Filed under: Uncategorized
Filed under: Uncategorized
i am sitting with an average looking girl and i keep telling her that she is very pretty.
but she is smart, but then not ALL that smart. she gets it sometimes and sometimes, i get it. if you what i mean..or hell probably you dont, but then nobody does.
ugly is the new pretty. the new cool.
i hate this shit but then its not really shit. but then, what is it? just cant say now, can we? can anyone for that matter?
i now certify, each and every word written above as CRAP.
happy?
Stand out in the sun. Take a polythene bag. A black polythene bag. Take it and hold it around your face. Look into it. Breathe inside of it.
Close your eyes. Feel Sick. Take a look at every speck of black that walls you in. Know that it will never leave you. Take in the Sickness. Put it deep inside. Deep down inwards. And pull your stomach in.
Feel it push against you. Wiggle for a bit and then break through your self.
And explode. Burn inside the black that is suffocating you.
Vomit inside your polythene. Push it out through your throat and nose. Feel it travel the distance of your cavity and rush over your lips. Drip out of your mouth and weave threads on its way down. Scortch your nostrils and graze the inside. Mucus. Spit. Vomit. Little pieces of things you cant imagine were what. Sickness.
Clean your teeth with your tongue. Spit out the last of it.
Now open your eyes. And take a look at what you’ve been holding up inside and fighting to keep inside. Notice its texture and inseparable ingredients.
Now push your face in. Hold the polythene bag tight round your head.
And inhale. :)
Bright green. Lucid gold. Sky blue.
Inertness is a myth. Existing within an instilled bubble of motion is not reality.
A shrub on the vast sands. And a patch of green tipped yellow after.
Why the colors were so important, I can’t even remember now. All they did was shear the thin film of reason off my eyes. Or was it the Sun? The grains in the wind-a-blow? Or just the sensation, false as it probably was, of breaking out of that bubble..
Regardless, the repetetive sands and interluding patches slowly turned into a frenziful feeling inside and around us. And we walked the earth. We walked to where you cross a river to the other bank of haze and weightlessness. And the crossing was hailed by many, who all looked on in awe and cheered on with their silent and bursting eye balls in their dried up sockets.
And we hailed the bank in return. Deliberately caked its mud on our feet, ran its entire stretch, dived into its softness, rolled around in its thick grass, and did it again. And again till the night came. Then we lit a fire and did it all again, the only difference being that this time we didnt climb out of the sands that we dove into. And we lay in them, waking nights and counting existence. Then denouncing it and discarding all thats been written till now. We made our own symbols, took our own sand and made 8 toe-d foot-prints. And then we watched it creak and turn till it dissolved into the nothing behind it, to be preserved and printed in some far reach of parallel realities.
The next sun brought with it the sight of the innerlands that lay ahead of us and we crawled into it, grabbing our stomachs, afraid that everything inside would fall out, only to be dazed by the lands around us and let go and watch our intestines empty onto the hot road surface beneath us and our nutrients fry and sizzle in its cracks and bumps. And the deeper we went, the deeper we saw. It was the answer to everything and a vision of purity. And almost promising too.
We couldn’t see what surrounded us. Right from the begining we couldn’t. We thought we saw. Or maybe we did see! We didn’t percieve.
And how could we? For the thin film of reason over our eye’s had been burnt.
And the farther we wandered, the more free we felt. Free from lies. From what did not matter. From cribbings and cries. From the rants of civilisation and its garbage cans. From the dirt inside those cans and then the people who’s plates it ended up on. From the great enthusiasm parade. The big busty brainwash. The fake bubble of instilled motion.
And little did we realise that tho we could not see the bubble anywhere near or around, it hadn’t really let us break through its film. It had instead wrapped its film around us to stretch and stretch till the film turned thinner and thinner and taughter and taughter.
And it should have snapped too. Just that we didn’t push hard enough i suppose. And the bubble back-slung us zooming through our vast travels and discoveries. We went racing through all we had dropped on the way there and all that we had left behind to replace it with.
And we saw. That along there were hands to pull us off the mud road. Clawing at our heels and grabbing at our ankles. To pull us off into the valley’s under hidden cliffs.
The water on the bank had turned to quicksand and bubbling rot covered the length of what we could see. But we could do nothing but stand in it knee deep and wonder where it came from. Wonder till it slowly rose around us and came farther and farther onto the bank, staining even the dead ashes that now made up the grain on the bank.
And after a swift flight and an electric jolt, we slowly bounced and shuffled ourselves back into reality and where it exists, we started seeing the rot everywhere.. Slowly realised it’d been there all along. And we wade through it everyday. Though, just maybe, being able to not see it is probably a pretty neat thing to be able to do.
All we do now is stand in it as bubbles pop in slow motion around us and leave behind little splotches of tar on our beings, each compelling us slowly into twisting around and begin to wonder what to do now. And fast before it starts sticking on too much..
“How does it feel like, to let fovever be?
How does it feel like, to spend a little lifetime sitting in the gutter?
Scream a symphony..”
Let Forever be - Chemical Brothers
Dim lights over a subtle blue and a soft rhythm o’er and above the horiz0n have something between them that makes right now pretty much unexpressable through efforts in their entirety. When your lids hover and waves bounce off your sides..
And everything stops dead. Falls in its place, so that you feel like you’ve just taken a ride on a flying lift to above the clouds and nothing more than you want matters. And that which does matter can be tucked tight inside your cranium, only to let it turn into everything without anyone else having to know of or about anything. And you could fall in your place with the safe knowledge that everythings cherry pink on bone-china plates.
And you rise instead to a place where heady ditties resound in your head. Every time you’ve ever smiled amalgamates into one big bag of helium within your being.
And if the music were turned off, your ears would ring and beep like a shivering halo for the oblivious fraction of an eternity.
With the rest of it spent in precious brushes, warm locks and sweetness.
And everything stops dead. Falls in its place..
(Archive Alert! Written earlier! Have no idea what it was still doing in my drafts since April. Presenting…)
*****
Wooz-a-Wayn-a-Wayn-Ooo! Wooz-a-Wayn-a-Wayn-Ooo! Wooz-a-Wayn-a-Wayn-Ooo! Where can I score some peace of mind? This stuff isn’t working anymore. And I can’t see well enough to put all this together…
Its all a daze I tells you! A blur, all of it fast~forwarded right around me. I can’t remember clearly the events and their exact sequence in the past few days, except where it comes back to me when someone tells me about it all or when there’s someone inside my head leading me through some sugar coated experiences.
I’m probably really wobbly and my eyes must be real glazed. I see through water and walk at someone else’s expense. Its not really me walking back through the now sunlit streets, its my ghost. Its a realisation thats really hit me more than I need it to, but I always know its true, when I find myself already home when I reach there. And I’ve been sitting there all along.
Glowing orange patches on the empty roads through fake cardboard streets, carefully designed so that you feel trapped within its dead-ends and walls. The fish around me, always just far enough to touch, but right there in the darkness by our path, swimming to-and-fro, but never really leaving us.
Then there’s the occasional wind in our hair and the coolness on our faces, while we stand and watch all that passes us. And weaving swirls of smoke travel with the wind. Puff. Puff. Puff. And it keeps us going. Somehow.
Never really asleep, nor awake through the daily grind. Don’t really care about anything. Do you remember me before this all was supposed to be?
I really need to get some sleep, if only I could get some.
Or maybe someone needs to slap me in the face till I wake up…
Filed under: I've been thinking... | Tags: blue, direction, hitchhike, lost, roam, sky
Look up. Look up at the blue.
Its blue. Really blue.
As in a empty blue. A lot of blue. A big blue spread out above your being. A bright, yet deep blue. A hollow blue. A vast blue. An illuminated blue.
Altogether, a really big Blue.
No white streaks. No gray streaks. No yellow circles.
Just blue.
Follow it to its edges and it fades off to a paler blue. Follow it further, and you reach the collective depression of millions dead.
The blue beckons. It promises. It draws. It blankets. It saves. Its suddenly all there is.
The blue empties.
And it stays blue.
Keep looking and there’s suddenly a streak originated from a corner. And a shiny white Airplane flying over you. It flies. It leaves the streak. It flies in a direction and onwards. Its pointing, and you can see the direction.
The direction is always the same. Outside. The blue always points outwards. And thats it.
Thats it because outside is not the right direction. The direction seems lost. It was there before, but then it went away. By itself.
Now the direction just seems hidden within the blue. Within the nothingness that exists overhead.
And then there it is. Among the scattered paths of the sparrows…
#
Look up. Look up at the blue.
Its vast enough.
Scattered. Haphazard. And Random.
Rove. Stray. And Dissapear.
And the blue shall always be up above.
Filed under: I've been thinking... | Tags: , bear, creed, culture, desire, evolution, god, jackson, micheal, nature, pedophile, pop, popstar, scotty, stapp, want, world
Many a theorists across the Commercial Machine have pointed out that God, in all his mighty actions, has left us wanting. And that is why we must provide for ourselves. That that is the reason why
we must develop further and make our existence self sufficient. Many a theorists have told us that we must develop to satisfy our wants and to survive. With a margin.
Our own theorists in my head argue, and very violently so, that developement, which arises from want in the first place, only breeds either of more want, contempt or the pop culture, each of which is worse than the next.
Now unfortunately, the theorists of your world do not see eye to eye with those in my parallel universe, my head. Infact, they barely see each other at all. I cannot, infact, recall the last time I saw them socializing at any public and/or private event.
This could lead to only one logical conclusion, which is that Scotty (Stapp) doesn’t know! He does not know anything. As doesn’t George W. Bush and as didn’t Sid Vicous. This, and the fact that your world is probably plagued by want and obsessed with developement, means that your world is also very competitive, Big-Fish-Eat-Small-Fish, polluted, pop-star infested and heading towards completely ridding itself of its natural resources, which is a task it has been employing itself very dedicatedly for a long long time.
At this point we’d like you to take a break from whatever you are doing and think. Think. Think hard. Think VERY hard. Think about whether the creator up above really intended for us to really want and develop. Think about whether or not he provided us with everything we might possibly need. Think whether all the developement (or most of it anyway) could be done without. Think about whether Creed are a bad band. Think about why you listen to them anyway.
Nothing in nature is left wanting. Nature is God’s realm. Nature is supposed to be untouched by the wanting mind’s of the humans. Nature is touched by wanting minds of bio-scientists, as are a lot of children by wanting minds of pop-stars.
Nature is a perfect example of the fact that God didn’t leave anything wanting. A perfect example that God meant for us to only have wants so as to fulfill our basic needs. A perfect example that he provided for fulfilling the basic needs. A perfect example that Micheal Jackson should’ve never ‘touched’ those children.
Consider this. Big Bear feels hungry. Big Bear does not feel contempt. Big Bear does not feel jealousy. Big Bear does not feel desire. Big Bear does not litsen to Creed. Big Bear only feels hungry.
So, Big Bear goes to the river side and hunts down a Small Rabbit or plucks out a Puny Fish and eats it. Big Bear does not develop a candy vending machine. Big Bear does not develop a food processing plant. Big Bear does not establish tinned foods. Big Bear does not invent the nuclear warhead. Big Bear does not touch children. And Big Bear still doesn’t litsen to Creed. Big Bear eats Small Rabbit or Puny Fish.
Some theorists from the reader’s world, unless the reader relates to Ire, would argue that this is so because Big Bear couldn’t possibly do any of that since Big Bear is after all a big bear and an animal. But that would be plain silly and that would prove wrong the theory of evolution, which is a theory widely regarded as very intelligent by those very theorists. The fact is, God provided for fulfilling the basic needs of all his subjects and all existense. This being so, had you realised this before, the world wouldn’t be where it is, which would’ve been a good thing. You would be a mindless ape fulfilling only those carnal desires which fulfill your basic needs and then retiring to nature and its giving arms. And so would Scotty Stapp.
Another terrific example that showcases how God did not wish for us to be wanting is the fact that none else than man feels jealousy and desire to ape and compete.
For example, if a lit match stick were to reach the underbelly of a car at a busy urban crossing, the car would torch and explode. Other cars and such creature’s would feel jealous and wish to be in the same state as that of the exploding car. And with a defiant look, these other creatures would also explode and so on so forth, untill most of a continent’s vehicular populace is not ablaze and reduced to waste metal. The larger creatures would then feel jealous and would proceed to explode. Buildings, Ships, Airplanes, Towers and the like would get reduced to trash. Creed would actually gain originality in their music. And Micheal Jackson would go touching grown men for a change.
This is, ofcourse, not the way things are, except ofcourse Micheal Jackson, of whose tendency to touch everything we are highly sceptical about. This would not only make the world very unreasonable, but would make torching a car impossible without destroying half of modern civilization. Cheerio’s! And don’t WANT! Stand up against unnecessary and/or detrimental development.
Filed under: I've been thinking... | Tags: dominate, home, hostel, ragging, seniors, sick
Its like being locked up. Locked up. Within walls. Strange walls. Confined. Surrounded by. Locked up within. Locked up. Most of the time.
Other times, its like flying, not only because of the high’s, but its like flying. Flying. Soaring. Free. Without any foreseeable boundaries. Flying.
It seems strange at times that this is what my life has become. This is where I have landed up. This is how I’m spending my life. These are whom I relate to. Who I know. Who I trust.
At other times, those exact things make me feel better. Good. High. Confident. Free. Soaring. Better. And that is probably why I’m hostel sick now.
Walking empty corridors at night, watching stairs curve and stretch, watching walls incline, watching the floor wind up and down, watching the doors swirl, walking the corridors at night. Sometimes alone. Sometimes together. Alone, but never lonely. And that is probably why I’m hostel sick now.
That is what you’d expect me to say, had this entity been in the reader’s universe, but, that is not the case. This entity is infact in a parallel universe on the probability matrix.
Over here, we’d rather say things like Its like a big pile of shit where the hovering Fly’s have nothing better to do than to peek at the Dungbeetles who can’t fly… as yet. Yes, in this amazing wonderland, Dungbeetle’s soon warp into the loathed Fly’s and then hover aimlessly and peek at the newer Dungbeetles who replace them.
The Dungbeetle’s are the one’s who break off pieces of dung from neighbouring dung piles and add them to their own pile of shit so that the Fly’s can feed off the newer dung and be happy. Its all about pleasing the Flies.
The Dungbeetles have big, watery, hopeful eyes. Eyes that want to shove over the dung and feed it to the Flies. In an attempt to make the Flies happy. To be accepted.
The Flies have narrow, beady eyes, unlike the round plastic eyes that flies usually have, and more often than not, fail to see the Dungbeetle shoving in the new dung. Eyes that live for consumption. Eyes that are never really satisfied. Eyes that flog Dungbeetles anyways.
The Dungbeetles do, eventually, realise this and at such a point only shove dung to get their term over with and to become Flies as hastily as possible. Yes, the Flies are loathed. But being a Fly is much sought after.
This particular tribe of Dungbeetles that this entity lives within, is not very special. To the Flies anyways. Nor to the vast array of dungpiles that exist unseemingly. But they are special to each other. To the dung that they shove. And to this entity.
This entity has been a Dungbeetle most of his life, under various other Flies. Sometimes knowing it, yet without acknowledging it. Sometimes knowing it, and acknowledging it. Sometimes without knowing it at all. Mostly ignoring it. Flies are nothing new. This entity knows it all too well.
His new found tribe, however, are.
And that is probably why I’m hostel sick now.
Filed under: I just came across as... | Tags: baby, ciggerettes, frankenstein, paranoia, parents, pedophile, pervert, train
One last look at my untrendy wrist watch had confirmed the time at around 11:00pm. Time had gone fast since 7 double O. The packet of Cigg’s had done well, and I still had 7 left.
Three more and I was on the train in my compartment. My luggage’s under my seat and I’m asleep. Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz…..
More…
I wake up around 1:00am due to some disturbance in the compartment and now vaguelly remember a family of a wife and husband and a baby moving in. Then I remember sleepin’ off.
I wake up next at around 10:00am, by which time breakfast’s over and I’m hungry. Oh well. Still have the fags.
The newly moved in family’s still asleep. Give’s me a clean chance to move out and smoke a couple. Feels good. Makes me feel like smoking one now.
By the time I’m back, Momma’s up with Baby. Baby’s happy and cheerful. Doesn’t make me want to kill him. Or even slap him. God bless Baby.
Momma doesn’t notice me. Baby smiles at me. I wave back, as one usually does to baby’s. Momma turns around and see’s me. She puts a smile on her face. Its fake.
It says to me, I’m not sure who you are, but I don’t really trust you.
I ignore the threat and go back and sit on my seat. I look out of the window. The borrowed worn out pack of cheap cards is still on the common table in the compartment, just where I left it. I put my pack of Ciggs besides it, supplemented with the pack of cheap matches.
I look out of the window.
I can hear Baby gurgle and giggle. Momma talks to Baby as if Baby understands everything. Baby does understand everything.
Momma thinks Baby enjoys her talk. Baby thinks Momma’s a prick. Its always the same. Momma’ll probably start thinking about this and her son’s detest for her and her ways after some 17 years. Then she’ll go around talking to people about it and sharing her new found theory on how children suddenly want to be free and how they think of their parents as pricks when they come of age.
Its already begun at this stage. It always does. Then Baby needs support. Baby dissolves her feelings in this regard towards Momma and Pappy. Then Baby grows up and decides that Baby’s Momma and Pappy are pricks after all.
I don’t realise I’ve been half staring at Baby all the while I’m thinking of all this. Momma’s staring back at me. Baby’s pretty amused and probably thinks I’m a prick too. Yes. Baby’s have a very limited worldview.
Yep. I just instigated the littlest of fears into Momma and now she thinks I’m a psyched out nut-pedophile-perv.
I stretch a smile at her, then at Baby and then out the window. I allow the smile to fade out at this point.
Momma shifts her dirty looks off me and resumes singing to Baby.
“Saawariya. Ch Ch Ch Ch. Saawariya. Ch Ch Ch Ch…”
“Giggle. Gurgle. Giggle. Hic! Bleayah! Giggle.”
Yep. We both know she’s a prick. The both of us.
I suddenly realise I’m looking at the baby again. I turn my eyes away as fast as I can. But Momma’s already noticed.
Momma pulls her dupatta here and there, pulls down her kameez. Puts baby behind the crumpled-slept-in blanket.
Yep. Its confirmed. She thinks I’m most definetly a Pedophile Perv now.
A smile cracks inside of me.
Pappy stirs on the berth on top of me. He makes a groggy grunt and then continues to wish a “Good Marning!” to Mommy and Baby. Momma wishes him back. Momma pretends that Baby wishes back. Baby thinks Pappy’s a prick. Pappy sounds like he’s got a chloroform soaked cotton down his throat.
Pappy starts climbing down from his berth. He touches the ground and looks me over with a dumb grin on his face. I nod back with a small polite smile. I grab my packet of Ciggs and head out towards the door.
Pappy looks like Frankenstein. He misses his nuts.
I smoke one, buy a packet of chips and return to the compartment. From outside, I can hear pappy singing “You are my soniya…” and a bunch of other songs to Baby.
I part the curtains. Heads turn. My eyes meet with Baby’s. Yes, Pappy’s a prick. We know, the both of us. Me and Baby.
Mommy and Pappy look at me with sullen expressions. Pappy now knows too and he’s looking me over, judging just how big a perv I am.
He throws me a feeble smile. Its almost threatning. Makes me think of the kind of smiles I recieve from people who know me, for all the different reasons.
I sit back on my seat and replace the pack of Ciggs. The heads have turned back to protecting Baby, but the corners are still looking me over.
Soon Momma and Pappy become occupied reading my copy of Dainik Jaagaran. Without asking me.
Baby decides to explore my pack of cards. Without asking me.
The Queen of Spades lies atop the pack. Face down. So that Baby doesn’t know who is at the top. Baby picks up the Queen and turns her over and over. She eventually gets drooled over and torn into bits. Baby proceeds to mess up the rest of the pack. And the remanants of my pack of chips.
Momma notices this and pulls Baby back. My pack of cards gets scattered all over the place, as does my pack of chips. Momma gathers up my pack and hands it to me. Minus the Queen of Spades. I pocket it with a smile. A geniune one at that. The pack of chips gets shoved into a corner. Don’t go near Pedophile-Perv’s stuff. Except the Dainik Jaagaran.
Time passes. I go off to smoke. I come back to my seat. Pver and over. Pappy’s singing “Fanaa” or something that sounds like that to Baby. I come and finally sit on my seat. The pack of Ciggs is empty.
I look on as Pappy heads out into the corridor to check whether their stations coming up soon. Baby’s asleep.
I watch on as Pappy pulls out their luggage. Momma’s eyeing me with disgust.
Yep. She thinks I’m a Pedophile-Perv after Baby. After HER Baby. Paranoia.
I get up and walk out into the corridor and stand in the door way and watch the station platform pull up to the right of the train. A slight jolt and the train halts.
I turn around to see Pappy lugging a suitcase and bag through the A.C. door. Momma’s behind him with Baby.
I open the door and pull the suitcase into the doorway and set it on the platform. The bag’s next and then another. Pappy’s down on the platform with me.
He helps Momma down from the train, Baby in her arms.
I shake hands with Pappy. Nod with a smile to Momma. I head back towards the train and my eyes meet Baby’s. Baby smiles.
Yes. Momma and Pappy are pricks. Me? I’m not that bad. I get back on the train and return to my seat and feel it start to move, heading home in an empty compartment with a pack of cards missing the Queen of Spades.
