Whooaaa

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

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

La donna è mobile

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Request for topics

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

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

Fuck you Freud!

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

Ennui

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

10000 year old refrain

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

"Etherized upon a table"

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

In the desert of solitude

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

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

milestone

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

arc-iology

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

a world of difference

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

sigh ..

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

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

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

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

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