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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.