"Etherized upon a table"
First Poem for You
I like to touch your tattoos in complete
darkness, when I can't see them. I'm sure of
where they are, know by heart the neat
lines of lightning pulsing just above
your nipple, can find, as if by instinct, the blue
swirls of water on your shoulder where a serpent
twists, facing a dragon. When I pull you
to me, taking you untill we're spent
and quiet on the sheets, i love to kiss
the pictures in your skin. They'll last until
your're seared to ashes; whatever persists
or turns to pain between us, they will still
be there. Such permanence is terrifying.
So I touch them in the dark; but touch them, trying.
(by Kim Addonizio)
Tuesday, March 29, 2005
Wednesday, March 23, 2005
move on...
"Etherized upon a table"
So here it is, The End. This is an end to this style of writing. I had wasted enough time. Now its time for me to get serious and write something which will contribute to the development of my writing skills.
I recieved a letter from MENSA today. I have been admitted into MENSA International society of geniuses as an acknowledgement of my high IQ. That sucks though!
So here it is, The End. This is an end to this style of writing. I had wasted enough time. Now its time for me to get serious and write something which will contribute to the development of my writing skills.
I recieved a letter from MENSA today. I have been admitted into MENSA International society of geniuses as an acknowledgement of my high IQ. That sucks though!
Monday, March 14, 2005
On the Humor
"Etherized upon a table"
For years I have wondered about the true nature of the humor. There is no definition to it. There is no particular style that guarantees to be funny. There are people who can make a crowd laugh on the matters of simple observations, and there are people when they joke only a few people laugh, the rest of the crowd laugh's years later (extreme case). If I have to define humor, I would call it the ability to project in words, or actions, or emotions, the various links and subtle relationships which have been processed through creative imagination, between any two instances of time. Instances of time here may refer to objects, events, persona, or ideas.
Humor, as percieved popularly, is not an art, rather, its a bi-product of a logical-mathematics-oriented approach to life. Humor, is the realization of descripencies in the system; a social system for example. Hence, one can conclude that Humor is always ironic, or better: humor and irony are the same.
Another question arises, why people chose to laugh on a descrepency in a system? At first it may seem a little odd, and against the teachings of, well, civilised manner. One may argue on its basis that civilised manner is a joke and our civilization is nothing more than a farce. What goals our race tend to achieve by imposing restrictions on people? This however, is arguable.
It is ironic, that I have written such a boring and technical essay on the subject of humor. But, hey, thats funny!
Note: I dont know why I dont feel like finishing the stuff I start. So here is another incomplete essay.
Saturday, March 12, 2005
South Park
"Etherized upon a table"
Ok, what to write? lets see ammm..
"Mr. Hat its a writer's block!" What should I do now? I was watching the new season of south park and I was shocked to hear the news: Mr. Garrison undergoes a sex change operation to become a woman. He basically loves the idea of buying tampons and having abortions.
I think it was so mean of Matt and Trey to give him a partial sex change as he just got rids of his balls (they are later fitted in Kyle's knees during "negro-plasty"). So now, he doesnt have balls and he doesnt have an ovary, which means: no tampons, and he can never get pregnant and never can have an abortion.
I felt kind of sorry for him because mr. Slave leaves him, and "mr. hat is
(already) a racist son of a bitch". I think, that he do gets his scrotum back (which was used in kyle's dad's dolphino-plasty). So he has an empty scrotum now.
Ok, what to write? lets see ammm..
"Mr. Hat its a writer's block!" What should I do now? I was watching the new season of south park and I was shocked to hear the news: Mr. Garrison undergoes a sex change operation to become a woman. He basically loves the idea of buying tampons and having abortions.
I think it was so mean of Matt and Trey to give him a partial sex change as he just got rids of his balls (they are later fitted in Kyle's knees during "negro-plasty"). So now, he doesnt have balls and he doesnt have an ovary, which means: no tampons, and he can never get pregnant and never can have an abortion.
I felt kind of sorry for him because mr. Slave leaves him, and "mr. hat is
(already) a racist son of a bitch". I think, that he do gets his scrotum back (which was used in kyle's dad's dolphino-plasty). So he has an empty scrotum now.
Friday, March 11, 2005
epiphanic thoughts
"Etherized upon a table"
What a strange habbit! A strange practice of rationality; see a rose bush, like it, love it, and then shove it up the ass, and then hope that its not gonna hurt. A point to be noted though, the reaction of seeing a cactus is not the same. Implying, the dreamer-kind, and a classy nature of the subject. This is so much fucked up. A person dreams of getting something, in this particular case, something of high value to that person. He knows he cannot afford it; in the rhetoric terms of the word. He strives, plans, acts, or whatever the fuck to get it, and then a whole new ball game begins! What should he do so he doesnt lose what he has achieved, and not suffer the emotional damage. It is indeed, like shoving a rose-bush up the ass and hope that the thorns will not curl up the inner lining of the large intestine causing serious infection, worms, and hamerhoids in the ass.
In a nutshell, this is the entire story, and the moral of the story: ass infection on demand!
What a strange habbit! A strange practice of rationality; see a rose bush, like it, love it, and then shove it up the ass, and then hope that its not gonna hurt. A point to be noted though, the reaction of seeing a cactus is not the same. Implying, the dreamer-kind, and a classy nature of the subject. This is so much fucked up. A person dreams of getting something, in this particular case, something of high value to that person. He knows he cannot afford it; in the rhetoric terms of the word. He strives, plans, acts, or whatever the fuck to get it, and then a whole new ball game begins! What should he do so he doesnt lose what he has achieved, and not suffer the emotional damage. It is indeed, like shoving a rose-bush up the ass and hope that the thorns will not curl up the inner lining of the large intestine causing serious infection, worms, and hamerhoids in the ass.
In a nutshell, this is the entire story, and the moral of the story: ass infection on demand!
Wednesday, March 09, 2005
wak mak
"Etherized upon a table"
In the dark nights, filled with depression, or occupied with self poise, there is only one sound which indicates that its time to communicate. Its the ding of msn messenger, and I know who the person on the other side is. Our conversation starts with the exchange of the "dude protocol". Each successive "dude datagram" has to encompass the "essence" of the previous one. After the dude exchange is over, the agenda is explained in clear cut metaphors. To each new item there is a preamble, which is the recitation of some phrase which Mr. Garrison has spoken in the presence of Mr. Hat, or Mr. Slave. Serious issues of personal life are discussed in the light of Pink Floyd's lyrics, as references. This continues until one of us invite the other to irc to kick some serious ass! We go to some dal.net channel (usually #lums) and try to explain it to people why they are like how they are.
The conversation or meeting concludes on some high notes of technologhy. The exchange is mostly about new technologies in Network Security stuff, unix, linux, and never about MS Windows. I have a lot to say about wak mak, but I'll conclude on this famous phrase by our common mentor "Eric Cartman", " Screw you hippy!"
In the dark nights, filled with depression, or occupied with self poise, there is only one sound which indicates that its time to communicate. Its the ding of msn messenger, and I know who the person on the other side is. Our conversation starts with the exchange of the "dude protocol". Each successive "dude datagram" has to encompass the "essence" of the previous one. After the dude exchange is over, the agenda is explained in clear cut metaphors. To each new item there is a preamble, which is the recitation of some phrase which Mr. Garrison has spoken in the presence of Mr. Hat, or Mr. Slave. Serious issues of personal life are discussed in the light of Pink Floyd's lyrics, as references. This continues until one of us invite the other to irc to kick some serious ass! We go to some dal.net channel (usually #lums) and try to explain it to people why they are like how they are.
The conversation or meeting concludes on some high notes of technologhy. The exchange is mostly about new technologies in Network Security stuff, unix, linux, and never about MS Windows. I have a lot to say about wak mak, but I'll conclude on this famous phrase by our common mentor "Eric Cartman", " Screw you hippy!"
Things to consider before a suicide
"Etherized upon a table"
This is so beautiful, this music. Its on this internet radio. I do not know its name, though I think its the Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart. On the surround sound system it really fills up my entity with pleasure. I was gonna get drunk, but I gave up the idea. I do not want to be brain numb and I certainly do not want to close my eyes on real issues. With thick smoke of this cuban cigar, and the sounds of violins filling the room, I have begun to write about this idea: Suicide.
Why do people commit suicide? Why do people even feel suicidal? What is this whole idea rooted into? I am not planning to explore the epestemological foundations of suicide in one blog, I could if I wanted to, however. Are there any observations, or things that needs to be aprehended to thought phenomenon of the mind before one commits suicide? One perspective on suicide can portray the action as the most beautiful thing a human can do. A human, who is brought into this world without his own will, and left alone on the currents of events on a weak raft of theories like Carpe Diem, is expected to be rational. The greatness, as they percieve it, is stemed in the right decisions, action, strong beliefs and all that fuckin crap that they preach all the time. If all that hyped mountains of kakadookie were true then, the chances are, i wouldnt be writing this and you wouldnt be reading this.
We were talking about the beauty of suicide, before we got a little distracted. Coming back to the note now; one may percieve it as the ultimate manifestation of the free will. Its the victory of personal freedom, its equivalennt to the celebration of 200 years of presidency, its the zeus of the freedom mythology. A person choses to end the misery probably experiences the triumph of curiosity and subjugation of the rational reasoning. He refuses to belive in the lame theories created by living men about life: though shalt not fuck thy self etc. He choses to experience it all by himself. It is ironic how major religions are against suicide. Suicide, infact, is the ultimate thing a person can do to become whole with god.
I will finish this blog some other time, i am not in the mood any more. That sucks!?
This is so beautiful, this music. Its on this internet radio. I do not know its name, though I think its the Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart. On the surround sound system it really fills up my entity with pleasure. I was gonna get drunk, but I gave up the idea. I do not want to be brain numb and I certainly do not want to close my eyes on real issues. With thick smoke of this cuban cigar, and the sounds of violins filling the room, I have begun to write about this idea: Suicide.
Why do people commit suicide? Why do people even feel suicidal? What is this whole idea rooted into? I am not planning to explore the epestemological foundations of suicide in one blog, I could if I wanted to, however. Are there any observations, or things that needs to be aprehended to thought phenomenon of the mind before one commits suicide? One perspective on suicide can portray the action as the most beautiful thing a human can do. A human, who is brought into this world without his own will, and left alone on the currents of events on a weak raft of theories like Carpe Diem, is expected to be rational. The greatness, as they percieve it, is stemed in the right decisions, action, strong beliefs and all that fuckin crap that they preach all the time. If all that hyped mountains of kakadookie were true then, the chances are, i wouldnt be writing this and you wouldnt be reading this.
We were talking about the beauty of suicide, before we got a little distracted. Coming back to the note now; one may percieve it as the ultimate manifestation of the free will. Its the victory of personal freedom, its equivalennt to the celebration of 200 years of presidency, its the zeus of the freedom mythology. A person choses to end the misery probably experiences the triumph of curiosity and subjugation of the rational reasoning. He refuses to belive in the lame theories created by living men about life: though shalt not fuck thy self etc. He choses to experience it all by himself. It is ironic how major religions are against suicide. Suicide, infact, is the ultimate thing a person can do to become whole with god.
I will finish this blog some other time, i am not in the mood any more. That sucks!?
The chronicles of Kakadookie
"Etherized upon a table"
Kakadookie really matters!
"I sometimes sit on my hand till it gets numb. Then I masturbate with it. I call it a stranger.
Have you ever given yourself a stranger?" (Dave Chepelle)
Kakadookie really matters!
"I sometimes sit on my hand till it gets numb. Then I masturbate with it. I call it a stranger.
Have you ever given yourself a stranger?" (Dave Chepelle)
Monday, March 07, 2005
Laying on the bed
"Etherized upon a table"
I am on the bed listening to the raging thunder outside. Just yet, the hails started knocking on the window panes; I didn't answer. I am as lifeless as the "pair of ragged claws scuttling across the floors of silent sees". It appears that the life in me is being remoted away.
There is this thin line in my entity; in between myself and life. This mark, that is left behind when two things are combined together with some glue; this artificiality. In the past i had tried to diminish this line; to become one with the life, but all in vain. And now, sometimes in the nights, I feel that the line is cracking. I wake up to hear those subtle quiet quakes which rock my soul. I only wonder laying in the bed that when will it hit with the full force, when will the Richter scale of my body celebrate this record? I have already witnessed the death and disaster it will bring; in my thoughts. In my mind I have detailed it all. But I am scared. I am scared that it wont be a surprise any more, and I will be deprived of my right to weep upon it. The grief will instill my heart, till it bursts into pieces.
My sunshine is being taken away from me. I look in the sky to find this hollow sphere of raging darkness. I want my sunshine back! I want her to be with me forever. I do not want to lose her. I want her to cover me with her gentle rays when I will lay thirsty and starving in the desert of lost youth. I want her to take me before those voultures can piece me.
I am on the bed listening to the raging thunder outside. Just yet, the hails started knocking on the window panes; I didn't answer. I am as lifeless as the "pair of ragged claws scuttling across the floors of silent sees". It appears that the life in me is being remoted away.
There is this thin line in my entity; in between myself and life. This mark, that is left behind when two things are combined together with some glue; this artificiality. In the past i had tried to diminish this line; to become one with the life, but all in vain. And now, sometimes in the nights, I feel that the line is cracking. I wake up to hear those subtle quiet quakes which rock my soul. I only wonder laying in the bed that when will it hit with the full force, when will the Richter scale of my body celebrate this record? I have already witnessed the death and disaster it will bring; in my thoughts. In my mind I have detailed it all. But I am scared. I am scared that it wont be a surprise any more, and I will be deprived of my right to weep upon it. The grief will instill my heart, till it bursts into pieces.
My sunshine is being taken away from me. I look in the sky to find this hollow sphere of raging darkness. I want my sunshine back! I want her to be with me forever. I do not want to lose her. I want her to cover me with her gentle rays when I will lay thirsty and starving in the desert of lost youth. I want her to take me before those voultures can piece me.
Sunday, March 06, 2005
Health advice
"Etherized upon a table"
If someone is concerned about their low energy levels in daily life they should do what chinese have been doing for thousands of years. Take Guarna, and Ginsing daily.
Budwiser has come up with the ultimate idea: Beer with Guarna, Taurine, Ginsing and Cafine!
I am not sure how to conclude this blog. I was looking for a one liner but i cant think of it, i think I need some more ginsing.
If someone is concerned about their low energy levels in daily life they should do what chinese have been doing for thousands of years. Take Guarna, and Ginsing daily.
Budwiser has come up with the ultimate idea: Beer with Guarna, Taurine, Ginsing and Cafine!
I am not sure how to conclude this blog. I was looking for a one liner but i cant think of it, i think I need some more ginsing.
Tree Hugging Hippy Crap!
"Etherized upon a table"
The more I think about it the more impressed I am by this phrase "Tree hugging hippy crap". Its a gramatical marvel which unites the connotation of many daily life phenomena to their denotation. I am kind'a really stressed these days, due to some pending hard decisions. So I just told myself that I should not worry about any tree hugging hippy crap!
I feel so relaxed now.
The Ideologyh of "Tree hugging hippy crap" + my integration of Carpe Diem ---> Euphoria
Its an exothermic reaction thoguh!
The more I think about it the more impressed I am by this phrase "Tree hugging hippy crap". Its a gramatical marvel which unites the connotation of many daily life phenomena to their denotation. I am kind'a really stressed these days, due to some pending hard decisions. So I just told myself that I should not worry about any tree hugging hippy crap!
I feel so relaxed now.
The Ideologyh of "Tree hugging hippy crap" + my integration of Carpe Diem ---> Euphoria
Its an exothermic reaction thoguh!
Thursday, March 03, 2005
The Word of the Day!!
"Etherized upon a table"
The word of the day is Carpe Diem. Actually, these are two words. So, Carpe Diem I shall!!
I am going to put everything into it that I got. Carpe Diem! Here I come sweetness!
The word of the day is Carpe Diem. Actually, these are two words. So, Carpe Diem I shall!!
I am going to put everything into it that I got. Carpe Diem! Here I come sweetness!
Tuesday, March 01, 2005
The Healing
"Etherized upon a table"
Standing infront of the mirror today, I noticed something. I could not see the 19 year old boy anywhere. I was puzzled. This was the place I saw him every day, for last 3 years. But he was not here today. Instead, there was somebody else starring back at me through the reflection. An older man, whose face was devoid of all the innocence, and whose face was stern as a rock. He had this mark on his forehead; a mark left from some wound. The wound had already healed a long while ago, but it sure left its memory engraved on the forehead; for the pain to be felt a new with every glance on the deformation.
There was something strange about it. I felt that the mark was alive; it appeared to harbor life. I moved closer to the mirror and started examining to wound closely. My heartbeat grew faster as I realized that there is something inside the mark. I realized the 19 year old boy was trapped in the wound and he was trying very hard to get out. All in vain, as the strong walls of the mark, would not let him. The mark had hardened over the years. At first it was just blood clotting along the edges which prevented the bleeding, but it also stopped the blood to reach the center of the wound, which had caused the living skin to die, and finally to be replaced by pigmentation of the skin. The mere process of healing had hardened the mark overtime, and now the boy was trapped into it.
I am not sure if I felt any pity for the boy or happiness for the man. I just stood there stout, looking at all this happening in an instance of a time. I tried to hear the screams of the boy, I sure could see him yell, but I couldn’t hear anything. I lowered my eyes to the level of the man’s eyes. In a questioning gesture I looked into his eyes, “Why can’t I hear him scream?” He didn’t answer. I noticed a subtle change in his eye color, as if they didn’t want to answer; as if they wanted to pretend they do not know what I was talking about. Eyes scrutinized eyes; the eyes yelled, and the eyes cried; eyes asked for a reason and the eyes looked at the society; eyes pleaded for mercy and the eyes broke into laughter; finally the eyes retreated in despair.
I lowered my eyes; this was a war against time and the society that I could never win. I glanced at the wound for one last time, hoping to see the boy for an apology. I saw him being devoured by the mark; suddenly, he was not crying and his face was happy as if he was anesthetic. He was being healed.
I put my tooth brush back into the wall cabinet behind the mirror and moved away. I had forgotten the boy.
Standing infront of the mirror today, I noticed something. I could not see the 19 year old boy anywhere. I was puzzled. This was the place I saw him every day, for last 3 years. But he was not here today. Instead, there was somebody else starring back at me through the reflection. An older man, whose face was devoid of all the innocence, and whose face was stern as a rock. He had this mark on his forehead; a mark left from some wound. The wound had already healed a long while ago, but it sure left its memory engraved on the forehead; for the pain to be felt a new with every glance on the deformation.
There was something strange about it. I felt that the mark was alive; it appeared to harbor life. I moved closer to the mirror and started examining to wound closely. My heartbeat grew faster as I realized that there is something inside the mark. I realized the 19 year old boy was trapped in the wound and he was trying very hard to get out. All in vain, as the strong walls of the mark, would not let him. The mark had hardened over the years. At first it was just blood clotting along the edges which prevented the bleeding, but it also stopped the blood to reach the center of the wound, which had caused the living skin to die, and finally to be replaced by pigmentation of the skin. The mere process of healing had hardened the mark overtime, and now the boy was trapped into it.
I am not sure if I felt any pity for the boy or happiness for the man. I just stood there stout, looking at all this happening in an instance of a time. I tried to hear the screams of the boy, I sure could see him yell, but I couldn’t hear anything. I lowered my eyes to the level of the man’s eyes. In a questioning gesture I looked into his eyes, “Why can’t I hear him scream?” He didn’t answer. I noticed a subtle change in his eye color, as if they didn’t want to answer; as if they wanted to pretend they do not know what I was talking about. Eyes scrutinized eyes; the eyes yelled, and the eyes cried; eyes asked for a reason and the eyes looked at the society; eyes pleaded for mercy and the eyes broke into laughter; finally the eyes retreated in despair.
I lowered my eyes; this was a war against time and the society that I could never win. I glanced at the wound for one last time, hoping to see the boy for an apology. I saw him being devoured by the mark; suddenly, he was not crying and his face was happy as if he was anesthetic. He was being healed.
I put my tooth brush back into the wall cabinet behind the mirror and moved away. I had forgotten the boy.
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