vest. if u make it , go ahead, fuck some more.. if u don't... just accept the fact that u were born to be fish food.yes, reciprocation is more gratifying than followin protocol. payback is thwe need of the hour. go all out. one good turn shall fuckin well be returned, whatever the odds. mistakes shall be forgiven. transgressors shall be fucked beyond repair. let the knucles break one by one. make their mothers suck cocks in hell.yes, passion is more gratifying than responsibility. ask a rock climber, whose chalk dust wud be a priority over food , the same relation running for an underground racer in the case of a NOS chamber. family is a deterrent to passion. dedication comes as a by product, a harbinger to a life as stale as a week old fermented loaf of bread.ever drew comparisons to an orgasm? scale a ridge unplugged, cross a finish line at breakneck speed. prioritise on preference , not viability.yes, insanity is more gratifying than rationality. if u like rock, lets say any particular song,live it , sing it, scream it out, shout ur lungs out... don't disgrace it by using it on headfones just because ur pink nipple4d whore o0f a girlfriend wud prefer backstreet or some likewise shitload. take my advice, the bithch is not even worth a single seminal discharge of ur cock. narcissism is a quality which few possess . the retards generally refer to our clan as that of madmen. revel in it.its like explainin to a family man, and thus, a mileage freak, the kick of throttling a dodge viper in the sixth gearon a city street. as rightly put by bryan adams, one man's night mare .. is another man's dream.u take rationality , i take insanity.. to me it has more meanin... more purpose. a step towards fulfilment, salvation. isn't that what we alll live for?
yes, a scar is more gratifying than cosmetic surgery.
yes, a 40 minute guitar solo is more gratifying than a 100 broadway musicals.
yes, fuckin a princess as a cardinal priest is more gratifying than shagging on a mountain as an ascetic,
yes, freedom is more gratifying than accountability...
i'm done...
where do u belong?
Its 1st jan again.night or morn, that's hardly fuckin consequential.. but hey, new year blues ain't that easy to handle.i see the good fallin at every step with lucifer screamin those lines from metallica's first album..." exit light , enter night " it feels way too good. betrayed, broken, again at the same gate where the scales tip against my favour, enlarging the dimensions of my solitude. the opaque clarity is blinding enough to sear thru my veins and invigorate them to the point of ecstasy, burnin like vesuvius burstin at the seams.... every drop of blood comin alive to remind me that yeah baby, i do stand alone...call it weakness, call it virtue. the deal is .. i do not give a friggin penny's worth of a fuck. i take it as it is. it does not instil pride in me right now. it will.destiny get fucked , the past get fucked, survival has been the key till now... not anymore.roaches survive. so do reptiles. so do a billion other cabbage brain retards. my place will be above them. redemption shall be mine.i shall rise. vices shall be postponed, not sacrificed. there is way too much pestilence in the fields to be a productive grain of wheat. a weed would be more like it. don't eliminate competition, devour it, digest it... and then, crap it out. show the world what its worth.the smirk shall replace the smile and shall remain at the end of all things to come when i stand alone again to take the headcount and get a statistical no. that wud make the terminator wanna break down and cry. yeah, sure, the memory remains, ash to ash, dust to dust.... but the fade to black shall have to take a long hike for now. its just not worth it. the good times shall be buried in a moth infested stinky old album which shall stay cold, unopened ... as fucken lonely as the grave of paula schulz.yes, lust is more gratifying than love. its not the satisfaction which counts, its the fuel which fires me on to fuck some more.. spill some more blood. once the greed and gluttony dies, what the fuck is worth livin for anymore? love, in the words of agent smith, is, but a delusion, a temporary construct of a feeble human intellect, trying desperately to justify an existence that stands without meaning or pupose. no such problems at all with lust. simple policy... fuck hard, put ur pants on and walk... let the bitch know her twat's worth.yes, adrenaline is more gratifying than fear. in the words of hetfield..hug the curvelose the timetear the mapshoot the signfuck tomorrow, live today. ur terms only, fuck the world. the common folk shall talk, fuck them. when titanic sinks, take the surfboard, not the life vest. if u make it , go ahead, fuck some more.. if u don't... just accept the fact that u were born to be fish food.yes, reciprocation is more gratifying than followin protocol. payback is thwe need of the hour. go all out. one good turn shall fuckin well be returned, whatever the odds. mistakes shall be forgiven. transgressors shall be fucked beyond repair. let the knucles break one by one. make their mothers suck cocks in hell.yes, passion is more gratifying than responsibility. ask a rock climber, whose chalk dust wud be a priority over food , the same relation running for an underground racer in the case of a NOS chamber. family is a deterrent to passion. dedication comes as a by product, a harbinger to a life as stale as a week old fermented loaf of bread.ever drew comparisons to an orgasm? scale a ridge unplugged, cross a finish line at breakneck speed. prioritise on preference , not viability.yes, insanity is more gratifying than rationality. if u like rock, lets say any particular song,live it , sing it, scream it out, shout ur lungs out... don't disgrace it by using it on headfones just because ur pink nipple4d whore o0f a girlfriend wud prefer backstreet or some likewise shitload. take my advice, the bithch is not even worth a single seminal discharge of ur cock. narcissism is a quality which few possess . the retards generally refer to our clan as that of madmen. revel in it.its like explainin to a family man, and thus, a mileage freak, the kick of throttling a dodge viper in the sixth gearon a city street. as rightly put by bryan adams, one man's night mare .. is another man's dream.u take rationality , i take insanity.. to me it has more meanin... more purpose. a step towards fulfilment, salvation. isn't that what we alll live for?
yes, a scar is more gratifying than cosmetic surgery.
yes, a 40 minute guitar solo is more gratifying than a 100 broadway musicals.
yes, fuckin a princess as a cardinal priest is more gratifying than shagging on a mountain as an ascetic,
yes, freedom is more gratifying than accountability...
i'm done...
where do u belong?
THE THIN RED LINE
this is probably a result of facing roommates who are too stuck up on the goodness and selflessness of gandhi,superman and probably mother teresa as well.. i just wanted to counter the bullets by talkin about the will power and the grit of people who died or failed serving a cause,which was otherwise deemed pretty unnecessary..it was to counter a sleepy audience that rather than commending a government to have found water on mars..it should be admonished for the lack of water in a municipal tap.
No, i'm not talkin about the terribly slow flick by terrence mallick..i'm talkin abt the sliver of a veneer that places a man in the path of glory or in the annals of evil..what is the defining moment that brings the verdict to justifiable labelling? it is said that every time a great evil takes root,a hero is beseeched for and plop comes a reply from the heavens, either a spandex clad,unsure webslinger a.k.a. spiderman or some other such goon..it has always been way too easy to categorise villainy. all it requires is not even a complete black but just a twinge of grey in the varied pallette of shades which constitute the given human character in question... and there we have it, our very own custom made villain.what is very cleanly, and may i say conveniently forgotten is how the transition happens. Because i like to believe that even the most heinous of criminals may go to their grave in the shame of evil but when the cradle rocked forth the first time, it was just a vulnerable baby cryin for milk, not a monster seeking mass annihilation..it is what is fed to the poor beings that makes them what they're destined to become.if we'd just pay a little more attention to the given fact,we would find reason in the words of the cinematic anarchist V when he explains his actions and his basic existence as of being that in view of which he is just a humble vaudevillian veteran cast vicariously by the vicissitudes of fate as both victim and villain.talking of cinematic examples lets take the annihilistic turpetude of the legendary villain, Agent Smith...which can be summed up when he asks the fallen hero Neo as to why does he get up when he knows he is vanquished.he asks neo the cause of his not giving in to Smith.does he believe he's fighting for something, for something more than his survival? could he tell him what it was ? did he know it himself ? what was the cause? was it truth...justice... love? he also added that these were delusions, temporary constructs of a feeble human intellect tryin desperately to justify an existence that stood without meaning or purpose.now how is it that a person who deals in reason be belittled as a villain and a broken semblance of goodness be allowed to suckle at the nipple of glory in his stead.let's take it from the very inception. Hobbes, in his august treatise on the social contract theory, the "Leviathan" has said that man, as a species is dark by nature..our species resembles the pattern of one other pathogen on this earth, a virus..we complement each other in every manner possible. we tend to rip off the natural resources of our surroundings.we suck on every available asset to the bone,exhaust it completely, and move on.we kill our kinsmen for territorial supremacy and then, we have the balls to talk about the Bohemian principles of truth..love..beauty...freedom..we happen to collectively be the very maraudering rabid wolves who rape these principles everyday..and leave them naked and helpless on the street for the lesser mortals to seek more uncanny and pitiless enjoyment..so much for villainy, eh?yes, Achilles is the villain who destroyed Troy,sacked the temple of poseidon,laid to waste an entire country for his personal glory..a celebrated desecrator of the gods..murderer of hector, the idealistic trojan prince.. that's all there is to it , isn't it?that is at least ,all we the human race would like to believe..we forget somewhere in the pages of the Iliad itself that all he was , was a warrior torn between Death and Immortality, believing in what he was taught to believe and what he deemed fit..a devoted son, a devoted teacher of the arts of war, a failed lover, a person who despised undue authority.peace was all he sought.yes, Anakin Skywalker was a failed jedi, to turn into the most powerful pawn of the evil galactic empire, as Darth Vader despised in star systems across the universe.... but hey, did anybody give a second thought as to why he turned to the dark side? i don't think so..because then we'd have seen that he was mistrusted and betrayed by his own, and thus gave in to something that he himself had sworn to destroy, to save the last flicker of redemption, to save the one he loved..and the one person in the galaxy who trusted and loved him as he deserved..was he wrong? i don't think so..coming back from once upon a time in a galaxy far far away, back to harsh real life..Adolf Hitler, a man symbolizing the hatred of millions. accused of mass genocide,and unnecessary war.we fail, yet again to see the reason behind the most loathed campaign in world history..the jews were wiped out by the millions not because of a personal vendetta but because they were an economic scourge..who'd taken the economy to redundant levels of stagnation and decadence..and the man himself,well, just a man who was willing to do what was imperative for national progress and economic equilibrium.. a man who was as devoted to his motherland as he was to the love of his life who he married hours before death knocked on the door of his bunker.And all of them are villains nonetheless.. kill them..crucify them..curse them..loathe them..hate them..but remember that in doing so , you kill the spirit of a life which was a hundred times more worthwile and satisfactory than the billion other cabbage brained retards who are born for the sake of retention of planetary gravity and die for causes even less worthy..The choice of sides is simple, as simple as being given the choice of being born as a mosquito to be squatted on somebody's arm or being born as a shark who can choose to rip that same fucken arm off...what would you choose?
No, i'm not talkin about the terribly slow flick by terrence mallick..i'm talkin abt the sliver of a veneer that places a man in the path of glory or in the annals of evil..what is the defining moment that brings the verdict to justifiable labelling? it is said that every time a great evil takes root,a hero is beseeched for and plop comes a reply from the heavens, either a spandex clad,unsure webslinger a.k.a. spiderman or some other such goon..it has always been way too easy to categorise villainy. all it requires is not even a complete black but just a twinge of grey in the varied pallette of shades which constitute the given human character in question... and there we have it, our very own custom made villain.what is very cleanly, and may i say conveniently forgotten is how the transition happens. Because i like to believe that even the most heinous of criminals may go to their grave in the shame of evil but when the cradle rocked forth the first time, it was just a vulnerable baby cryin for milk, not a monster seeking mass annihilation..it is what is fed to the poor beings that makes them what they're destined to become.if we'd just pay a little more attention to the given fact,we would find reason in the words of the cinematic anarchist V when he explains his actions and his basic existence as of being that in view of which he is just a humble vaudevillian veteran cast vicariously by the vicissitudes of fate as both victim and villain.talking of cinematic examples lets take the annihilistic turpetude of the legendary villain, Agent Smith...which can be summed up when he asks the fallen hero Neo as to why does he get up when he knows he is vanquished.he asks neo the cause of his not giving in to Smith.does he believe he's fighting for something, for something more than his survival? could he tell him what it was ? did he know it himself ? what was the cause? was it truth...justice... love? he also added that these were delusions, temporary constructs of a feeble human intellect tryin desperately to justify an existence that stood without meaning or purpose.now how is it that a person who deals in reason be belittled as a villain and a broken semblance of goodness be allowed to suckle at the nipple of glory in his stead.let's take it from the very inception. Hobbes, in his august treatise on the social contract theory, the "Leviathan" has said that man, as a species is dark by nature..our species resembles the pattern of one other pathogen on this earth, a virus..we complement each other in every manner possible. we tend to rip off the natural resources of our surroundings.we suck on every available asset to the bone,exhaust it completely, and move on.we kill our kinsmen for territorial supremacy and then, we have the balls to talk about the Bohemian principles of truth..love..beauty...freedom..we happen to collectively be the very maraudering rabid wolves who rape these principles everyday..and leave them naked and helpless on the street for the lesser mortals to seek more uncanny and pitiless enjoyment..so much for villainy, eh?yes, Achilles is the villain who destroyed Troy,sacked the temple of poseidon,laid to waste an entire country for his personal glory..a celebrated desecrator of the gods..murderer of hector, the idealistic trojan prince.. that's all there is to it , isn't it?that is at least ,all we the human race would like to believe..we forget somewhere in the pages of the Iliad itself that all he was , was a warrior torn between Death and Immortality, believing in what he was taught to believe and what he deemed fit..a devoted son, a devoted teacher of the arts of war, a failed lover, a person who despised undue authority.peace was all he sought.yes, Anakin Skywalker was a failed jedi, to turn into the most powerful pawn of the evil galactic empire, as Darth Vader despised in star systems across the universe.... but hey, did anybody give a second thought as to why he turned to the dark side? i don't think so..because then we'd have seen that he was mistrusted and betrayed by his own, and thus gave in to something that he himself had sworn to destroy, to save the last flicker of redemption, to save the one he loved..and the one person in the galaxy who trusted and loved him as he deserved..was he wrong? i don't think so..coming back from once upon a time in a galaxy far far away, back to harsh real life..Adolf Hitler, a man symbolizing the hatred of millions. accused of mass genocide,and unnecessary war.we fail, yet again to see the reason behind the most loathed campaign in world history..the jews were wiped out by the millions not because of a personal vendetta but because they were an economic scourge..who'd taken the economy to redundant levels of stagnation and decadence..and the man himself,well, just a man who was willing to do what was imperative for national progress and economic equilibrium.. a man who was as devoted to his motherland as he was to the love of his life who he married hours before death knocked on the door of his bunker.And all of them are villains nonetheless.. kill them..crucify them..curse them..loathe them..hate them..but remember that in doing so , you kill the spirit of a life which was a hundred times more worthwile and satisfactory than the billion other cabbage brained retards who are born for the sake of retention of planetary gravity and die for causes even less worthy..The choice of sides is simple, as simple as being given the choice of being born as a mosquito to be squatted on somebody's arm or being born as a shark who can choose to rip that same fucken arm off...what would you choose?
SALTWATER VS. STEEL
this remains the favourite article till date..it was composed in a very sorry state of affairs and i have still not been able to point out where the fury's aimed at..possibly its me myself who was to blame for what transpired during that extremely tumultous period.i guess i should just be thankful that its over...or is it?
Silence…. The only sound in the background was of flies buzzing in the garden and the occasional plop of the dead fruit on the dead leaves from the trees. Its gonna be dawn shortly. I look around me and I see the erstwhile destruction and the oncoming peace.I lay on the couch and feel the power of the incessant drizzle outside, so inconvenient, the stench of drizzling rain blended with the earth manured over and over again with dogshit and birdpoop. I look at the wilting roses near the bed. I smash the crystal vase into the wall immediately obliging the floor with a million shards. I expect the explosion to wake my core from the numbing and delirious slumber that has me pinned down. It doesn’t help. I look at the wall, at the collage of rose petals, dirty water and crimson blood marks. The slumber continues and is not even shaken by the blood dripping in rivulets in between my fingers and the glass shards embedded in them. I let the blood flow on to the carpet and slowly watch as the blood dries on the Persian rug, forming an asymmetrical carcass of some macabre being reminding me of a scab with carcinogenic pus inside.I hear a soft sniff and I turn to face the bed, to face her, my nemesis, finally broken… but yet unscathed…soiled, yet pure. I look at her, not even exchanging a blink and my slumber dissolves. Hatred and disgust pour from those hazel eyes, where I try to find my conquest. Instead, I see the Trojan walls standing tall, without as much as a scarred and bloodied invasion. Her body, though, speaks forth otherwise. She lies there, battered, bruised, torn apart, every private crevice of hers subjected to abject humiliation.I get up from the couch, stepping on some of the shards in the process. Her expressionless eyes have me riveted to the point that I don’t even flinch. I move over to the bed. She recoils, but not in terror, but like a jaguar moving three paces backward to attack. I hold her hand. She shudders but does not resist. I caress her lovely hair and smile at her red nose swollen with bitter tears. I look around the bed and I see the sheets drenched with blood. I see my own bloody footprints on the floor and my bloody outline on the couch.The realization finally sinks in as I feel the cold, grey piece of metal jutting out of my neck. The profuse bleeding finally starts numbing and paralyzing me again. I vomit blood as the five inch iron letter opener tickles my lungs and my heart and lodges itself somewhere in my ribcage. The triumph leaves her eyes as I look into them and smile. I surrender and fall in her lap. I see the eloquent ice castle in her eyes beginning to melt. She wipes my sweat beaded forehead and finally breaks down. The teardrop runs off her cheek and falls on mine as my salvation arrives in a shroud of darkness and envelopes me.
Silence…. The only sound in the background was of flies buzzing in the garden and the occasional plop of the dead fruit on the dead leaves from the trees. Its gonna be dawn shortly. I look around me and I see the erstwhile destruction and the oncoming peace.I lay on the couch and feel the power of the incessant drizzle outside, so inconvenient, the stench of drizzling rain blended with the earth manured over and over again with dogshit and birdpoop. I look at the wilting roses near the bed. I smash the crystal vase into the wall immediately obliging the floor with a million shards. I expect the explosion to wake my core from the numbing and delirious slumber that has me pinned down. It doesn’t help. I look at the wall, at the collage of rose petals, dirty water and crimson blood marks. The slumber continues and is not even shaken by the blood dripping in rivulets in between my fingers and the glass shards embedded in them. I let the blood flow on to the carpet and slowly watch as the blood dries on the Persian rug, forming an asymmetrical carcass of some macabre being reminding me of a scab with carcinogenic pus inside.I hear a soft sniff and I turn to face the bed, to face her, my nemesis, finally broken… but yet unscathed…soiled, yet pure. I look at her, not even exchanging a blink and my slumber dissolves. Hatred and disgust pour from those hazel eyes, where I try to find my conquest. Instead, I see the Trojan walls standing tall, without as much as a scarred and bloodied invasion. Her body, though, speaks forth otherwise. She lies there, battered, bruised, torn apart, every private crevice of hers subjected to abject humiliation.I get up from the couch, stepping on some of the shards in the process. Her expressionless eyes have me riveted to the point that I don’t even flinch. I move over to the bed. She recoils, but not in terror, but like a jaguar moving three paces backward to attack. I hold her hand. She shudders but does not resist. I caress her lovely hair and smile at her red nose swollen with bitter tears. I look around the bed and I see the sheets drenched with blood. I see my own bloody footprints on the floor and my bloody outline on the couch.The realization finally sinks in as I feel the cold, grey piece of metal jutting out of my neck. The profuse bleeding finally starts numbing and paralyzing me again. I vomit blood as the five inch iron letter opener tickles my lungs and my heart and lodges itself somewhere in my ribcage. The triumph leaves her eyes as I look into them and smile. I surrender and fall in her lap. I see the eloquent ice castle in her eyes beginning to melt. She wipes my sweat beaded forehead and finally breaks down. The teardrop runs off her cheek and falls on mine as my salvation arrives in a shroud of darkness and envelopes me.
DR. JEKYLL AND MR. JACKASS
this was actually supposed to be the first one to be written..but i had to give up midway because i was feelin way too articulate to write this one..been wanting to do it for a pretty long time now..needless to say,the vodka was pumpin thru the veins when it finally materialized..i dunno how much sense it makes,but sure did to me..
"courage is not the absence of fear but,rather, the judgment that something else is more important than fear.."
ever heard of the concept of duality.. ?the simpler concept prototype of schizophrenia..freud would be amazed at the possibilities that modern man has posted on the human psyche..lets see what we're actually missing to watch out for when its right there..starin at you..point blank,in your face and u can't do fuck about it..everybody's got a threshold level of it..we do it all the time,and some loser who seriously does not know a fuck about what he's doin gets the blame for it along with a healthy dose of electric wake up calls and psychotropic hallucinogens that those dumb and dumber docs call medicine..do we need it?..what quantifies the need..?lets start with the simple ones..ever wanted to fuck your friend's girlfriend..?or come on,lets make it simpler..ever wanted to fuck ur girlfriend's sister? there are some ppl who cross that stage of criminality,and get caught..then goto jail..blah blah..social ostracism..blah blah..more of it,then its either a suicide or more blood spilling frothing at the mouth rape scenes..and then there are those who silence those pangs with a gentle shag at night wen she's not lookin or some likewise shitload..the mens rea,u'd have to admit,is very much clear and present.. now,leaving the unholy blood and gore aside,getting to the schizophrenic aspect of it,let's say we have a guy who's a timid shrimp,the kind who'd have goose pimples and red cheeks if he saw his wife naked.the guy goes to office everyday,is a diligent worker at some top notch software firm.he follows whatever bossman says and his coworkers treat him like shit..he bears everythin with a smile,because that's all he's been fed since his birth on this godforsaken soiled mother earth..the owner of the parking lot has the balls to scream at him if he parks his new cadillac an inch outta place,the waiter does not bother to thank him for the tip,junkies trip him when he's joggin in the park,he gets up and walks away without glancing back at the sneering bastards..all this in a measure of a day..in short he's everybody's unholy,unworthy fearful bitch..this is our man jekyll oozing the milk of human goodness from every visible and invisible orifice of his body..now,duality needs a catalyst.. a crossover to the other side needs a medium as volatile as the state of the human psyche itself .. for a chimera to surface,a bellerophontes has to exist and vice versa..what's good and what's evil is a choice that i would prefer leavin to the person facing it .. because ultimately its the person's belief that gets manifested in the wildest connotation possible..the loser we're talkin about can have any kinda catalyst that would make him lose it and go over to the wild side..the permutations and combinations are unlimited and the effect to the given cause could have even more diverse proportions..he might not change at all,may become more timid..or may become something that he never could think himself to be worth turning into.. the possibilities,as i've said, are limitless and endless..where we're talkin about jekyll, the only alterego that comes to mind is mr Hyde in all his cannibalistic fury..and then there's this character that i have wanted to sketch out for a long time now..mr. jackass..mr. jackass is not dumb,just like mr jekyll.. he's just too articulate and too calculating to be either jekyll or hyde,a complete class apart,indestructible in belief and narcissistic to the core,even if dangerously so..he has the efficiency of jekyll,the annihilistic turpetude of hyde,amalgamated into an organised cold blooded fury that cannot be faced,and is best left to the person suffering it.. and moreover his actions are those that are not done for his benefit,but are at the very basic level,an attempt to set right the things that have done him and others around him more harm than good..the name jackass is so suited for the character in contention because its an unselfish being.. like every superhero scourin our streets.. but more efficient than any masked vigilante on a purging spree,because of a deadly anonymity that's his mask..though he hardly needs any.. something like what superman would feel had he known that jor el had been murdered by earthlings...get the picture?now lets take the hypothetical situation of the jekyll we've been talkin of in the previous lines,after being the dutiful bitch an a half for the whole day,he comes home prepared for a nagging wife and some necrophiliac dry sex,and he sees her sleepin with some one else..clawing at his back..expressin a carnal vigour that had been dormant for years of our man's holy matrimony..the sacraments read at his quiet ceremony come back as satanic verses to haunt him,laugh at him in the face and offer some more luciferous rebukes and he's caught in the web..his shell of moral constriction and social fear break loose and the transformation begins..the purging venom sears through him..leaving him vulnerable to freedom..freedom of the mind..and as soon as he is unplugged,he sees the things happening in a different perspective,he sees it as his fault that his wife was cheatin on him..why the world treats him like a turdball..and he decides to make amends..by all means necessary,and he goes back to office,to his cabin..and chalks out his vendetta..next day he meets his colleagues,when one of them chides him as usual,he gives the guy a sloppy fist on the nose and warns him that if the fuckbag ever lost his wagger of a tongue again,he'd have to use the paper shredder in the corner to ease it out..the boss gapes while he says what the fuck he's gapin at,ain't he ever seen a yapper get a sock?..boss retraces steps ,no new assignments for the day,next stop,seven eleven for the regular grocery..he parks the car in front of the door,the parking incharge yells at him.he calmly walks out,takes the keys of his caddy,and runs a nice little rip across the first car in sight,wrenches open the gas tank,wets his handkerchief with the leakin gas,and stuffs it in.then he takes out the zippo he'd bought the same mornin,and lights it..looks at the parking guy and says anythin else yo got to say,punk?..tough guy answers with a blow that's got our newborn hero reelin..the pain is like a green apple mojito to his parched masculinity..he revels in it,gets up ,takes a few more blows,each one egging him on further till he is orgasmically elated at the flowin blood.he laughs,tickles a split tooth,spits out the remains..and breaks each molar,premolar and incisor the parking guy has,takes out his cellphone and asks him to dial 911..the parking dumbass is way too much in shock to say anythin and passes out.. our man then makes his way to the store ..falls inside,calls for help and faints.. jekyll [apparently] wakes up later in the ER with some painful stitches and grins at his wife through his groggy eyes,they drive back home in silence,his wifey seemingly disturbed.. she asks him why he did not come home the last night.. he tells her he was too busy nailin his secretary..she flushes red and purple..turns to him and says why with tears in her eyes,and he tells her coz ur too fuckin dry,wish u were wilder in bed..she looks shocked..she slowly understands his cold smirk and drives home in terror and silence..this is just a solitary example, reality can be better or nastier..what would u do?..who would u stand by ? jekyll,hyde..or jackass?
"courage is not the absence of fear but,rather, the judgment that something else is more important than fear.."
ever heard of the concept of duality.. ?the simpler concept prototype of schizophrenia..freud would be amazed at the possibilities that modern man has posted on the human psyche..lets see what we're actually missing to watch out for when its right there..starin at you..point blank,in your face and u can't do fuck about it..everybody's got a threshold level of it..we do it all the time,and some loser who seriously does not know a fuck about what he's doin gets the blame for it along with a healthy dose of electric wake up calls and psychotropic hallucinogens that those dumb and dumber docs call medicine..do we need it?..what quantifies the need..?lets start with the simple ones..ever wanted to fuck your friend's girlfriend..?or come on,lets make it simpler..ever wanted to fuck ur girlfriend's sister? there are some ppl who cross that stage of criminality,and get caught..then goto jail..blah blah..social ostracism..blah blah..more of it,then its either a suicide or more blood spilling frothing at the mouth rape scenes..and then there are those who silence those pangs with a gentle shag at night wen she's not lookin or some likewise shitload..the mens rea,u'd have to admit,is very much clear and present.. now,leaving the unholy blood and gore aside,getting to the schizophrenic aspect of it,let's say we have a guy who's a timid shrimp,the kind who'd have goose pimples and red cheeks if he saw his wife naked.the guy goes to office everyday,is a diligent worker at some top notch software firm.he follows whatever bossman says and his coworkers treat him like shit..he bears everythin with a smile,because that's all he's been fed since his birth on this godforsaken soiled mother earth..the owner of the parking lot has the balls to scream at him if he parks his new cadillac an inch outta place,the waiter does not bother to thank him for the tip,junkies trip him when he's joggin in the park,he gets up and walks away without glancing back at the sneering bastards..all this in a measure of a day..in short he's everybody's unholy,unworthy fearful bitch..this is our man jekyll oozing the milk of human goodness from every visible and invisible orifice of his body..now,duality needs a catalyst.. a crossover to the other side needs a medium as volatile as the state of the human psyche itself .. for a chimera to surface,a bellerophontes has to exist and vice versa..what's good and what's evil is a choice that i would prefer leavin to the person facing it .. because ultimately its the person's belief that gets manifested in the wildest connotation possible..the loser we're talkin about can have any kinda catalyst that would make him lose it and go over to the wild side..the permutations and combinations are unlimited and the effect to the given cause could have even more diverse proportions..he might not change at all,may become more timid..or may become something that he never could think himself to be worth turning into.. the possibilities,as i've said, are limitless and endless..where we're talkin about jekyll, the only alterego that comes to mind is mr Hyde in all his cannibalistic fury..and then there's this character that i have wanted to sketch out for a long time now..mr. jackass..mr. jackass is not dumb,just like mr jekyll.. he's just too articulate and too calculating to be either jekyll or hyde,a complete class apart,indestructible in belief and narcissistic to the core,even if dangerously so..he has the efficiency of jekyll,the annihilistic turpetude of hyde,amalgamated into an organised cold blooded fury that cannot be faced,and is best left to the person suffering it.. and moreover his actions are those that are not done for his benefit,but are at the very basic level,an attempt to set right the things that have done him and others around him more harm than good..the name jackass is so suited for the character in contention because its an unselfish being.. like every superhero scourin our streets.. but more efficient than any masked vigilante on a purging spree,because of a deadly anonymity that's his mask..though he hardly needs any.. something like what superman would feel had he known that jor el had been murdered by earthlings...get the picture?now lets take the hypothetical situation of the jekyll we've been talkin of in the previous lines,after being the dutiful bitch an a half for the whole day,he comes home prepared for a nagging wife and some necrophiliac dry sex,and he sees her sleepin with some one else..clawing at his back..expressin a carnal vigour that had been dormant for years of our man's holy matrimony..the sacraments read at his quiet ceremony come back as satanic verses to haunt him,laugh at him in the face and offer some more luciferous rebukes and he's caught in the web..his shell of moral constriction and social fear break loose and the transformation begins..the purging venom sears through him..leaving him vulnerable to freedom..freedom of the mind..and as soon as he is unplugged,he sees the things happening in a different perspective,he sees it as his fault that his wife was cheatin on him..why the world treats him like a turdball..and he decides to make amends..by all means necessary,and he goes back to office,to his cabin..and chalks out his vendetta..next day he meets his colleagues,when one of them chides him as usual,he gives the guy a sloppy fist on the nose and warns him that if the fuckbag ever lost his wagger of a tongue again,he'd have to use the paper shredder in the corner to ease it out..the boss gapes while he says what the fuck he's gapin at,ain't he ever seen a yapper get a sock?..boss retraces steps ,no new assignments for the day,next stop,seven eleven for the regular grocery..he parks the car in front of the door,the parking incharge yells at him.he calmly walks out,takes the keys of his caddy,and runs a nice little rip across the first car in sight,wrenches open the gas tank,wets his handkerchief with the leakin gas,and stuffs it in.then he takes out the zippo he'd bought the same mornin,and lights it..looks at the parking guy and says anythin else yo got to say,punk?..tough guy answers with a blow that's got our newborn hero reelin..the pain is like a green apple mojito to his parched masculinity..he revels in it,gets up ,takes a few more blows,each one egging him on further till he is orgasmically elated at the flowin blood.he laughs,tickles a split tooth,spits out the remains..and breaks each molar,premolar and incisor the parking guy has,takes out his cellphone and asks him to dial 911..the parking dumbass is way too much in shock to say anythin and passes out.. our man then makes his way to the store ..falls inside,calls for help and faints.. jekyll [apparently] wakes up later in the ER with some painful stitches and grins at his wife through his groggy eyes,they drive back home in silence,his wifey seemingly disturbed.. she asks him why he did not come home the last night.. he tells her he was too busy nailin his secretary..she flushes red and purple..turns to him and says why with tears in her eyes,and he tells her coz ur too fuckin dry,wish u were wilder in bed..she looks shocked..she slowly understands his cold smirk and drives home in terror and silence..this is just a solitary example, reality can be better or nastier..what would u do?..who would u stand by ? jekyll,hyde..or jackass?
THE SPARTAN
this is again a frustrated reaction to the newest in thing...giving up,i dunno why, but it comes surprisingly easy these days..giving up has become more matter of fact than anythin else.. i've just tried to cover the basic facets of the phenom,with as many contradictions as i could probably muster..i've seen fictional contradictions failing..so i've given a historical statistic in this one.. so the next time u think impossible[fuck the adidas ad..lets leave consumerism outta this one..]..think of 300 against 1000,000..and y'no what.. the 300 won..read on..
The Spartan..the biggest superhero of them all.. born in the lineage of the greats like leonidas..the leader of the 300 warriors who held back the might of a thousand persian armies in 480 B.C. at the bottlenecked battle of thermopylae,the armies who at a single fire of all bowmen,held the power to blot out the sun..trained from birth never to give up,never to surrender..imagine,the power of human resolve never to yeild.it dwells in all of us,the spartan..dormant,chained..bleeding to be free but never dead till we are..why does it not rise?in this world of decadence,why is it a bygone concept?why is it that the threshold of impossibility is no longer challenged,least overcome..?its everywhere,where a gardener gives up because of a cardiac arrest,where a father gives up on his errant son,where a student gives up on a paper...where a runner gives up on account of a torn muscle,where a motorcyclist gives up on a speed limit on account of it being too dangerous,where a rock climber gives up on a rock face because its too steep,where a guitarist gives up on account of a riff being impossible to materialise,where a man fears to face the sum of all his fears,where a child refuses to go to the loo at night because he fears boogeyman's lurking in the shadows,where a man gives up the love of his life because he thinks he's not worth it.this is when the prickling chill of rationality begins to sting us all,where the shadow of murky mediocrity fills our bones and the muscles get bogged down under the weight of the fear of failure.our belief is ripped to shreds,every muscle torn asunder by the viral invasion of doubt pushing us deeper in the abyss of insignificant anonymity.the question remains,where is the purpose to drive us forward,neglect the losses incurred,and move on undaunted?when did safety become so important,when did the insurance companies start to deter us from playing major stakes and ration our resources?and why did we allow it?why did security take the place of freedom and why did we stop recognising slavery?why did the government that was artificially born in a way dirtier than the regular ceasarian to serve us suddenly become the master and we the non questioning retarded nobodies?when did the cops take over from enforcement duty to the authority that they have today?when did the public servants form a mafioso so strong in its nexus that it became virtually impenetrable for a citizen,at the service of whom it should have been languishing had murphy's law not intervened so cruelly?and the still more important question to be answered....till when are we going to allow it to rape our kind,tillwhen will this plague of authority not be served with an antidote to deter its fatal ellipsis of desire and power?but i still believe that the spartan shall rise..maybe from the ashes of its own kind but it bloody as hell will..its probably waiting for a critical mass of the ashes whence once it is attained,it shall be inficted on all the powers that be and return them to the rightful state of a blind diseased dog,the only use of which is maintaining order,not issuing it..the spartan shall not give up until the evil is eradicated,until each parliament,each enforcement directorate,each supreme court,each municipal council is either sized down to perfection or razed to the ground,and we shall se a day when men unite in the principles once laid down by the thundering down of the doors of the bastille in the french revolution..when we shall once again revel in the principles of liberty..equality..fraternity again and strive for a higher state of being than the petty bickering that the theatre of international politics is laying forth to us today.
The Spartan..the biggest superhero of them all.. born in the lineage of the greats like leonidas..the leader of the 300 warriors who held back the might of a thousand persian armies in 480 B.C. at the bottlenecked battle of thermopylae,the armies who at a single fire of all bowmen,held the power to blot out the sun..trained from birth never to give up,never to surrender..imagine,the power of human resolve never to yeild.it dwells in all of us,the spartan..dormant,chained..bleeding to be free but never dead till we are..why does it not rise?in this world of decadence,why is it a bygone concept?why is it that the threshold of impossibility is no longer challenged,least overcome..?its everywhere,where a gardener gives up because of a cardiac arrest,where a father gives up on his errant son,where a student gives up on a paper...where a runner gives up on account of a torn muscle,where a motorcyclist gives up on a speed limit on account of it being too dangerous,where a rock climber gives up on a rock face because its too steep,where a guitarist gives up on account of a riff being impossible to materialise,where a man fears to face the sum of all his fears,where a child refuses to go to the loo at night because he fears boogeyman's lurking in the shadows,where a man gives up the love of his life because he thinks he's not worth it.this is when the prickling chill of rationality begins to sting us all,where the shadow of murky mediocrity fills our bones and the muscles get bogged down under the weight of the fear of failure.our belief is ripped to shreds,every muscle torn asunder by the viral invasion of doubt pushing us deeper in the abyss of insignificant anonymity.the question remains,where is the purpose to drive us forward,neglect the losses incurred,and move on undaunted?when did safety become so important,when did the insurance companies start to deter us from playing major stakes and ration our resources?and why did we allow it?why did security take the place of freedom and why did we stop recognising slavery?why did the government that was artificially born in a way dirtier than the regular ceasarian to serve us suddenly become the master and we the non questioning retarded nobodies?when did the cops take over from enforcement duty to the authority that they have today?when did the public servants form a mafioso so strong in its nexus that it became virtually impenetrable for a citizen,at the service of whom it should have been languishing had murphy's law not intervened so cruelly?and the still more important question to be answered....till when are we going to allow it to rape our kind,tillwhen will this plague of authority not be served with an antidote to deter its fatal ellipsis of desire and power?but i still believe that the spartan shall rise..maybe from the ashes of its own kind but it bloody as hell will..its probably waiting for a critical mass of the ashes whence once it is attained,it shall be inficted on all the powers that be and return them to the rightful state of a blind diseased dog,the only use of which is maintaining order,not issuing it..the spartan shall not give up until the evil is eradicated,until each parliament,each enforcement directorate,each supreme court,each municipal council is either sized down to perfection or razed to the ground,and we shall se a day when men unite in the principles once laid down by the thundering down of the doors of the bastille in the french revolution..when we shall once again revel in the principles of liberty..equality..fraternity again and strive for a higher state of being than the petty bickering that the theatre of international politics is laying forth to us today.
PART II
this was basically after a spate of really bad sequels,which as any movie buff,i was finding a little difficult to digest..nothin personal against superman,though he's seriously one of the biggest losers around
The immortals slug it out on screen..vampires,lycans.. the lot.the stephen kings still manage a sweat.yup,we still got johnny boy on our side(ref to context-- Constantine,John Constantine ... asshole..)with his own bulletproof team with the ageing buffy, the leather clad ever so feline selene and the mythical flop, Van Helsing.some claim to be the left hand of god, the curse of the world,to reseal pandora's box and throw it in a nuke proof bottle which is either sent to the gooey depths of the mariana trench or to the burping and belching innards of vesuvius...but hey, that wouldn't leave room for the sequels, right? so the evil survives, be it supernatural or paranormal. the little green men shall find a way to keep Fox Mulder in the limelight,probably even impregnate scully with a green baby or something...The worthlessnes of being one from the justice league screams ouyt as loud as it gets, when we reminisce that Superman took to a wheelchair and died a few years later. and nope, he wasn't backbroken while saving the world trade center,but because the pansy superhero fell off a docile pony.that does take some fizz outta the Kryptonite superhero syrup,duzn't it? Lets just pray to god that the man with the scarlet jocks gets a wheelchair in heaven...
The immortals slug it out on screen..vampires,lycans.. the lot.the stephen kings still manage a sweat.yup,we still got johnny boy on our side(ref to context-- Constantine,John Constantine ... asshole..)with his own bulletproof team with the ageing buffy, the leather clad ever so feline selene and the mythical flop, Van Helsing.some claim to be the left hand of god, the curse of the world,to reseal pandora's box and throw it in a nuke proof bottle which is either sent to the gooey depths of the mariana trench or to the burping and belching innards of vesuvius...but hey, that wouldn't leave room for the sequels, right? so the evil survives, be it supernatural or paranormal. the little green men shall find a way to keep Fox Mulder in the limelight,probably even impregnate scully with a green baby or something...The worthlessnes of being one from the justice league screams ouyt as loud as it gets, when we reminisce that Superman took to a wheelchair and died a few years later. and nope, he wasn't backbroken while saving the world trade center,but because the pansy superhero fell off a docile pony.that does take some fizz outta the Kryptonite superhero syrup,duzn't it? Lets just pray to god that the man with the scarlet jocks gets a wheelchair in heaven...
INTRODUCTION VERSION 2.0
this was the first thing to be written this year..don't ask me what i was thinkin..i was basically grounded before the new years' bash.. had to bide time somehow.. happy new year to the rest though..to everyone who's been readin this crock of shit.. may ur souls be at peace this year..and, whatever u do..play safe [to the obvious ones,use contraceptives..they work!!..to the non sex machines..contemplate whatever meanin u can]..and don't get dead or give up..that should wrap up the new year pleasantries..now,read on.
who am i ?
sayin that i'm the trash of the world could be an over cliched rather tyleresque reply..basic point being that i'm someone everyone could do without..
i am the seven deadly sins..
i am a choking,irritating mass of black phlegm..
in manson and eminem's words i am whatever u say i am..
if yer talkin 3D..i could again be many things..
things that u'd want to keep your kids away from..
or come to think of it,hell..u'd wanna keep yourself away from..
no,i'm not a punk/wannabe who's searching for his satanic mentor thru a devil worshippin band or sumthin likewise,no...
i'm the hangman's noose wenever someone/sumthing innocent is choking to death inside.
i'm the gearshift paddle when a tripped out junkie floors the accelarator to run over an old haggard beggar crossin the road..just for kicks,nothin malicious.
i'm the mucous in the saliva inside a cheeseburger in a gleeful waiter's tray goin to table no. 6 because the guy wasn't given a lesson in good manners when he should have.
i'm the cyst that's an artery blockage that stops an innocent [ read non druggie ] athlete to stop him from raising his hopes too high.
i'm the worst fucken hangover headache that u cud get post really cheap country liquor.
i'm the thrill of a suicide when you floor the gas pedal and leave the wheel as soon as the speedo hits 120 mph.
i'm the frothing with semen dickhead of a claudia schiffer fan in a dark room .
i'm the guilt you experience when your wife has a miscarriage due to lack of your care.
i'm the pleasure of shopping on a stolen credit card..come to think of it,i'm also the fear of gettin caught doing the same.
i'm the pessimism that sets in when you get rejected at a job interview because u're too fucken dimwitted.
i'm the killing mundane nature of a regular low pay 9 to 5 job that feeds your children and a whore of a wife.
i'm the decaying roach that u sometimes get in ur roadside falafel.
i'm the pleasure of exhaling smoke into the nostrils of an uncaring newborn baby.
i'm james bond when vesper lynd [ahh..the bitCH!!]is stuck drownin in a submerged elevator and he can do just about fucken zilch to save her.
i'm also james bond when he's betrayed by his own..everytime,while he like the classic fool that he is..is setting about to save their asses again.
i'm tony hawk when he falls off his skateboard and he has a ball shatterin railing between his legs.
i'm captain jack sparrow whenever he's not doin anything right or articulate[ which would well account for most of the time].
i'm a raging bull when he's just about to lose his balls as he's already given enough slime to impregnate 3000 cows.
i'm joe bradley when he's walkin outta that hall where he knew he'd see princess ann for the last fucken time..[classic pricey bitch,wasn't she?].
still wanna know who i am?
guess not.
who am i ?
sayin that i'm the trash of the world could be an over cliched rather tyleresque reply..basic point being that i'm someone everyone could do without..
i am the seven deadly sins..
i am a choking,irritating mass of black phlegm..
in manson and eminem's words i am whatever u say i am..
if yer talkin 3D..i could again be many things..
things that u'd want to keep your kids away from..
or come to think of it,hell..u'd wanna keep yourself away from..
no,i'm not a punk/wannabe who's searching for his satanic mentor thru a devil worshippin band or sumthin likewise,no...
i'm the hangman's noose wenever someone/sumthing innocent is choking to death inside.
i'm the gearshift paddle when a tripped out junkie floors the accelarator to run over an old haggard beggar crossin the road..just for kicks,nothin malicious.
i'm the mucous in the saliva inside a cheeseburger in a gleeful waiter's tray goin to table no. 6 because the guy wasn't given a lesson in good manners when he should have.
i'm the cyst that's an artery blockage that stops an innocent [ read non druggie ] athlete to stop him from raising his hopes too high.
i'm the worst fucken hangover headache that u cud get post really cheap country liquor.
i'm the thrill of a suicide when you floor the gas pedal and leave the wheel as soon as the speedo hits 120 mph.
i'm the frothing with semen dickhead of a claudia schiffer fan in a dark room .
i'm the guilt you experience when your wife has a miscarriage due to lack of your care.
i'm the pleasure of shopping on a stolen credit card..come to think of it,i'm also the fear of gettin caught doing the same.
i'm the pessimism that sets in when you get rejected at a job interview because u're too fucken dimwitted.
i'm the killing mundane nature of a regular low pay 9 to 5 job that feeds your children and a whore of a wife.
i'm the decaying roach that u sometimes get in ur roadside falafel.
i'm the pleasure of exhaling smoke into the nostrils of an uncaring newborn baby.
i'm james bond when vesper lynd [ahh..the bitCH!!]is stuck drownin in a submerged elevator and he can do just about fucken zilch to save her.
i'm also james bond when he's betrayed by his own..everytime,while he like the classic fool that he is..is setting about to save their asses again.
i'm tony hawk when he falls off his skateboard and he has a ball shatterin railing between his legs.
i'm captain jack sparrow whenever he's not doin anything right or articulate[ which would well account for most of the time].
i'm a raging bull when he's just about to lose his balls as he's already given enough slime to impregnate 3000 cows.
i'm joe bradley when he's walkin outta that hall where he knew he'd see princess ann for the last fucken time..[classic pricey bitch,wasn't she?].
still wanna know who i am?
guess not.
FREAK SHOW I
this, again is regular joblessness at work.. i was on training in office when i had a two hour break because the trainer chose to quit the same day..plus we were told to brush up on our typing skills..the manager didn't exactly approve of the passage i mailed as proof of my typing skills..read on
what is the matrix... what is the force... delusions... temporary constructs???/... why did mr. anderson choose to become neo... y did smith choos to become a renegade.... what made him do it... why did gabriel shear not fail in a single move.... how did he plan out everything... right from the phone lines... to the finall lift off from the building... the why and how did depend on a lot of contingencies.... why did they not arise....???what if any had arisen... would that have resulted in swordfish being a hit.... ???what if smith survived... what if the aliens won in independence day... what if in king kong... beauty did not kill the beast... what if chetan bhagat could never have passed iit.... what if jurassic park continued and became a perfct tourist attraction... what if memphis raines crashed eleanor into the last car on the bridge... or still better... just ran out of fuel...heh heh.... delusions again? or just plain and simple realism pangs... what if neo refused to belive that he was the one.... what if stan could not break the code... what if vin diesel did crash into the train... what if rossi has a gearlock... what if rambo got shot in the heart... what if the terminator failed... and john connor actually got killed.. what if in face off... sean archer refused to get any surgery done... what if marlon brando... or l pacino never became movie stars..... what if tom cruise was a sweeper in the museum of seattle.... what if brad pitt grew up to be a rockstar and not an actor... what if edward norton refused to do fight club... ??? what if hannibal failed in his mission.... what if johnny depp was a writer and not an actor... what if spielberg was sentenced to death for murder... what if the british knights never existed... what if queen elizabeth escaped with one of the palace guards into oblivion... what if helen of troy committed suicide before she met paris... what if princess ann never met joe bradley... and was just picked and dropped by the polizei...the list goes on and on... this is just a wasted page .... what if i had not written it... what if u never got to read it... would it make a difference to the pizza delivering crime fightr in new york.... think... analyze.... reply...
what is the matrix... what is the force... delusions... temporary constructs???/... why did mr. anderson choose to become neo... y did smith choos to become a renegade.... what made him do it... why did gabriel shear not fail in a single move.... how did he plan out everything... right from the phone lines... to the finall lift off from the building... the why and how did depend on a lot of contingencies.... why did they not arise....???what if any had arisen... would that have resulted in swordfish being a hit.... ???what if smith survived... what if the aliens won in independence day... what if in king kong... beauty did not kill the beast... what if chetan bhagat could never have passed iit.... what if jurassic park continued and became a perfct tourist attraction... what if memphis raines crashed eleanor into the last car on the bridge... or still better... just ran out of fuel...heh heh.... delusions again? or just plain and simple realism pangs... what if neo refused to belive that he was the one.... what if stan could not break the code... what if vin diesel did crash into the train... what if rossi has a gearlock... what if rambo got shot in the heart... what if the terminator failed... and john connor actually got killed.. what if in face off... sean archer refused to get any surgery done... what if marlon brando... or l pacino never became movie stars..... what if tom cruise was a sweeper in the museum of seattle.... what if brad pitt grew up to be a rockstar and not an actor... what if edward norton refused to do fight club... ??? what if hannibal failed in his mission.... what if johnny depp was a writer and not an actor... what if spielberg was sentenced to death for murder... what if the british knights never existed... what if queen elizabeth escaped with one of the palace guards into oblivion... what if helen of troy committed suicide before she met paris... what if princess ann never met joe bradley... and was just picked and dropped by the polizei...the list goes on and on... this is just a wasted page .... what if i had not written it... what if u never got to read it... would it make a difference to the pizza delivering crime fightr in new york.... think... analyze.... reply...
COMFORTABLY NUMB
no italicised explanations for this one..its just a tad different from the usual venom that i spew..call it corny,i'll slit yer throat..heh heh..chill,just another attempt at being human..
Yup..i agree..massive plagiarism at work here.but hold on, I'm not just some Floyd fan right out of a wild eyed concert.its just this phrase that's kinda shapin up my existence right now.no dope,no alcohol(not even beer),no bhang...hell,not even lack of sleep.supposedly sane,after an aeon of feeling,no..being dead,just plain and simple downright dead..down to the blank level line and the pronounced blank monotone of the electrocardiogram..from there to being alive,actually alive with all the possible ramifications of the word..probably just like a baby when its first subjected to sunlight.that precise moment of wonder,its hard to categorise it as anything other than ecstasy.when ya lose count of time,when the roaches runnin across the room cease to get their regular importance(the lil feelers glowering in contempt),when ya manage to smirk at one fat, seemingly mutant mosquito coolly sippin off to yer health,when the woofer of the music system shifts from the center of the room to the middle of your tummy and ya love it,though it makes you wanna throw up..when ya breathe funny,when ya trip on plain air and wheeze thru it to make the trip go on,when just another song any other day might become a lifelong anthem,maybe as a celebration of a guilty admission(albeit fuckin demeaning..but fuck it)an admission that you're one hunfuckindred percent human..weak,afraid,dumbstruck,speechless,vulnerable and as an evidence of the fact that u're lovin it.I have a habit of drawin parallels to everything i generally talk about,be it an orgasm,heavy metal,speed...and a whole truckload of jackshit that i'd rather not delve in right now.. seven days of a complete stupor has been enough to make everything else evaporate from my memory(or whatever's left of it).i don't remember how many bhp the bugatti veyron generates,i've forgotten valentino rossi's last record at sepang...hell, i have no recollection of what the cover of Metallica's last album was like.my cellphone looks like a fuckin ufo..a fuckin orange dot in oblivion.i try wipin it off..try to come back to planet earth.a cold shower..an iced bathtub..nothin works.the worst part is,i'm not frantic to get out of it either.it ain't exactly sumthin that can be dismissed as a momentary lapse of reason (ok..crucify me,i'm a fuckin plagiarising prick,so what?? )because i know it shall go on,till i again pass the relay baton to the black oblivion that i'm just out of..and for good this time..but hey,am just out of it right now.the awakening has been more than gratifying..though not in the least bit vindictive.if i could actually encapsulate the the whole phenomenon at work inside me,it'd put a fuckin score of simultaneous chain supernovae(if there could be such a thing)to abject shame.it makes me wanna be a lil more than what i am.its like a realization that a good morning could be sumthin other than the clink of a zippo(fuckin bitch of a lighter's never gonna work now)and a billion others which are working furiously to negate every negative aspect of my life that i've so fervently believed in till now.the point is,i've never been this elated at seeing my sand castles being trampled on,shattered to bits..down to rubble and wet sand.regret has never been a part of my life,momentary maybe,but nothin that hasn't healed.i've never met a person who i could place as being more valuable to me than my zippo(fine..materialistic prick too!).but yeah,that's changing..dunno if its for better or worse,but every belief is being hot wired,rehashed,detonated(with all the permutations and combinations that you could probably imagine..).I stand right here,savouring the salted scars of the tidal wave that hit sumtime back,for a feeling that asked me to face it rather than spin around and run for shelter.I made it thru,survived..hell,more than that..a prize surfer woulda died of envy.am consciously choosing a human existence again,goin against hope and more importantly,precedence..finally steppin forward from my safe although reeking stagnant time warp.without any motive or agenda,its a hope that it shall not end to be an exercise in futility.thank you for being whatever you are.I love you.
Yup..i agree..massive plagiarism at work here.but hold on, I'm not just some Floyd fan right out of a wild eyed concert.its just this phrase that's kinda shapin up my existence right now.no dope,no alcohol(not even beer),no bhang...hell,not even lack of sleep.supposedly sane,after an aeon of feeling,no..being dead,just plain and simple downright dead..down to the blank level line and the pronounced blank monotone of the electrocardiogram..from there to being alive,actually alive with all the possible ramifications of the word..probably just like a baby when its first subjected to sunlight.that precise moment of wonder,its hard to categorise it as anything other than ecstasy.when ya lose count of time,when the roaches runnin across the room cease to get their regular importance(the lil feelers glowering in contempt),when ya manage to smirk at one fat, seemingly mutant mosquito coolly sippin off to yer health,when the woofer of the music system shifts from the center of the room to the middle of your tummy and ya love it,though it makes you wanna throw up..when ya breathe funny,when ya trip on plain air and wheeze thru it to make the trip go on,when just another song any other day might become a lifelong anthem,maybe as a celebration of a guilty admission(albeit fuckin demeaning..but fuck it)an admission that you're one hunfuckindred percent human..weak,afraid,dumbstruck,speechless,vulnerable and as an evidence of the fact that u're lovin it.I have a habit of drawin parallels to everything i generally talk about,be it an orgasm,heavy metal,speed...and a whole truckload of jackshit that i'd rather not delve in right now.. seven days of a complete stupor has been enough to make everything else evaporate from my memory(or whatever's left of it).i don't remember how many bhp the bugatti veyron generates,i've forgotten valentino rossi's last record at sepang...hell, i have no recollection of what the cover of Metallica's last album was like.my cellphone looks like a fuckin ufo..a fuckin orange dot in oblivion.i try wipin it off..try to come back to planet earth.a cold shower..an iced bathtub..nothin works.the worst part is,i'm not frantic to get out of it either.it ain't exactly sumthin that can be dismissed as a momentary lapse of reason (ok..crucify me,i'm a fuckin plagiarising prick,so what?? )because i know it shall go on,till i again pass the relay baton to the black oblivion that i'm just out of..and for good this time..but hey,am just out of it right now.the awakening has been more than gratifying..though not in the least bit vindictive.if i could actually encapsulate the the whole phenomenon at work inside me,it'd put a fuckin score of simultaneous chain supernovae(if there could be such a thing)to abject shame.it makes me wanna be a lil more than what i am.its like a realization that a good morning could be sumthin other than the clink of a zippo(fuckin bitch of a lighter's never gonna work now)and a billion others which are working furiously to negate every negative aspect of my life that i've so fervently believed in till now.the point is,i've never been this elated at seeing my sand castles being trampled on,shattered to bits..down to rubble and wet sand.regret has never been a part of my life,momentary maybe,but nothin that hasn't healed.i've never met a person who i could place as being more valuable to me than my zippo(fine..materialistic prick too!).but yeah,that's changing..dunno if its for better or worse,but every belief is being hot wired,rehashed,detonated(with all the permutations and combinations that you could probably imagine..).I stand right here,savouring the salted scars of the tidal wave that hit sumtime back,for a feeling that asked me to face it rather than spin around and run for shelter.I made it thru,survived..hell,more than that..a prize surfer woulda died of envy.am consciously choosing a human existence again,goin against hope and more importantly,precedence..finally steppin forward from my safe although reeking stagnant time warp.without any motive or agenda,its a hope that it shall not end to be an exercise in futility.thank you for being whatever you are.I love you.
TERMINAL
this is loosely based on a dream which lasted for ten minutes when i was takin a nap before my management paper.. all because of the fucker arjun,because he decided to listen to rammstein in those ten minutes... the plot was supposed to develop later..but like all my ambitious projects,this one too...lies shelved for the moment..--P.S. COUNTER STRIKE in the middle of the papers is also a big culprit as far as the vividness of the dream is concerned...still haven't made head or tail (or torso for that matter..) out of it.. enjoy the pain though,i did...
The ricochet of the empty bullet rounds starts to fade away in the distance..the clink of the used shells on the polished floor begins to lose its metallic intensity..the couches in the waiting lounge suddenly do not seem to be as bright as they were about fifteen minutes back.i feel my knees buckle under me,unable to support the wire frame that they did for the past twenty two years.as i fall , i try to recount the thrust of the bullets..the first one hit the neck,probably got some of those vocal chords as well,because i don't remember screaming which i would have done in the ordinary course of events..the second one hit the kevlar..and the third probably shot thru the liver...damn those low rise cargos,should have got a belt when i was told to..but after all that cheese and vodka,why'd it have to be a magnum shot that got that brown piece of bile producing shit.. i raise my hand to my neck amidst the blood pouring out and felt the veins dangling loosely like a garden sprinkler or sumthin.. funny feel to it,the blood was fucken hot but it felt as if i was jammed,paralysed in waist deep siberian snow..i lie right there,sprawled on the floor..wriggling like a fucken overturned beetle..i close my eyes to ease the pain and i hear some really unassuring,unsynchronised,chuckling footsteps..i dunno why but dad's favourite driving track starts echoing somewhere in the back of my head..[viz. scum of the earth,rob zombie-- mission impossible II soundtrack]..i try to get up and the fucker promptly shoots me in my kneecap.. i fall again and the nauseating crunch of the bones,makes me see stars and wanna puke..i get a careless kick in the jaw and fall backwards again..the pointless nature of my getting up becomes a real funny bitch..so i just lie there,waitin for the end to arrive...i get hauled up by the nostrils as i feel the skin gettin torn apart..i can hear silence,funny again..the sound of silence is pretty amazing though, as amid the gunfire and the chucklin sleaze, i hear my sweat and blood dripping on the floor..like a really slow slow intra venous drip gone extremely haywire..the thankful inevitability of the situation approaches as the gun nudges my forehead..and the nozzle forms a bridge between my eyebrows, i begin to think that was this the end..could this be the end..the safety of the gun went off.......click.
The ricochet of the empty bullet rounds starts to fade away in the distance..the clink of the used shells on the polished floor begins to lose its metallic intensity..the couches in the waiting lounge suddenly do not seem to be as bright as they were about fifteen minutes back.i feel my knees buckle under me,unable to support the wire frame that they did for the past twenty two years.as i fall , i try to recount the thrust of the bullets..the first one hit the neck,probably got some of those vocal chords as well,because i don't remember screaming which i would have done in the ordinary course of events..the second one hit the kevlar..and the third probably shot thru the liver...damn those low rise cargos,should have got a belt when i was told to..but after all that cheese and vodka,why'd it have to be a magnum shot that got that brown piece of bile producing shit.. i raise my hand to my neck amidst the blood pouring out and felt the veins dangling loosely like a garden sprinkler or sumthin.. funny feel to it,the blood was fucken hot but it felt as if i was jammed,paralysed in waist deep siberian snow..i lie right there,sprawled on the floor..wriggling like a fucken overturned beetle..i close my eyes to ease the pain and i hear some really unassuring,unsynchronised,chuckling footsteps..i dunno why but dad's favourite driving track starts echoing somewhere in the back of my head..[viz. scum of the earth,rob zombie-- mission impossible II soundtrack]..i try to get up and the fucker promptly shoots me in my kneecap.. i fall again and the nauseating crunch of the bones,makes me see stars and wanna puke..i get a careless kick in the jaw and fall backwards again..the pointless nature of my getting up becomes a real funny bitch..so i just lie there,waitin for the end to arrive...i get hauled up by the nostrils as i feel the skin gettin torn apart..i can hear silence,funny again..the sound of silence is pretty amazing though, as amid the gunfire and the chucklin sleaze, i hear my sweat and blood dripping on the floor..like a really slow slow intra venous drip gone extremely haywire..the thankful inevitability of the situation approaches as the gun nudges my forehead..and the nozzle forms a bridge between my eyebrows, i begin to think that was this the end..could this be the end..the safety of the gun went off.......click.
PARADOXICAL STABILITY
this is again,lots of pent up frustration pouring out..probably was written after a career counselling session with dear old mum and dad.one of the things they kept harping on was how professional stability led to a good life.. this is the best retort i could come up with.." The inherent stability of the system shall lead to its ultimate chaos."-- Ian MalcolmThe grass is always greener on the other side. y'no wen it gets really scary? wen it isn't . when things start going your way,every step as satisfactory as a 512 bit chinese jigsaw puzzle falling into place.the delicacy of the situation begins to override the brief ecstasy and the impending doom starts giving you nightmares.utopian maintenance may sometimes turn out to be harder than maintaining a Dodge Viper SRT-10 with a Chevy Corvette C6 and a few others in the garage.Take the thought process of Julia Roberts' character from My Best Friend's Wedding, where she explains to the dumb fuck of a bride that sometimes creme brulee can be so irritatingly perfect that the person having it will crave to have something as crude as Jello.Stability is a paradox that can never be stable itself. A figment of the imagination that humans love to hang on to... and all for what? A false sense of security,which gets shattered as easily as a 56 carat lead crystal vase kept on the windowsill in a tornado.And let us not kid ourselves into thinking that we strive for something higher than just perfection. A man who has a honda civic will want a Merc. The stud with the merc will want a Murcielago. The self indulgent weener with the Murcielago will want a Murcielago R-GT. And you know what? That's not aiming high. that's stooping low. Because what we're talking about here is greed. Simple plain fuckin lust and gluttony. Not that i'm degrading it or something. Everybody loves the feel of a raunchy whore after a dry wife with three kids. And to me,there's nothing wrong with it. The only thing that needs a little light to be shed on it is the fact that the adulterous husband should realize that there is a faint hint of a probability that maybe a cock too small may have been the reason for the evaporation of his wife's libido.So, I hope that stability can someday be analysed from both ends of the spectrum. The day that is done will be the day when peace shall finally prevail and stability as a state of mind will not fade out in the terminal abyss of the erstwhile chaos it has deliriously slumped into.
HOIST THE COLORS
so i guess i'm finally back.its been more than a year so i thought it was just about time that some venom be spilt.hell,even the happy need some respite from their perfect lives don't they.this again is an utterly useless peice of inane banter that was typed out in a headache.the exasperation with the human race hasn't died out... its just reaching new levels of abject despair.this one's about summin that we all experience,we all feel...like a fart at a dinner table,but refuse to acknowledge.this is to all that i want to just turn turn my back to and yes,the same old disease...gratify myselfheh heh..nuff said,read on
full circle..naah,full stop.what the fuck is goin on..wud someone fuckin care to explain??it was supposed to be a jerry bruckheimer flick..if ya get what i mean[ for the ill informed,those are the only happening movies ever w.r.t. top gun,pirates,gone in 60 seconds,blah..u name it,the man's done it..apart from occasional good shit by renny harlin,dominic sena,david fincher,joel silver...blah] but that's not the point here..is it now?
that's basically how i wanted me life to turn out..but yup,it inevitably,inexorably turned out to be an oliver stone or a stanley kubrick production..jeez..even a francis ford coppola cud have done..but no,it just had to get fucked up..even that ain't the issue here.. the issue isn't the low profile..the issue we're addressing here is just the completely warped up silent awkwardness u get wen u're watchin a silent movie in a theatre and yer stomach rumbles like calypso havin the hots for davy jones in all her hedonistic fury,if ya get what i mean.everything around is so fucking confused and more so,so fucking immaterial..all the scum around,and by scum i do not mean some shitty morally eroded womanizing bitch an a half of a prick..but what i'd rather mean is the abject lack of a life around..i mean how can club hopping be more interesting than coffee in yer own room at midnight.music is important.agreed.but wen ya have to drive down two kilometres and all ya do throughout the drive is choose a song that u'd like to listen to,and that too,by the time u're done finding the song,u're done driving too.looking good is really important nowadays.a black shirt is a necessity for a party.nightlife has replaced life.dance.dance like imbeciles.proclaim your dumbness from the rooftops.yes,intellectualism is dead.the configuration of yer laptop matters now.so does the capacity of yer i pod.u may be loading shit on it..but hey who cares..u have a hundred and sixty GB of crappy ass music on it.no,we don't listen to music on our journeys now.music hasn't got the same importance anymore.because u spend all yer time shuffling thru and thru..create more and more playlists...for occassions,for moments..and very very accurately miss the fucking moment itself.its the generation of the fucking label.
nothin worth dying for.no passion.cars?zippos?gizmos? has tech slavery got us that fuckin hooked?why? why give in..?? why give in to this bleeding primitive habit?where does it end? sit back..think..NO..don't think. just let go.just let go.what wud ya want more than anything else in the whole world..more than anything,anything at all,this is where the dodge vipers and the 599 GTBs might or might not stay in contention..we want a piece of everything,a bit of this,a chunk of that,a slice of that,why not just one thing..just one pure lustful wish.one thing that ya wudn't be willing to share with anyone.enter jerry bruckheimer..something as important as a tower flyby was to maverick,as eleanor to memphis raines,as the black pearl to jack sparrow [captain..captain jack sparrow],why is that drive lacking?? why have all the lily livered nincompoops collected on this planet?no cause,no rhyme,no reason.all we ever need is a party or a vacation.what the fuck is wrong here?run away from work,run away from the run of the mill so much?why compromise?if ya are feelin that adventurous,just pack yer bags,get up...leave.but no,we'll sit on our tight asses,crib..crib till we're pissed of more about summin other than that,hair loss,maybe.are failed relationships all that we can bitch about,is tom cruise's over emphatic reaction at oprah all that's left of what we called television,are dinner dates and compromises all that are left of existing relationships?are memorable parties all that are left of anniversaries?
u know the worst thing that the atom bomb has done.more than killing people,it has killed the innocence of war.our atom bomb is the local hang out joint,the upmarket coffeeshop,the expensive sizzler joint.our great war lies within,where the security council's fuckin smokin up our brains.we criticise bush.we're all harbouring NATO right in our turdball brains.and u know what the fuck up is? john rambo ain't comin to save us with his crossbow and unending ammunition.i suggest we put a stop to this.time to hoist the colours,mate.make a stand.hold the line.draw the line.all good sounding words.implementable? dicey,wouldn't u say?can u break the spell? can u ask yer dumb friends to stop hangin out with ya just because they're plain fucking stupid and because u cannot handle their abject disdain for intellect?would ya still have the balls to hold that grin on yer face even if they're all fucking standing on the opposite side,would ya have the guts to take the impolite nudges and still walk on unhindered? now that for some would be the quintessential wimp.to me he'd be the epitome of control and sensibility.the question remains..is it time yet? if it is then what would a prudent human need as a catalyst to get him going.i believe i've found mine.enough to live for.enough to fight for.enough to risk all for.enough to feel for.enough to die for.drink up me hearties.its time to hoist the colors.
the king and his men
stole the queen from her bed
and bound her in her bones
the seas be oursand by the powers
where we will,we roam
yo ho all together
hoist the colours high
heave ho
thieves and beggars
never shall we die.
FREAK SHOW II
to all those bitches out there... and to all their sons who fall in the same fucken rut every fucken time... heh heh.... but hey.. seriously... what is this whole man womn thing.... what is the whole point... just screams and nails ... at the climax... and then.... all u get is just a fucken interminable wait.... tilll the very end... and at the end... ur still alone... is there a woman who's worth remembering after u've come all over...its all about the catch dude... all about a good catch... mr. butterfingers will win the race... its not even a race... just satisfaction.... wen does it arrive... when will peace finally prevail... what is peace... i guess if we could at least get a vague definition of what it actually is... we'd go for it as well.... but who defines it???.... me ... or somebody else... wen do we actually come in control... or do we ever... why is salvation so sought after if success is all that counts... any views...???as for me.... absolutely no clue... absolutely no idea...where am i heading... success or salvation.... both or none... wish i knew.. wish i knew... carpe diem baby
GABRIEL SPEEEKZ
this happens to be the first ever shitload i've written..i know it happens to be amazingly vague and probably may not make any sense at all..it was written on a delhi bus stop,and i had a really bad hangover after a night of good vodka and good music..this is what happens when u drink till 4 in the mornin,and have to report to work at 9.
Ash flicked off, tries to find some anchorage but is torn apart by the wind .... makin it lose every semblance of its very existence. the bits still get drawn in a collective swirl. the wind picks up again as the bits are finally sieved away into their oblivion. the whole cigarette goes thru the same pagan procedure which resembles the crossover of a sinner's soul to hell where its constantly ripped apart in the hot intestines of the realms of lucifer for eternity to witness.Life still trickles on like a faulty hourglass where even sand gets clogged as if metamorphosed into clay by the gnarled and nimble fingers of the senile silhouette of the alchemist who is addressed across the world as time itself.As if oncue , the wind rises again and wails thru the myriad trees, creating an eerie rustle... much as the announcement of the arrival of the fallen angels , as it makes the leaves on every branch quiver in unison, grippin on to dear life and reminding the dead ones of their fate to be trampled on for eternity. the cacophony of the wind becomes unbearable and the stoic symphony from hell reaches the crescendo as Satan's minions prepare for their descent onto our shores....
Ash flicked off, tries to find some anchorage but is torn apart by the wind .... makin it lose every semblance of its very existence. the bits still get drawn in a collective swirl. the wind picks up again as the bits are finally sieved away into their oblivion. the whole cigarette goes thru the same pagan procedure which resembles the crossover of a sinner's soul to hell where its constantly ripped apart in the hot intestines of the realms of lucifer for eternity to witness.Life still trickles on like a faulty hourglass where even sand gets clogged as if metamorphosed into clay by the gnarled and nimble fingers of the senile silhouette of the alchemist who is addressed across the world as time itself.As if oncue , the wind rises again and wails thru the myriad trees, creating an eerie rustle... much as the announcement of the arrival of the fallen angels , as it makes the leaves on every branch quiver in unison, grippin on to dear life and reminding the dead ones of their fate to be trampled on for eternity. the cacophony of the wind becomes unbearable and the stoic symphony from hell reaches the crescendo as Satan's minions prepare for their descent onto our shores....
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