Wednesday, December 30, 2009
Wednesday, December 23, 2009
with a running obsession,
to live and ploy;
Secure young hearts,
and leave them for joy.
He lived for 45 years,
as mad as his obsessions.
He could have had a thought on his last breath,
that could have been,
"Why didn't I?"
He could have decided to stop.
Said, "Stop the drama."
And let death takeover.
No, this could have been more drama for him.
He might have thought.
"What is with my own dramatics?"
"What is with these defined _?"
"What is with you being dramatic?"
Do you think he might have died,
silently among exuberant folks,
lost in their own sweet world,
caring less enough for the braggart
they thought him to be?
What would his last thought have been,
in that case?
was he allowed one?
or did he die with his paranoid self?
He should have lived.
Shred and lived.
Less of obsessions,
love for people
hate for people
as a normal being.
He could have,
not lied to himself that he wasn't any of that.
Smell of God
in my pockets;
I pull out my hands from them,
and there I found an assurance.
There is something gay (old usage) and wrenching about the photograph of a happy gay couple.
Sunday, December 13, 2009
and for the mast;
wait a thousand nights
Wait until the ship sinks;
for Jupiter to show up in the sky;
for the sea to swell.
and don't go for another moment.
Saturday, December 12, 2009
Thursday, December 10, 2009
Monday, December 7, 2009
Saturday, November 28, 2009
that Eliot would have found
in a nonchalant street musician in Venice.
--- < ! respond >
ready to fly for a cigarette;
Man by the dinner table on one-
not making the piano request.
the hunched poet on another-
by the stream in the city.
Large liquid eyes-
pained by the rulebook of the world.
Here's what concern says to you:
"Free yourself, young man.
You need to be so much more
than you see or have to be."
--- < respond >
In the restaurant by the sea,
there was no malady.
Letter your doubts
and make paper boats of them during the rains.
--- < ! respond >
paadadho un idazh?
-- < respond >
kadal karai-il kanaa kaanavum,
--- < respond >
Was I stoned, or something?!
It's about how capiche sounds and not what it means.
An argument is tedious. There's deduction and induction, there has to be conviction, there could be emotion, and some condescension. Reminding me of the moods of this pseudo piece, here.
Analysis, on the other hand, is spawn of free ends. It's about the moot. Libertarian, in a better sense.
Language, the coordinating factor, doesn't help much. Just like this post, facts without a cause.
Ha, that's an argument.
< No, was a priori before it turned into an argument. >
Darn, all statements are arguments.
Aristotle made statements. Emphasised, rather.
Hmm, now emphasis has been dragged into what Butch says in Pulp Fiction -
Shit! Of all the fucking things she could forget, she forgets my father's watch! ... : I specifically reminded her - bedside table! On the Kangaroo! I said the words, "Don't forget my father’s watch."or dismissed and coiled away for something emanating from a social handicap among other things.
Trashing all of the above statements, it is
Streets that follow like a tedious argument
Of insidious intent
To lead you to an overwhelming question …
Oh, do not ask, “What is it?”
Let us go and make our visit.
that I would like to bask upon.
Saturday, November 21, 2009
That sounded like an easy statement to make.
And then, giving equal thought to what constitutes expression, the generation loss, constructs, and talking to people, I mightily killed my pet thought.
Where is Helene?
" is Ralph?
" is Philip?
Wednesday, November 18, 2009
Everything goes awry when it flies away
and says each time, "You never once made me sway."
Should I have? Should the wind have?
Did I not? Did the wind not?
It is a stray feather, alright,
with no place to stay.
I put it at someplace
secure and safe.
it departs so often that,
the air smells its flight
more often than my hand-held
gentle admiration of its lightness.
Saturday, November 14, 2009
Saturday, November 7, 2009
Sunday, November 1, 2009
Monday, October 26, 2009
Friday, October 23, 2009
At least, stifling responses wouldn't be of much concern
and yes, did I say liberating?
It has to be relieving as well.
Who wants ties with this mad connection made of people, and inanimate things.
Nothing more stimulating than a discussion that has accommodating people who aren't bothered about who gets the lead, or what has to be scrutinised and what not.
Thursday, October 22, 2009
And you < have to > think, the man has it easier.
for an instant.
married to something,
for an instant,
for what seemed like
Straightening ties with your wife,
for an eternity.
Wednesday, October 14, 2009
I'm suddenly taken back to the high-walled buildings I had been to. Even imagining sipping green tea near the venetian blinds of one of those floors as the evening sky rains. Dusk in all its wrung romanticism. A silent overwhelm.Happened recently.
-Like being able to astutely (remember and) feel the taste of medicated blood soaked cotton blobs around the gums, while the dentist was working on a root canal surgery drilling such that nano teeth particles and the saline solution, hit the roof of the mouth and gave their own distinct taste and presence.
Good Lord, I am empathetic of myself?
Sunday, October 11, 2009
One night, of the many, saw her returning to her single apartment a little beyond twelve.
And the feeling of being a slut cringed in her. She wasn't one for real, though. But the late nights, her outrageous clothing, insolence, and many such apocalyptica prescribed by society for a woman, caught her off guard. I think she felt nauseous about herself.
Of course she didn't have the balls to confront herself with that or even pull herself and say, "I care two hoots." Neither did she want to tell anyone she felt morally screwed.
Do you want me to step down?
run far away
and hurt myself?
it's no more than shambles.
Friday, October 9, 2009
Sunday, October 4, 2009
man of many tournaments,
sat across me at the conference table.
Minting astute thoughts,
and languid glances.
It was before I could surrender, that,
I was reminded that I have a family.
< wish the ones below were removed >
And, so, my slow posture retired
knowing it would lean towards this man
in other conferences;
and the family would fade to
a passive impotent remembrance.
Wednesday, September 30, 2009
Thursday, September 24, 2009
Sunday, September 20, 2009
All you do is find poetry in others, and lose your own.
Friday, September 11, 2009
Wednesday, September 2, 2009
Monday, August 24, 2009
Sunday, August 23, 2009
through quivery living,
From dust to ashes,
the guileless body lives,
tarnished by rings of ideas
Two words for them who think of dust to ashes and isolate the interim period for one of struggle: Existential Angst.
For the others, like us, it's been 'from womb to an operational end.' We don't need to understand their fancy and dear hypotheses.
This was what I was told.
With this my mother thought it fit for me to conjure an image of her; enough to not make me near her room.
However, I'd tip-toe to her door on many occasions, knowing she'd never lend herself to a view through the key-hole. Thus met with expected disappointment each time, I'd return thinking how such a lady could survive (how did she keep getting her wool?).
To be honest, it was the act of reaching out to her doorstep that mattered. I did not want to see a lady who had nothing edible given by any human we knew, and no formal place to clean/relieve herself. I'd asked my mom once (never after) about how the woman could survive, and she went on to say, "witches have that power."
Ha, why do folks think kids will believe 'em? I mean we do get all dreamy when you tell us such stories, but heavensake, don't assume we think such things are possible.
Sunday, August 16, 2009
What is it to wake up with a punctured soul? The grief the liberation of a cold early morning ride to and from Cantonment Railway Station brings? Do you have an idea?
It's not to do with dissatisfaction. It's insolence, absolute self-centredness, disregard and discourteousness, I have to face everyday that somehow stun me. Like this otherwise charming college junior, Sivaram, who assumes I have an answer to everything and asks me things, just anything, except if I could respond to them. Should I be rude and put my foot down on him? And then, some who in their silent rebel to fit-in and yet seem different-scared of their brittle selves, let their meat that grew with them through the years die in social acceptance. They're too heavy. I don't know if it's got to do with altruism, I wish they were out of such discordance.
Yea, how dare I say such things. I'm screwed up just fine. With all in the life running on the right path, but this stupid larger part of me that runs away from that blaming others for it. Dumbfuck.
As I say, my auscultation and being a bivouac is as pseud as my life. I'm so annoyed. Will anyone believe me when I say I sorely want to shed these? Bah.
Uh, get a life.
Stick out, people; it fucking clogs the shit.
Grand condescending applause. What a joke this is! Haha.
Uncomfortable madness! Just let go, you'll get over mania.
An attempt, nothing else. I don't want this to be judged/associated/even regarded.
Aside, Tottochan is such a wonder. Seemingly the only strong competition to Heidi. (Peter Pan is still too cluttered to compare with.)
I could never be a good actor.
With peers who change with money, with them who pedestalise those who treat them like dirt and kick their loyal servants in the gut, with them who seek power and attention, with my shrivelled and devoted wife, with sprightly grandchildren who ask me to try out sneakers for my Chappals (it embarasses them), with friends of my wife I run into at parties that paint themselves with red, violet and black cosmetics, even rouge (sophomore girls in 50-year-old frames of women; sagging breasts can never be hidden, they say), with musicians who conceal their pain to make Adagios, with refugees, with nurses, with my sister who sleeps with someone not her husband, with her desolate husband, with great movies and even greater actors. With Ashame that I am a hypocrite. I shan't.
I suddenly catch some of their laughs, and like them too. I didn't expect this anti-climax.
With this comes the bereavement of my unsure fingers swearing that I could have been more honest and less apocalyptic here at least.
Friday, August 14, 2009
and I'm with the smell of grass.
Musty and inviting.
Happened with Glass' 'Evening Song'.
My brain is partially working on the lyrics of this post,
and some of it is living many lives in an instant.
(Like it's been born to a thousand gushing springs.)
The rest lays calm,
almost like silence in the storm;
listening to the movement, and
watching the sun set.
Friday, August 7, 2009
These city rains remind me of the pensive Nox-bestowed Hong Kong lights and my Wills Lights. Draping themselves in the coldness around, sinking together by the lamp-posts. The shadow of my body from incandescent lamps upon the ground, and several flights to drier grounds. (The rains are always in love with earthy entities.) Like the drenched cigarette in my pocket and my hasty attempts to run over to the Noodle Store's lone sodium lamp. Such monotony. Such mood. I'm almost in the same slow-mo, letting these smoke rings fill the roof.
These words remind me of S's. He mentioned on several occasions that adjectives need to be avoided; done away to say the least. My writing wreaked of it, probably. I knew they were getting excessive on the head and the page. But, to strange nights, what would emptiness mean without the root descriptive, empty?
The void seems heavy in bland sentences. Tireless and unwinding. Perhaps why S could not conform to his notion.
I'm suddenly taken back to the high-walled buildings I had been to. Even imagining sipping green tea near the venetian blinds of one of those floors as the evening sky rains. Dusk in all its wrung romanticism. A silent overwhelm.
Qualifiers help. Emptying out the baggage; detoxifying thought. I'm now left with experience alone, in an asylum and a B&H stick. Sans humidity.
Tuesday, August 4, 2009
Friday, July 31, 2009
Hey, come on, that's shoplifting :P
It's my brother, I tell you. Salvaging me with his seemingly punch-dialogueish association with idiomatic expressions.
God, I am actually arguing with someone over the association between change and prominence wrt human behaviour.
Conviction is the only thing that keeps any argument. Have it, and condescension will take further course. Matters not if the conviction is true or faked. [ vis-a-vis RK! ] But this one I'm having turns out to me being called for a counselling session involving the prophets. The anti-climax (with no belittling).
Thursday, July 30, 2009
Yesterday, at this hour, I remember gazing into the denseness of the skies through the window of a speeding train. There is nothing about it, except this belief that I have stilled myself from regularities. And then the revision of thought happens.
[ It moves me to wonder if salvation is born thus. Would a conscience and awareness of states and choices warrant it? Redemption is therefore born in us, should I say; pulling ourselves out, gathering ourselves... Liberation should thus be a null set. Then again, the idea of salvation can be dismissed saying it is an intangible pursuit and merely a theoretical fixation irrelevant to our existence. Farty enough.]
Sunday, July 26, 2009
You are dying, as the composition in my head crescendoes. My being feels empty already. Will you come back as an immortal melody; sprightly?What do we owe ourselves and our souls that we dwell in nether regions?
It is this, I know:
1 2 3 4
2 3 4 5 6
1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8
2 3 4
2 3 4
1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8
1 2 3
1 2 3
2 3 4
2 3 4
5 6 7 8
1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8
And the epilogue reads "a serene bench."
Oh, hell, yeah, I feel like doing that. Just like that.
A person of circumstance sounds oh-so-varicose;
You need an answer? I'm going to give you pre-fabricated trash.
You need a solution? "Fuck off."
You mean business? "You've started talking."
You say dollars? I'm counting Yen.
You pay for whores? I pay for charlatans.
You'll be Co-op farming? I surrender.
Can I trust you on my business always? Upon your involuntary bodily functions, as ever, you may.
Will you take me away? I'm an ascetic, you're a misfit.
I've begged you? No, bugged.
You mean business? I've no better option.
What's the business, though? ...
[ I wanted to stop with the first three lines of forward but then the forward-reverse thing got built. ]
Monday, July 20, 2009
Good Morning Heartache is one such of their films. Been haunting me for almost three months after having watching it. A must for anyone out, in and grown out of love (what does anyone understand about it, anyway?).
In hard times,
I hold my candle
weeping against your robe
and you daintily listen to my unspoken woes.
In other times,
you live in your world, I, mine
We don't need acknowledgment
and a bond to keep us, or even enliven our souls.
Francis Bacon wrote humbly brilliant essays. How well he dismisses Tabula Rasa. Bertrand Russel can never measure up to him.
I've a horrid opinion that this blog has become a priori.
Saturday, July 18, 2009
The sin and the soul.
Lift up your spirits,
gather the bowls
of sublime will.
Take me to your land,
enchant me, lend me your bicycle.
Travel up the world, Nadia,
off pain and beauty,
to blindfolded regions.
In your palm, lay the world,
rest it on another,
free yourself, Nadia.
Drench yourself in
the mirage of clouds.
Nothing is what it seems, Nadia
Why did you try those things I just told you?
and now became,
who you are not.
You disappoint. Always.
Friday, July 17, 2009
pass the "use me"
they only have time to throw banana skin
and search for a ring they might have lost in it.
Trashcans/Dustbins can never be consistently rich.
Mount Carmel seems to have changed. The girls and women seem less lesbian and more ultra-modern. CommE has a bunch of snots now. Lord.
People just don't sound right when they try defining time. Nano, sociological, biological, metaphysical, pendulum; Blasted folks have other markers for no-time (an off-shoot of classical metaphysics I suppose.)
Thursday, July 2, 2009
Hope is this that allegories, metaphors, similes, symbolism, adjectives and the breed are never wrenched out.
I want sojourn to mean sojourn, and nothing else, please!
The lone engine's sound, the gang war of the street dogs past midnight, the suffocation of a surgery, conspiracy, courtesy, el mar, lost wallet, tendrils.
All of this dead-pan, you say?
Die felicity. Die! You just can't measure upto others. Die, die.
Tuesday, June 30, 2009
Saturday, June 27, 2009
Why is it queer, when it is not even queer?
Why, humans have this innate affinity for branding/compartmentalising.
It isn't all that fair, and I'm just too reel-struck!
It works on a young boy's fantasy filled with essentially surreal, magnified and horribly ethereal plot(s) that serve a full course meal for all the Freudians out there. I shan't talk much of the story here, for it might be a sinful act considering it's a dream that involves pieces of Alice in Wonderland, Zorro and the Nautilus . The characters evolve, or should I say, let us discover more about them as the interlaced plots progress, making for this movie that tramps about.
Time, morality, ethics, even space, are given a pass throughout and it moves towards a moot of survival and selfishness against these.
I tried googling the movie to find out more about its circumstances and after a few good minutes only did I learn, it's better known as Nemo, and was the first movie of French Director Arnaud Sélignac. Riddance to my amazement that the Englishman could have actually written such a movie back then. As for the actors, only Dominique Pinon (the obsessive lover at the cafe in Amelie), dressed 'Monkey' in this film, seems familiar to me. Nevertheless, the cast and crew have staged quite a bold creation. The sets of the film prod on the faked Appolo mission, I guess. Background score is rightly supportive and non-intrusive. The dialogues, especially of the magician, Mr. Rip, haggle over a lot of philosophical parodies, while the young Nemo's is so darn Brit with all the bland exclamations intact.
It isn't disappointing to see a 4.8/10 for this classic movie, that deserves an 8, on IMDB -seemingly the only site that has substantial info on the film. < http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0087784/ > I might sound like a contradiction with all my sentimental echoes of the film here, but it certainly is different from all those kitschy movies on dream-ing/s/land. Being as banal and dumb as possible.
It just seems right now to remember it as a French more than an English movie. A delightful watch on a lazy late afternoon. Ahoy Nemo and the Nautilus!
Tuesday, June 23, 2009
A Malabar monsoon,
for some cherai.
lost to the sun.
A heart of physics
and a language of yearning.
Where in the world
should metaphysics be running?
That which is enraptured
by sight and smell and sound
of character and appreciation,
that qualify for ethics,
made for some slush on me,
And that is glee. That is wallowing in the mire.
Monday, June 22, 2009
Considering your internal and external frames of reference, you are both homeomorphic and homomorphic.
What is metaphysically known as the "essence of a person." Yes, that which defines a person, however much they may have seemed to have contorted/stuck to themselves.
Thus the conviction in structures, more than patterns, gets accentuated for me.
(And you is every one. )
Saturday, June 20, 2009
The essence of my being lies within the soul,
and that is effectuated by this ________>_______
And in effect, I'm at sea, abjectly.
Do these things count for facts, or are they merely experiential?
For me, it still seems abstract. Further dismissing the unreal. Purely to put things in perspective than understand what exactly it is.
In those contradictions and gibberish does time exist for me now. I know not what is to be done. Ha, 'what can be done' is just a proposal; that again has layers and sub-layers.
Fuck this. I don't want to carry forth such mindless abstractions. I've learnt that meta talk needs to be avoided, you know.
End of conversation.
< / Head >
Wednesday, June 17, 2009
8th standard Geography, for specifics; when I did this project on the Himalayan belt and had to cut [ :-( ] out breathtaking photographs from a tourist guide book.
My almirah still holds two of those excess cutouts that could not be discarded.
Oh, and to lay out the defenses that may stem in the post. I'm thinking about people going, "Hey, even I liked the NE back in school. I've liked it all along, just that I wasn't vocal just like her, I've got XYZ for proof" and variations.
Homo sapiens-I don't want to do the judging. 'Tis tiresome.
And the moment that became official, the reconsideration began.
Tuesday, June 16, 2009
More like having statements with answers.
Friday, June 12, 2009
Strange enough that most forms hardly want to leave stuff for the reader; they have to compete against their imagination and spell out things. Then again, it doesn't matter if it's intentional or not, it doesn't get to be writing if it has failed with the reader, that's all.
On that note: The posts on writing (?!) need to be wrapped up. And so shall they. Soupy enough. :-|
Thursday, June 11, 2009
The city is drenched, the farm-house nearby has its insects in their nests, dad is downstairs sleepily watching the match, and I wonder, all crouched, if more details need to be spelt.
After some mind-meandering, I seem stoned enough, well, figuratively. Not forgetting that this preempts a routine night. God save.
Monday, June 8, 2009
muses of the world
slipped into slumber-delight;
leaving their artists sore, and infertile.
Crushing metaphors they were statued for
by the snore.
And then we know,
the muse was just we;
perhaps just an I.
Sunday, June 7, 2009
- Capital investment is a huge issue even with UF with returns spread over a long period
- Fossilisation, replenishment of water, soil (natural) preservation, oxygenating of agricultural lands may take a beating.
- Cities may probably heat-up more, but the homes get to be cooler when you have mini-farms set-up. Apartment and kitchen farming isn't all that new, anyway.
- Sustainability of a farm is a matter of dropping a bomb over it.
- Actually, their geographical positioning isn't an issue, just that the local sufficiency of the urban becomes easier.
- But ex-agro lands of the rural may spin off industrial spaces with all those implications
- Green cover loss activists will be upto a lot of work, as well as the left/socialists
- The logistics of traditional farming get centrifuged
- Desert lands get revived?
- Grocery prices get customised as much as the growing according to the Food Pyramid?
- Hydroponics rocks.
- The ecosystem gets effectively exploited without damage?
- Infrastructural problems are bound to arise, unlike the traditional
- Dickson Despommier
- The farm flowchart is impressive
Friday, June 5, 2009
-And gah, this was spun after reading things people wrote on that word.
Monday, May 18, 2009
The lyrics weren't understood most of the time.
But these days, there're these itches that make me google up lyrics of certain pieces that let me travel. It happens that I ultimately like them very much.
FL, I'm besotted with travelling again. Window seat on a second-sitting compartment. Probably some of the Ghats, some coastlines, some temple towns, some abandoned pier, some eucalyptus plantation, some Kalyanam Goshti, some notepad to write empty pages about the travel for readers of the up-market travel magazine I would be working for.
We, Agnostics who are probably border-line Nihilists don't seem to care. The fundamental nature of truth is never our garb. We'd rather put down things than make them worldly let alone the need for any kind of reasoning.
Tuesday, May 12, 2009