Sunday, January 31, 2010

Live with yourself. See how sore and bothered you can be.

Thursday, January 28, 2010


Is it Rhythm or a poem that the heart chugs on each day?

Tuesday, January 26, 2010

What is it?

An impure vein
dying its death.
Listen to the beat,
frisking about
like a frivolous beat.
In the lilt of the Nox,
lies a dead prayer,
a king and a queen,
raw silk, magnolia,
and the poems of poets.
Consciousness, decide between metaphorically adopting Newton's Laws and metaphorically vegetating.


A lord,
in Venice.


There is a wanderer in town.

Sunday, January 17, 2010

A weekend of no music.

And now, the Moonlight Sonata
has the onus of sand;
steading by my sleep
and this night.

Wednesday, January 13, 2010

Somewhere, there is regret that I hadn't made it for the course in Phenomenology.
I should pen up. I should get back to Cog Sci. I could; even with the corporate wall behind me.

Monday, January 11, 2010


As fallen yellow leaves
swept away
by the evening breeze.

Thursday, January 7, 2010


Fragile and vulnerable
in silence,

falling back on our cigarette pack.

Tuesday, January 5, 2010

What has to be an elaborate dinner

If writing had to be with a mood and movement, I would consider myself to be a hypocritical writer waiting to edge myself from hypocrisy.

Like lettering a butterfly dream without any qualms.

Monday, January 4, 2010

Why don't you come back
alive and sprightly,
with hair so black and curly.

Can analysis be worthwhile?

Sunday, January 3, 2010


Saturday, January 2, 2010

Hoo, is that an incense, you blind-folder?

Friday, January 1, 2010

Tudoo - One tight slap-stab

The old tricks to keep one's blood boil threshold intact like counting ten - down or however-else, lettering words like 'tis cool, tis cool, tis fine, fucking fine, yea, it's alright' to the self, etc. actually work in anger, irritation, coldness, indifference and other assorted emotional atyachars.

Illati, iizuthu, oru arai araianum. Matter over. Ah, adukapporam anda silence iruke. Aanandam.