"Etherized upon a table"

Thoughts on Jan 1st 2010 3:30AM

2010-01-02T00:38:00.000-08:00

I looked at an old wound today. It was fresh and smelled of heart ache
and what it could have been. It smelled of wilted red roses scattered
on a an unknown grave in the graveyard of my dreams. I have tried to forget all about you; even
destroyed the shrine in my mind of what it could have been. Memories
of a life never lived; of that fragrance of your hair and your skin,
that aroma of passion, when I would have tasted you and your lips, as
you would have laid in my arms in an eternal bliss; with immortal gods
envying us.
My life is a void now. How can I ever fill this hole in my soul, in my
self, and how could I gather the sand of this broken clock? I sit with
my head on knees, an empty heart, a lost trust in myself and life. I
roam this earth with an incomplete dream of an empty house by a dried
stream, which once reflected the tingling warmth of sun in its wavelets.
The sun has set, never to rise again and the full moon harbors your
memories and what it could have been.

Archipelago of thoughts

2009-12-07T01:28:00.000-08:00

A deep blue madness and an ocean dark as space is a place to recede when thoughts are broken, and the said words crumble to silent whispers. When intentions spar over right or wrong, and confusion reigns, utterances rise up and compose a prose. Words become the architects of a new reality, and a new island is formed.

on her leaving

2009-09-23T12:28:00.000-07:00

I dragged myself to her place
to say goodbye.
She leaves today.
My arms smelled of her after we hugged.
Twice, when the right words were not found.
I didn't smell her on me this morning,
but now
something stirs in my very soul
that reminds me of her even more.

paralell universes and Rubicon

2009-09-13T19:38:00.000-07:00

I have been searching, as long as I can remember, for my Rubicon, so when I am standing on the banks I can make the right decision. I have seen every step, every puddle, every stream, every spring morph into that point of no return, and I have crossed every one of them, to find out I have been too cautious. Maybe, there is no such thing as a point of no return and life is like a chess board, and there is always something that can be done about a bad decision till the time actually runs out. I had almost convinced myself that I do not need to be on the guard anymore, and when the time comes, it would not matter, until that night. I finally walked to the bank of my river, and saw a flashing light across it. The guiding light which is torturing me to investigate it and cross the river. So I am finally here, standing ... thinking. If I am to cross, there will be no coming back. I must chose, or I must find a way to exist in parallel universes so I can be here and there at the same time. The light is bright, and I am still unfulfilled.

DUNDi

2008-09-04T11:55:00.000-07:00

After messing around with SIP trunking, Asterisk, IAX trunks and DID forwarding I finally found a good resource. Its called Dundiglobal.org
Its a very useful website /wiki.

when you have nothing to do on the internet

2008-02-06T20:33:00.000-08:00

Fueled by insatiable ennui I googled "when you have nothing to do on the internet" and guess what I found? NOTHING
There is not a single web page, not a single site, not a single scribble on the world wide web to cure this ennui. I thought, I'd post "when you have nothing to do on the internet" on my blog, so when someone like me googles that again, at least they'll see a light at the end of the tunnel.
I am afraid I have no remedies, no suggestions, no cures for the condition. The light at the end of the tunnel may as well be a train. On this note I conclude this post.

2008-01-26T01:56:00.000-08:00

I stood still in my tracks
and peeped inside my heart today.
An empty place I found
made up of dried clay.
I searched and searched
wondered lonely as a cloud.
I even touched the trees and daffodils
and thought of things that are blue and grey
and of nouns
a synonym for the heart
invain.
In a corner I found, a silence full of sounds
a broken dream
hidden away
a hope stranded;
a forgotten joy;
and a picture without a name.

The Teeth (revisited)

2008-01-21T11:15:00.001-08:00

Perhaps the most important thing in human body is the collection of teeth. If you may notice, the humble narrator has not identified the mouth as a passage of importance but the very thing that dwells in it. The activities of the mouth are potently depended on the teeth, except when they are not desirable on certain occasions and during peculiar rituals. The teeth have, over the history, achieved the status of a phenomenon. They are not to be taken lightly, and certainly must not be considered as just the sculptures of calcium rooted into the gums.
The presence and importance of teeth can be noted into various aspects of human psychology, and the derived anthropology. The teeth as a collection, and not just a tooth, are the canvas of human expression. The teeth formulate the joyous expression of a smile, although it may seem that a grin would suffice, but it would not. Similarly, a laughter is just an exaggeration of the the teeth's will to absorb necessary air, when present. Hence, we can conclude that teeth have a brain of their own; that hanging piece of flesh just above the throat and behind the tongue is the control center of teeth's activities - Hence the upward movement with disgust when a thing is swallowed instead of being chewed.
Sigmund Freud could not understand the delicate relationship between the dreams and the teeth. He misinterpreted the symbol of a snake. The snake instead depicts the teeth's desire to bite; for there are many people who crush their teeth while sleeping. That crushing of the teeth is not to be taken casually as merely a reflex action to a dream - but there is more. The teeth have a universal language of their own. The language is the mother tongue of Alvish, and Whale language. The high notes of both the aforementioned languages are replaced by the crushing sound called the "scrutinizing jab" in another dialect. The teeth answer to the call of communication under dire circumstances of uncircumcised necessity. The message is ciphered and has an 8-bit preamble frame of snoring. The entire mechanism of communication is far beyond the scope of our discussion.
The total human behavior is governed by the teeth activity. A lay man may think that anger gives rise to gestures like yelling behind the shut teeth, but it is brilliantly naive to assume this - at the most. What actually happens during anger is that adrenaline is secreted by the responsible endocrine glands into the body. The adrenaline contracts major muscle groups for rapid response to any external stimulus and for agility. If teeth are not crushed at the right moment it may cause the shutdown of rectum which can lead to a fatal comma.

The teeth in collection are the most powerful thing in the human body and our society. They are beyond and independent of any mortal requirements. The teeth may not be cleaned for it is not required (otherwise you would have been born with a toothbrush – human ovary is an amazing feast). This leads to the another discovery that it is always "tooth paste" and never "teeth paste". Teeth are also the defenders of humanity. On intimate social occasions nothing gives a shiver like seeing a set of pointy teeth (readers are urged to use their imagination here).
Teeth are also a symbol of youth. A mouth without teeth is chaos. A whore's mouth without teeth is further chaos. Men, women around the world who have lost their youth (the teeth) often try to replenish their loss with fake ones. Even those artificial teeth have life. They need to be in a glass of water for 8 hours a night. This water is not recommended for drinking as it acquires the biting property from the subject in discussion and may quench the anatomical parts, otherwise suggested to be always open.

If I had whiskers and a tail

2008-01-14T22:33:00.000-08:00

If I had whiskers and a tail
I would hide in a bale
Jump over a pail
And wouldn’t mind
if my girl had whiskers too.
My day would start
With a stretched arc
of my back
a yawn to scare the mice
and a bowl of milk
would be nice.
With arrogance in my eyes
I’d flirt with
Neighborhood felines
Even the spayed neighbor
Would love me
And dream of looking herself
in my eyes.
I’d be Chuck Norris with
a dedicated fan-site.
be feared and revered
by Tony and Corleone alike.
When the sun will set
I’d return home to you
Hoping that I see you
So you can hold me
And I can smell your hair
rub against your skin
Kiss on your nose
curl in your lap
Purr …
And purr some more …
Before I fall asleep.

Barack Obama's NH speech

2008-01-08T21:22:00.000-08:00

Yes we can!

Obama's speech after losing to Clinton in NH primary January 8th 2008. Click here to see the video

Time has passed.

2008-01-05T00:53:00.000-08:00

I am a figment of my own imagination. I am the subject, the object, the action, and the reaction. I quit being real a long time ago. It just happened, like it was meant to be. Like a person walking bare feet on the sand, the reality kept slipping under my feet. And here I thought that I could stop the downward spiral - i could create a stasis and buy myself time. How wrong I was!
There is no thing as stasis in life. Its all about motion, if not the progression then the punishment of approaching rapid doom. I did not know.

Doctor Who: missing episodes

2007-11-23T22:42:00.001-08:00

The BBC is searching for lost episodes of classic television shows, including Doctor Who. Currently 108 episodes of Doctor Who are missing from the BBC archives.

All 108 episodes were sent throughout the world at one point or another and may still be out there somewhere, in your attic, basement or local television station's film archive.

You can see the full list of missing episodes of Doctor Who (as well as missing episodes from other British TV shows such as Hancock’s Half Hour, A for Andromeda, etc.) at:

http://www.missing-episodes.com

If you think you may have a missing episode as a 16mm print or a copy in another format (8mm off-air or videotape), or have any information about these episodes, please contact the BBC by sending an email to:

info@restoration-team.co.uk

There is further information at:

http://www.restoration-team.co.uk/

LIST OF MISSING EPISODES
From the story Marco Polo (A.K.A. (Doctor Who and) The Journey to Cathay)
(episode 1) The Roof of the World
(episode 2) The Singing Sands
(episode 3) Five Hundred Eyes
(episode 4) The Wall of Lies
(episode 5) Rider from Shang-Tu
(episode 6) Mighty Kublai Khan
(episode 7) Assassin at Peking

From the story The Reign of Terror
(episode 4) The Tyrant of France
(episode 5) A Bargain of Necessity

From the story The Crusade
(episode 2) The Knight of Jaffa
(episode 4) The War-Lords
(In addition, the surviving print of episode 1 The Lion is damaged)

From the story Galaxy 4
(episode 1) Four Hundred Dawns
(episode 2) Trap of Steel
(episode 3) Airlock
(episode 4) The Exploding Planet

Mission to the Unknown (a single-episode story)
(a.k.a. Dalek Cutaway)

From the story The Myth Makers
(episode 1) Temple of Secrets
(episode 2) Small Prophet Quick Return
(episode 3) Death of a Spy
(episode 4) Horse of Destruction

From the story The Dalek Masterplan
(episode 1) The Nightmare Begins
(episode 3) Devil’s Planet,
(episode 4) The Traitors
(episode 6) Coronas of the Sun
(episode 7) The Feast of Steven
(episode 8) Volcano
(episode 9) Golden Death
(episode 11) The Abandoned Planet
(episode 12) Destruction of Time

From the story The Massacre
(episode 1) War of God
(episode 2) The Sea Beggar
(episode 3) Priest of Death
(episode 4) Bell of Doom

From the story The Celestial Toymaker
(episode 1) The Celestial Toyroom
(episode 2) The Hall of Dolls
(episode 3) The Dancing Floor

From the story The Savages
Part 1
Part 2
Part 3
Part 4

From the story The Smugglers
Part 1
Part 2
Part 3
Part 4

The Tenth Planet
Part 4 (features the first ever regeneration from William Hartnell into Patrick Troughton)

The Power of the Daleks
Part 1
Part 2
Part 3
Part 4
Part 5
Part 6

From the story The Highlanders
Part 1
Part 2
Part 3
Part 4

From the story The Underwater Menace
Part 1
Part 2
Part 4

From the story The Moonbase
Part 1
Part 3

From the story The Macra Terror
Part 1
Part 2
Part 3
Part 4

From the story The Faceless Ones
Part 2
Part 4
Part 5
Part 6
(In addition, the surviving print of Part 3 is damaged)

The Evil of the Daleks
Part 1
Part 3
Part 4
Part 5
Part 6
Part 7

From the story The Abominable Snowmen
Part 1
Part 3
Part 4
Part 5
Part 6

From the story The Ice Warriors
Part 2
Part 3

From the story The Enemy of the World
Part 1
Part 2
Part 4
Part 5
Part 6

From the story The Web of Fear
Part 2
Part 3
Part 4
Part 5
Part 6

Fury from the Deep
Part 1
Part 2
Part 3
Part 4
Part 5
Part 6

The Wheel in Space
Part 1
Part 2
Part 4
Part 5

The Invasion
Part 1
Part 4

The Space Pirates
Part 1
Part 3
Part 4
Part 5
Part 6

In addition, color copies of the following episodes are sought:

The Ambassadors of Death
Part 2
Part 3
Part 4
Part 6
Part 7

The Mind of Evil
Part 1
Part 2
Part 3
Part 4
Part 5
Part 6

Planet of the Daleks
Part 3

Invasion of the Dinosaurs
Part 1

Platitudes from a cat

2007-10-29T22:29:00.000-07:00

This world is a strange place and there are only two kinds of people. There are those who spend their entire lives trying to find the meaning of life and make a sense out of this world; and then the others who spend their lives without any struggle for the truth.

I have spent my time trying to discover what this world has to offer and whats it all about. A few months back I was sitting in the window pane looking outside the apartment, when it occurred to me like an epiphany, the nature of the things.

I noticed a bug flying outside the window, next to a still metal railing. Across the pool, the trees were waving in the wind, the water in the pool was struggling with some humans in it. This is wen I realized that there are only two kinds of things in this world: The ones that move, and the ones that try to move.

After discovering that I felt enlightened. I wanted to spread the truth; spread what I have found, and share it with rest of the felinity. So I started planning about it. I realized that I needed to prove my hypothesis with some kind of tangible proof, if I wanted myself to be taken seriously. I could however, develop a mystical personality and declare myself god, and then automatically everyone would take me seriouslym I thought. I would have a trident, I said to myself, and I will go enforcing my views on everyone. My roommate (who happens to be a man), looked at me as if he didnt care, and said "meow ...".

OOOO!!! I hate when he does that. Sometimes, I think that he doesnt even consider me a sentient being. But the harm is his. I want to teach him a lesson. How about I sit on his chest while he sleeps? This will definitely put some pressure on his heart, which will then cause his brain to stir a nightmare in his sleep. If that doesnt teach him a lesson, I will definitely pee in his closet. Hell, I'll do it anyways. He wouldnt notice, and think of the stench as the smell of plastic cover for a book. Imbecile has no sense of smell.
Sometimes, I want to make it clear to everyone that I am on my own clock. And that means that I do whatever I want, whenever I want, and however I want it. This is it! From today, I will drink water the way I want to drink. I will wet my paws in the bowl and lick them. I will also drink from the bathroom, and I'll let him think that I am not drinking water at all. Then may be he will know who I am!

I wonder sometimes if others know how it feels to be covered in fur from head to tail - not to mention, to have a tail. I have a distant cousin and he has a kink just before his tail ends. He cant balance himself properly, and comes across as a clumsy bastard. I dont think very highly of him. I think he has seen that contempt for him in my eyes as well.

Talking of contempt, I hate canned food. Sometimes I wonder how humans make decisions, and what sort of rationale they use. Take my owner for example, he brings me canned food. Food with pretty labels, and pictures of other felines with content faces. Yesterday, he brought me some gourmet food with rice in it! I am a cat you idiot! I dont eat rice. Stop shopping for my food while you yourself are hungry. Why dont you bring me some "mouse flavored" food next time you are at a walmart. I crave those frozen mice so much. I remember, when i used to feast on mice. Its a fulfilling diet and you sleep well too.

I think I am gonna sleep now. Its an important part of my life.

Doctor Who? A platonic view on Doctor's life, origins and the life span of the Time Lords

2007-09-27T11:57:00.000-07:00

Doctor Who?
He is from the planet Gallifrey and he is the last of his race called the "Time Lords". Time Lords were a "Master race", and fought the last of the great wars called the "Time Wars". Gallifreyen's (or the Time Lords) were fighting against an evil Master race called the "Daleks". The Doctor had to destroy Daleks and the Time Lords to end the Time Wars, which threatened to destroy the entire Universe. So the Doctor is the last of the Time Lords.
He goes around traveling to various parts of the Universe in his ship called the TARDIS (Time And Relative Dimension In Space). TARDIS is also a time machine. Time Lords as the name implies were masters of time and they had the ability and technology to travel in time. The Doctor's TARDIS looks like a police public phone booth from the 1950s London. The first thing that most people notice on entering TARDIS is that it is much bigger in the inside, since the outer form exists in a different dimension of space and time than the inner form.
The Doctor is almost 950 years old. Being a Time Lord, when his body is about to die, The Doctor is able to regenerate. The regeneration process regenerates the living tissue in the entire body, essentially replacing the previous one completely. Therefore, the Doctor looks different after each regeneration. The Doctor so far has been regenerated ten times. So as we know it, there are 10 different doctors but essentially they all share same memories and knowledge. The regenerated personality may be different to some extent than the previous one.

The Doctor and his seemingly infinite knowledge
The Doctor seems to know everything. He always has some idea what is going to happen arguably, on the least, he can sense trouble. He travels in time and space saving the universe every second of his life. For some unexplained reason the TARDIS always knows where to go (Past, present, future, and precise points in space).
So the Doctor shows up, defeats the bad guys and he is able to save the universe.
How he knows where to go is sometimes explained in the story and sometimes it is not. However, it is agreeable that "the doctor has one constant companion and that is death" (new 1st season, episode: "ROSE").

I have come up with a theory that may explain how the Doctor knows what are the most critical events in the life of Universe that will determine the path in the future and how events should be, so that the "polarity of the flow of protons" is not "reversed" in the Universe (meaning, the time lines dont run into paradox, destroying everything).

Hypothesis
Hypothesis 1:The Doctor is a re-incarnation of himself. He has led a life, and after many regenerations have finally died, only to be reincarnated as himself. So now, even though he may not remember it precisely, he always have a hint about what his actions should be.

This is almost as even though he can travel in time and space but yet has a destiny. All his actions are defined through the prism of predestination. The Doctor is among gods, but not really a god. The Doctor is much like a godly character in Franz Kafka's stories who are gods but are bound by the responsibilities of cyclic and redundant actions of looking after a system; only, the Doctor's system spans all time and space.

Hypothesis 2: Time Lords' have been around before the big bang or they have the knowledge that pre-dates the Big Bang..
This may be the only way they can go back and forth in time. The Big Bang marks a reference point to travel in time.

(to be contd. )

Flow my tears - by Dowland

2007-09-07T22:12:00.000-07:00

Flow, my tears, fall from your springs!
Exiled for ever, let me mourn;
Where night's black bird her sad infamy sings,
There let me live forlorn.
Down vain lights, shine you no more!
No nights are dark enough for those
That in despair their lost fortunes deplore.
Light doth but shame disclose.
Never may my woes be relieved,
Since pity is fled;
And tears and sighs and groans my weary days
Of all joys have deprived.
From the highest spire of contentment
My fortune is thrown;
And fear and grief and pain for my deserts
Are my hopes, since hope is gone.
Hark! you shadows that in darkness dwell,
Learn to contemn light
Happy, happy they that in hell
Feel not the world's despite.

2007-09-03T10:50:00.001-07:00

Wine does not have its own color
Wine checks and accounts herself
Those who are wise,
Wine increases their wisdom
Those who are dumb,
Wine fucks em up

2007-08-02T14:10:00.000-07:00

The following post is part of the character development of the protagonist in the novel I am planning to write. I know it has runons, fragments, and typos but thats what the protagonist is supposed to be. He is the Harry Haller of this day.

Demons

2007-08-02T14:05:00.000-07:00

aaaaaFUCKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKK........

I am frustrated of my own existence. I am prone to errors that I have always agreed to but I had never thought that my capacity for self-destruction is swift and blind of my previous struggles. I stand here in the sand knees deep, and yet reluctant to move. I picked my own poison years ago as the prophecy goes. I am a victim of my own ambitions, and my doom is eminent. I am a failed experiment of the nature set somewhere in the chain of evolution; and not fit for survival. I console myself with white lies – no I its not the respect for humanity or atleast that is not what determines my actions – its my fears.
I realize my deprivations now. I remember innocent wishes of that child – never fulfilled. I do not remember my childhood. No major events happened. I just grew up; spun into motion one day and I promised myself that I will curtail my deficiencies and realize my unfulfilled wishes. I succumb to those desires today. Do not mistake me for a hero of the tragedy; Nobel stature is not my thing. I have set myself in motion for the tragic fall. So hollow are my foundations that knowing what lies ahead, I have chosen the forbidden path. I regret every moment that I am living. All my struggle, all my hard work will mean nothing.

Hassan the potter - by N.M rashid

2007-07-02T14:07:00.000-07:00

Jahanzad, down in the street before your door
Here I am, burnt-out Hasan the Potter
This morning in the bazaar when I saw you
At old Yusuf the perfumer’s shop
In your glance was that brilliance
I’ve longed for, wandering nine years in madness
During that time
I never looked back
At my ailing pots -
Pots formed by my deft hands,
Lifeless creatures of clay, color, oilglaze
They whispered:
“Where is Hasan the Potter now?
He left us, his own creations
He created us, then turned away like the gods!”

Jahanzad, nine years passed for me
As time would pass in a buried city;
Clay in the clay-vats
With its fragrance that used to ravish me
Lay stone-hard
Flagon and flask, jug and cup, candlestick, vase
Props of my trivial life, of my art
Lay broken
I myself, Hasan the Potter, mud-mired, dusty-haired, naked
Besied my wheel, hair disheveled, head on knees
Like some grieving demigod, from fantasized
Clay-and-nothing I molded pliant pots out of dreams.

Jahanzad, nine years ago
You were a child, but you knew
That I, Hasan the Potter
Had seen in your talisman eyes, your sky-warming eyes
Brilliance
Which made my body and soul an open road
For cloud and moon

Janhanzad, the dream-colored Baghdad night
That bank of River Tigris
That boat, the boatman’s closed eyes
For a worn-out, grief-burdened potter
One night was the charged amber
His static being clings to, even now.
His soul, his shape
But that night’s flavor was a river-wave in which
Hasan the Potter sank and has not come up.

Jahanzad, in those days, day after day
That ill-starred woman came
When she saw me by the wheel, mud-mired, head on knees
She shook me by the shoulders -
(that wheel which had been, year after year, my life sole prop!)
she shook me by the shoulders:
“Hasan, look at your desolate house
how will the children’s hollow stomachs be filled?
Love-struck Hasan
Love is a rich man’s game
Hasan, look around at your house!”

In my ears this mournful voice was like
A call to a drowning man in whirlpool.
Those heaps of tears were flower-beds, no doubt
But I, Hasan the Potter, lived among ruins
In a fantasy-city where not
A voice, a movement
A flying bird’s shadow
Not a trace of my life existed.

Jahanzad, here now in you street
Her in the cold-colored darkness of night
I stand before your door
Head and hair disordered
From the window those spell-drowned talisman eyes
Flance at me once again
Time, Jahanzad, it the wheel on which like flagon and flask, cup,
candlestick, vase
Humans are made and unmade
I am a human but
Those nine years that passed in the mold of grief!
Hasan the Potter is now a dust-mound without
Even a hint of moisture.

Jahanzad, this morning in the bazaar
At Yusuf the Perfumer’s shop, your eyes
Spoke once again
Their brilliant mischief
Calls forth again in the dust-mound a quiver of wetness
Perhaps to turn the dust to clay
Who knows the scope of longing, Jahanzad, but
If you want, I go back to being
That potter whose pots
Were the pride of every house and street, city and town
Whose pots shone in the homes of rich and poor
Who knows the scope of longing, Jahanzad, but
If you want, I will go back to my forsaken pots
To the dried-out vats of clay-and-nothing
To the props of my life, my art
So from this clay-and-nothing, color and oil glaze, I
Can again strike sparks
That light up the ruins of hearts.

[A Translation from Urdu language]

Pink Floys'a Bike - from the album Piper at the Gates of Dawn

2007-06-18T21:09:00.000-07:00

I've got a bike.
You can ride it if you like.
It's got a basket, a bell that rings,
and things to make it look good.
I'd give it to you if I could, but I borrowed it.
You're the kind of girl that fits in with my world.
I'll give you anything, everything, if you want things.
I've got a cloak, it's a bit of a joke.
There's a tear up the front,
it's red and black,
I've had it for months.
If you think it could look good then I guess it should.
You're the kind of girl that fits in with my world
I'll give you anything, everything, if you want things
I know a mouse and he hasn't got a house.
I don't know why I call him Gerald.
He's getting rather old but he's a good mouse.
You're the kind of girl that fits in with my world.
I'll give you anything, everything, if you want things.
I've got a clan of gingerbread men.
Here a man, there a man, lots of gingerbread men.
Take a couple if you wish, they're on the dish.
You're the kind of girl that fits in with my world.
I'll give you anything, everything, if you want things
I know a room of musical tunes.
Some rhyme, some ching, most of them are clockwork.
Let's go into the other room and make them work.

2007-05-31T13:29:00.001-07:00

She smells like butterflies.

Earth and Water and fueling leaves

2007-03-29T00:46:00.001-07:00

After a while I write on the stones left behind by the river that once flowed here. I gather my thoughts like leaves on a track in an autumn evening; trying not to step on the noisy notes and not distract the dead river which lays next to them.

The wind blows twirling and swirling the leaves in circles rotating around the axis of a void, and wind. It could have been a storm in a teacup, if Shakespeare was right, and this whole a one big play.

Enough said of creepy leaves; of winds that go round and round; and of the dead river. What concerns us is not the stones but the writings on them, rightly. Arcs of varied angles subtend from rock to rock. The hard earth is breached with lines parallel, which never meet, and intermingled circles which forms stars if looked upon with not much attention.

These stars shine and brighten up the night; not as a moon of joy, but as if one was to float on a piece of straw in a mighty river; hanging on to the last strings of hope.

But its all grey - the stones are grey. My autumn - the hallucination of my indulgence is of concrete. And why would it not be?

I fell in love with Medusa.
I turned back and saw behind the shadow;
towards the crisp whispers of stepped on leaves
howling in the winds of silent seas (of my dead river that is).

I gave her my leaves, my river; gave her an archaic smile, as the world turned to stone.
Now, I sit scratching my memories on these well rounded stones. My arcs are wide, and they reach from stone to stone like a bridge back to myself.

The Cat in the last post

2007-02-20T14:47:00.000-08:00

Don't feel pity for a scary looking kity!
it may look clean but underneath its gritty.
Who conspired to kill me,
this kitty,
is chairperson of that committee.

Vini vidi vinci or I am not afraid of you Mr. Bigglesworth

2007-02-19T20:08:00.000-08:00

I spotted a cat who was minding his own business; you know being arrogant and stuff.

I was able to convince him for an interview, but he wouldn't answer any questions.

Started making faces at me.

A second before he attacked me.

San Diego Dec 06 - Jan 07 Bay Area

2007-02-12T22:37:00.000-08:00

San Diego Dec 06 - Jan 07

2007-02-12T22:32:00.000-08:00

blank

2007-02-12T14:03:00.000-08:00

"I have said everything and I have nothing more to say." This is the first thought that surfaced in my head when I opened the blogger today. I have been trying to write something for a few days now, but invain are my tries. As always the reason are the scattered thoughts. I have not been able to pin point an idea to write about.
Altough I am not interested in outlining the underlaying psychological foundations of scattered thoughts, but I will say that there has been a lot going on. My blog is two years old now. So there are two years of transition of my thoughts in bits. May be I will delete them one day.

Mistress Platitude

2007-02-05T00:50:00.000-08:00

After starring at the screen for 35 minutes, i have decided not to write about her. Its not because of some moral dilemma, but for a simple reason, that I have not been able to focus on any particular point; something that explains and builds a complete theory.
I wanted to write about her; something that would sum up her personality in a few lines. But, I guess I am not sure myself and she is still shrouded in some mystery. Mystery, not as in some mythological beauty, but more of a boring platitude. I'll see if I can find out what she wants the next time we meet.

A dog named Fire

2007-01-15T00:49:00.000-08:00

If I ever pet a dog
Ill name him fire
after his personality
and not as a
satire.

He'll go out to hunt
do various stunts
and even jump
through a ring of fire.

He will bark
at the shadows
in the dark
and will rescue your ass
in case of a fire.

When you will go blind
and will need a K9
and wonder if he is for hire?
I will be happy
(it is my desire)
to tell you to go
and set yourself on fire.

2007-01-03T23:09:00.000-08:00

OSHO - Strange Consequences

2006-12-23T16:54:00.000-08:00


After Friedrich Nietzsche declared that "God is Dead", FUCK has become the most important word in the English language. This guy, whom I recently discovered (died in 1990) apparently carried the flag of Hermann Hesse, and all those people who follow the philosophy of self-realization. A prolific speaker, and a mesmerizer, Osho once said that "I love to disturb people", since it makes them think.

Shadows over Lahore

2006-12-16T23:22:00.000-08:00

In the softness of the bed, I lay with the shadow - lifeless, yet full of life. I whisper in her ear, as it moves on top of me. I feel the fullness of her breasts on me, as I get carried away in the feeling. A noise of some kind similar to a call of "Halt". My palms sweat as I hold the shadow's, and then it whispers something in my ear.
I look in her eyes, and I shrink from three dimensions to the just two of the shadows. One with the sheets - two shadows holding hands. On the floor we creep, and to the window - we fly out. Over the trees, over the roof tops, and pigeon cages; over we fly. The soft October wind, the twinkling stars; the silence of night of a sleeping town - the stillness, the shimmering, and over them all, we fly; Floating in the wind, gliding on the waves, holding hands, as one shadow.
We land in this bright place, and suddenly, no shadows anymore. The life springs back, and the mercury bulbs shine on the ceilings. A chill calls out, and runs down my spine, and she holds my hand, and we fly away through the small window with irons bars in it. We fly over this small town, where everyone sleeps. The soft wind caresses my temples, and her breath breaths life in me, and we stay one as shadows.
Until, the cock crows, a caller calls out for daylight, and the sun brims out its beams from the east, and she parts leaving me where I was. Where I have always been.

December

2006-12-11T23:25:00.000-08:00

Its December. The tree outside my window looks upon the only blossoming rose with envy. The rose notices the tree with the tears of dew. The scent scatters in the air at the first sight of the dawn. Sun rays appear in the dew as light rays from an emerald in a crown. The rose smiles. The tear slips down her cheek and into the green. The pearl is bound to be found - the depths are meaningless now.
A breeze blows like wind through a beauty's curls. The fragrant locks cover the horizon; bowing joyously to the crown. In the whispering of the tree the rose smile fragrantly.

a fist full of sand

2006-12-11T19:26:00.000-08:00

Thoughts are astray. The glass is shattered. The eye of Sauron is watching ...?
Honestly, I have no clue what the hell is going on in life. I don't. I wish I was a pair of ragged claws scuttling across the floor of silent seas. I wish I was.

2006-12-10T18:48:00.000-08:00

Apocalypto is a must see.

"Etherized upon a table"

2006-11-21T23:48:00.000-08:00

Q) Whats brown and sounds like a bell?

A) TANGGG...

Curtains or Brain wave overload

2006-11-19T23:59:00.000-08:00

The voices scream and howl, as thoughts are scattered like pieces of a glass on a wooden floor. The answers I seek are behind the curtains of white noise. A shadow appears that I think I recognize, but cannot quite recall. With confidence I claim I know what it is, but proof I cannot provide - the proof is behind those curtains.
All the arguments are here in front of me, wriggling on my desk, gleaming like a ray of light from a prism. They are busy in a ritual and each has its tail in the head of the other. I cannot tell them apart. I cannot use them to tell the truth. I cannot see behind those curtains.
aaah... But it is a great relief to have the belief that my thoughts follow a pattern of socratic reasoning. I may not be able to prove it to you, because the proof is behind those curtains, and you cannot even see them.
And sometimes an idea raises its head and the gail blows fluttering the curtains out of the way, and I can gaze across to the horizon for a dew drop like moment.
Everything becomes clear, and the fog disappears before the breath becomes stale again and the white noise cover my ears and eyes, and I dumbfoundedly stare at the mating ideas.

Etherized upon a table, i ask?

2006-11-17T21:56:00.000-08:00

The air is fragrant again. The red roses are blossoming even though it is almost December. The desert is gleaming with joy and the spring has crept up silently to make the land fertile for hope, once more. My existence exists to smell the traces of her presence in the cosmos. I can breath her again - life is all colourfull once more.
I recognized her from miles away, when we knew nothing of it. It was like two broken pieces of a magnet; kept at a distance without a consequence, but when brought together they become one; defying the forces holding them in their places. She spoke of Juliet today as I listened with close intent. I was breathing her, her words were filling the air, as she was constituting an awakening in me. Her smile white as pearls of my imagination was beating blood in my body, as I saw through her.
I have not thought of any thought but her for past five years. She sits in front of me, as an incarnation of my struggle. I am close to holding her in my arms, and almost be forgiven. For the trees that have bowed to me, and the water that had sang to me, and the flowers that have beamed life at me when I had ignored them are ready to forgive me now. I will hold the glass of wine in my hands, but this time with a beating heart.

utterences

2006-10-31T00:13:00.000-08:00

My time is frozen, and I am in time. The time rests in a moment which spans the boundaries of a unfaded memory. The horizon is a twilight of yellow light. The yellow mercury bulbs, which shopkeepers have put on to attract the customers. The people pace without no faces outside their shops. Shopkeepers hope in the yellow light of mercury bulbs; the faceless are customers who will buy time from them.
I wanted to be in the white light of tube lights - the omnipresent white florescent light which would jealous the Fire Fly. The light in which you and I will laugh the eternal laughter of Mozart.
I wanted to feel the yellow light on my face. I wanted to touch the horizon; hear the yellow laugh of the yellow star. I am blinded and now the horizon is there, and I am there, but the earth and the sky do not meet here anymore.

Ciabbata

2006-10-30T23:58:00.000-08:00

I have realized that my quest is not for the answers to the questions, but for the questions that linger in my existence. There are things that I observe, and for every instance that I observe is a set pattern - a predictable pattern. I can predict, but this leads to an overwhelming question that what is the question for which I am observing it?
Apart from that, each new day in front of the mirror I see this guy, and think that if I were him, I would brush my teeth right now, and shave this fur of my face. I am consequently defined by what I do not wish to become. This is not a life, its a false positive of a life. How unstable can one be? My only effort is to hold of and ward off what is inevitable.
And then I have these memories, which basically define me. I am a function of this time that I have spent:
[Me=f(t)= Integral (first day of life to this day) f(t)dt]
When I first read about Gregor Samsa in Kafka's Metamorphosis, I thought of DDT. But that is beside the point.
How pathetically, I define myself with a mathematical expression. Its almost genius, almost.

Oppertunist me

2006-10-20T09:34:00.000-07:00

I am being chased by this pernecious demonic creature. It tests my determination, but every time I beat it in its own games through the power of my sheer will.
I am driving a car, and my car is getting heavier and heavier, I cannot accelerate any more and its slowing down. I turn back and see the demon is in the car. I get out of the car and start running away from it.
It is an old house, perhaps my grand father's old house, and I am going to the terrace from the front stairs. The demon is around here; I feel it.
I see a man with no face, and I know its the same creature that has followed me - now disguised as David Blane. I argue with it and forcefully convince him to leave me alone - once again I have exercised my will to get rid of it.
What is this room? I cannot recall it? Is that Mephistopheles? So he wants my soul now? Technically I could sell it - I am not using it anyways. But, its a matter of principles and I will not subdue. So I bargain and defeat him in his own arena. I grin victoriously. "I am invincible".
I am in my bed room. I do not know this woman's face. But I do know that it is the same creature. She is trying to seduce me now. I notice she has such a pretty face. I am sitting on this easy chair, and she is standing right infront of me. Without uttering a word she takes off her clothes, and starts walking towards me. Just when she is about to sit in my lap, I think to myself
"I am invincible ..."
"...but its only a dream, so what the hell!!"
I let her sit in my lap and give in ...
A feeling of ecstasy rocked my body.I was awake now looking in the dark, and smiling to myself, "I am invincible".

The Clamor

2006-10-20T07:08:00.000-07:00

The clamor. I remember being up at 7, and not being happy to the see the fog covered streets of my city. Curiosity is in my nature, and fog and mists are natrually a source of excitement for me, but in those days - those particular days - I had to be up and go play cricket in the ground next to that 150 year old Gothic style Cathedrel on sundays. The Clamor, among the mist of the church bells I cannot forget. It resounds in my mind even today, as it is only seperated from me by the mist in between - a mist of time perhaps.
And I remember, at one point in my life I also thought that the bell sound like Ub-40's "Dont break my heart", and I would just sit there and listen to the clamor through the fog. Who would have thought that I'd fall in love with a church-bell. Who would have thought that I'd miss my city so much.

King Lear just before Shakespear's tragedy

2006-10-19T09:38:00.000-07:00

Ladies, and Gentlemen,
Finally I have started filming my version of the King Lear http://invince.blogspot.com/2005/09/king-lear-like-never-before-my-very.html and it will be posted here shortly; as soon as it is finished.
This effort is solely to demonstrate that Monty Python can suck my balls!!
(well not really - braging helps)

Legs for the elephants supporting naked conscious with a square "Unsatiated Desire"

2006-10-13T20:45:00.000-07:00

The Elephents, 1948 by Dali

A figure in the window (and another in the sky) by Dali

2006-10-09T15:03:00.000-07:00

The top one is the original by Salvador Dali. The one at the bottom is my version of it.

Stream of pissing conciousness

2006-10-06T21:50:00.000-07:00

Once upon a time, there was a present day - today. Well, not today as in "whats today?" but this present year, or rather present time. So once upon this present time; as a matter of fact it could have been more than once. So, upon a time, this time, there lives a breed on this planet who cherish ignorance. Some call them trigger happy rednecks, some call them rednecks, and some call them republicans, and some even call them by their name - but the title is not important at this point in time. When that time, which is now, was upon us in the story that is being told, then that time is right now, so in this time, these people are disconnected with reality, or at least it can be said that what is real for the rest of the world, may not be real for them, or those people as our story goes.
The epitome of the ignorance shines in the fact that they have not converted to SI metric units, and use their trusted old pounds for weights. Which brings us to another convincing reason of obeseity in their society, why they weigh so much, or why they are so big; its because for every Kilogram there are 2 pounds.
Anyways, such a person believes that internet should not be neutral, and further more the unit of data must not be Kilo-bits per second (Kbps), it should be Pounds-bits per second (Lbbps). Hell, I am sure John Mc Cain is working on one such a bill.
Our story contines, and that guy sits over there smoking a sheesha. Sheesha is an interesting thing to be smoking. Well, not as interesting as a novel, or a piece of art, or when open sarcastic comments are not feasible you get away by saying "interesting", but close enough.
At this point I should be focusing on making this post interesting, because it is going no where, and I still havent found a punch line. So I am not going to continue this post. The End.
Wait, there upon a time, a hunter had a 100 piegeons. He could have bats instead. That bastard.

Transformation

2006-10-05T08:38:00.000-07:00

"Ash to Ash.. Dust to Dust..or was it Ash to Dust ..Dust to Ash.??" [sic].*
Actually the transformation never takes place. Prometheus stays there tied; vultures continue to tear his flesh; complacency replaces pain; ashes remain ashes, and dust remains dust.

*Su-'s nick on msn.

The escape

2006-09-16T23:05:00.000-07:00

When the ticks of the clock are not heard;
When the obliqueness
of the night takes over the stars;
when the darkness presents its dance
and the silenced thoughts sing in the ears.

I stare in the darkness
and sip through the glass.
The wine melts on my tongue,
and in the heart the poison descends.
From behind the tall figurines
the shadows emerge
(screaming the screams of innocent children).
They plot a visage of shimmering darkness.
Overflowing the cups of heaven, the darkness;
Slithering in the dark, the darkness;
darker than their hearts, the darkness.

The shadows converge and form a face,
and (in the darkness) its eyes can see now.
The darkness ascends the walls of my heart,
and in the glass I see myself.
I sip the wine,
till the glass is empty.

Now its only the heart
and my empty glass.

On the rationality of the Church, or Is Benedict XVI Chancelor Palpatine?

2006-09-15T10:13:00.000-07:00

I was amused to hear the recent Pope's comments on Islam and violence - the pope does that once in a while about gay marriage, and birth control and the list is endless. My gut reaction was "the man is only doing his job" and I moved on to the more important things of the day. But after a few hours, and reading a bunch of different headlines around the world, I was forced to take the matter seriously.
I read the script of Pope's speech, and I concluded that there was nothing wrong with the argument he was trying to make. He was promoting the Greek and hence the resulting influence of rationality in the Christian faith and the church in generall. The entire matter was supposed to be platonic in nature, and it would have been if the Pope had not succumbed to which the entire church did a few 100 years ago - triggering a dark age.
The Pope's discussion as the church claims was a discussion with valid arguemnts about the superiority of reason and rationality (as we all know arguments form the basis of any discussion), but his arguments were not rational, or even depicted reality. He went on quoting this empror Manuel II from the dark ages. The arguement is strictly formulated by conviction and is not rational or (even based on the known history) at all. Hence the Pope did what a Head of an organization that gave us dark ages, burning of the heratics, crusades, does best - he contradicted himself, and the history.
Now don't get me wrong here - I have nothing against any religon.
My concerns are based on a report by BBC that has made a comparison between Benedict XVI and Darth Vader. I did some reserch into the matter, and I have a reason to believe that BBC is wrong - its not Darth Vader, its the Emperor Palpatine himself. I have a proof, and here I present it to you in the following lines:

Pope Palpatine I

Does this mean that the Church has been hijacked by the Sith? and "in grave danger, we are", or even worse, "I am your father, Luke"!!!? You decide.

no body knows where you are; how near or how far. Shine on you crazy diamond.

2006-09-14T22:39:00.000-07:00

Many years have gone by in a struggle that consumes one day at a time; the days which are followed by the nights filled with the fragrance of confusion and dismay. The woods that have grown just outside my self, are haunted by the vicious monsters of isolation. I dared take a walk in those woods and now in the dark night, which followed the day of a struggle, I have no north-star in sight to trace my way back to myself. Each day I am devoured by the beasts who hungrily feed on me. Soon my flesh will be old, and those beasts of passion and ambition will not like the taste of my blood anymore. They will leave me on my own in the woods that I had cherished in the youth to walk the burden of the old age.

2006-09-08T20:55:00.000-07:00

W.A: She broke up with me, because she thinks that I am a pervert.
D.K: Why? Why so?
W.A: Because I drank all the water from her water-bed.

the google paradox

2006-09-04T22:45:00.000-07:00

It appears that this blog has changed its ownership. I have been posting third party posts on it - articles, video clips; crap in general. It is not true however. A person is defined by their memmory, and hence, Vincent is all that you read here.

I was surfing the search engines the other day and I realized that my blog is listed under the most perpostrous keywords. For example, visistude brings up my blog. Looking for "limit of 'infinity over zero', epestemology, or "etherized bastard" brings up this blog too. Now it may sound casual, but beware, because its not. All these search results are from google.

Now its common knowledge that google ranks and categorizes its search results in a democratic way. My blog seems to be an anomaly, since it is not about any of the above mentioned keywords. If I were to suggest that a democratic system by google approaches its limits in order to place a multi-faceted blog like this into a particualar category, because it is too broad to be narrowed down. Then, consequently, does this mean that a democratic society will also fail in realizing the potential of a diverse persona, because it cannot be generalized?
I hope not.

Paas raho by Faiz (a translation)

2006-09-04T22:18:00.000-07:00

Stay with me my tormenter, my beloved
In the moment the night walks
Drunk on the blood of skies
Laced with the healing musk
Armed with the diamond-dagger
Mourning, laughing, singing
She goes
Verberating her crimson anklet of pain
The moment,
When hearts drowned in hollow breasts
Seek the blows of idle hands,
With longing
When the sound of pouring wine
Sounds like the sobs of weeping children
When seas of anguish
Become untamable
When silence rules
When the night walks
Mourning, haunted, dark night walks
In that moment
Stay with me
My tormenter, my beloved
Stay with me.

[by Cisco]

Annabel Lee by Edgar Alen Poe (1849)

2006-09-04T22:12:00.000-07:00

It was many and many a year ago,
In a kingdom by the sea,
That a maiden there lived whom you may know
By the name of ANNABEL LEE;--
And this maiden she lived with no other thought
Than to love and be loved by me.

She was a child and I was a child,
In this kingdom by the sea,
But we loved with a love that was more than love--
I and my Annabel Lee--
With a love that the winged seraphs of heaven
Coveted her and me.

And this was the reason that, long ago,
In this kingdom by the sea,
A wind blew out of a cloud by night
Chilling my Annabel Lee;
So that her high-born kinsman came
And bore her away from me,
To shut her up in a sepulchre
In this kingdom by the sea.

The angels, not half so happy in Heaven,
Went envying her and me:--
Yes! that was the reason (as all men know,
In this kingdom by the sea)
That the wind came out of a cloud, chilling
And killing my Annabel Lee.

But our love it was stronger by far than the love
Of those who were older than we--
Of many far wiser than we-
And neither the angels in Heaven above,
Nor the demons down under the sea,
Can ever dissever my soul from the soul
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee:--

For the moon never beams without bringing me dreams
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;
And the stars never rise but I see the bright eyes
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;
And so, all the night-tide, I lie down by the side
Of my darling, my darling, my life and my bride,
In her sepulchre there by the sea--
In her tomb by the side of the sea.

Monty Python´s Philosophy Footbal Match (Part 1)

2006-08-31T21:51:00.000-07:00


Part I of the football match between Germany and the Greeeks.

Monty Python´s Philosophy Footbal Match (Part 2)

2006-08-31T21:50:00.000-07:00


2nd half of a football match between the Greeks and the Germans - as portrayed by Monty Python.

"Etherized upon a table"

2006-08-27T22:07:00.000-07:00

Each time I open the blogger and cant write, I will leave a note.
"I couldn't write again".

let me etherize this upon the table.

2006-08-22T08:48:00.000-07:00

The workplace is a strange place. There are fixed number of variables in a workplace, which basically means that everything is set to repeat itself in a course of 1 week - from what people wear to what they do, and the excuses they come up to laugh about or frown upon.
Strange enough, but not striking, is the difference in workplace cultures. At one of our clients who happened to be a Hospital (no, it wasnt the man who was a hospital), have a salient cultural phenomenon: empathy emails. They are empathy emails not because of the sender's willingness to identify with the rest of the world, but rather the sender's desire for rest of the world to conform with him/her.
Consider the message:
"FRIENDS ARE LIKE BALLOONS [...]. SEND THIS TO ALL YOUR FRIENDS INCLUDING ME! SEE HOW MANY YOU GET BACK".
This email had a signature which foreshadows the kind of upcoming emails from her, if you have an insight to the American culture. The signature goes like this:

"Stop telling God how big your storm is.

Instead, tell the storm how big your God is!"

I am sorry but its the Chewbaca that understands english, and can still roar like thunder, not the storm.
There is another person with the following signature:

"Vision without action is merely a dream.
Action without vision just passes time.
Vision with action can change your life."

This person is not obese, she is FAT.

(contd.)

Darth Vince

2006-08-15T20:26:00.000-07:00

I have seen the truth among the shadows, and have heared its whispers - a whisper which you are so close to understanding but never can. It is like that faded memory that you almost remember but cannot outline the details to yourself. Or perhaps, its like that fiber of meat stuck in between your teeth that you think you can remove with repeatedly rolling your tongue over it but you cannot.
I am on a path to rediscovery of myself. I once again understand the crudeness of human nature, and the nature of a conflict. I have found my competitive edge. Once again, I will haunt you in your dreams, because the first position that you have been dreaming since forever belongs to me now!
I have seen that through the force, and have heared it in the echo that echoes inside it. Passion is the key to strength which is the door to victory. The greatness is using the Force to your benifit and not just to be in harmony with it. Jedi order does not interest me any more. I have become the Sith.
Ok ? ? ?
Respect my authoritaaa!
(and I hate you Mater Yoda!)

An excerpt from "Brothers Karamazov" by Dostoevsky

2006-07-21T16:41:00.000-07:00

This is the chat Ivan Karamazov and Alexy Karamazov have on an intimate meeting. Dostoevsky saw right through us - nothing more can I say.
"" [...]
They burn villages, murder, outrage women and children, they nail their prisoners by the ears to the fences, leave them so till morning, and in the morning they hang them -- all sorts of things you can't imagine. People talk sometimes of bestial cruelty, but that's a great injustice and insult to the beasts; a beast can never be so cruel as a man, so artistically cruel. The tiger only tears and gnaws, that's all he can do. He would never think of nailing people by the ears, even if he were able to do it. These Turks took a pleasure in torturing children, -too; cutting the unborn child from the mothers womb, and tossing babies up in the air and catching them on the points of their bayonets before their mothers' eyes. Doing it before the mothers' eyes was what gave zest to the amusement. Here is another scene that I thought very interesting. Imagine a trembling mother with her baby in her arms, a circle of invading Turks around her. They've planned a diversion: they pet the baby, laugh to make it laugh. They succeed, the baby laughs. At that moment a Turk points a pistol four inches from the baby's face. The baby laughs with glee, holds out its little hands to the pistol, and he pulls the trigger in the baby's face and blows out its brains. Artistic, wasn't it? By the way, Turks are particularly fond of sweet things, they say."
"Brother, what are you driving at?" asked Alyosha.

"I think if the devil doesn't exist, but man has created him, he has created him in his own image and likeness."

"Just as he did God, then?" observed Alyosha. ""

""[...]
"But I've still better things about children. I've collected a great, great deal about Russian children, Alyosha. There was a little girl of five who was hated by her father and mother, 'most worthy and respectable people, of good education and breeding.' You see, I must repeat again, it is a peculiar characteristic of many people, this love of torturing children, and children only. To all other types of humanity these torturers behave mildly and benevolently, like cultivated and humane Europeans; but they are very fond of tormenting children, even fond of children themselves in that sense. it's just their defencelessness that tempts the tormentor, just the angelic confidence of the child who has no refuge and no appeal, that sets his vile blood on fire. In every man, of course, a demon lies hidden -- the demon of rage, the demon of lustful heat at the screams of the tortured victim, the demon of lawlessness let off the chain, the demon of diseases that follow on vice, gout, kidney disease, and so on.

"This poor child of five was subjected to every possible torture by those cultivated parents. They beat her, thrashed her, kicked her for no reason till her body was one bruise. Then, they went to greater refinements of cruelty -- shut her up all night in the cold and frost in a privy, and because she didn't ask to be taken up at night (as though a child of five sleeping its angelic, sound sleep could be trained to wake and ask), they smeared her face and filled her mouth with excrement, and it was her mother, her mother did this. And that mother could sleep, hearing the poor child's groans! Can you understand why a little creature, who can't even understand what's done to her, should beat her little aching heart with her tiny fist in the dark and the cold, and weep her meek unresentful tears to dear, kind God to protect her? Do you understand that, friend and brother, you pious and humble novice? Do you understand why this infamy must be and is permitted? Without it, I am told, man could not have existed on earth, for he could not have known good and evil. Why should he know that diabolical good and evil when it costs so much? Why, the whole world of knowledge is not worth that child's prayer to dear, kind God'! I say nothing of the sufferings of grown-up people, they have eaten the apple, damn them, and the devil take them all! But these little ones! [...]""

""[...]

"One picture, only one more, because it's so curious, so characteristic, and I have only just read it in some collection of Russian antiquities. I've forgotten the name. I must look it up. It was in the darkest days of serfdom at the beginning of the century, and long live the Liberator of the People! There was in those days a general of aristocratic connections, the owner of great estates, one of those men -- somewhat exceptional, I believe, even then -- who, retiring from the service into a life of leisure, are convinced that they've earned absolute power over the lives of their subjects. There were such men then. So our general, settled on his property of two thousand souls, lives in pomp, and domineers over his poor neighbours as though they were dependents and buffoons. He has kennels of hundreds of hounds and nearly a hundred dog-boys -- all mounted, and in uniform. One day a serf-boy, a little child of eight, threw a stone in play and hurt the paw of the general's favourite hound. 'Why is my favourite dog lame?' He is told that the boy threw a stone that hurt the dog's paw. 'So you did it.' The general looked the child up and down. 'Take him.' He was taken -- taken from his mother and kept shut up all night. Early that morning the general comes out on horseback, with the hounds, his dependents, dog-boys, and huntsmen, all mounted around him in full hunting parade. The servants are summoned for their edification, and in front of them all stands the mother of the child. The child is brought from the lock-up. It's a gloomy, cold, foggy, autumn day, a capital day for hunting. The general orders the child to be undressed; the child is stripped naked. He shivers, numb with terror, not daring to cry.... 'Make him run,' commands the general. 'Run! run!' shout the dog-boys. The boy runs.... 'At him!' yells the general, and he sets the whole pack of hounds on the child. The hounds catch him, and tear him to pieces before his mother's eyes!... I believe the general was afterwards declared incapable of administering his estates. Well -- what did he deserve? To be shot? To be shot for the satisfaction of our moral feelings? Speak, Alyosha! ""

got is tot? No! humanity is tot!

2006-07-21T15:33:00.000-07:00

Humanity is dead. We killed it. We the flag beares of human rights, and justice - we killed it. We killed it by our silence, when we should have spoken against it - we killed it by our actions through our indulgence into our profits. Are we blind? Can we not see?
I ask, where is the emotion we felt when something happened to us and when our eyes filled with tears? Humanity is dead, I say. Lets burry it and never look back at it again. Let there be no sign on its grave, so it can be forgotten. Let no child be looked upon with hope. Let these flowers wither now. And if someone ask us why we did that, let us point fingers at each other and blame them for starting it.
We have killed humanity with our own hands - with our hypocricy.

Whooaaa

2006-06-29T11:21:00.000-07:00

Hey read this post about a guy who woke up one day with a light bulb up his ass!!

2006-06-20T00:17:00.000-07:00

my felicity a spectacle,
in the autumn of silence.
If permited I would have told you.
Liberated from the dungeons of time, if,
I would have whispered to you -
the truth of apocryphal truths.
Desire for freedom;
Freedom from agony
is a confession of time;
intricate words in intricate fashion -
rehersed and memorized!
But let it be -
Let it linger some more,
and the dew which is wrapped
beneath the eyelids change color,
for dry-red stains are forever.

La donna è mobile

2006-06-19T22:51:00.000-07:00

"La donna è mobile" ("Woman is fickle" in the Italian language) is an aria from the opera Rigoletto by Giuseppe Verdi, and it goes as follows:

La donna è mobile
qual piuma al vento
muta d'accento
e di pensiero

Sempre un'amabile
leggiadro viso
in pianto o in riso
è menzognero

La donna è mobil
qual piuma al vento
muta d'accento
e di pensier
e di pensier
e di pensier

È sempre misero
chi a lei s'affida
chi le confida
mal cauto il core

Pur mai non sentesi
felice appieno
chi su quel seno
non liba amore

La donna è mobil
qual piuma al vento
muta d'accento
e di pensier
e di pensier
e di pensier

I am not translating it in english, do it yourself, or ask Google to do it for you. If you wanna hear it, here is a recording of Enrico Caruso singing La donna e mobile.

Request for topics

2006-06-19T22:15:00.000-07:00

This is the 4th day that I have opened the blog editor to write something, and still I am not able to write anything. It seems that I have lost my sense of identifying a good subject to write about. So I have a request for you:

If you are reading this please click the comments button, and give me a topic to write about. Give me anything; a noun, a person, a phenomenon, an anatomical part - hell anything!
Then I'll be writing again in no time - and you'll be reading again - premium stuff, I promise!

Fuck you Freud!

2006-06-07T08:54:00.000-07:00

There is a mother hidden in every woman. There is a potential mother Terresa hidden in every mother. Hence, even if you are out on a crazy and wild night, it is recomended, that you go and tap these hidden avenues of womanhood if you wanna get laid. How pathetic!
It is a matter of genuine disgust that women so often are looking for two relationships in one package: they want to be a mother and a mistress at the same time. If this, my friends, is not the case then a viable option to them is to find a man who can be a figure of a Father, and a sinner at the same time.

Ennui

2006-05-30T23:45:00.000-07:00

I think it can safely stated that I a bored. One must ask however, that why safely? Is protection an issue at all with boredom? To which a different One must reply that it is boredom from which every thing not safe sprouts out, or perhaps sprouts in.
We on the other hand, who are curiously monitoring this chatter between One and another One are left with no choice than to not to read.
Non-sense is the fist of all pleasures, rather fist is the mother of all pleasures - sprouting in and out.
I wish I can sleep. I can't sleep.

10000 year old refrain

2006-05-29T21:26:00.000-07:00

The subtleties of human subsistence approach a dire turn as one examines the delicate relationship between emotions and necessities -- One exists to contradict the other, and yet they cannot be without one another.

"Etherized upon a table"

2006-05-23T07:42:00.000-07:00

Since the searching on the movie The Da Vinci Code is up so much, I believe if I put the words "so dark the con of man" on my blog, it will drive my hits per minute's graph way up. So here we go:
so dark the con of man.

In the desert of solitude

2006-05-18T08:43:00.000-07:00

In the desert of solitude, my love,
resonate shadows of your voice;
mirages of your lips.
In the desert of solitude, beneath the stockpiles of distances,
are blooming flowers and the roses of our closeness.
Rising somewhere next to me
is the heat of your breath,
burning in its own fragrance,
kindling slowly.
Far, on the horizon, Love,
the shimmering droplets of your dew glances are falling.
In the desert of solitude,
with much love have lips
of your memories touched
the face of my heart.
It feels now, even though
its a day of discord,
this sun of distances is going to sink,
and let the night come
when we will be together.

My translation of Dasht-e-tanhai (by Faiz A. Faiz).

milestone

2006-05-17T14:19:00.000-07:00

So I graduated. I thought I'd have a feast when I would, but it was extremely different than what I had imagined it to be. It was allright, I guess. I didnt feel anything different; no butterflies in the stomach; no excitement; no rush of blood. I just came home and went to bed. Altough when I woke up around 9PM, I had sweat on my temples and the neck, and had this feeling of extreme content. I just laid there watching the ceiling for who knows how long, listening to the silence. My shoulders felt so relaxed and light.
I thought about it again, and a grin crawled up on my lips. I think that was it. It was this smile that I worked so hard for. I had achieved it.

arc-iology

2006-05-14T23:34:00.000-07:00

Sometimes there are no words; For words are not the only form of expression known. Sometimes, you just want to sit infront of your screen, open up the blogger and just draw an arc with a lead pencil, extending in between the left and right diagnol of the screen.
And then, that arc must not be translated into words.

a world of difference

2006-05-02T08:02:00.000-07:00

Somebody once said "Illusion is the first of all pleasures". I thought about it, and found out that my conclusions based on observation and experiences go otherwise. The fact of the matter is "illusion is the fist of all pleasures".

sigh ..

2006-04-24T23:52:00.000-07:00

I read it. The wind had brought that whisper to me. A sigh, an utterance - a breath of rememberance that has travelled through this space, crept this web of cosmos; flown through time and then sat behind the bars in the window pane.
It is the rose that has bloomed somwhere outside my prison, which I cannot see, but somtimes in the night its fragrance makes me restless. I have read it again and again. The words are simple, and the message is short. There is a storm in me however, that has brewed since forever, and now your words have blown away my shelter from this storm in me. Soon it will start hailing and I have no where to take refuge.

"The day I died" or "The day I died?"

2006-04-15T20:50:00.000-07:00

It was a warm summer day when I was shot. I was shot to death by loud bang of an unseen gun. I had never heared that sound before. The loud roar was as strange to me as an english muffin in Timbuktu. The bang heared was loud and perhaps was heared late. I felt my temples sweat - temples, forehead, and the back side of the neck. It was reminiscent of the nap that I took just after lunch. So now you know I was shot after lunch. I was shot with a full stomach. I know you are thinking that I am not a rebel then, perhaps. I was definitely not protesting poverty, or prison, or I wasnt even on a hunger strike. I was shot in summer. I was shot when tulips were in full bloom, somewhere. If you know me enough, you know that I have no interest in gardening, and I definitly do not know the seasonal flowers. The moving tragedy of me being shot is powerful enough to make me Quixotic. My death reminded of Tulips, so. I could have thought of roses, but roses are too alive to be thought of after being shot. I was shot and I was running out of time. I had a little time left to reflect on my life ; the things that I did - good and bad.
I was shot and it was the first time I was ever shot. My dear readers, I assume you are active members of the society and you know the moral dilema of doing something the first time. There is a huge pressure on your shoulders to do it right. I hadnt had a chance to witness a shooting before, but I had seen deaths on stage. As you may well imagine my dilema. I was supposed to say something before I die. Something meaningful. But I couldnt think of anything that would make a sense. It was like my reality was covered with a layer of white noise. Yes the exact noise that you see on the television when the antena is not plugged in. In order to say something, I had to focus to come articulate, which I couldnt do. Just imagine the dilema - a person shot with a bang by an unseen gun, who doesnt know how to die. So instead of reflecting on my life, I started searching for a mortal flaw in myself which had led to such a tragic ending. I thought, if I'd find one, I'll die like Lear. Alas, it is true that death confiscates any sense of rational reasoning.
I was about to faint when I realized that now I know the answers to all the questions about life and the unknown questions in the life. I found out why I felt the infringes of love, and the tickles of haterd for somebody, and I found out why I never ever liked Oakra, and why I walked away that day after I said what I said, which I never figured out why I said. I even found out the meaning of those tears that fell from those eyes, and those other eyes and the aligator's grudge against fish and the tears of aligator, and the apple that fell on the head while I sat under the tree, and I never sat under that tree - wait a minute! Is it that I now had the answers to all the questions ever asked by any person ever? Or was it my failing senses and now only sporadically firing neurons in the brain? I opened my eyes with a jerk that I felt but my body never felt.
I was shot by a loud bang, by a gun I have never seen. Was it the gun or the bang that killed me? I wish I could figure out its always the bullet that kills, and not the bang. It was too late already.

2006-04-03T13:04:00.000-07:00

Je sais que, comme les autres, tu ne resteras pas
Je sais que, toi aussi, tu partiras
Mais quand même cette fois
J’espère
C’est pourquoi j’ai gardé au fond de mon cœur une lueur d’espoir
En ton honneur
Car il y a déjà longtemps que je monte
Vers le haut des murs du malheur
Que je tombe, je tombe en essayant d’aspirer le bonheur
Celui que j’ai laissé trop souvent
Celui que j’ai brûlé de mes 20 ans
En me disant, comme un pauvre imbécile :
« Demain, je serai bien plus heureux demain »

Et je donne des noms au Soleil, à la Lune
En espérant que demain plaisirs dénudés,
Regards frissonnants reviendront pour m’habiter
Pour alléger la lourdeur des jours à traîner
Et je danse, je danse sur les mêmes rythmes barbares
Et je pleure, je pleure en m’assurant qu’il est déjà trop tard
Trop tard pour le bonheur éternel
Trop tard pour le grand pays des merveilles
En me répétant, comme un pauvre imbécile :
« Demain, je serai bien plus heureux ».

2006-04-02T14:20:00.000-07:00

This anxiety is killing me. I am counting days, and only 34 are left before I graduate.
I am afraid.

"Etherized upon a table"

2006-04-02T14:17:00.000-07:00

There is no darkside of the moon really.As a matter of fact, its all dark.

V for Vendetta

2006-03-19T19:55:00.000-08:00

"[...]Disdaining fortune, with his brandished steel
Which smoked with bloody execution,
Like valour's minion
Carved out his passage till he faced the slave,
Which ne'er shook hands nor bade farewell to him
Till he unseamed him from the nave to th' chops,
And fixed his head upon our battlements. - from Macbeth

Entropy and whores

2006-03-03T10:29:00.000-08:00

You are what you chose to look like. People are fools, and you have every right not to enlighten them. People are happiest when they are manipulated without their will. Try it, if you do not believe. You will be dissapointed.
Each human will confess of his strife for betterment. Improvement, they will emphasize, is a characteristic of homo sapien. Why then, if a being lives for improvement, the society always heads towards destruction. The time changes, but never for good. What is this strange oxymoronic relationship between a man and his group.
We are creatures bounded to the physical world and the platonic relationships of the resultant co-existance. Entropy effects us on the same scale as it effects a falling glass.
Passing moments, days, weeks, months, years are the units of increasing entropy in our life. How then we validate our claim of gaining wisdom with the age? Infact, Alzhimer is our disease; the plague of the rationals.
The search for realization is a faint try to avoid a combustive increase in entropy of our concious mind. The knowledge and education are a hoax. The god is a balancing digit in a still unbalanced equation. With all these variables there is only one constant. There is only one truth. The death. Everybody dies, from our society to a mongring whore.

Nostalgia and pain

2006-02-07T08:18:00.000-08:00

The novel is strange and yet so familiar. The theme is the same old of pain and despair. I even think that the author is overly influenced from Hermann Hesse, but I do not blame him for it. I skim through the pages as the story brings back the memories of my home town. My neck is still hurting and I have not been able to find a comfortable reading position, as I lay on the bed now.
It is a strange feeling to be able to identify with the protagonist of such a depressing story, and then first handedly feel a facet of that pain: an over powering muscle ache in the neck. I try to turn my head towards the left side but the pain is devastatingly unbelievable. I do not quit on the tries to move the head, as I find the intensity of pain hard to believe. The pain for a moment feels sweet too.
So I give up on the reading as I haven’t eaten in many hours, and the pain in the neck is well, pain in the neck. I think of going out and getting something to eat, but do otherwise as my mind portrays some elaborate pessimistic scenarios of going out at this late hour - Besides, nothing good can be expected of the ill fated.
I turn on the computer but there is no internet. I wonder “if Wordsworth’s lonely wanderings as a cloud were as lonelier as mine without the Internet”. I think of the Daffodils for a second and then change the thought as if I have embarrassed myself with just a vision of a happy thought; it feels unethical even to think of a colorful thought.
With these unclear thoughts I find it a bit hard to sleep, so I conclude that nostalgia and pain are related. I could question my conclusion, and in the back of my head I know that my premise is not rational, but I am too tired to be questioning anything, and I will settle on any convictions that will help me descend into a sweet sleep.

globalization, my ass!

2006-01-28T13:14:00.000-08:00

Man is a social animal. Hence one has to befriend with cats and dogs in the abscence of real friends. Curse these distances - I miss my old pals.

Fredrich Chopin - Nocturne in E minor

2006-01-25T00:00:00.000-08:00

A vision from the life past. A touch of breeze on my cheeks under the summer sun, as I stare at those snow covered mountains far away. The falling leaves crumble under my trembling thoughts. It is not summer yet. The deep breath reminds of the peace and the years spent unnoticed.
The exhaled breath; the days; the nights; the walks; the sleep; the touch of breeze - gone. Gone they are gone. Thoughts, tinted thougts; the mountains; the snow - Gone.

Donkey

2006-01-24T13:49:00.000-08:00

I was skimming through an old diary and found this thing that I wrote a long long a while ago:

Endless hair,
stranded on your tail
Reaches your trunk,
Pulsating with current.
How can I bare -
the kick so supple,
on my balls;
not so rugged.
Run away with me,
be my ride.
Show me some teeth,
my beloved donkey.

rose nectar

2006-01-18T12:23:00.000-08:00

There is a strong scientific evidence supporting the fact that rose-nectar is good for eyes, and eye sight. Therefore, gentle readers, it is highly recomended that you wash your ass with rose-nectar everyday.

2006-01-14T12:47:00.000-08:00

Light,
sparkling, shimmering,
scintillating light.
Seven rays of distinct colors;
bright!
Far across the horizon,
a visage of shinning silver
Dreams.
Each one of them awaits you,
my Nightingale.

A Crazy Girl

2006-01-13T23:51:00.001-08:00

Mundane is the shelter when doubts hail from the skies of life. She sits and watch us as we are absorbed into the mundane pleasures. A curious mind ask questions; she doubts her own intentions as meloncholy spreads through her existance. Her eyes darken, as my eyes dilate.
I notice and offer her some too, but her nay is strong and sounds to be out of place. She sounds as I am responsible for bringing her back to this earth from the boundless lands of her thoughts. She yells, no!
I forget her anguish in the shadows of mine own. I think about Demian's mark of distinction but see her face instead of my own.
I laugh - she will soon find out. She will find out that her misery stems from not becoming one with what she abhores. One has no option but to become one with what one hates.

Still Etherized upon a table

2006-01-12T20:56:00.000-08:00

A year has past, Hooray; My blog is one year old. My thoughts are a year more mature; my wit a year more wise; my death a year nearer, and I am pulsating with life.
Let there be a celebration! I have written a chapter from my life.

Nothing [ a play ]

2005-12-15T16:14:00.000-08:00

Act I Scene I
A. What is that thing?
B. Where?
A. There (pointing towards it).
B. Its nothing.
A. Nothing? What do you mean nothing?
B. Do you want me to look it up on the dictionary.com for you? Nothing means nothing.
.... Its nothing.
A. You are a freak, I am talking about that tree.
B. Oh, so you are asking me what is that tree?
..... But you already know that its a tree. It has leaves full of tasty cholorophyl, and it even makes its own food and ...

A. you are crazy.
B. What? I am crazy? How am I crazy? Are you accusing me of being irrational?
A. Well no, I dont think if you are irrational, but you simply come across as a crazy person.
B. You should take your comments back. I am not crazy, I just observe more than you do.
This world is more colorful to me than your average rainbow.
A. yeah, it may very well be ...
B. Why you dont believe me?
A. I didnt say that.
B. Ok, let me ask you a question.
Why is "I" (reference to onself) is written in capital letters in english ...?

A. Because it implies a noun.
B. let me finish .. where as "you" is not capitalized?

[pause]

A. I am not sure. I think its just a convention.
B. Oh! so its just a convetion now, and when I told you about the conventional cholorophyll you thought I was crazy.
You are a hypocrite, thats what you are.

A. This was a lame question. What would make a person notice such a silly technicality? Ask me another one.

B. Ok.
[thinks for a sec]

B. Why do people fall in love?
A. wait a minute! No, no no no. Its not a leagal question!

B. What do you mean "its not a legal question"?
A. I mean we are acting in a stupid play about nothing, and we are not supposed to make any sense at all. We are fools but not Shakespeare's Fools. Do not even try to be Shakespeare's Fool because he had ADHD, and you are just ... constipated.

B. What do you mean by "not supposed to make any sense at all".
A. Think about it. It does not matter what you and I say or think. We are expendable.
B. Is the author an economist?
A. No! thats not what I imply by "expendable".
B. Then what do you mean?

A. Well, Let me explain.
What is your name?

[B thinks and hesitently] ... B.
and you are A!

B. So you see, he didnt even care to give us proper names. That asshole!
A. [yells] You bastard!!
... But then what is this play all about. It doesnt even have a plot. We as characters are not evolving, and there is not even a moral to this play.
Its not even a fucking tragedy: there is no girl in this play!!

B. Well, this play is about what I responded to your first question earlier: nothing.
A. Nothing?
B. Yes, its nothing.
A. I get it now. Its an ode to nothing!

[B sings]
O nothing so formidable,
so arrogant, so vile, and so pathetic,
you are where no one is,
you will be when there will be no one.
I am B and you are A,
in this play we be,
and we mean collectively nothing.

A. Suck my balls.
B. Amen!

The End.

2005-12-08T14:21:00.000-08:00

nailed em!

Mourning. No, its 6th sense

2005-12-05T11:57:00.000-08:00

Success is like the taste of blood, once you experience it, it comes back and haunts you wanting for more. Wait, I cant write about success for there is a lingering thought that just wont go away:
Shattered pieces of my ragged body once more color the pathways to success; Futile struggle of finding love plagues like vicious dreams. Faith, trust, sureity, security are just the words made for fools, and the optimistic is always slained. Life's lessons are conjuror's tricks and the truth is never revealed.
The thought just died there, and my mind has gone blank. (Back to the prepration for Cal III exam)

2005-11-28T00:12:00.000-08:00

I should have been a pair of ragged claws
Scuttling across the floors of silent seas.

a shiraz tree

2005-11-26T23:50:00.000-08:00

Numerous tries, countless struggles, and the infinite scope of fears is what defines this old tree. The tree wanted to grow when it was a tender young plant. Unsure of the destiny, and the inflictions of what may come it branched out. It branched out into many branches each having the spirit of a complete tree. They all grew, and prospered - the tree prospered. Here it stands firm, and tall, reaching for the skies, and yet at the same time spanning horizontally across the horizon. Here it is as a symbol of struggle for life, beautifully and erect with its ugly rough skin. It is what it had feared all its life.

your face [skip this] //incomplete

2005-11-21T01:03:00.000-08:00

heart,
in the bazar of heart,
wealth is not a consideration.
If fallen in love,
face is not a consideration.
On your face let me spend
my eternal life,
for price is not a consideration
for wanted goods.
Gave my heart,
I gave my heart;
there was a boundary to love.
Gave life; there was a boundary.
I died, with eyes closed,
this was a boundary to my heart.
[chorus] your face
let me imagine you,
I paint you periodically.
[chorus] your face, your face, your face
O, who saw in;
your black eyes,
there's a magic, died!
[chorus] your face, your face, your face
Theie hair and my hand,
like a snake charmer playing with the sanke,
dark shadows on the face,
on the verge of dawn: the diminishing dusk.
[chorus] your face, your face, your face
to you sir,
to you sir, there is one thign i wanna say,
"forget it there is nothing i wanan say".
[chorus] your face, your face, your face
Its so heartfelt scene,
how heartfelt nights
when her thought and the talks with the moon.
Its me, and them, and the talks with the moon.
[chorus] your face, your face, your face
[chorus] in our eyes, your love hurtsm, then what should we do.
beauty, and love, ther eis a differnce,
wghat can i do, i believe in both.
if god is angry i bow,
what must i do if the lover is mad?
some thoughts with no patterbb,
must pislish it.
moooooooooohaaaaaaaaaaaahahhhhaaa
making a nest was my job,
if someone hits with lightining
then what must i do
I am rick james bitch.
[chorus] your face, your face, your face
[chorus] I am a drunkard, drunkard drunakahdr

2005-11-21T00:52:00.000-08:00

My best verses are composed, ironically,
when senses lay far away from me.
My verses are prophecies,
of the stones unturned;
of the things unheared;
and yet,
and yet!
I spoketh of the lands untouched.
of the trembles unfelt;
of the warmth never felt;
and the sand
of you and me;
the ashes of you and me
layeth beyond our reach.
Hence,
we must burn,
through this life to eternity.

An interesting chat

2005-11-14T11:28:00.000-08:00

Sa-: I think iw ill need immodium
Vincent: do u have glue on ur desk?
Sa-: no
Sa-: y
Vincent: glue can be an alternative to immodium, dont u see the connection?
Sa-: nooo
Sa-: ewwwwwwwwwwwww
Sa-: ok I get it
Sa-: gross!
Vincent: why gross? Does ur glue says "for external use only"?

2005-11-08T12:46:00.000-08:00

It has begun: the downward spiral. The days are growing pale while thoughts run and tremble without a focus. The days ahead are familiar from the prophecies. The days passing are an uncomfortable numbness. The mind ponders in the mist and the fog of overwhelming facts. It is like a drive in the rain with the wipers out; every try to see through the blurring shield, every adjustment and movement in the seat, is futile.
The cause of doom is revealed before the final fall. So, I undergo my final epiphanies, and now there is no turning back. The only thing I have not learned is not to hope. I hope therefore I suffer. This self-created cacoon is a false pretense. It was nothing to begin with, and it will be nothing soon.

Pomegranate

2005-11-06T16:04:00.000-08:00

I just had a delicious, ice cold, salt sprinkled Pomegranate after a long long while. A Pomegranate can be hard to eat fruit, since it does require some rocket science to peal it off - peal, if that is the right word. It was RED and juicy. While I was eating it, the only thing on my mind was that soon i will eat all this, and then I will have no more left. It was like having a new life again, and knowing that it will end soon. Now I am nostalgic, and my taste buds are still emersed into the sweet-n-sourness of the fruit.
It was an amazing experience, that relived me from all my worries in life. While eating I also realized what I need the most in life. It is another person. I love Pomegranates.

Breaking News!!

2005-10-27T22:47:00.000-07:00

People, check out this news

surreal life

2005-10-20T17:58:00.000-07:00

What dreams may come, when a mind descends into mayhem and anarchy in the cover of sleep? I have not the answer but something to tell. I was stranded in a barren garden on a table under a tree. Alone, but happy, with a plate full of my favorite dishes that I have not tasted in almost four years. In my happiness I reiterated the hassle I went through to get my hands on it.
I was standing there and ordering it to my taste, and then, I remember, I ordered a taco instead. I gave the chef entire ingredients for a taco. I dont like tacos. I hate tacos. My source of joy, suddenly revolted against me, the reality swept, or crept in on me. I was on the same table but the food infront of me was not my favorite.
A frame changed; I may have turned in bed. I was so thirsty in the sleep that I woke up, and grabbed a glass from my bedside table. I drank till fill, so sweet and cold water. "But wait I am still thirsty", I thought. "Oh, so it was a dream", I realized. Giving into the thirst I woke up and found that there is no glass on the bedside table. "There is no bedside table". It was not even my room. It was not home, but this place that I am living in for a past few years. A feeling of grief crept in, "like a silent spring creeps in a barren garden", I whispered to that taco infront of me on that table in that barren garden.
"Just a dream", I thought. The sun was setting, I could see. "This sunlight makes it so hard to drive on this road". "I have not been on this road; wait I have to turn right". I turn the steering of the car but it slips. I brake, but invain. Its going backwards now, even though its in the first gear. "What the hell is happening??" I yell in panic.
I am glad I made it to school. What, I have a test today? I have this test on my table but I dont know why I am not solving it. Its irritating, but I am not solving it. Its almost dusk, but I am not solving it. I know I will fail it. It is that fucking taco, isnt it? No one has come to pick me up from school. Its been 15 minutes over. I should panic, thats what I always do, but I think I wont today. I feel I've grown up, so instead I start playing cricket with the other kids with a plastic bat. I have not finished the test, and the taco is still on the table. Did I make that right turn? Did my car stopped slipping backwards?
I am not sure I know.