Nothing [ a play ]

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.

nailed em!

Mourning. No, its 6th sense

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)

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

a shiraz tree

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

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

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

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"?

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

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!!

People, check out this news

surreal life

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.

This is a very informative web site I found out regarding Scientology. I insist that you visit it. Furthermore, this is a real video of Tom Cruise electricuting Oprah - who could have thought that it will come to this.

A veil in the night

A veil in the night, like a visage of the horizon, far and yet so certain; a distant vision of uniting scape, hides a white secret. The moon shines silver in the center of horizon. The secret is the moon. It shines a crescent to fill the night with nostalgic romance and then glows a full to deprive rest from the oceans' waters. The high untamed tides pounce on the shores, to silently descend back upon confrontation by the concrete sea walls. The guilt recedes back to thoughts, and in darkness another shadow vanishes. The moon sets in the wake of dawn; the star dust settles in the silence before the storm. The storm will blow away the veil, the reality of certainty will be revealed, and there will be a horizon where nothing will meet.

anger and faith

Today I have decided to write on a very critical issue governing the relationship between linguistics and the awards offered by various religons in the after life.
Abrasive, expressive and aggressive sentences are often uttered in rage. The beauty of raging anger is the sublimity of expression. The true expression of human nature is attained during the climaxing oral-vengence. The spontaneousness of such an expression is in perfect accord with the second law of thermodynamics or the law of entropy. Since the expression fulfills the natrual laws of physics, hence it is redeemed true.

The point hence, an anger stricken expression is often close to reality, and has all qualities of a traditional mythology.

An instance of example can be a person confessing the extra-marital relations with the opponent's mother. His claims are never verifiable even with the most advanced DNA searching techniques, but he still insists on the universalness of the truth. If we juxtapose the adultrous argument with the argument of an idol who is determined to beat the hell out of people, then the similarities between the two cases are often mindboggling. There exists no scientific evidence for each case.

The relationship of anger and faith is a cascading hegamony revealing itself on close examination. Consider the following two true (true, as already proved) sentences yelled in heart pounding anger:

1) I'll beat the hell out of ya.
2) I'll beat the shit out of ya.

The lexical structure of the sentences is similar, except for "hell" and "shit". The perfect equivalence in the sentences, other than the exceptions, lead to the derivation of a strange conclusion based on the mathematical principle of A = B. These sentences of rage are a foreshadow to a discovery that we will be reading in the next few lines.
The "shit" mathematically equals "hell" (from 1 and 2). Now this reference is not metaphoricalat all, and proves that hell is indeed feces. So, if your neighborhood priest tells you about hell, the various details of that pestilent place, do not listen to him. Instead go upto the podium and yell it out that hell will be a semi-solid stinking matter of excretion.

Whose excretion, is left onto you to guess.

I've got something in my front pocket for you
Why don't you reach down in my pocket and see what it is.
Then grab onto it, it's just for you
Give a little squeeze and say, "How do you do?"
There's something in my front pocket, There's something in my front pocket,
There's something in my front pocket
for you.

People, if you are alive then you will be glad to know that I am alive as well. Not only that I am alive buy I am sprouting with life. The first primise of a busy college life's clause is the sacrifice of all other activities. I had been hell'a busy [sic].The past few weeks had nothing new to offer: I flew to Anaheim, CA, attended a technology conference, recived an award on live T.V. telecast, came back flunked in a test etc. etc.

tear stained eyes

A pakistani girl in the aftermath of the earthquake in south asia.

paradox

On the sublime level the theoratical constructs of any strife for writing is not more than a struggle for communication. Communication on any level is a confession of the summation of incomplete thoughts striving for profoundness. Be this, if , the hypothesis for communication then the process is plagued by a leprous and an apparent paradox:
If communication is a strife for completeness, and profundness then why the stationary intertia, and resistance to a change is an epitome of human cultures?
Cultures, when examined are most effectively propogated by seemless communication between individual humans. Human is not a homo sapien but a growing, and learning individual. Then why the resulting culture is stagnant as a gutter infested by reproducing maggots.

an advice

deepning thoughts weakens determination.

countlessness and trust

Taken I have pen tonight to express myself on an issue so haunting. I have written, but nothing important in recent days, even months; successfully wasting the not so scarce bits of information for nothing meaningfull.
The only reason in sight is my over indulgence in technology field. I could write about practical issues of 7th degree polynomials, but restrain myself, I did. Why would anyone wanna read about polynomials on a blog named etherized upon a table?
Sometimes I feel this struggle between science and arts is a foreshadow to a deeper conflict yet to be revealed.

etherized upon a table

How could I explain it to you? How could I tear open the bosom of this tale, and let the agony flow. You suppose its hard? I concur no more than I have been through. Perhaps, I could symbolize it. Yeah, thats what they do - thats what they do when they fail to express themself to their commarades, and friends. Thats exactly what they do when they are past the barriers of common comprehension, they opt for slow poisoning. People do not want to hear about it, but are rendered ineptly helpless against the spearing metaphors. Metaphor is like a snake that creeps up to their throats while they sleep.

There is a chair in that corner. Nobody has sat on it for months. There hangs a jacket on it. The seat is covered with a thin film of dust. Its been beset to disposing when some time is available to clean up. A wasted chair.

This man sits there by the mailboxes on his wheel chair. He has an expression of emptiness. I cant help but wonder about his life each time I drive by. There is this solitude in his eyes, this vacum which has sucked all expression from his face. There is never a smile to be seen. His wrinkled face is a time line of events of stagnancy. Time has this pernicious capacity of inertia. It halts, sort of brakes, when life is taking turns on the corners of hardships; and sometimes there are only turns and no straight roads in the puzzle of life. He will die one day, on the same wheel chair with the same blank face of pain - same face of no complains. There may not be a tear in his eye.

This lies a hair brush on the dressing table. It is tangled with the hair I have lost - spawned webs of hair. I do not use it anymore. Why? Perhaps, its too dirty, and old. Perhaps, it reminds me when I had a full scalp of hair. Whatever the reason, it will just lay there till someone just throw it away, and I will not even notice.

Dostoevsky's Idiot is next to my bed side table. I read it till almost the end, but never finished it. I am too afraid to discover formyself Prince Myshkin's doom. I will put it in my library of books, so it always reminds me of this guilt.

Sorry folks!

Thanks to those spamming comments, I have turned on the word verification feature. So, now posting a comment is real easy. When you click submit, it will show you a picture and ask you what you read over there. You'll have to type that in a box, and hit send again.
P.S:
It really pisses me off that people like me have put in our blood to nourish the internet. We have always been the ones who have spent long hours, cold nights, and god knows what infront of the monitors. And now, every asshole: tom, dick, harry, john thommas, is trying to make money off it. Those bastards! they dont even know binary number system from a pop tart! What really pisses me off is the online fuckin dating trend. Only, geeks have a legitimate right to use those sites. FUCK YOU spammers, and tom, dick, harries! Fuck you in your ears.

medical history

I recieved a call from my doctor's clinic today. Apparently, my reports of all those tests came back. I was fortunate enough to see him on the same day, this evening.
He was euphoric since he thinks he has finally diagnosed why I suddenly start hearing that hissing/whizzing sound in my head with a blurring vision. Not only that, he says the exact source of this problem is responsible for my decreased attention span, and increased randomness (creativity, I like to call it, since it lets me think out of the box, and probably, out of the blue too).
The blood tests, and the x-rays show that there is a small imaginary formation next to the pituatry gland, on the underside of the brain. It interferes with the entire endocrine system, releasing stuff that is orthognal to the hemoglobin in the blood cells, and would receed to the absoloute value of the partial differential if using determinants. He even showed fears of tripple scalar products.
However, he assured me that I have nothing, whatsoever, to be afraid of - at the most I will die. And anyone living has to die one day. He estimated that I have only a few decades left of my life. So basically, I have lived less than a quarter of my projected life span, already.
He wants to put me on a strict medication schedule. I will have to have atleast 3 meals a day; constituting a balanced diet. ...
Screw it, I am tired of this frustrating life.

senseless decisions out of fear

In the scorching chill of the night, in the restless shadow of a shimmering light, in the mist of ambiguity, in search of the self, fluttering like hungry voulters; flying over those half-alive bodies; the beating drums in the viel of civility, whizzing in some remote jungle; they are proud on man's nature, today again they are proud of victory, those senseless decisions out of fear!

'tis true, I have lost all my inspiration for writing meaningful. I am doomed.

The Teeth

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 dewels 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, altough 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 teeth while sleeping. That crushing of the teeth is not to be taken casualy as just 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 forementioned languges are replaced by the crushing sound called "scruitnizing jab" in another dialect. The teeth answer to the call of communication under dire circumstances of uncircumsised necessity. The message is ciphered and has an 8-bit preabmle 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 such an idea, at the most. What happenes during anger is that adrenaline is secreted by the responsible endocrine glands into the body. The effect of adrinaline is contraction of muscles for agility. If teeth are not crushed at the right moment it may cause the shut down of rectum which may 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. This leads to the discovery that it is always "tooth paste" and never "teeth paste". Teeth are the defenders of humanity. On intimate social occasions nothing gives a shiver like a siting of pointed teeth does (readers are urged to use their immagination here).
Teeth are also the 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 replinish 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 recomended 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.

King Lear like never before. (my very own version of the Tragedy)

Lear sitting on a chair with a hollow bottom, covered around with a royal red silk on the sides, with a royal coat of arms in the front. Fool is standing next to him.)


Lear: A terrible phantom has been beset on my once good fortune. Curse the evil spirits who linger in the foods we eat, and manfiest their pestilent presence as low fiber. Howl, Howl, how once mighty Lear, the ruler of England with a Divine right, is now inept to control what was bestowed by heavenly father as thy own body; something right under our bossom. O my dear Fool, my forces are exhausted and yet there is no sign of that vile thing.

Fool: The reward of relaxation is to be achieved only after contemplation, manipulation, and exhaustation of the Royal will.

Lear: The power of Christ compells thou: Make haste, make exit - pernicious creature of hell!
O, this inflicting agony! The Lord is indifferent to us. Fool, We must do in our powers what is, to make the Holy Father happy, so He may summon this dwelling serpent back to hell.
Hurry, messenger, messenger!! Take our orders to the general for it is our will to free Jerusulem and start a crusade or two.
(messenger runs out of the room with the message)

Lear: the Royal feast the night past we ate but a whole pig. The royal physician advised us to eat green vegetables before he was put in the stocks.
'Tis agony is my own sin, I cannot agree. I am a man more sinned against than sinned. The visisitude of felicity is a fist full of sand. What art the purpose of this life? 'Tis desired I give up eating, and let the hunger infest on the King?

Fool: Nay, nuncle.
The steadfast and reckless hunger
Is a reaction to an eminent danger.
If one were not to eat in life;
if one were, for food, not strive,
will end up with a spawned web
in between the buttocks' hive.

(Enters Kent)
Kent: My Lord, terrible terrible new ...

Lear: What could be more attrocious than a jamed king, Kent? Speak with our permission.

Kent: The carvan of ration, from town 40 days far, is stuck in a terrible storm they cant escape. The messenger tells of two mountains on each side, and a narrow path in between a haunted forrest, infested with the nastiest creatures of the devil's kingdom lay between them and England. We will all die without food, by Jupiter!

Lear: The jam in my pathway is more stronger than of those mountains. I am applying the last pore of my energy right now to open it.

Blow buttocks, and crack your cheeks! rage! blow!
You cataracts and hurricanoes, spout
Till you have drench'd our steeples, drown'd the cocks!
You sulphurous and thought-executing fires,
Vaunt-couriers to oak-cleaving thunderbolts,
Singe my white mumbling ass! And thou, all-shaking thunder,
Strike flat the the brown beast in me on the ground.
Crack nature's moulds, all germens spill at once
That make me a greatful man!

Fool: nuncle, take it easy. methinks, it works!

Lear: Rumble thy bellyful! Spit, fire! spout, rain!
I owe thou no subscription: then, let fall
Your horrible pleasure; here I sit on flush, your slave,
A poor, infirm, weak, and despis'd old man.
But yet I call you servile ministers,
Your high-engender'd battles 'gainst an ass
So old and white as this. O! O! 'tis foul.
You monstorosity of hell, brown, hard like rock
creature get out of me,
and let me live and eat free.

Kent: My Lord, you are almost there. Alack! bare-headed! I see the vile head of the monster and the stench it bears.

Fool: The brave hector, and the baby hercules,
were confronted to 'tis alike.
The color may had varied
from classic brown to spinach green.
The wise old man must remember
a cucumber a day will keep
vile devil at a bay.

Lear: Room spins, and I faint. O! I faint.

[end scene]

Meaning to life

The steadfast and reckless hunger
Is a reaction to an eminent danger.
If one were not to eat in life;
if one were, for food, not strive,
will end up with a spawned web
in between the buttocks hive.

The colors of distress - shallowness of hopelesness

The long hours have lost their charm and they pass as light does in a vacume. Once upon a time I was serious about my goals and ambitions, but now it seems, something has been displaced - entropy of my thoughts have increased, perhaps. I held a torch in my hand in a darkest hour of a cold night, and I could see a path, a walkway infront of me, in a radiant circle of the torch light. I only realized the trail led to a falling cliff when I was only a footstep from it. The torch light had nothing to illuminate except for that abysmal void.

In such moments only the rationality strides, and solve the truths of flummoxing mazes of ambitions, goals, and even vital predicaments. Pragmatized, I have that there is nothing worthy enough to be worried about. Life is a big farce - no, wrong. Life is but a note played on a piano that was lost in the air, and whose prescence is a function of a fading memory. This is all that maters: the fading moment that will soon be lost.
Why should one worry about the quizes, the exams, and even graduation then?

brain wave overload

Things ought not to make sense all the time. Time must not be all spent figuring out sense behind things. Figuring out stuff must not go around in a diurnal. It is called a break.
When I am breaking, must it mean that I am broken, and I will call it a break. Calling some thing a break must be in the context of not figuring out stuff. Stuff must not be taken seriously, as it ultimately leads to a breakdown. My breakdown commences right now - adieu.

aijvoishgaefi aiodfhjaio hajnfa hadn woej san ia nflkad isj ie
aidha sakdn ioweir kjsdhfaehrwp pki paij;faf j nvewr op [adfjpowej nv
aefaiodfoias viojfwien soaefwe - vile.

A licenced whore

In unperturbed solitude of the night,
below the visage of horizon,
lingers a licenced-whore with ass tight,
vapors of chill infest her breath,
Obsequiously, as she works on her client's flesh.

my felicity a spectacle
when shed were the leaves 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.
But let it be -
Let it linger some more,
and the dew which is wrapped
beneath the eyelids
change color,
for red stains are forever.

A battle well won

I have not been updating my blog since I have been posting comments and fighting on other people's.
So I got into a fight with this person, and she would just not give up. Finally I put her to rest by the following post:

"Glad I am you have shattered the silence. Had I but time, I could tell you, but let it be. If thou didst ever hold me in thy heart, absent thee from filicity awhile, and in this harsh world draw thy breath in pain to tell my story.
I restrained the horses of my speech from mudding the white collar of hypocricy. Denounce, I did by virtuous silence the Lord of Burgundy. Thy dearest friends, ones who live by reciting the passing-of-wind in their conversations void of civility, shall face themselves in the mirrors of conscience. The dying cynicism of their's wont revive their wretched lives.
The hands of the clock tick as if suggesting, "must you have listened to the fool" - Hath they not been a reactionary, and egotistical, the world would have embraced them with pride - but this most excellent canopy of the air, this brave overhanging firmament, this magestical roof with golden fire, is reduced to a foul pestilent congregation of vapors, when wit becomes the prey to pernicious, racist, arrogant sentiments, un-understood by the harboring creatures."

She retreated by saying the following:
"[...] [I] was caught off guard, clearly I was not ready to confront such a being who was so skilled at defending (even the) poorely conjured ideas and bad allegories [sic]. [...] [I] am truly sorry if I offend for it is not intention, all is said with a good clean conscious. Love all around!"

She had no choice but to give up.
It feels so good to have won a battle ;) - eh?

The rafting trip post

So, we had these water proof cameras, but they proved to be not really water proof. Therefore, no post about the rafting trip. The entire matter of cameras is antagonizing.

My pet

adopt your own virtual pet!

Click here to find out what happened to my other pet.

Coming up

A sudden midnight program to New Braunfels,TX for a white water river rafting trip; along with pictures - coming up soon.

A Question

Well, such devastation have we witnessed in the last few days as an aftermath to the Hurricane Katrina, which according to some is an aftermath itself to 2004 elections. There has been a lot of blaming going on, politicians are polishing their acts, the newspapers are full of shit etc. etc. However, this post is not meant to reflect on the political hegemonies of this naturally-inflicted-man-worsened-disaster. The devastation is enormous, and the grief limitless.

I was skimming throuhg Houston Chronicle yestarday, trying to find a news report. Somwhere deep inside the paper I found this report in advertisement sort of margins. It was a public service announcement kind of thing and it dealt with "how to talk to your children about the devastation of Katrina". I read through it; it followed a format similar to a steak recipie, given by some alter ego of Martha Stewert.
It provoked only one thought - a disturbing question. (one more thing, city of Houston does not have a true newspaper. Houston Chronicle is just a scam to sell coupons for HEB and Walmart).

I am not a parent, hence disqualified from answering this question, therefore I pose as it is: What is the cause of this paralysis of parenthood that renders the parents inept of knowing their offsprings and communicating with them? The parents apparently lack confidence within themselves, so they have to look forward to a conforming-medium to tell them what to do. This is certainly, in my opinion, a triumph of institutions over individuality. This appears to be an end to uniqueness. Our children will be zombie-like organic machines getting their daily dose of instructions from the conforming institutions? Our society is full of such impotent parents who happen to hold positions of power, and therefore, perhaps, we must not be surprised that it took 4 days to respond to one of the greatest disasters in US history. The Inflicity of the situation is petrifying.

Gotham City

I was on I-10 West Houston, when I noticed the presence of Batman in the vicinity. Without wasting a second I took out the cell phone from its non-existant holster and shot this picture with one hand, while other was on the wheel - a remarkable stunt!

Survival and Beauty

She has not forgotten the lessons learned from the hardships of the forefathers. It appears she has paid special attention to the famines of the past which horrifies our world still, and dog us through the well preserved nightmares of Herodotus. Her honor is not just the knowledge but actually her virtue - she is pious as her beliefs are reflected by her body from every angle. She could have been stranded on the Noah's arch and would have survived for years for what she believes; Even the camels, and the hienas who'd feed on the carcases of camels, and even the voulters who'd feed on dead hienas - even Noah the God's messenger. If she were on Appolo 13, she would have out lasted every starving crew member, and even the ship, which was so low on fuel. One can visualize her next to the melting Chernobyl and surviving the the penetrating radiations, protected by this nature's gift; the gift she has claimed herself.
She has this aura around her - This stubborn glycogen; huge reserves of it. She believes in eating. She is an American. She is fucking fat.

tonight

Violins in my ears
Cello in my ears
Trumpets and flutes
in my ears
They all stop; a proceeding silence
And then
The piano in my soul
Sings up
Harmonizing the resonating strings
Key after key
Majors and minors
Ds and Gs
Happiness followed by melancholy
These eyes bowing
To the spreading peace inside
The mind's cycles descending
15, 12, 10, 9
And then silence.
The Piano stops.
Violins,
Cello,
Trumpets and flutes
They play but I am asleep now.

Were my agony to find eloquence

My pain a soundless song
My entity a faceless trace
Were my agony to find eloquence
My being would find its evidence
Were my trace to gain an eminence
It would rid me of my nescience
Were I to attain omniscience
My words would break my reticence
I'll become king of the universe
Command heights of magnificence

By: Faiz A Faiz.
(A translation)

Der Untergang

Blame it on my passion for history and the derived fantasies (which I like to call the lessons of history), I saw perhaps, one of the best and most disturbing movies about Third Reich. Its about the final days of Adolf Hitler in his bunker till his suicide, as narrated by his final stenographer Frau Traudl Jung. The name is Der Untergang (The Fall) or the USA working title is : The Downfall.
The actor playing Adolf Hitler (Bruno Ganz) deserves an Oscar for this memmorable performance. The motion picture is simply amazing. AMAZING!!!!! AMAZING!!!!!!
A word of caution: No film ever gave me nightmares; not even Nightmare of elm street (not that it was scary, but the name). I was truly disturbed after watching Der Untergang. The movie truly portrays the fact that men are driven by ideas in their purest form. Ideas harden, and become permanent after a while. This permanance is derived by the abandoning of the perhaps only characteristic property of an idea: the contemplating doubts and the questioning thoughts -- hence the idea becomes a belief. Men had done such terrible things for what they believe in. When men believe, the humanity suffers.
"Men are always judged by their ability to produce, except for the war - when they are judged on their ability to destroy." -- Will Durant, Lessons of History.

Multiculturism and Globalization

I know a bunch of nice girls who are from that troubled region which has caught the entire world by the balls. To all my female friends from Palestine, now living in US:
(The picture on the right: I wonder who thought of "taste the revoloution slogan"

The Lover
Her eyes and the tattoo on her hands are Palestinian,
Her name, Palestinian,
Her dreams and sorrow, Palestinian,
Her kerchief, her feet and body, Palestinian,
Her words and her silence, Palestinian,
Her voice, Palestinian,
Her birth and her death style, Palestinian American.

-by Mahmoud Darwish, edited by me without any permissions.

Side Note:
I kinda feel bad for distorting the context of this simple and yet so beautiful poem. I hope the region finds peace soon.

Old age in the grocerry store

Ignorant of the torridity of the old age, her ice cold but cheeks radiant of the desired now-death, vacillate voyeuristicly exibiting: nothing left to exibit.

Conservation of expression

Axiom: Music is a form of expression. Expression is an art.
Hypothesis: An expression can be expressed in various forms of art. The law of conservation of expression will hence state "any art is interchangeable from on form of expression to another".

The brilliant idea: Can moonlight sonata be expressed in words?
A piece of writing with 3 movements, characterized by a conflict of major and minor like a sea under the moon; like ripples reaching the shore and dying out before touching your feet; a constipated whale.
Can it be done ? What do you think?

incurable self

I have been observing this change in myself. This metamorphosis that has taken place not over the time, but almost suddenly. The change has been marked by a transition in the feelings of intimacy towards mundane commodities and personas, in general.
There is a broader set of feelings that I exibit. Each element of this set takes turns - I use them as masks : Agony, guilt, affliction, misery, twinge, and once in a while happiness.
Every one of these elements come with atleast one common repercussive consequence: euphoria. I can be euphoric while burning in incandescent fires of sadness - I have learnt to be euphoric. Somehow, the euphoric sensation does not adhere to happiness anymore. Happiness does not adhere to euphoria anymore. Happiness is a somber feeling. It is filled with the mellow colors of life which will soon fade away after a few rain drops of passing years.
It is aberrant and strange, how a person is kept going by a few untangible, blurred and often surreal ideas of a personal nirvana - A vision that has no ending, and probably no begining either. These visions are the axioms of my existance - these are what Vincent is. In the happiness mode, sometimes when I am. I stand and look towards the horizon of that nirvana. When I find nothing, when I find a mere illusion of merging of the earth and the sky - of my vain struggle and ideals, I ask myself, "is this what I really want in life?" The answer is disconsolate hoplessness - the answer is "yes".

A case for a nobel prize

When I was seven years old I could not understand simple mathematical addition. I knew that if 1 is added to 4 it makes 5. I also knew if 5 is added to another 5 it makes 10. But for some reason it was beyond my comprehension that if off two added 5s, 1 is subtracted, howcome, the answer is 9 and not 8. I was puzzled by this problem so much that after so many years, I still remember it.
When I was 12, I could not understand why an electric circuit doesnt work if the batteries' terminals are connected to similar poles instead of the opposite. I, somewhere during that time, created this electric circuit which lighted a bulb if my toy radio was catching a signal, and the bulb stood unlit if it didnt catch a signal. I still have that toy somwhere hidden in the memories.
I was about 13 when I outlined what are called "paradoxes of motion by Zeno", for the sake of outlinning something illogical in the science class, but instead I ended up discovering an anomaly in the numbering system.
At the age of 16 I wrote a paper about the descripencies in Einstein's General Theory of Relativity. Due to my non-existent Calculus skills, at that point, I was unable to make my point thoroughly, and had to rely on socratic reasoning and magical thinking mostly.
A year later I hypothesized and gave a psudo-methamatical equation for a probable time travel. My theory, if it had been accepted, would have resolved what is called "Grand Father paradox of time travelling". The simple answer to the Grand Father Pardox is that the grandfather would not have been a grandfather back then!
During the same time period a subject of mine, with my encouragement ofcourse, was able to test and prove all Freudian ideas. I have well documented proofs of Freud's theories, hence this staunch support for the school of thought. Please email me for the subject's name and other personal data, if interested in details.
18 years was the age when the things started changing their meaning. If my knowledge, reasoning skills, and perhaps wisdom is to be plotted on a cartisian plain, I would say that it shot up like DowJones did in 1995. It was the year I found out that I too cojito ergo sum.
I never fell in love. I would always consider love a strict platonic relationship between two opposite sexes. Where each individual acts selfishly to fulfil the prophecy of nature, and take their part in cycle of sex. Untill, when i eventually did. (The details are omitted to avoid the feelings of monotony in readers).

(gota go ... will continue this)

back to school

So the school has started again, without any sort of excitement on my part. I am already having this burnt feeling on the second day of school. I wonder if its because I cleared around 18 credit hours in summer I, II, and III combined. I thought I will be graduating this semester but all my plans to the dustbin, beacuase of that crazymotherfucker Vain.
When I trasnfered to texas I did not take Govt, so I am taking it now at the end of my degree. The government class has all the elements of a modern government. I was surprised to see that the instructor is not a Vietnam veteran but rather a fairly young man (does not mean young, fair man).
Acting on his agenda he told us that he will try to develop a profound understanding among the students about the importance of a government in a society. For sake of the fulfilment of his dream he enumerated plans: lecture our asses, show movies, fascict republican propoganda, lectures by Pat Robertson, and distribute a wallet size photograph of Henry Kessenger among students.
The movie part is always a personal favorite; media luz harbors greatest dreams, and fantasies (yes, even in govt. class). Apart from all this, I thought he would show us, perhaps, Julius Ceaser, or a screen script of The Republic by Plato, or anything but what he showed us (nop he havent started advertising his ass yet). He showed us "Lord of the Flies". If you have seen that movie: know it has nothing to do with government. It was pathetic and I announced my dislike immediately. And lo, I am taking rest of the government classes with a different class now.
I was sworn in (exaggerated word) for the 2005 term as a Vice President of ACM of the university's chapter. My only agenda is to broaden the member base and expand it to about 1500 students from every dicipline possible. My only tool : alcohol. We will arrange offcampus, and oncampus "all drunk programming competetions", and will try to provide a unified platform for the promotion of computers, drugs, and sex. God bless my heart.
Lets see if I can keep up my 4.0 average in this semester. I am gonna try my best to screw up. Wish me luck.

The problem of Woody Allen

He somehow cannot comprehend that a multicultural world, which is often symbolized by the New York City, can be as dumb as it is. The people are hypocritical and they seem to be comfortable with the farce of their life. Since, he believea that people are aware of their hypocricy, so he thinks he can change that by outlining this duality in his movies.
Most of the times the movies fail at the box office - people are not hypocrites, they are actually dumb.

And what is with his romance scenes? He never kisses on mouth, instead he prefers to kiss on the shoulders and trapezius (the neck muscles), passing the most socratic comments with each gesture. I think this habbit is symbolic of his views about female sex, and sexuality overall.

A ghazal

Its a translation of a ghazal that I wrote. The translation has lost its rhyming scheme, but still may convey the idea. Altough, now much like prose, it must be read in couplets.

A Ghazal
The dry flower of hope smelled of mellow colors today:
memory of spent life and the lost youth's nostalgia.

Look my grievence worked; the hour of unity approaches,
But ray-of-unity has brought the message of the night along.

Lips of the time, which are stationary to the virtue of their fate
Today, shimmer smiles like dew on the roses.

Vince is nervous, stuck in turmoiled-whirl-of-time
Its the hour a star sinks in the chaos of the dawn.

Fancy

Fancy my love is forever,
Fancy it is madly;
Fancy both these are fairytales.
Fancy this heart's tragedy is a fancy of the heart;
Fancy there is more to it, and rest is hidden inside the heart.
Fancy I praise your eyes to nurse your vanity;
Fancy I drink from these taverns' charity.
Fancy I fake my agony -
Fancy its a false crusifixion;
Fancy this love of mine
is indeed a fateful infliction.
Fancy my strife's false -
Fancy my suffering an aspersion;
Fancy this is the only fact ,
and all else an illusion.

A mutual presentation by me and Sando.

Romanticism, it caanot die!

Annabel Lee
by Edgar Allan Poe, 1849


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.

I was a child and she 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, chilling
My beautiful Annabel Lee;
So that her highborn 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 the cloud by night,
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 feel 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 the sepulchre there by the sea,
In her tomb by the sounding sea.

A tale of an asshole

The big institutions have a way of attracting assholes for interfacing with the rest of the world. I have no recollection of even one incident which was on the contrary or an exception. The story unfolds as I was begining to escape the feverish excitement of graduating this fall - announced I had already to my friends and foes alike.
I had to see this advisor of mine with an unpronounceable last name, and first name pronounced as "Vain" (however, it is spelled with an x in it), before my last semester formally commenced. This guy is a strange character. He is an advisor for a computer science and mathematics degree but always have a question about simple MS Windows XP use whenever I visit him.
So I visit him this final time, supposedly. Ask him for my degree plan audit and to sign the proper documents so I can get ready for the launch into the world of graduated joblesses . He meditates. His inextricable asshole expands and contracts. I notice those changes through face reading. In his peculiar accent where every word is immortalized by the adition of an x in the begining and in the ending, he announces that I have taken two research courses instead of the required only one. So, I ask, "You never mentioned this before, and you advised me these courses, how is this possible at all?" He murmurs something without moving his lips and I wonder if that is his all encompassing ass. I point out that even though I have taken two research courses that only means that I get a higher stipend for my reasearch this fall, and nothing more and graduate with flying colours. He tells me, " (hell, let me just explain what he says)" - that I had to complete a writing course and that had to be done before the semester I was graduating in, hence, I may not be able to graduate this semester!
At this point I told him to go screw himself, and revealed to him all the distinct characteristics of his deformed, rather de-formulated anatomy - not really! He showed me a piece of paper, rather read it to me by skipping the lines that were in my favor. So I got up, THANKED HIM for screwing me up, and went to the Chair of the college.
Now what happened there is anoter inspirational tale of wisdom. Chair, however, was not an ass-pillered man and he did help me out, and I hope that I will be graduating this fall.
The point of the matter is that I should have been more careful and should not have depended on this omnipotently potent asshole. My first que would have been his name "Vain". Vain it is, "curse you, bastard!"
A Request:
I humbly ask my readers to create a list of comments with the appropriate adjectives for this Vain guy - the nasty the better. I shall deliver your postings to his door steps and to the Chair, as well. Thank you!

The eccentric fool

Once upon a time there was a gorilla. The gorilla was black and partly blue. The blue color was not an inheritence through genetics but he got his hair dyed blue. Once upon another time there was a gorilla who was black and partly red. The red color was not in his genes but an epitome of prevailing fashion.
Once upon a time there was a man who was an intellectual and partly eccentric. He was not eccentric because he was always like that but because it was a reaction to the prevailent culture. Another once upon a time the same man thought that if he commited himself to the learning and apprehension of prevalent knowledge and mastery, he would dibilitate his life in it - hence, will never be able to innovate anything. So he started looking for an alternative. A few more days plus that another once upon a time, he observed something that served as a metaphor to him in later stages of his despised bourgeois life. He saw a honey bee move from flower to flower sucking on the nectar but never fully exhausing the supply in each flower. The bee's intentiion appeared to fully cover the garden than to accumalate sufficent amount of nectar.
He hence conculded that expertise in a field is extremely essential only if the seeker is an immortal; for a mortal the overall picture, and the general imrpession is more significant. From that day on his days were spent in search for the secret of imortality, till the day of mortality.
The gorillas, if they hear the story of that man who was intellectual and partly eccentric, would wish that he had rather not wished for expert knowledge, but to gather a little bit in every field that was available to him, and be innovative himself.

Gott ist tot

(Ich bin) "Ein Teil von jener Kraft, Die stets das Bose will und stets das Gute schafft."

We did it!!!!!

Ten years ago we founded Vincent Research Labratories for Collaboration of stupid ideas in Literature with Science with a promise to uncover the mysteries that have haunted the english literature since early modern period. We are proud to announce that we have successfully discovered, uncovered, stripped off, and unvieled a various aspects of crazy science. We shall be presenting our discoveries and uncoveries in the upcoming articles. The Constituency Department of VRLCSILS has decided to publish their findings on the historically unidentified constituents of famous potions in literature, under GNU public liscence. We will be revealing the reciepies/ingredients/make-it-yourself-guides of , but not limited to the following:

1) Love in Idleness nectar. (Origianlly created by Oberon by a flower, as claimed by Shakespeare, but that proved to be a hoax. The active ingrediant is Sildenafil Citrate which is used in Viagra nowdays).
2) Picture Perfect Paints (Used by Basil to paint the picture of Dorian Gray)
3) Metamorphosis Catalyst Steak (eaten by Gregor Samsa the night before he turned into a roach. Side orders include blue cheese, and horse's dipshit)
4) Out of Sight Death potion a.k.a I am Sick O Sick! (used in many epic tales. One example is the death of Regan in Lear off the stage)
5) The patient Bullet: This bullet has claimed lives of many a protagonists and antagonists alike. The bullet is observed to sit waiting outside the house of the victim in the stairs till he returns from work. (Young Wurther was killed by such a bullet, however the bullet didnt have to wait at point blank range, in his case.)
6) Blitz Kriek Liquor (A person tries to find a Clean Well Lighted place after getting drunk on this serum. Hemingway discovered it)
7) Devilsbay.com (if you want to sell your soul to devil, this is where to get a good bargain. Goethe did not from utterly cruel intentions specified this website)
8) Heinz Tommato Ketchup (and you thought that God made Terresa Heinz Kerry like that?)

Please email us of any questions you may have. Let us know if there is any specific potion you think we should study.

invain struggle

Outside this city away from the metropolitan there is a hut. A dewelling which dewelled escaping the claws of capitalist time. In the stardust, the sprinkles of light at midnights, the inhabiter of the hut; the foresaken old man - on the support of the stick walks out to the world. His eyes are weary, and his back is bent under the unflourished dreams; Dreams of epochs - the epochs of hope. The stones which stumble against the stick; the stick which stumble against strangers, is cautious not to brush against a squattering anguish. Disquiet headaches which roam on the dusty trail that vanishes into the woods are restless again. Blind old man must find his way back to the hut once more, untouched by the presentiments of this night. The stardust will settle down soon. The cries are loud - the bitter pleas of fallen mercy is raising its head again. A forlorn scream fills the qualm air. The stars and their dust are spectators of the misery, as he turns and starts the voyage back to the dewelling, which has dewelled by escaping the claws of the capitalist time.

damnit i cant write

It appears that I have expressed myself on every aspect of my conciousness. This is the only logical constituency that i can think of for not getting any ideas to write about. I have learned that i cannot write about the traditional matters which have haunted and continue to haunt most of the authors. I somehow cannot seem to bias my thoughts into a current of pulsating ideas. Rather, it appears that my subjugation to writing ideas flourishes only under brief impulse like epiphanies.

Few quotes by a dear but dead friend of mine: Salvador Dali

"The only difference between myself and a madman is that I am not mad."

"The only difference between me and the Surrealists is that I am a Surrealist"

"At the age of six years I wanted to be a chef. At the age of seven I wanted to

be Napoleon. My ambitions have continued to grow at the same rate ever since."

"Every morning when I wake up, I experience an exquisite joy – the joy of being Salvador Dali – and I ask myself in rapture: What wonderful things this Salvador Dali is going to accomplish today?"

"I tried sex once with a woman and that woman was Gala. It was overrated. I tried sex once with a man and that man was the famous juggler Federico Garcia Lorca [the Spanish Surrealist poet]. It was very painful.*"

"What is important is to spread confusion, not eliminate it."

* Dali was not gay, or bi by any standards, if any exist.

Thus spake Zoroaster

There exist strangest relations between the subtlest details of our observations. The comprehension of the matter is not to be established thoroughly. The comprehension of the nature is only possible through subtle glances on the details. The attention must be paid to the eliads and not to the obstructing heels. Consequently, the passages should be independent of the quatrains that follow; connected through only a logical harmony of a broader observation. There must not be refrains, hence. The knowledge must then flow from an individual to another, and not from an institution to a parasite. History makes it happen. The individual reins, the individuality buds on the shores of Euphrates, later to drown in the Tigress.

Only then the melancholy becomes beautiful. The sadness in the strings of violins becomes beautiful. This lachrymose becomes nature's allure. The violin plays; the hurricanes dance; the storms delight; the fires perform in the frolic lightning. In some room on a piano, Beethoven sits and composes the 5th.

not the update I talked about

Tonight, this night, by living one night,
we have lived a thousand epochs.
Tonight, like a healing wine,
these hands have drank the beloved.

by F. A. Faiz

Ether dipped table

People, apologies for the delay in update. A serious update coming soon, so stay tuned.

Violins

Tell those broken dreams to dewel elsewhere
this scar'd heart has no room anymore.

Harry Haller after failing in career, sociability, and love turned to cowardly thoughts of suicide. Declared as an outcast and labeled a madman he could only have made his comeback in the depths of his own thoughts when fueled by Opium. Indeed!

A case for a war

The exact time frame of the origins is unknown. It may even pre-date the egg and the chicken question. There used to be hens, and their male protecters: Cocks. A native indian, in cunjunction to those cocks, had a shaved head with only a strip of hair from front to back; called a roach. Miguel Cervantes thought of the idea of unification. The idea that two subjects can be combined in their nature, and yet be two different entities, hence he created Don Quixote and Sancho Panza. But Cervantes' story is unrelated to cocks, hens and the indian since chivalary died, and romance was institutionalized by the Bourgeois(: the flagbearers of mediocrity).
This tragedy however did not alter the sufferings of Prometheus. The eagles kept tearing apart his liver over and over again, for their nutritional needs. The Condours consequently were not happy with the eagles for stealing their job. Meanwhile, the indian smoked tobacco, and the cocks were being cocks; what hens were doing and the status of the roach is not clear during that particular moment.

If you have thought that this fable would end in concatination of the cock and the roach then know this that it has not. The fable has survived because of its conservatist interpreations.

Franz Kafka

Somebody said that Franz Kafka was crazy; he was a psycho.
Is this not cruel? Why do they say that?

An excerpt from Carmina Burana

O Fortuna (Chorus) O Fortune

O Fortuna                       O Fortune,
velut luna                      like the moon
statu variabilis,               you are changeable,
semper crescis                  ever waxing
aut decrescis;                  and waning;
vita detestabilis               hateful life
nunc obdurat                    first oppresses
et tunc curat                   and then soothes
ludo mentis aciem,              as fancy takes it;
egestatem,                      poverty
potestatem                      and power
dissolvit ut glaciem.           it melts them like ice.

Sors immanis                    Fate - monstrous
et inanis,                      and empty,
rota tu volubilis,              you whirling wheel,
status malus,                   you are malevolent,
vana salus                      well-being is vain
semper dissolubilis,            and always fades to nothing,
obumbrata                       shadowed
et velata                       and veiled
michi quoque niteris;           you plague me too;
nunc per ludum                  now through the game
dorsum nudum                    I bring my bare back
fero tui sceleris.              to your villainy.

Sors salutis                    Fate is against me
et virtutis                     in health
michi nunc contraria,           and virtue,
est affectus                    driven on
et defectus                     and weighted down,
semper in angaria.              always enslaved.
Hac in hora                     So at this hour
sine mora                       without delay
corde pulsum tangite;           pluck the vibrating strings;
quod per sortem                 since Fate
sternit fortem,                 strikes down the string man,
mecum omnes plangite!           everyone weep with me!

The complete lyrics of Carmina Burana can be found here.

submergence

There is a castle, and it rests below the waters. Fish swim by, and call it their home. There is a hydra plant next to the castle. The fish love to peck on his pointed leaves. He leans over the castle and likes to think that he is protecting the castle from the scorching heat of the light bulb. The castle is indifferent to Hydra.

I hate giving titles to everything I write!

Yestarday I saw a different kind of movie: The keeper: The Legend of Omar Khayam. I went to see another movie but the name attracted me immediately.
Most of the movie was shot in Isfahan, Iran, and Nishapur, Iran, and the remaining in Houston, TX. The theme of the movie revolves around the love of Omar Khayam and Darya. But the insights that it reveals does not make that movie a love story by a long shot. Again, my curiosity was sparked by the huge difference in the notions of love in east and west.
I highly recomend that movie to anyone who is a searcher of truth, and knowledge. Somehow, they both are attained through love. True love which is a struggle against impossible odds.

Lamenting caricature

csilence100: cheer up its almost past midnight
csilence100: this is the time when heart ache blossoms
csilence100: and lonliness strikes with all its might
csilence100: lock the insomniac gates of your eyes
csilence100: let the wine and the cup flow
csilence100: now no one, no one will disturb you.

(suggestion to a depressed friend across the Internet on AOL)

Fedora or Suse, that is the question my friend!

The enlightenment that took me by surprise came only after the discovery of the RF feature in my PCMCIA Netgear Wireless card. I was unaware that this WiFi device is compatible with Atheros, and hence, can generate special type of Arp request called 802.11_ARP instead of regular Ethernet ARP. So I installed them. This unleashed the power that I had always wanted from a network device, but with futile practices under incomplete wit! I had a project and that was to crack WEP encryption for 802.11 b/g networks. The first step had been taken with the installation of Atheros drivers and I was ready for the next step.

I wrote a small piece of code (about 700 lines) in C++ to exploit a weekness in the primitive WEB standard. With extreme concentration during debugging the code execution was successful, and the software was ready to crack! This was not the first time I had proved the Knights of Standards and Practices wrong (of course I am reffering to the RFC of WEP). I powered by card and unleashed the beast in it with my software to sniff. And Sniff it did.
After many a arp injections into the victim network (ofcourse the test network in the lab) and mac spoofing of the victim computer, I was finally able to crack WEP encryption. Then I polished my techniques and finalized the practice in steps.

Now I have this amazing tool that can crack WEP encryption of a WiFi network in eight to ten minutes. The only problem: I cannot run it on windows; I need Linux for it. So now I search for a good flavor of linux for my laptop. A flavor which will rejuvinate my ears by a working sound card. A flavor which will be gentle on my fingers by making the touch pad work. A flavor which will indulge into humanitarian actions by conserving the power (battery power for prolonged laptop use). A flavor which will encompass all abstractions of hardware compatibility chanelling them into proper easy to use interfaces. It will be one flavor to rule them all!

Will it be Fedora or will it be Suse? That is the question my friend!

brb?

u say my name and then you vanish
behind those flowing packets of bits;
behind the webs of wires and technology.
absorbed in the space
as a discontinuity in the time continum.

Necessities and emotions

So why did Cordillia die? Why did imogen die? Why did Lear die? Why did Romeo die?
Perhaps they missunderstood love or Damn Shakespeare and literature?

those among us who know

Those among us who know what it is
that really seperates the soul from the body,
and what breaths courage into the hearts
of those who stand stout and witness
the afflictions of their ambitions;
How words come to life
as they are taken of the paper
and into the flames of fractured humanity
to yeild the notions of new a ideology.

Those among us who know how it is
the billegerent pain of the night,
the contemplating lonliness,
striking on the wooden walls,
and beating into the chest
without a glass of carmine.

Those among us who know what it is
that keeps a phantom awake till dawn,
lets him past the barriers of muse,
unemerge through the sees of thought,
and then lets him stand lost staring
the human sentiments blossom
under the iron bridges of civilisation.

Those among us who know what it is
know for sure it is not the necessity,
its not the reaction of chemicals in self,
and not just a raga of rationality.
They will never name it so
the bridges of iron civilisation
would not collapse.


Wow I really dont know how to write!!

Of Roses, rainbows and death

Roses blossom and clouds fade
Rain falls and rainbows stay
Till the sun goes down,
Or the winds sets it apart.
I was a sole jasmine
In the desert of you and I,
Ever waiting for a rain;
For a drop of water,
That would relieve my thirst
Of you and I.
I wilted, and waited
for the moisture of your lips;
like an ocean 's embrace
of an island 's shore.
I dried and waited
For a drizzle
from the corner of your eye.
Now, I am dying like a camellia in a vase;
Now I fade like a rose on a stage;
A bird in a cage.
A sea in a rage
Will greet the island,
And I will be the trees who welcome
Those high tides of flowing death.

Milky Way

I saw you and forgot
Myself; to be reminded again
In a way that I never dreamed of.
I saw the rain drops
Falling from the sky;
Unconcerned of their destiny
Ignorant that they will strike the ground;
Perhaps aware that they will become one
With what they once flowed from.
I was as a wind
Over the burning sand
In the desert of
Burning desire hoping
To witness for once,
Before the earth cracks apart,
Before ashes and dust:
The reality of breath;
The truth of my flesh;
the vapours of my soul.
And I did realize
in the messages
etched on the stones.
In you I found
Myself, and I.
In you I saw,
You and I
Merging together,
As two galaxies collide
To become one,
And exist together
For what may come,
As one Milky Way.

riddles

Spring has arrived and the questions shall be answered by the subtle changes in the direction of the winds. The rain drops while falling from the sky are worrying about if they are pre-destied or will they become victimes to mere coincidences; soon to be forgotten as the earth is near. (to be continued)

Hawa*

Hope is supposedly a good thing. Hope broadens the horizons and blah blah blah. Eversince I have been hopeful; ever since my horizons have been broadened; ever since the fog of ambiguity has lifted from my life: I cannot write anymore! There is some kind of barrier that has formed, and it stops the flow of the words; flow of the thoughts, who are trying to reach my hands and onto the screen. It is not so that I cannot think any more. I think, I still think, but the melancholic thoughts have undergone a metamorphosis. The thoughts now are of gratitude, ambition, and willingness to change. I feel my old self is back!

Ever since that epiphany, my rennisance, a certain part of my brain has been dedicated to think about that messiah. The person who triggered this chain reaction in myself. The person cannot be blamed (if thats the right word) for this change in me. The sole purpose of the fire is to burn and set ablaze, and similarly, the wood catches fire; one must not attach stigma to the naturally defined roles of the two; they are inevitable. Hence, I burn!

Like an old oak skin, the accumalated toll of stagnancy is wearing off me. When I breathe now I can, again, smell the jasmines in the air; the bud that has just blossomed into a flower. Taking a walk in the park, I felt the wind caress, through my hair, my temples. I closed my eyes, and opened them to see the dance of sand on the flutes, and then trumpets of the wind. As I drove by, I saw a handicapped, homeless, man on a wheel chair rejuvinated when he was able to tune a channel on his old radio.

A desert has come to life after an astray rain cloud made its way over the dry sands. Invain my attempts are to justify what has happened. It was like a magic. It was Hawa*.






*Hawa is Eve in arabic. Hawa means magic.

a bate for every season

I was going through my blog and noticed a pattern in recent posts. Due to some unknown reason, the posts are absurdly melanchollic in tone.
Well lets change it; the next 5 posts will be created with the purest intentions of the embodiment of the soul-chuckling-humor.
This post may be counted in, if one tries to find the relationship of the heading with the post. I certainly cant.

just thought of it

My tears are no morning dew;
If I cry they'll carry the Noah's arc.

Anima?

I sat there on the floor with my head in between my knees, watching in the void in the dim light of the computer screen; weeping my sorrows. A shadow appeared next to me; her face was covered in darkness. I stood up to her, and lighted the space with the sparks of my curiosity. The shadow took form of an image in the looking glass. I glanced through the silverish material and my eyes met those hazel eyes. A breeze blew behind me, and her dark hair fluttered lightly, like a pendulum swinging, by the lobe of her ear. A time went by, as we stared at each other.

The image through the looking-glass spoke to me; her lips moving, and eyes gesturing, as I responded exactly to the actions. The voice I heared came from a nearer source than from the glass. I rose my hand to touch the perfection - the imperfection of myself met the perfection of the image; the hands touched but the feeling was empty -- the glass insulated our heats on each side.

Confused, and disapointed perhaps, I watched her leaning towards me, with her blazing hazel eyes focused on mine. A force pushed me in the same gesture towards her. Her lips were so close to mine, when she let out a sweet breath; like a whisper, which I understood. There arose a mist in between us. My heart broke. As her image blurred, I smelled the fragrance of her breath. She had, as if, broken the spell of the mirror, and had crossed the boundaries. I felt her breath, and that fog started running through my veins. We somehow became one. The imperfections of myself vanished into her perfections, as she vanished into me. I found myself standing infront of the mirror, as a better man, than I were before.

Primordial Instinct

Horror has a face; it can be seen in the memmory, rewinded and repeated over and over again. Whearas Fear does not. Fear refers to the speculations of the unknown. A glimpse towards the dark, which may be in the form of one's own imagination. Fear is one's own discrepencies, which are projected onto the screen, as they are filtered through the lens of one's observation. Hence, we sterotype!

Animals communicate; so do humans. Earlier relying solely on the subtle gestures, and body language. Where every move is translated onto a slate of meaning, which is hardcoded in the animal's own instinct. The naturally derived hypothesis being that the other animal has the exact replica set of instincts, actions, and perhaps emotions. Then, sterotyping is not a human instinct, consequently.

Humans, when following animals in their footsteps, try to find meaning in the non-intentional or perhaps very diverse gestures of the opposite person. It does seem bruitish, however, that humans neglect and fail to trust their most accomplished achievement in the history: Language. The psudo-scholarly spins the nature of the brutish action under the label of "diverse human interaction", and sometimes "Wisdom" (,which they define as pre-judging the future before happening on the basis of what has happened before. A cruel form of sterotyping). But they know it too. They know that bypassing the language is from fear. A fear of clarity, that may be unleashed over the matter, if they communicate in words. A fear that it may lead to Horror.

Lead it may to horror, but never will to the horror of existance. Life in its purest and innocent most form is the set of events. One must experience these events to find meaning to their existance, and consequently realization. Horror has a face, but fear does not: the fear actually destroys any face like acid on skin.

and it never seized to beat.

There exist axioms on which life tries its test round the diurnal on us meeks. The wise are those who are aware of them. A fool is not the one who doesn’t see, but he fails to act on them. Gratification is the reward pursued by the fool and the wise alike. The prize lies within delaying it. The fool must fail to the virtue of his actions, hence.

I be the fool this day, and sacrifice gratification again for the sake of it; forsaken every time just for the sake of being marred, and let lose to repeat it. Faux pas! I must quit dreaming, and end this lapse. I must abandon my search for the nirvana which haunts me, and ignore the paradoxes that dog me. I have seen what must have been shown to the prophets, but this very fact separ1ates me from them. I wanted it for myself, and I wanted it then. A mortal flaw! A wretched fact!

My wit beings to turn, and a Tempest is yet to come. I give up – Heavens, Apollo, Mars, or Neptune, be my witness to this day: I give up. My hope lied in thee (not the deities), and thee shall I never have. Adieu, rationality; I fare you well. I look forward to the day I'll die the death of a bourgeois.

anticipation contd.

So, if to wait is to understand the nature, then to be excited is to harmonize with the epestemology of the creation. However, these words I say drop like sticks on hollow drums. Wait can be the most agonizing experience a person can undergo. Both of the arguments, i guess, hold valid; it only depends on whom's sound you lay your ears waiting.

anticipation

To wait for someone is to witness the marvel of nature's beauty on the scale that defines her very essence: the time. (to be continued)

Nirvana

Through the depths of personal hell and onto the band wagon of social fallacies, I have looked everywhere. I have searched for this idea in its purest form. Never have I been surprised the way I was today, and then still my search continues.
The fate is most ironic of all creatures. One must come across a nirvana and then find it unsuitable and part from her, thinking "well, it may be myself to blame, for I have chosen this path myself".
I have thought that, "I will burn all my books and will receede into the darkness of ignorance and away from where i can be touched by a single ray of enlightened humans". But the struggle still continues, and none of it is definitive.

catastrophe

The frames, as they may appear of time, seem to be frozen. The moments span the depths of my perception. I feel the world revolving around me. The sound of music, in thick smoke of cigars, makes the air more viscous to breath. The viscousity only adding to the pleasure of serene breathing. I love this serenity of the moment. The moment which lasts forever, but will never span to eternity.
The dark shadow that creeps up and then receeds to rest under the ridges of the lamp, portrays my diminished ambitions against this time. The wind that blows outside, as a stranger to me, when asks me the cause of my pain, I write down on the abyss of my void the answer to the question ,"lonliness".
An hundred faces hidden behind the masks, like a 17th century masquerade, each face with my own face on it, when I notice and then pose the question to myself, "lonliness?" Then forget to answer it, as if ignoring it for the culmination of bliss. A serene bliss to which I lose myself, asking questions I will never have the answers to, and would not ask them, if otherwise.

Serenity

The utter hoplessness and overwhelming pretention followed by ball-quenching, stomach defalating anxiety are the qualities of a quality time; that I undergo everyday.
In such moments, there sometimes, exists intermoment intervals which are unaffected by disturbances, and distortions of acquired hypocricy; this span of time is calm and unruffled like a blue sky over a deep blue see on which ripples play in a serene harmony.
I had such a moment today and now I am in the state of nostalgia. How pathetic!

to be or not to be

To be or not to be was the question a long while ago. It was debated to an extent that the question lost its point and the only thought that remained was to quit or not to quit. After many a centuries a person who underwent a dilemna of to start or not to start was liberated from the trial to castrate or not to castrate. The verdict came after the acceptance of the women on to bitch or not to bitch. The matter was resolved during the argument: to minimize or sodomize the available capacity of capacitancy.
The only thing that remains now and has escaped the shattering blast of de-oxygenated time is to be or not to be. Is that the question my friend?

the irony

"Etherized upon a table"
Today, I did that I might have not done otherwise (read the blog below). I actually deconstructed a Chaucer's tale, "Scholar's tale". I argued and proved that Marquis Walter was impotent, and his chosen wife was autistic. This was the only reason that Walter aflicts so much pain on his wife, and the only reason why she bears it. They were both fucking sick!
I cannot wait to see my grade on that test. I only decunstructed the tale so that the professor may understand that there are many different perspectives to approach a thing and one cannot and must not see everything through the microscope of feminism.

Cojito ergo sum, you dum dum!

"Etherized upon a table"
Dissapointments, they come in all shapes and colors, and afflict you when you are least expecting them. A similar tragedy has fallen upon your humble narrator, my friends. I have again become a victim of somebody's narrow-unidirectional-closed box type approach to life; this time only she would not agree that she is a conservative.
I am talking about my british litrature class. With high hopes, I had enrolled in the class. I was excited, and blood rushed through my veins at a fairly high pace, my heart-beat about 140bps, my ear-lobes red; as i walked briskly towards the class.
Alas, why do He createth bitches? It turns out, to my sorrow, the professor is a die-hard feminist. Do not get me wrong here, I have nothing against those vulva-worshipping dominions of Venus. Instead, I was glad at first that this would open a new perspective for me to look upon the litrature, but behold, I was mistaken.
In her very first attempt she castrated Chaucer by putting his balls into a smoothie blender, while Chaucer might have been standing trying to answer a nature's call by the bush. Get this, all we talk about in the class is the condition of the women, and never a thing about the evolution of litrature.
I asked her something about the evolution of tragedy in english language from Chaucer to Shakespere, and she almost turned into a succubus and (almost) bit my scrotum. One cannot be more careful these days.
I do not refute the condition of women at that point in time in British culture, however, I cannot allow history to be condemned for what it once was; and never ever, on the altar of their own literature.
I do believe we should come out of this tree-hugging-Eve-presidentfor2008-crap and start focusing on the linguistic aspects of the literature. I am dispensing my days in extreme pain just thinking of how she would murder the spirit of King Lier by shoving the dagger of Feminism in Shakespere's ass. I know it, her arms will be stretched out and she would be saying "Regan had very big ovaries".

Anything at all

"Etherized upon a table"
What I once said about life does not hold anymore. I have retreated from my own vision into the shelters of someone else's -- hoping that it will cover me from the raining fire of doubts from the crimson skies of enlightenment on which shimmers the rainbows of thoughts.
I will someday be sitting on a bench, holding a box of chocolates, gazing at people in an amazement who will be looking at me in a dilemna of the selection of the expression of right emotions. Or perhaps, I will be leaning out of the window in the night, with my white shirt's sleeves rolled up, watching people pass in the streets, along with the yellow fog that rubs itself on the window panes -- unaware that its there. That, or I will be playing some music that I will not know the origin of. I will be perfect in the timing of the right notes, ironically, perfectly playing it from the memmory.
I have chosen this for myself. Happen will it must, and I will be unaware that I chose it myself, once.

Point counter point

"Etherized upon a table"

The sleep, they say, is necessary for optimal operation of human machinary; machinary being brain, and various anatomical features that make up a person. Organs however, must work first in oder to get tired and sleep. Tiredness can be achieved by working or by not working at all; not working when accompanied by continuous plans to work. So the fatigue earned is not because of the brain activity and the plans to finish everything before going to bed, but a result of hyper-procrastination: when every minute is deemed unsuitable to initiate an activity, and the moment after appears to be the perfect moment. The moments in discussion consequently shrink as compared to their normal duration. The durations accumalate and reinforce the fatigue -- hence, not being tired of waiting, but because of some form of repentence. Repenting on not wasting time, but the fact that multiple snooze moments on the alarm clock were not added togather to yield a greater and much bigger moment of undisturbed solitude, and dreaming. Dreams of finishing work in time. How useless!

"Etherized upon a table"

"Etherized upon a table"
Now thats life!!

Wake up at 9AM.
Breakfast: 3 Pills of isolouble fiber, along with water.
Lunch: Subway
From 3PM to 5:30PM: Gym time. Workout behind the sign that reads "Watch me Grow".
5:40PM: One 32 OZ Galdiator smoothie with additional protiens, total protien count 78gms.
6:15: One hour sleep.
Prime Time: Random stuff
Dinner: One Glass of high concentration protien shake along with fiber. Total Protien count 63gms.
2AM: Sleep time

crap in D minor.

"Etherized upon a table"

Its been 3 weeks since i have lost my Muse. I cannot write anymore; my inspiration is dead. I picked up the pen earlier, but the light pelican feather was not strong enough to bear the rugged grip of my grief and just crumbled into my hands. The inkpot stayed there watching the pen die. However, later rejuvinated as my fingers invaded its tiny privacy limited only to the pens in the past. The paper and the pen both were played by my own skin. This play of caligraphy didnt last much long. Distracted by time itself perhaps, I looked outside the window to see the rain pouring through the leaves of an old willow tree. The greyness, with a thick accent of chill in its dialouge, was probably too harsh for me to bear. I tried to listen to what the falling drops had to say, but the murmurs of the fire in the fireplace, reaching out for me, were a distraction. I have told them before, but they never seem to listen and the flames are restless.

the true direction

"Etherized upon a table"

• You can go naaa, while I am going naa.


• Screw you guys I am going naaa. Naaa, niaaaan.

All in a days work.

"Etherized upon a table"

Just to give you a view of a typical day, I have decided to publish some hand selected real quotes or events.

At the Blockbuster

I asked for Lock Stock and Two Smoking Barrels and the clerk girl thought that I said Live Stock and Two smoking barrells. I could not contain my laughter, which embarassed her. Later when I was checking out she said,"dont think I dont know whats going on", in a light mood. I told her, "well awareness is a bliss for you". "Actually, I am into "Live Stock" very much!" She gave me the strangest of looks, as she did not get what I said, or might have taken it to beasiality (ofcourse) , so I explained, "Live Stock, Its very nutrious - try it sometime".

At the Bowling place:

I asked for shoe size 15. She turned back with that look that one has on their faces after they feel that they have been had, so I told her that I am just kidding; I like to brag about my size. Its 10 actually.

Jungian Archtypes and Gandhi:

Vincent: Gandhi found his Jungian Archtypes while bathing in Ganga river. He wasnt very much pleased. Later he had to remove them through enema.

AOL Instant Messenger Sucks:

I am not fond of AOL instant messenger's emoticons. I hate this one specially :) (the plain old smiley).
Vincent: I hate AIM.
Xyz: Why?
Vincent: I hate this face. It looks like a two-holed-ass with a smile.

ajdfhj

"Etherized upon a table"

Through my existance;
through my broken heart;
i feel that I am saying the turth.
I feel that I see things;
I see the reality
through the eyes of rationality,
I see througth a peespective
unkown to commen men.
I feel what only a few could feel.
I feel the pain,
I under go the suffering,
I see the saw put on my legs,
I see the blood flow through
the tense veins.
Then I wonder,
with a broken heart,
with a feeling that justice cannot
prevail.
And I am bound to bear this,
and realize it as a truth
till I die;
ashes to ashes and dust to dust.
I though, wish
my eyes were a mirror
reflecting the reality
through those broken images.
I think that I understand the philosophy of life,
and I feel that its pretty much simple,
and one should not kill
to implement it
in their own fucking lives.

Finals No more!

"Etherized upon a table"

if you want it you can get it;
let me know.
Lets go.

sands of time

"Etherized upon a table"


The lingering descripencies of my entire existance,
contrasted with the shallow depths of befallen reality,
overly undone concious decisions
ruined by the meek assertiveness,
miserable persistance, and once prevailing ambitions
stand in the penny arcade of the time's plaza;
resembling the questions
which once stood stout,
infront of the magic mirror of youth,
they stand stout,
but infront of the hands of the clock,
stuffed and mummified,
Their eyes wide open and faces astound.
The hour passes, the hands impel,
the clock strikes some music into the air,
glee like a blossoming camelia spreading fragrance,
the message resounds through those empty stares:
Moments are the beads in the thread of time,
And the necklace shines for those who know
The eternity is in a moment –
Each followed by another,
as they slip through the fingers of perception.

Of Food and a Man

"Etherized upon a table"

He could see the rope unfolding and reaching the ground, like a huge tounge rolls out of a giant's mouth; in this case the giant was the castle. Then out of the mist, behind the red curtains of silk, a face appeared, and the slightly gestured the arms signaling something: as a policeman directs traffic. The signal was a clear sign for him to ascend the rope of his dreams (last night's dreams perhaps). He grabbed the rope in his hands, and pulled it. He was unsure of the knot up there; as if he could not trust the face. He grabed the rope, only to let it go after he realized he could not climb without the help of his feet. So he took of his boots, and stuffed them into his overcoat's pocket. He started climbing the rope.

To his surprise there was no one to recieve him on the balcony, and he had to make his way up the heavy stone's gothic-railing; breathless, he took a while to calm before finally crossing the red curtains. In the room, he was greeted by darkness, while his pupils took time to adjust to the dim candle light. Finally, he started noticing the aroma of desire inside the room.

A royal bed with veils dropped, covered with off-white sheets of silk, which shone in the candle light, harboring fruits on them. Fruits, that were scattered from one corner of the bed to the other. He saw a plaintain peeking from under the pillow, on top of which rested a water-melon - both of which pointed in the same direction of two red round tommatoes. Tommatoes, as if bowing down to the greatness of the Cucumber. The mighty, the colosus cucumber. In the back of his mind he felt that it was an arabic cucumber; unleashed from some ancient desert's fairytale. The apples were the mere spectators. And the melons seemed to had a high esteem of organizers of the show, perhaps -- they were to be thanked after every applaud, and congratulated at the end.

Noticing his pockets heavy, he realized his boots were still in there. Mind boggled with the intensity of the scenerio, and heaviness of his pockets, he gently grabbed the toe of his left boot, and slid it out, very gently and slowly, as if he did not want his coat to mind that. He repeated the same with the other boot, with the same caution, but this time his eyes catching glance of a radish, on the floor, with long green leaves, smothered togather, giving an impression of a long leather strap. His boots were destined to rest with the raddish on the same grounds.

Overwhelmed, and perhaps euphoric for no reason at all, he looked around, when a voice distracted him from the other corner of the room. He turned spontaneously, to be greeted with a smile on the face, and hear the words, "The dinner is served".