Picture print gnostic day
Prize gator all the way
Canter banter guess book
Overhead palatial nook
Insect feeder antic boy
Auto trotter water-toy
Globe globe purple ski
Double eagle friend what?
Yes, yes, no, no,
Okay, go!
Wednesday, December 13, 2006
Thursday, November 23, 2006
Excerpt from Conversations with an Alien
My computer's a bit fucked this morning - hungover and questioning the meaning of his existence; he's been through rough times lately; uneasy childhood. He uses acting out as a defence mechanism, he doesnt understand we're all in the same boat, just trying to find a reason to wake up and get working.
I need a cigarette.
I am enlightened.
I dont have any bread.
And I dont have any cigarettes.
What's the point of anything? When you don't have any bread see how you feel. Have you ever eaten peanut butter on fucking shredded wheat? Dont ever - you'll want to kill yourself.
Think kindly of this subterranean homesick alien for she lacks a web presence and I cannot link to her. She is on a facebook though.
I need a cigarette.
I am enlightened.
I dont have any bread.
And I dont have any cigarettes.
What's the point of anything? When you don't have any bread see how you feel. Have you ever eaten peanut butter on fucking shredded wheat? Dont ever - you'll want to kill yourself.
Think kindly of this subterranean homesick alien for she lacks a web presence and I cannot link to her. She is on a facebook though.
Wednesday, November 22, 2006
Tadah!
Yes, I have successfully created another blog which I hope I shall be able to update at frequent intervals.
Now hop along to These Indians are Crazy
Now hop along to These Indians are Crazy
Friday, November 17, 2006
Desert Verse
Scarab beetle run along
Through the desert sands
If the wind should blow you o'er
It won't slow you down
For you'll surely wriggle back
***
See the camel labour on
Through the desert sands
If this hardship he won't weather
Chewing ponderously
Then his hide will soon be leather
Through the desert sands
If the wind should blow you o'er
It won't slow you down
For you'll surely wriggle back
***
See the camel labour on
Through the desert sands
If this hardship he won't weather
Chewing ponderously
Then his hide will soon be leather
Thursday, November 16, 2006
Wednesday, November 01, 2006
Tuesday, October 24, 2006
Intercity Performance
“Surrender your ticket within 3 (three) hours of departure of last train in case you are unable to perform journey.”
Well, there was definitely not going to be any performance: missed the train by forty-five seconds. It was just pulling out of the platform as I reached, I thought perhaps I could make it, but there was more than a hundred metres to cover and it was picking up speed. And all because Bangalore City Station decides to use only four of the twelve ticket counters it has set up! I wish I had read the reverse of the ticket though, I didn’t know about the refund on the ticket. So I decided to take the bus from across the road: the Chennai State Express, not much of an express though, it stopped at every place possible and never went beyond fifty kmph.
The seat next to me was occupied by Anand Babu M: full name, or so he introduced himself while tapping his chest. I spoke to him in Tamil, but he refused to answer in Tamil, replying to my queries in English. And his English was worse than my Tamil.
I asked him what he did. He took out a folded piece of paper from his pocket, a letterhead for ‘V.S. Technical Works, Chennai – manufacturers of all types of bearings’
“So you’re an engineer then?” I asked.
He nodded. They were the largest manufacturers of ball bearings in
A few minutes later he produced another card from his pocket. This was another job he did. This one was in Kohlapur, in the garment business. Apparently he was the manager of Royston garments,
“What about V.S. Technical works?” I asked
“That is side job. When manager call I come.”
I wondered how he could be an engineer. Perhaps he was a salesman? I asked him.
“No, no. Technicals!”
“So, now what are you going to do in Chennai?”
“Boss call. Urgent. So I come.”
It seemed a fair explanation.
Later as I was reading (Paul Theroux’s The Great Railway Bazaar) Anand Babu M: full name tapped me and pointed out a huge manufacturing plant that we were passing. “Hyundai factory” he said, while rashly driving an imaginary car. “Very big. Two thousand kilometres.” I suspect he may have been exaggerating. It seemed to be a trend with him.
I asked Anand Babu M: full name if he knew where we were.
“Sriperumbudur” he remarked grimly. Not seeing any recognition in my eyes he continued to explain “Here, Rajiv Gandhi, finish!” This ominous statement he accompanied with a severing of the neck motion.
Friday, August 18, 2006
Empyrean Epiphany
Shanti, shanti, shanti. From the branches overhanging lake where dragon-fly-by two-by-two, red, like fire red, and yellow, from reed to reed, over algae covered water and hyacinth float, home for frogs that croak, croak, croak, to be eaten by stork with white wing span white, and fly with ducks multi-hued, and egrets black, dive and surface, fish thrashing and squirrels chirp, chirp, chirp, frolic along the branches with ants, running along, gangly, carrying twigs and leaves.
Warmth in the middle of the monsoons, only last night a torrential downpour and now the world is green, green, green. Rain-water drops shimmer dew-like on the gossamer thread of a spider web between coconut trees, for miles and miles atop hills around the lake with blue sky back-drop like oil on canvas and cloud wisps like beedi smoke insanity.
Water lizards dart by. Ripple, ripple, ripple. Fish swim away in jerky, united, direction under water crocus and lily, while butterfly flit back and forth, black and red, and white and yellow, like lemons and leaves that have just begun to dry. Splash, splash, ripple, ripple. Ducks alight on the water's surface, preen, clean, screen.
Quiet pathways and red mud for cycles and red stone houses live shanti, shanti, shanti. There are no reasons for greed and destruction. Shanti, shanti, shanti.
Warmth in the middle of the monsoons, only last night a torrential downpour and now the world is green, green, green. Rain-water drops shimmer dew-like on the gossamer thread of a spider web between coconut trees, for miles and miles atop hills around the lake with blue sky back-drop like oil on canvas and cloud wisps like beedi smoke insanity.
Water lizards dart by. Ripple, ripple, ripple. Fish swim away in jerky, united, direction under water crocus and lily, while butterfly flit back and forth, black and red, and white and yellow, like lemons and leaves that have just begun to dry. Splash, splash, ripple, ripple. Ducks alight on the water's surface, preen, clean, screen.
Quiet pathways and red mud for cycles and red stone houses live shanti, shanti, shanti. There are no reasons for greed and destruction. Shanti, shanti, shanti.
Thursday, August 03, 2006
Of Black Ghosts and Suchlike
For me dad's birthday, which was just recently passed, I bought him a pair of strange and awe-inspiring fish.
They're called Black Ghosts.
They're of Amazonian origin, and the South American Indians believe that the souls of their dead warriors reside in these fish. Now the fishies I purchased are only around 2 inches long, but apparently they can grow upto 20 inches in length. We'll need a new tank then. They're awesomely fluid fish, and can swim in all directions. It's fun watching them swim backwards and upside down and in circles after their tails. And they also play with each other, twirling around like olympic gymnasts.
Another cool fact about these fish. They belong to the same class as eels, and they're mildly electric. Not strong enough to shock a human, but they do zap the other fishies once in a while. This is most fun to watch!
They're also close to blind, with small shiny, white dots for eyes. They use their electric signals to navigate, and also for mating. This, of course, allows for a variety of jokes. Like how sparks fly, and how they indulge in some very shocking activities. I shall leave you to make more electrifying jokes!
They're called Black Ghosts.
They're of Amazonian origin, and the South American Indians believe that the souls of their dead warriors reside in these fish. Now the fishies I purchased are only around 2 inches long, but apparently they can grow upto 20 inches in length. We'll need a new tank then. They're awesomely fluid fish, and can swim in all directions. It's fun watching them swim backwards and upside down and in circles after their tails. And they also play with each other, twirling around like olympic gymnasts.
Another cool fact about these fish. They belong to the same class as eels, and they're mildly electric. Not strong enough to shock a human, but they do zap the other fishies once in a while. This is most fun to watch!
They're also close to blind, with small shiny, white dots for eyes. They use their electric signals to navigate, and also for mating. This, of course, allows for a variety of jokes. Like how sparks fly, and how they indulge in some very shocking activities. I shall leave you to make more electrifying jokes!
Wednesday, June 28, 2006
Rapunzel DIY
Brick upon brick
She laid. Around her
The wall was built.
Slowly encircling;
Growing ever higher.
Soon the structure,
Much taller than her,
Bid no one in.
She did, however,
Build tiny peepholes, through
Which the world could
Enter. Narrow streams
Of light would seep
In. Her only ken
Of the outside they were.
Desert, forest
Lay all around her,
But the wall her
Perception was. The
Image she herself built.
One day an eagle fashioned an aerie at the top of the tower.
She laid. Around her
The wall was built.
Slowly encircling;
Growing ever higher.
Soon the structure,
Much taller than her,
Bid no one in.
She did, however,
Build tiny peepholes, through
Which the world could
Enter. Narrow streams
Of light would seep
In. Her only ken
Of the outside they were.
Desert, forest
Lay all around her,
But the wall her
Perception was. The
Image she herself built.
One day an eagle fashioned an aerie at the top of the tower.
Thursday, June 08, 2006
A Moonlight Waltz
Pointedly he says "What are you thinking?"
"Oh, nothing," she replies, "just that I have no body to dance with.”
“Well, neither do I - so let’s just dance together.”
Shades of the evening pass over them, as they dance for an eternity. Accordions moan softly in the distance. The moon for the night has been perfectly chosen: full and resplendent as the sun that it mirrors.
A cat hackles. Bones rattle softly in the slightly cold breeze as they dance to the odd waltz. There are others, but they dance to themselves; no one looks.
The moon rises, the violins scream. They dance dreamlike, writhing feverish as the music reaches a violent crescendo. The music stops and the silence returns. They stand holding each other, breathing hard.
“Thank you, that was lovely.” She says.
“It was. Aren’t you glad you didn’t just sit there?”
She smiles. They silently depart back to their rest.
It was a wonderful little party at the cemetery.
"Oh, nothing," she replies, "just that I have no body to dance with.”
“Well, neither do I - so let’s just dance together.”
Shades of the evening pass over them, as they dance for an eternity. Accordions moan softly in the distance. The moon for the night has been perfectly chosen: full and resplendent as the sun that it mirrors.
A cat hackles. Bones rattle softly in the slightly cold breeze as they dance to the odd waltz. There are others, but they dance to themselves; no one looks.
The moon rises, the violins scream. They dance dreamlike, writhing feverish as the music reaches a violent crescendo. The music stops and the silence returns. They stand holding each other, breathing hard.
“Thank you, that was lovely.” She says.
“It was. Aren’t you glad you didn’t just sit there?”
She smiles. They silently depart back to their rest.
It was a wonderful little party at the cemetery.
Tuesday, May 09, 2006
James Dawson's Tale of Woe
Herhooters, sherooters,
Cumberly road.
I'm back from the war
And they've broken the door!
Tis rainy in spainy,
The wall is amoss.
A few coats of paint,
Is that too much to ask?
All musty and dusty,
The floor is unkempt.
The doorbell is missing
The place is exempt.
To spawn on the lawn
Is possible no more,
Cause someone built pavement
Where grass used to grow.
And so small is the wall,
A bother to no one.
Yet they have broke it,
Left no stone upon stone.
Herhooters, sherooters
Cumberly road.
I'm back from the war
And my house is no more.
In response to a 15 minute challenge on JPs blog. Gleefully awaits picturepostcardtissue.
Saturday, April 22, 2006
These Indians are Crazy!
What is it with people in this country? How can we be so stupid? How can we be a destination for technological outsourcing yet be so illogical?
Myopic politicians! Idiots who stifle the development and growth of infrastructure in this country because they don’t stand to gain immediate benefits from projects. Over here the opposition takes their title too literally, and joyously opposes anything the ruling party has to say; and the ruling party would do the same if the roles were reversed. Eons get wasted in political mudslinging and brainless banter and everyone trying to make a quick buck out of everything, and nothing happens in the end. Example: The Bangalore Mysore Infrastructure Corridor Project, proposed in 1985 and it still hasn’t been started.
“Government must act fast” – Dharam Singh. WHAT? Dharam bleedin Singh thinks the government has to act fast? Bitch, you were Chief Minister for two years and nothing happened in this state! Dharam Singh oughta go on a fast so that his mouth is not obscured by his quadruple chin!
And speaking of fasts, Narendra Modi goes on a 51 hour fast? You stupid son-of-a-cunt! Medha Patkar fasted for 17 days demanding that the government rehabilitate the people displaced by the Narmada Dam Project. And now this arse, who has done nothing but spoil the name of Hinduism, decides to do a fast fast for counter human rights purposes? Stupid Bumfuck!
Meddling neighbours! Take the damned logs out of your eyes, I tell you!
“The woes of the couple began when Mohammad had a quarrel with Nizama and went to drown his anger with local brew. He had no recollection of what he said, but the villagers insisted he uttered triple talaq and forced him to get a fatwa from a mufti. Two months later, the husband got a fatwa from a mufti saying a talaq in an inebriated condition would not amount to divorce. But the villagers were no convinced and chose another mufti, who gave a contrary talaq.” WTF!!! Mind your own god-damned business, pesky idiots! Get a life, fuckin fly paper humpers!
Shilpa Shetty taken to court over obscene photographs in a Tamil tabloid? Yes, I know she’s ugly and it’d be offensive to publish pictures of her scantily clad, but have you seen Tamil porn? Stupid bastards! If anyone has to be taken to court it should be the tabloid for lack of sensibility shouldn’t it? What is with us and our need to cover up sex? Everyone knows we have sex, we’ve got the second largest population in the fuckin world you bozos!!! It’s this horrible, fastidious attitude that causes a repressed society and an ever increasing number of sexual crimes!
Stupid news media! What is with the Times of India’s choice of front-page articles? What is with these metro supplements? What is with NDTV’s excessive love for the world of glamour? I know you’ll are prostrating before a gossip craving public but enough already! “Ash has fall during shoot, suffers bruises”. How in god’s name does that warrant front-page coverage? There are loads of people dying around the world you fuckin, incompetent nincompoops!
DAMN YOU! DAMN YOU ALL TO HELL!
BLEARGH!!
I just needed to rant! Thank you, good night!
Myopic politicians! Idiots who stifle the development and growth of infrastructure in this country because they don’t stand to gain immediate benefits from projects. Over here the opposition takes their title too literally, and joyously opposes anything the ruling party has to say; and the ruling party would do the same if the roles were reversed. Eons get wasted in political mudslinging and brainless banter and everyone trying to make a quick buck out of everything, and nothing happens in the end. Example: The Bangalore Mysore Infrastructure Corridor Project, proposed in 1985 and it still hasn’t been started.
“Government must act fast” – Dharam Singh. WHAT? Dharam bleedin Singh thinks the government has to act fast? Bitch, you were Chief Minister for two years and nothing happened in this state! Dharam Singh oughta go on a fast so that his mouth is not obscured by his quadruple chin!
Thats right, I think I'll smack myself for being an ugly cow!
And speaking of fasts, Narendra Modi goes on a 51 hour fast? You stupid son-of-a-cunt! Medha Patkar fasted for 17 days demanding that the government rehabilitate the people displaced by the Narmada Dam Project. And now this arse, who has done nothing but spoil the name of Hinduism, decides to do a fast fast for counter human rights purposes? Stupid Bumfuck!
Oh, Medha Patkar thinks she's cool cause she can fast for so many days? I'll fast for 51 hours, that's like one whole hour more than 50 hours!
Meddling neighbours! Take the damned logs out of your eyes, I tell you!
“The woes of the couple began when Mohammad had a quarrel with Nizama and went to drown his anger with local brew. He had no recollection of what he said, but the villagers insisted he uttered triple talaq and forced him to get a fatwa from a mufti. Two months later, the husband got a fatwa from a mufti saying a talaq in an inebriated condition would not amount to divorce. But the villagers were no convinced and chose another mufti, who gave a contrary talaq.” WTF!!! Mind your own god-damned business, pesky idiots! Get a life, fuckin fly paper humpers!
Shilpa Shetty taken to court over obscene photographs in a Tamil tabloid? Yes, I know she’s ugly and it’d be offensive to publish pictures of her scantily clad, but have you seen Tamil porn? Stupid bastards! If anyone has to be taken to court it should be the tabloid for lack of sensibility shouldn’t it? What is with us and our need to cover up sex? Everyone knows we have sex, we’ve got the second largest population in the fuckin world you bozos!!! It’s this horrible, fastidious attitude that causes a repressed society and an ever increasing number of sexual crimes!
It's not possible, I can't possibly be sexy!
Stupid news media! What is with the Times of India’s choice of front-page articles? What is with these metro supplements? What is with NDTV’s excessive love for the world of glamour? I know you’ll are prostrating before a gossip craving public but enough already! “Ash has fall during shoot, suffers bruises”. How in god’s name does that warrant front-page coverage? There are loads of people dying around the world you fuckin, incompetent nincompoops!
See, my clothes got all torn when I fell, you can almost see the bruise on my right nipple
DAMN YOU! DAMN YOU ALL TO HELL!
BLEARGH!!
I just needed to rant! Thank you, good night!
Monday, April 17, 2006
Tribute to a Lost Soul
"No lunch?
"Why you no speak?
"Is some thing the matter?
"Ahhh, I know, its because I didn't call you last night isn't it?
"You don't skip lunch over such a trivial thing like that.
"Oh come now, don't be like so.
"I say, aren't you the stubborn one.
"Ehh thu, after waiting for 2 minutes and no reply I have come to realise that you have gone for lunch already and you have not turned your status to 'Away'. For this you will pay, you will be forced to write 350 test cases within a span of half an hour from scratch
"Then when you don't finish we will come and pick you up like a feather and throw you into the pulpit of the devil incarnate
"And then your tongue will burn, and you will thirst for the cooling effect of St. Finger's peter, but he will not help you, because you will have faced the wrath of the Lord almighty and you will have learned that the path of the rightheous man without doubt is to go for lunch and put your status as 'Away' while you are at it.
"Therefore in the name of the lager, the bun and the holy roast, may you be damned to spite vermin for the rest of your life and nothing more.
"Man! I'm good!"
http://jinwin83.blogspot.com
"Why you no speak?
"Is some thing the matter?
"Ahhh, I know, its because I didn't call you last night isn't it?
"You don't skip lunch over such a trivial thing like that.
"Oh come now, don't be like so.
"I say, aren't you the stubborn one.
"Ehh thu, after waiting for 2 minutes and no reply I have come to realise that you have gone for lunch already and you have not turned your status to 'Away'. For this you will pay, you will be forced to write 350 test cases within a span of half an hour from scratch
"Then when you don't finish we will come and pick you up like a feather and throw you into the pulpit of the devil incarnate
"And then your tongue will burn, and you will thirst for the cooling effect of St. Finger's peter, but he will not help you, because you will have faced the wrath of the Lord almighty and you will have learned that the path of the rightheous man without doubt is to go for lunch and put your status as 'Away' while you are at it.
"Therefore in the name of the lager, the bun and the holy roast, may you be damned to spite vermin for the rest of your life and nothing more.
"Man! I'm good!"
http://jinwin83.blogspot.com
Sunday, March 19, 2006
Death of a Bibliophile
I have spent the days of the years of my life in constant erudition, with an insatiable yearning for a perfect enlightenment. I have pursued a menagerie of studies, in an effort to be a master of every piece of learning; I have studied divers subjects at colleges and libraries. Never have I paused in my quest; my intellectual strivings have been incessant, relentless. Over time I have accumulated a multitude of books, encyclopaedia, and magazines. I have scoured the country for the rarest literatures, a wide gamut of literary works and academic artifacts are contained within my personal library.
Today it has been decided for me to die. I look at the volumes beside my bedside. Aged like good wine, their pages have that comforting smell that such books acquire. I look at them lovingly. The many memories of time spent with them stream through my mind. My faithful friends they have been through the time I have spent on this earth.
I remember vicarious journeys through time and space, adventures in far off lands, meetings with people of varied class and culture. But it has not been fiction alone - teachings of great masters, philosophies of an era, tenets of a religion, and more have I imbibed from various tomes. My wisdom far surpasses my peers, there is none that I know who has read as much as I. I can preach ancient Judaistic mythology and Euclidian geometry, quantum physics and socialist philosophy, linguistics and animal psychology. Yes, I can say I know it all.
Yet, in these last few moments of my life, I feel a void, a sense of regret. I look as the attendants carry out their allotted tasks around my bed. I have read the works of the greatest minds, but I have not discovered what lies within these simple minds. I have read accounts of the most exotic places, but I have never visited. And even on occasion when I have toured, it has been purely in search of more texts to enhance my collection. As I look back at my travels, I realize I have never actually lived in places I have visited, I have never interacted with the people, nor have I practiced the arts or sciences. I have learnt but not employed.
What use is all this wisdom now? It does not save me from my ultimate demise. Soon I will be naught but dust, not unlike my illiterate ancestors. All my learnings will be in vain. My mind echoes the words of the wise King Solomon, yet even he enjoyed a more visceral set of pleasures than I. Now I doubt whether I have learnt all there is to learn. I think of all the knowledge that has never been penned, that has to be learnt by doing. I look back at my life, has it been wasted among ink and papers? Is even the peon wiser than I?
Today I die. Still there is a yearning desire to know, for there is much in heaven, and much that is hidden from the hearts of men.
Today it has been decided for me to die. I look at the volumes beside my bedside. Aged like good wine, their pages have that comforting smell that such books acquire. I look at them lovingly. The many memories of time spent with them stream through my mind. My faithful friends they have been through the time I have spent on this earth.
I remember vicarious journeys through time and space, adventures in far off lands, meetings with people of varied class and culture. But it has not been fiction alone - teachings of great masters, philosophies of an era, tenets of a religion, and more have I imbibed from various tomes. My wisdom far surpasses my peers, there is none that I know who has read as much as I. I can preach ancient Judaistic mythology and Euclidian geometry, quantum physics and socialist philosophy, linguistics and animal psychology. Yes, I can say I know it all.
Yet, in these last few moments of my life, I feel a void, a sense of regret. I look as the attendants carry out their allotted tasks around my bed. I have read the works of the greatest minds, but I have not discovered what lies within these simple minds. I have read accounts of the most exotic places, but I have never visited. And even on occasion when I have toured, it has been purely in search of more texts to enhance my collection. As I look back at my travels, I realize I have never actually lived in places I have visited, I have never interacted with the people, nor have I practiced the arts or sciences. I have learnt but not employed.
What use is all this wisdom now? It does not save me from my ultimate demise. Soon I will be naught but dust, not unlike my illiterate ancestors. All my learnings will be in vain. My mind echoes the words of the wise King Solomon, yet even he enjoyed a more visceral set of pleasures than I. Now I doubt whether I have learnt all there is to learn. I think of all the knowledge that has never been penned, that has to be learnt by doing. I look back at my life, has it been wasted among ink and papers? Is even the peon wiser than I?
Today I die. Still there is a yearning desire to know, for there is much in heaven, and much that is hidden from the hearts of men.
Wednesday, March 08, 2006
Thursday, March 02, 2006
Psychedelic Spam Poetry
XP PRO, OFFICE 2003 AND ALL AT ONLY $12-60 EACH, WE GIVE U LICENSE force
Miserable the window?
Few arms yours am?
Whom is respect friends beautiful. light force beautiful beautiful.
Beautiful appearance slow studied.
Rich rich supposedto find, wrong anybody use purpose few.
Trying sugar teach he window reading.
From a spam mail. This spamster was on some serious substance.
Miserable the window?
Few arms yours am?
Whom is respect friends beautiful. light force beautiful beautiful.
Beautiful appearance slow studied.
Rich rich supposedto find, wrong anybody use purpose few.
Trying sugar teach he window reading.
From a spam mail. This spamster was on some serious substance.
Friday, February 24, 2006
A Lexicon of Things
Antagonistic concerto for string quartet
Cross section of honey jar drip
Banshee wail: sample 44
Bedsheet eye-piece cut out
Leapfrog exhibition display legend
Whiplash Incident papers (confidential)
Sudden crowd burst 8:42 pm
Spotted labrador earwax
Pfaff machine conundrumbulator switch
Sandal strap toehold (left piece)
Fish eye lens dust and scratches combo
Cross section of honey jar drip
Banshee wail: sample 44
Bedsheet eye-piece cut out
Leapfrog exhibition display legend
Whiplash Incident papers (confidential)
Sudden crowd burst 8:42 pm
Spotted labrador earwax
Pfaff machine conundrumbulator switch
Sandal strap toehold (left piece)
Fish eye lens dust and scratches combo
Sunday, February 12, 2006
Copywriter on Acid
So, I'm driving to work today, and this bus in front of me has an advertisement, for geysers, I think, or it could be for houses, or perhaps for moths. This was the copy on the ad, you decide.
Apple of you eye
your dream home
eaten by moth like geyser
NO NEVER!
Apple of you eye
your dream home
eaten by moth like geyser
NO NEVER!
Monday, February 06, 2006
Friday, February 03, 2006
Vacations in Katatonos
In the summer Corrin and I used to pluck berries. Berries always scared me. One day after we had plucked berries, I went home to find one berry left in my pocket. And it had turned into a bulbulate. The bulbulate said it was happy to see me.
During the evenings we'd sit on the verandah listening to the crickets in the distance. Corrin stayed alone with his grandfather. His mother had died when he was very young, and his father had run away fearing the revenge of the hand-that-is-always-near. Corrin's grandfather would sometimes read us stories. Occasionally a bus would pass in the distance.
The passengers on the bumpy rid to their destination. The old man with his granddaughter, the wife going back to her home village, the workers going home after a hard day's work.
Sometimes Corrin's grandfather would shoot crow, then he'd use the flesh as bait to catch fish. We'd sit by the pond with crudely fashioned rods and wait for a bite. Birds would fly out of the water with a fish thrashing in their beak.
After lunch we'd watch the old man smoke his hookah. On it was an intricately carved design telling the story of how Vahikute had vanquished the Narakumbe demons. He would sometimes recount the battle as he had seen it.
Borusada would never let us into her kitchen. We'd love to sneak in when we could, dip our fingers in her jelly fruit pickle and lick them clean. She would complain to Corrin's grandfather when she had found out the mischief we had been up to.
The temple priests would finish their rites for the evening. Then after the purification ceremony they would sit around and play a game of heloroid on the big, brown and black boards.
Corrin had a smaller heloroid game. My favourite piece was the elephant trunk, because it wriggled like a worm. I was really good at the game. During one game it started bleeding. His grandfather said it was because we played it too much.
It was always a shame when the summer would end and I'd have to go back to the city.
During the evenings we'd sit on the verandah listening to the crickets in the distance. Corrin stayed alone with his grandfather. His mother had died when he was very young, and his father had run away fearing the revenge of the hand-that-is-always-near. Corrin's grandfather would sometimes read us stories. Occasionally a bus would pass in the distance.
The passengers on the bumpy rid to their destination. The old man with his granddaughter, the wife going back to her home village, the workers going home after a hard day's work.
Sometimes Corrin's grandfather would shoot crow, then he'd use the flesh as bait to catch fish. We'd sit by the pond with crudely fashioned rods and wait for a bite. Birds would fly out of the water with a fish thrashing in their beak.
After lunch we'd watch the old man smoke his hookah. On it was an intricately carved design telling the story of how Vahikute had vanquished the Narakumbe demons. He would sometimes recount the battle as he had seen it.
Borusada would never let us into her kitchen. We'd love to sneak in when we could, dip our fingers in her jelly fruit pickle and lick them clean. She would complain to Corrin's grandfather when she had found out the mischief we had been up to.
The temple priests would finish their rites for the evening. Then after the purification ceremony they would sit around and play a game of heloroid on the big, brown and black boards.
Corrin had a smaller heloroid game. My favourite piece was the elephant trunk, because it wriggled like a worm. I was really good at the game. During one game it started bleeding. His grandfather said it was because we played it too much.
It was always a shame when the summer would end and I'd have to go back to the city.
Sunday, January 29, 2006
Hampi Dumpy
So I go on holiday for the weekend and the government collapses. Seriously, you can't leave these idiots alone for a minute. At least the new government will be a tad better than the led-by-a-bullfrog coalition.
Hampi is the place to be. For some reason, all the children there come up to touristy type people and say "Hello, school pen", at first I'd wave back and say Hi, but what the hell was 'school pen'?or sometimes "Hello, school pen?" No I'm not a school pen! Then I heard one chap say, what sounded like "Hello, school friend", now this made just a little more sense than 'school pen', even though I didn't actually go to school with these kids. However I was thrown of again by some kids who came towards me saying those lines with a writing gesture. So perhaps it did have something to do with pens? Then there were a bunch of them that would say "Hello, school pen", followed by "one rupees, two rupees" and then they'd hold out their hands expectantly. So maybe they wanted a donation to buy a school pen. I guess it'll just be one of those mysteries.
I like the smell of offerings burnt eons ago, that lingers in the temple ruins. Standing on the banks of a river flowing through rocky hills is just so peaceful.
It's a small town where everyone knows everyone else, and one can spend an entire afternoon in one of the little shacks watching animated conversations between the local folk. They somehow seemed to be fighting all the time, but without any physical violence. People would bump into each other on the road and start and argument, then they would walk away like it was a normal thing, still yelling something, trying to get the last word in, until they were out of earshot.
There's always some amount of temple sculpture reserved to show the gods fucking! And they tend to be more bizarre than most porn I've seen. There was this one image of a woman getting orally imapled by the penis of an elephant. That's why one must always think twice before agreeing to blow an elephant!
Watching pure devotion is bliss.
Hampi is the place to be. For some reason, all the children there come up to touristy type people and say "Hello, school pen", at first I'd wave back and say Hi, but what the hell was 'school pen'?or sometimes "Hello, school pen?" No I'm not a school pen! Then I heard one chap say, what sounded like "Hello, school friend", now this made just a little more sense than 'school pen', even though I didn't actually go to school with these kids. However I was thrown of again by some kids who came towards me saying those lines with a writing gesture. So perhaps it did have something to do with pens? Then there were a bunch of them that would say "Hello, school pen", followed by "one rupees, two rupees" and then they'd hold out their hands expectantly. So maybe they wanted a donation to buy a school pen. I guess it'll just be one of those mysteries.
I like the smell of offerings burnt eons ago, that lingers in the temple ruins. Standing on the banks of a river flowing through rocky hills is just so peaceful.
It's a small town where everyone knows everyone else, and one can spend an entire afternoon in one of the little shacks watching animated conversations between the local folk. They somehow seemed to be fighting all the time, but without any physical violence. People would bump into each other on the road and start and argument, then they would walk away like it was a normal thing, still yelling something, trying to get the last word in, until they were out of earshot.
There's always some amount of temple sculpture reserved to show the gods fucking! And they tend to be more bizarre than most porn I've seen. There was this one image of a woman getting orally imapled by the penis of an elephant. That's why one must always think twice before agreeing to blow an elephant!
Watching pure devotion is bliss.
Wednesday, January 25, 2006
Tagged Like an Animal in a Research Program
So, Fingers of Babushkas and Anadems fame tagged me. Apparently I'm supposed to write 8 things I'd like in an ideal partner. I'm doubting I'd ever have an ideal partner but here goes.
1. She should be quirky, and have all these little fascinating anomalies of character.
2. She should be smart and able to think for herself
3. She should have a sense of humour and it would be great if she got little subculture related jokes
4. She should dress impeccably different, not like every other woman on the road.
5. Her interests should span across a vast number of fields, not necessarily the same ones of mine. If she knew about stuff I didn't that would be awesome!
6. Not in the least bit conservative.
7. Listen to a fair amount of interesting music, again not necessarily the same genres I listen to, but she shouldn't listen to something just cause everyone else does.
8. Arrrgh....couldn't we just stop with 7? Oh, yeah, she's gotta be hot!
1. She should be quirky, and have all these little fascinating anomalies of character.
2. She should be smart and able to think for herself
3. She should have a sense of humour and it would be great if she got little subculture related jokes
4. She should dress impeccably different, not like every other woman on the road.
5. Her interests should span across a vast number of fields, not necessarily the same ones of mine. If she knew about stuff I didn't that would be awesome!
6. Not in the least bit conservative.
7. Listen to a fair amount of interesting music, again not necessarily the same genres I listen to, but she shouldn't listen to something just cause everyone else does.
8. Arrrgh....couldn't we just stop with 7? Oh, yeah, she's gotta be hot!
Thursday, January 19, 2006
Sinusoidal Maniac
As I write this scarabs are partying in my head, in a bacchanalia of sinovial fluids. Round and round they swirl. AUGHHHH!!!
Wednesday, January 11, 2006
Denominations
“Alright, I’ll make you a deal you can’t refuse: exclusive control of these territories, here, here and here, but no rights, here, here and uhm…here!”
“Are you kidding me? And what about my father’s people? They’re going to be bang in the middle of your territories?”
“Oh, that won’t be any problem, we’ll work around that! In any case, why are you looking out for them after what they did to you when you were there?”
“Look, it’s not about that, you know we just can’t leave them there. You know it will cause problems, people can’t live peacefully, it’s an innate fault of theirs.”
“And whose fault is that? What was your father thinking when he gave them their facilities? These people should have strict laws governing them, they shouldn’t be treated much better than animals – an eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth, that’s what I say.”
“You know my father tried that approach, but it’s restrictive, people should be given a choice. They should be free to control their lives…”
“Even if it means that they’ll screw up their lives, and the lives of others in the process?”
“Well… yes. We should provide guidelines for them to follow, but ultimately the choice belongs to the individual. We can’t give people a rigid set of laws and expect them to follow it fanatically. There are bound to be gray areas, we mustn’t discount their intelligence, and their ability to handle such situations. What do you say Buds?”
“Moderation…”
“Screw moderation! You know it won’t work. They need a sense of purpose, not the free time to question life. They’re like sheep, one cannot constantly tend them, and hence the need for strict rules, and righteous leaders who will ensure the rules are followed.”
“As I was saying, the middle path is the path best followed…”
“Alright Buds, how bout we just give you these territories, here and here, and you can preach to them, alright?”
“Can I also get this piece?”
“Here? That’s prime estate man!”
“I want to try a few variations”
“What the hell are you talking about? Variations? We’re talking about keeping the system together and you want variations? In any case I’m not giving you the whole thing, I want these areas. You can keep these”
“As you please.”
“Now onto this large fertile area…”
“Dibs on the west!”
“What? You think this is some sort of childish game?”
“Sorry, man, but I’ve claimed it.”
“What the fuck! You’ve already got all this land, and…”
“Listen, don’t use coarse language! You know my father made you what you are today!”
“WHAT?”
“How about we settle for a compromise? We leave the playing field open here.”
“I’ve called and I’m keeping it! Of course we can let them all mingle, so that everyone has a fair chance to see if their methods work!”
“Ha! My people are gonna kick you people’s butt!”
"Foo you!"
A 15 minute piece based on the work of aaron jasinski.
Tuesday, January 10, 2006
His Trip to Katatonos
A warm summer evening
The fireflies ever brighter
Outside his bedroom window
Bits of wind
Dancing round his room
Playing hide and seek in the curtains
Cartwheels on the bed stand
Twilight suddenly!
Across the universe
The street flooded in kaleidoscopic light
Girls in the corner shop
Putting on mascara
Quaint music wafting through
Women welcoming him, young as he was
Offering various delights
Dark alleys of the unspeakable
“Hi, how are you?”
He wanders past
Shops of darkstone
Bright yet dim colours
Flicker softly
Dancing monkeys
Floated on clouds
Through temples of stone
The fireflies ever brighter
Outside his bedroom window
Bits of wind
Dancing round his room
Playing hide and seek in the curtains
Cartwheels on the bed stand
Twilight suddenly!
Across the universe
The street flooded in kaleidoscopic light
Girls in the corner shop
Putting on mascara
Quaint music wafting through
Women welcoming him, young as he was
Offering various delights
Dark alleys of the unspeakable
“Hi, how are you?”
He wanders past
Shops of darkstone
Bright yet dim colours
Flicker softly
Dancing monkeys
Floated on clouds
Through temples of stone
Wednesday, January 04, 2006
Expedite Kaiser Forthwith!
A fly! A fly that had the audacity to alight upon the most wise and revered nose of our fullgracious and benevolent sovereign, Al-Felin Felingreen, may his name be proclaimed a thousand times ere it cease to exist!
An inquiry! An inquiry most urgent, to be conducted through the land to discover the cause for this most appalling effrontery of our distinguished and highcelebrated lordship, Al-Felin Felingreen, undisputed master of the thirty six provinces of Hazim-Sikah and Groundoria.
A massacre! A massacre of four hundred, eighty thousand, twenty one flies that refused to co-operate with interrogating officials, humble servants of the esteemed and worshipful ruler, Al-Felin Felingreen, may his reign know no end, and were thus condemned to death on account of high treason and refusal to divulge such information that might forward the investigation of the cause of this despicable insult to our supreme and surely wiseprudent judge, Al-Felin Felingreen, champion of his lowly subjects, the people of Hazim-Sikah and Groundoria.
A destruction! A destruction of those structures that house or might house flies or materialstuff that so might act as a mainspring for these vileloathsome creatures, presumptuous such that they disrespect our godlike and majestic master, Al-Felin Felingreen, may his kingdom know no bounds.
A bier! A bier for our potentate, the overworthy and righteous king, Al-Felin Felingreen, who lies ostentigrandiose in his mighty repose, so austere that even the hated fly should not have disturbed him though he were dead three weeks.
An inquiry! An inquiry most urgent, to be conducted through the land to discover the cause for this most appalling effrontery of our distinguished and highcelebrated lordship, Al-Felin Felingreen, undisputed master of the thirty six provinces of Hazim-Sikah and Groundoria.
A massacre! A massacre of four hundred, eighty thousand, twenty one flies that refused to co-operate with interrogating officials, humble servants of the esteemed and worshipful ruler, Al-Felin Felingreen, may his reign know no end, and were thus condemned to death on account of high treason and refusal to divulge such information that might forward the investigation of the cause of this despicable insult to our supreme and surely wiseprudent judge, Al-Felin Felingreen, champion of his lowly subjects, the people of Hazim-Sikah and Groundoria.
A destruction! A destruction of those structures that house or might house flies or materialstuff that so might act as a mainspring for these vileloathsome creatures, presumptuous such that they disrespect our godlike and majestic master, Al-Felin Felingreen, may his kingdom know no bounds.
A bier! A bier for our potentate, the overworthy and righteous king, Al-Felin Felingreen, who lies ostentigrandiose in his mighty repose, so austere that even the hated fly should not have disturbed him though he were dead three weeks.
Monday, January 02, 2006
Of Gnu Ears and Resolutions
"This year I will be constantly striving to improve myself within the boundaries of complacency"
There!
There!
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