purdypitchers

Blackhole Revelations

2011-09-18T07:41:00.000-07:00

And then behold, I was given a vision, and the known and tangible world burned away, engulfed at first in a soft golden shimmer that quickly grew brighter and more intense until it shone like ten-thousand suns, blinding my poor and simple eyes with their dazzling magnificence.

And when the world had burned away, there was left the void, the great expanse of nothingness, infinite in it's non-existence. But what a paradox, how could this be? For I still perceived all of this, albeit with some other eye (or eyes), for my familiar eyeballs had surely been burned away with everything else.

No sooner had this thought been formulated, (and where had it been formulated? for my brain had certainly been burnt to a cinder as well), I was flung across this infinite space, and I did notice that now there were particles of light, floating freely, amidst the ethereal darkness. The glowing particles of light slowly started to coagulate to form orbs of light, growing larger, ever larger, until they did become those ten-thousand suns, but now impressively separated, by unfathomable distance, each commanding it's own domain.

And then I realised, and I know not how, that each of these suns was a god. And I asked how - how did I know this? Where was I? Who was I? What was the meaning of this vision and how was it possible?

And the answer came, like ten-thousand trumpet blasts, so horrendously loud that I was blinded by their deafening report. And encapsulated deep within the over-powering roar that had just filled the infinite space, was the knowledge that the answer existed, and had always existed, and the ten-thousand suns assured me it was so for they had been born of that answer, and I knew it was so. But they could not elucidate, for though the answer existed it was not in the tongues of men.

But I must know, I persisted stubbornly, even though I already knew, and I felt a deep dissatisfaction, for I somehow strangely still had an association with the tongues of men, though they were not yet in existence.

And so I was told that I must trace backwards from my association to the very beginning, through the tongues of men and the tongues of the animals and backwards still. But the more I descended down this path the further I got from the tongues of men and I could not surface back from the murky depths of the origins of language and thought.

And now the ten-thousand suns blazed forth, each in their own domain, and they emanated the planets, and the light they shone forth intertwined to form complex structures, infinitesimally tiny, yet I perceived them larger than each sun, for the more I delved into these structures, the more I broke them down, the more they returned to the form of their parents, the god-suns.

And so this is the meagre report I have carried back from that indescribable vision- that out of the nothingness proceeded the one, which birthed the two and was then split into the three, and four, and more and more, until there was a horde of existence, stretching out till infinity, and each was part of the other, whole and complete together and apart.

And slowly all the familiar forms were shaped and the deafening brilliance of the golden light subsided back to a mild shimmer and the world took on a new quality for it had been rebirthed.

Of What Dreams May Come

2009-10-20T12:51:00.001-07:00

My fondest darling, verily I bid thee good night, and sweetest dreams may thou encounter in that realm of ether. But not forever - for thou shalt wake from those dreams, just as one day thou shalt wake from these.

Happy Earth Day

2009-04-22T02:13:00.000-07:00

He who has eyes let him see

2009-01-02T22:30:00.000-08:00

The truth is hidden like a jewel at the bottom of a lake. The searcher must dive to the very beginnings of time to retrieve it, but the weeds obscure his way and the glint of the sun's reflection in the waters can easily confuse. But dive deeper - for as long as he can hold his breath he can search, and he will eventually find it.

Humbug

2008-10-16T12:43:00.000-07:00

Another birthday comes along
And everyone is going on
With birthday wishes
And gifts
And ooohing
and aaahing
Bah!
I wishes I wuss fishes!

Losing My Mind

2008-06-28T09:12:00.000-07:00

I'm the last human being on earth, and I'm schizophrenic.

The Preservation of Memory

2008-03-25T11:22:00.000-07:00

“To be born again you must first die.”

The words were unclear, both in their meaning and also because of the situation my ears were in. But somehow, the meaning of the words, murky as the water I was in, entered into the very centre of my being. I had a feeling that something was amiss, but I could not put my finger on it. Not right away at least, then it suddenly hit me – I was not breathing. I seemed to be undergoing some sort of sensory deprivation process. I could see but it was hazy, my hearing was fuzzy, my feeling almost numb, I could taste familiar tastes that I could not name. And I wasn’t breathing.

“I tell you the truth - no one can see the Kingdom of God unless he is born of water and spirit.”

I could still hear the muffled voice, I could even see the blurred outline of people, I could feel hands holding me. Was I hallucinating? Was this a bizarre dream? Where was this place and how had I come to be here? Random, disjoint thoughts flooded my head (though I was unsure if I did have a head) – “love can damage your health”, “breathe”, “genetic world”, “L’incertitude D’Heisenberg” and so on they tumbled out into the open where everyone could see them.

“Flesh gives birth to flesh, and spirit gives birth to spirit.”

Energy. Particles. Atoms. Molecules. Compounds. DNA. Code. Copy. Mutate. Transmit. Recreate. Energy.

The perception was beyond anything language could describe. I was a presence. Among infinite souls, both living and dead, and those that were neither. Thought was omnipresent but it was the kind of thought that cannot be articulated for such words do not exist in the spoken tongues of man. Memory of a collective past was suddenly accessible. Yet this was only a feeling and I could not hold on to it. But it came back, again and again, in waves. I was bathed in a warm feeling of ecstasy and I could suddenly love. Even things I had once hated. Love was the continuation of all things.

“I baptise you in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit.”

As my conscious floated in those waters, its physical representation struggled, out of conditioned response to the circumstances. Thoughts whirled by, ungraspable, as language faded away. The pure being of all around me melted into an indescribable, endless light that was also a completely dark void. The infinite in material form that was me. The infinite in energy that was me. The infinite that was everything outside of me. I had a sudden last recollection of my body as it gasped. But only for a moment as I felt the remnants of my extremities disappear into the rest of the black light.

And thus I remember my death and birth.

Mushie Filter No. 020

2008-03-10T22:20:00.000-07:00

Ancient beautiful forests with trees that creak and groan. Winding pathways unfolding before us and we traipsed through the woods with a basket full of mushies like psychedelic nursery rhyme characters. The trees spoke, they watched us - tiny little things, stumbling along. An old tree Baba, ten feet high, sits cross-legged in Padmasana, in a state of Samadhi, or maybe just struck by lightening with thousands of little things within him that look like disintegrated flying insects, but probably not.

Rocks and boulders, intricately covered with the drawings of the little forest imps, telling their stories in drying fungi formations. They lie strewn around the stream and enable some fun stream hopping. La la la la with a basket full of mushies skipping along stones like turned-on-tuned-in mountain goats.

Cows with stories on their leather hides, (leave the leather hides on the cows), grazing, looking for their vegetable fix. Dinkle, tinkle, splinkle, pinkle - cow bells jingle jangle on the sand. Hipple hopple, they pipple popple down their paths to chill out land.

Zenlike in rolling pastures: happy-hoppy-high-up-hobos! This could be home forever and ever and ever and ever and ever and ever and ever and ever. Amen.

I don't take cameras and such devices on my travels, this photo is by a happy hobo princess

Of Incandescent Bulbs, Inefficiency and Incorrigible Behaviour

2008-03-04T08:49:00.001-08:00

What do you get when you mix a bucket full of environmental activists, a dollop of cultural music, a healthy dose of arty people, farty people and drunks, a nice scenic location and a mash-up of various (ahem) substances?

MADNESS!

Last weekend at the Fireflies Music Festival (it used to be called Bhoomi Jatre, I'm sure!) there were all the aforementioned ingredients (ready and willing) and it was time to pawwwwwdy!

Environmental activist number 1: Hey, you gotta a light?
Me: Nopes, sorry.
Environmental activist number 1: Damn, anyone with a light?
Environmental activist number 2: Hey...there's a bulb there...you can use that as a light?
EA #1: No way!
EA #2: Of course you can man, it'll be very hot.
EA #1: What rubbish!
EA #2: No, you definitely can...CHALLENGE!
EA #1: No way!

So our first tree hugging friend picks up the bulb and starts to try and light it.

Environmental activists all together ( minus EA #1 who is trying to light his ciggie): This is a photo op!
EA #3: Yeah, yeah, we can have a campaign to show how inefficient light bulbs are!

*click*

And if you think I'm making this up then I've got the photographic evidence. So here's proof that light bulbs are inefficient, energy consuming whores and it's time for you to switch to a CFL.

Note: The bulb failed to light the cigarette, so perhaps it's not AS inefficient as I thought, but you can still donate to save the planet

Jargon, Lingo and Vernacular of the Bangalore Middle School Kid (Including Some Etymology)

2008-01-28T03:39:00.000-08:00

So, in a previous post, I promised the to inform the reader about dadikus. Now, unlike haikus or birdkus, dadikus are not a form of art; they're not even closely related, unless you are aesthetically impaired. Dadikus were what we, as kids, would call other kids who were fat. Yes, despite their sweet and innocent exterior, children can be spiteful and mean, and mercilesly ridicule other kids who are different.

Even Boney M sang about fat people. Remember that song?
She's crazy like a fool,
What about dadiku?

And that awesome refrain:
Dadi, dadiku
Dadi, dadiku

There were many other terms that were part of school kid dialect, back when I was a kid. Here's a listing.

da(n) - a friend, a mate. A term of endearment; predominantly male usage.
Usage: What da? Why you don't like me anymore da? What I did to you da?
There are many regional variations of this term, including macha, maam/s, bob, ra and ba.
Though I never used maam, I quite like the usage: What maams? How it is?

dadiku(n) - a person who is overweight, obese, fat, stout or even mildly pudgy.

djang(adj) - describing someone or something that is gaudy or excessively fancy; tacky.
(n) - a garish person.
This word is derived from the name of the famous guitarist Django Reinhardt - because he was so jazzy!
A common synonym for djang was djatang! and yes it comes with the exclamation mark at the end.

lambukuchi(n) - derogatory term used to refer to an excessively tall person. Derived from the Hindi lamba - tall, and the Tamil kuchi - stick. Note: The person should not just be tall, but also excessively thin, and very stick insect like, you wouldn't want to insult a tall, heavy-weight.

poda(interj) - Get lost; shoo; vamoose! To add some flair to this term one could append a "dai" to the end. Eg: "Podadai loafer!"

mother promise(v) - possibly the highest ranking promise, though this could be superceded by "god promise", some auto rickshaw drivers consider them equivalent vows as they advertise on the back of their rickshaws - "mother is god". Possibly derived as a direct translation from the Hindi "ma kasam". Had more value if you pinched you adam's apple while making the promise.

porky(n) - an aimless bum not a character from Looney Toons. Can also be used with "naye" which literally means "loafer dog".

kulla(n) - used to insult a person who is of short stature. The people who would stand at the opposite end of a line from a lambukuchi.
(adj) - indicating a lack of height.

wothla(adj) - of inferior quality; worthless; crappy.

wol, wolla(n) - a blatant lie; an exaggeration.
(v) - the act of lying.
This could also be occasionally used as an adjective, eg. "He says his father is a CID, what a wolla fellow he is!"

karpa koodi(n) - an insulting way of referring to a person of dark skin tone. Literally meaning "black cunt".

aikalakadajimbanzee(interj) - exclamation of joy, mostly used when winning a point in table tennis. Ask this man for a better explanation. Some etymologists believe that this sound has its origins in the phrase "I clucked a chimpanzee", though there are few takers for this theory.

boochie(n) - a person who can be very clingy, annoying and displaying and overpowering desire to control everything and everyone using melodrama, hysteria and emotional blackmail. Boochies can be easily spotted by the things they say, like "fine, be like that!", or "do what you want!" etc. The usage is predominantly femine though it can be applied to men who display such traits as well (though some scholars prefer the use of the word "goochie" for the masculine form). Derived from the Tamil boochie - insect, indicating the person is like a bug or blood-sucking insect.
(adj) - indicating the qualities attributed to a boochie.
boochify (v)

So how many of you used these phrases back in the day? Let me see those hands!

Did I miss out any terms? Feel free to add on with definitions.

Hung Like a Horse Opera

2008-01-25T09:41:00.000-08:00

There was a young man named Debussy
Who, in matters of food was not fussy
Young ladies he'd date
And then after eight
He'd say "Perhaps I can have a taste of your...
mmm...this is good! What is this? Stir fried asparagus? Really?
Wow, I didn't think it would taste this good! Finger lickin' good!"
You see he had this habit of reaching over and swiping food off his dates' plates, and sometimes they didn't like this.

Put your hyperlink in, put your hyperlink out...and that's what it's all about!

2008-01-25T04:32:00.000-08:00

So there aren't too many people who can be funny as well as be nostalgic about the 80s (my fave decade!), but Vishal Patel sure can. So hop over to http://www.vishalpatel.com and get your kicks you dirty animal!

Excerpts from the Joydev Mela

2008-01-20T22:20:00.000-08:00

I have never met a man
Who did not make me sad.
I have never met a man
Who did not make me sad.
Perhaps it’s because
I have never met a man
To whom pain was not given.

            These veins are filled with worms,
            This body is rotting,
            Eaten away by pride.
            This body is made from mud
            And to mud it will return.

Even the birds
Fly away from me.
Even the birds
Fly away from me
Oh, why did I approach them
Drawn by their sweet song?

I waited all my life
To give all my love to you.
I waited all my life
To give all my love to you.
But you threw it away
Like filthy rags
That have soaked the dirt of the world.

Song of the Baul

Every year, in the third week of January, the little village of Kenduli, in West Bengal, decks itself up in splendorous colours and bedazzling lights, and prepares to host over a quarter of a million people who come to be part of the Joydev Mela. It’s a spectacular meeting ground for villagers and traders, sadhus and fakirs, and the purveyors of Bhakti in song – Bauls.

For the unaware, Bauls are wandering minstrels. Most of them lead rather ascetic lives. Some of them play indigenous instruments, like the ektara: a single stringed marvel, while other bang on anything available and sing in cracking voices. They all have a repertoire of songs that they have penned, along with a few famous Baul pieces, and these they sing – for their supper. The singing may not be brilliant but the lyrics are thought provoking. Unfortunately for me they sing in Bengali, so I was unable to understand most of the songs. One chap was kind enough to sing a song for me in Hindi, which I have translated (to the best of my abilities) above.

**********

“Don’t keep your money lying around on the ground like that - it might blow away in the wind.”

“It’s not my money, it’s God’s money, he can do what he wants with it.”

He banged away furiously on his upturned steel plate as he sang himself hoarse and delighted the small crowd. He wore only a loin cloth in the winter freeze while I shivered despite a sweater and a shawl. Next to him a small cloth bundle in which he carried his lack of possessions. People in the crowd gave him money, mostly five or ten rupee notes which he gratefully accepted, touching them to his head and then holding them towards the sky before leaving them on the ground.

**********

Something in Bengali

“I don’t know Bangla”

“Oh, where are you from?”

“Bangalore”

“I’m sorry, I thought you were a Baul, you look like one, that’s why I asked you in Bengali, ‘what do you think of Bappi da?’”

As I stood on the banks of the Ajoy river, in the fast fading evening light, this passer-by stops and stares at me, then he starts to walk up to me, his eyes intently fixed on me until his face was a few inches from mine. I smiled, and he thought I was a Baul, I’m not sure why. Perhaps he seriously wanted to know whether Bappi Lahiri could be considered a good musician, or perhaps he was making a joke that was wasted on me. I don’t know!

**********

“There must be something about being a Baba…see how many there are.”

Shankar Baba is possibly the nicest and most amicable Baba I have met, he gave me the address and phone number of his Calcutta Ashram. He was a Shaivite and I think he was trying to be funny.

**********

“Do you think you can get me a job in Bangalore?”

“What kind of job?”

“I don’t know, something easy?”

“What can you do.”

“Hmmm….nothing.”

“Erm…can you drive a vehicle, or cook or sew?”

“No”

“Can you read and write?”

“Yes, I studied till the eighth.”

“I don’t know if you can find a job very easily in Bangalore, you need to have some skill”

“What about a government job?”

This sweet simpleton, though he knew very little, obviously knew enough about government jobs.

**********

Something in Bengali

“I don’t know Bangla.”

“Oh, where are you from?”

“Bangalore”

“Then what language do you in sing your songs in?”

“Huh?...NO!, I am NOT a Baul.”

Yes, it happened again. Perhaps I can pen some songs and wander in the wilderness.

**********

“Doll set….Rs. 12”

“Toy air gun….Rs. 12”

“Toy train…Rs. 12”

“Magic box…Rs. 12”

And so on and so forth….

Recorded message blaring on loudspeaker at all-items-fixed-price-Rs-12-only shop with big boards indicating fixed-price-Rs-12-only prominently displayed in Bangla, Hindi and English.

**********

"MANOJ!......MANOJ!.....MANOJ!"

With hundreds of thousands of people milling around, the narrow village pathways are jammed - people jammed. Even four adults holding hands can lose one of their friends causing the remaining three to walk around forlornly, still holding hands, yelling out their friend's name in hopes of a joyful reunion. From what I have learnt from Bollywood, they will not meet for another twenty years, by which time their long lost friend would have become an infamous underworld smuggler, while the other three would have joined the police force. It will be a tragic reunion for Manoj and his friends.

**********

"We all have wives and children, but every year, at this time, something stirs in our hearts and we have to leave them and make this journey to Joydev."

One fifty something man, who has been coming to the mela for the last forty something years told me about the origins of the mela. Apparently back in the day there was a Krishna Bhakt called Joydeva who prayed fervently for three days and then Krishna appeared to him and gave him the gift of writing lyric. He went on to become a famous poet who wrote a number of poems about Krishna and his playboy antics. He also told me there still exist the footprints of Krishna where he appeared to Joydeva, though I could not locate the spot from the directions he gave me.

In the centre of the village there stands a large, bizarre 13th century temple that is dedicated to Joydeva. It's walls are decorated with carvings illustrating the life of Krishna as well as some bits from the Ramayana. Overall the whole village as well as the mela has a Vaishnava feel to it.

Necrosis

2007-03-02T04:38:00.000-08:00

Pale and sickly she lay, her grandmother applying a cold compress to her burning forehead.

“You are young, cheru” her grandmother said, “and your body is ready to fight; if we old people get sick, no, papapa…but you will be back on your feet soon.”

“I feel like I’m dying the”, the girl mumbled feebly.

“Eh! Again the same nonsense you say child! The will to live is what will speed up your recovery, so don’t say all this rubbish! Anyway, the doctor is on his way today.”

“Water, grandma.” She had been ill three days now.

“Children nowadays,” the old lady clucked as she hobbled towards the kitchen, “why, I can barely see, but with these meagre inlets of light I can fight a buffalo!”

Three days ago the young girl had woken up feeling drained. When she fainted while washing the clothes, her grandmother had put it down to the illnesses that adolescent girls suffer from, and told her to get a days rest. But the next morning when she woke up feeling worse than before and with a temperature higher than normal, her grandmother quizzed her to determine what could be ailing the girl.

“What have you been eating? When did you take a bath? How long were you in the sun?”

There was nothing in the girl’s answers that could diagnose her fever. So her grandmother decided to administer general medication. Various herbs with known healing properties were ground with a mortar and pestle and the resulting paste was included in the girl’s diet.

The next morning she could not get out of bed. Her body ached, her arms and legs were limp, her eyes sunken. She had no appetite and refused the porridge her grandmother had made for her, claiming the very sight of food would make her nauseous.

“We must call a doctor!” the old lady told her son, the girl’s father. Fourteen years ago, his wife had died giving birth to their only daughter. He had been a depressed man with a melancholy humour since that day. If it were not for his mother, obstinate in her old age, the house would have fallen apart. It was she who decided the daily routines and delegated household tasks among the three of them.

“But, it will take a whole day, ma” he groaned. They lived in a small village that was mostly self-sufficient. People were born here, lived their hard, simple lives here and eventually died comfortably when their time had come. It was a quiet and boring village where nothing eventful ever happened.

“That is why you must set off today, so that you can be back tomorrow, before the sun sets.” The old lady responded.

“But, it’s only a fever, why are you so worried? Children get sick you know.”

“And I know that as well, but I can see no reason for the child’s illness, and my usual medicines are not working. Also she looks frighteningly weak. Did you see her this morning? Her skin looks sick and wrinkled as if the flesh has gone. Poor cheru, papapa….now go! I’ve made some food for you to take also.”

What else could he do? Taking the food his mother had prepared for the arduous journey, he wrapped it in some leaves and cloth, tucked some money into his garments and headed out. If he was lucky he would find a bullock-cart or perhaps even a caravan, on the road a few miles away. If he did he wouldn’t have to walk all the way to the town.

The girl had fallen into a stupour when she had returned with the glass of water, so she dabbed some water on the child’s lips with her fingers. The girl’s lips moved slowly, taking in the moisture, or perhaps she was trying to say something, or maybe she was just dreaming.

“Don’t worry my little cheru,” the old lady said, lovingly stroking her frail granddaughter’s hair, “papa’s getting the doctor, they must be on their way right now even. They’ll be here in a few hours.”

Her grandmother looked out of the window, the sun was low in the sky, the girl’s father would return with the doctor any time now. She had been frightened by what the girl had told her the previous day. Those dreams of death and sacrifices and blood and life that her granddaughter had drowsily recounted were what had prompted her to send for a doctor. Or should she have sent for a priest? Could someone have put a curse on the child? But who would want to harm this sweet little thing? Everyone in the village looked kindly upon her – this hardworking and innocent, motherless child. But let us wait for the doctor first. Despite her old age the grandmother still had a stronger faith in tangible science than in the rituals of god.

When she came back into the room an hour later the girl was still asleep. Her fingers twitched slightly. The bones in her arms could be seen. She had been a healthy girl, never had a major medical complaint before. Now she had lost so much weight that she looked hauntingly corpse-like. Her eyes were shut in a placid sleep and the dark circles around them made her look aged and tired.

They old woman felt her forehead, the fever seemed to have come down. She would get well soon now. But where was her son and the doctor? A doctor’s wisdom is always more reassuring than one’s own medical conclusions. The girl would need lots of rest and a good diet to get her back to her earlier fitness, and the doctor would most probably prescribe some medicines to aid her progress.

The old lady went to prepare some dinner for the doctor, who would no doubt be exhausted and hungry from the journey. The sky was a deep red, the colour of blood that had coagulated.

Having finished her cooking she came back to check on her daughter, muttering about her son’s lack of motivation in anything he did. There was a strange smell in the room, she could not place it, but it had an acrid sense to it. Her heart skipped her beat – the child! Had something happened to her little cheru? She leaped towards the bed. The once pretty girl now looked old and haggard, but she was still breathing, her chest heaved slowly and sometimes jerkily.

“Oh, cheru…what is wrong with you darling?” She could detect the odour emanating from the sleeping child’s skin. It wasn’t a putrid smell, but it wasn’t fragrant either. She rubbed the girl’s neck, there was a sticky moisture that clung to her skin.

Getting up on her creaking joints, she hurried off to the kitchen and heated some water with fragrant spices. “What diseases we have nowadays and my poor, poor cheru has to get them.” She said, running back to the girl’s bedside.

With a cloth dipped in the hot water she rubbed the pale, lifeless skin of her granddaughter. The girl seemed to breathe a little better now. She undressed the girl and continued to bathe her with the damp cloth. As she moved down to the girl’s stomach she dropped the cloth with a start. There were drops of viscous, dark brown liquid just below her navel. No, it wasn’t blood. The old woman was relieved for a moment. She wiped the liquid off with the cloth to reveal a row of tiny puncture marks on the girls abdomen. What was this? She pressed her granddaughter below her belly where the marks were, a few more drops oozed out and then stopped. A watery residue followed and then nothing more came out. The old lady was sure it was not blood. She wiped off the rest of the substance and looked closely at the marks. What were they? Had something bitten her? They looked like insect bites.

She lifted the girl up with ease in spite of her age, for the child had lost so much weight that her body was very light. She checked the bed sheets for bugs! Her clothes, under the bed, the mattress - nothing!

As the night grew darker, the old lady fell into an uneasy sleep at her child’s bedside, still wondering what could possibly be wrong. She could not understand why the girl was sick, nor what the marks were or where this strange liquid had come from. And why had her son not returned? All these thoughts formed a haze around her and caused her to dream strange things.

As she slumbered her granddaughter moaned softly. The rest of the creature continued to slither in through the window even as it attached itself to the girl’s abdomen.

“Cheru? Cheru?” The old woman was still disoriented as shook the sleep from her eyes. She had felt something. Her dulled eyes could not make out what she saw, but she was sure that she had seen something move. She looked at the girl’s face, she looked peaceful in her sleep, happy almost. She felt around there was nothing. She pressed the girl’s forehead, the fever was gone, and she seemed a little cold, but she was breathing normally.

She was woken up the next morning by someone at the door. It was her son with a handsome young man.

“Oh thank god you’ve come” said the old lady. She looked disheveled and frightening. “ I don’t know what’s happened to that child, but I’m glad you made it. Come in, come in.”

The doctor examined the girl in her room, while the old lady prepared breakfast as she recounted to her son how terrible his daughter had looked the evening before and how strange the night had been.

The doctor walked into the kitchen as the old lady laid out the food on the table. “The child is perfectly fine” he announced.

“That’s great news” the man said, and to his mother “see, I told you she’d be fine.”

The doctor continued, “she doesn’t even seem like she was ever ill!”

“But what about the marks?” the old woman cried.

“What marks?” asked the doctor.

The old lady led him into the room and screamed when she saw the girl sitting comfortably on the bed.

“What happened grandma?” the girl asked smiling.

The old lady lifted up the girl’s dress to point out some marks that didn’t exist. The doctor and her son exchanged glances.

“I’m feeling fine grandma” the girl said, still smiling.

“But…but…she was almost dead last night, and there were these marks on her stomach, with a brown, sticky, bad smelling liquid…”

Later as the doctor prepared to leave he took the girl’s father aside and told him “you have a beautiful, healthy daughter, but I’d be worried about your mother – I think she’s getting senile!”

My Visual DNA

2007-02-01T11:33:00.000-08:00

So a close friend linked me to this site
http://friends.imagini.net/
It's fun, I like the connects.
Here's me results

Read my VisualDNA™ Get your own VisualDNA™

Chuggity Chug

2007-01-25T23:37:00.000-08:00

The hills are mottled with fresh grass, the rains have made the countryside vibrant with lush greens, bright browns and demure yellows. For some reason the peaks of the hills remain barren, devoid of the green below, like someone rashly ran an oversized lawn-mower across them.

The mud is rich and fertile. We pass rivulets of clear water and buffaloes grazing in the multi-hued green landscape.

There are thatched huts and narrow tarred roads leading up to a level crossing where dark-skinned people wait patiently in lorrries and bicycles - the south has arrived.

Beaten Rhyme (or how I took a train ride in the land of death)

2006-12-13T20:17:00.000-08:00

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!

Excerpt from Conversations with an Alien

2006-11-23T02:17:00.000-08:00

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.

Tadah!

2006-11-22T07:35:00.000-08:00

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

Desert Verse

2006-11-17T01:10:00.000-08:00

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

Triumphant Return!

2006-11-16T22:00:00.000-08:00

I'm back! Yes! Expect posts soon.

My humps!

2006-11-01T02:53:00.000-08:00

I'm off to Rajasthan! Wheeeeeeeeeeeeee!

Intercity Performance

2006-10-24T21:23:00.000-07:00

“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 India. They supplied the bearings for crankshafts, pulleys, cranes and a number of other such mechanical wonders.

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, India’s largest garment manufacturer, even though I’ve never heard of them.

“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 fell asleep for a bit and awoke just after noon. We had reached a rather desolate town. The vegetation was brown and everything was dry despite it having just rained.

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.

A little further on and the rain started to come down rather hard. Everyone closed their windows. The bus creaked along. My window didn’t shut completely; water leaked in. Anand Babu M: full name, showed a considerable amount of ingenuity and borrowed a biscuit wrapper from the couple in front of us and wedged it in the window. I smiled gratefully. I thought it was awfully kind of him.

As we neared Chennai I stared counting the milestones before falling asleep. I was woken up just outside the city. Anand Babu M: full name was getting down here. He bid me farewell (“Ok. Thank you.”) along with a little bow, his hand upon his heart. I waved goodbye.

Menagerie a Trois

2006-09-27T01:21:00.001-07:00

So I went to this play last weekend: The Glass Menagerie by Tennessee Williams. For some reason his name always conjures up an image of a square bottle of American whisky. Anyways, so the play sounds all eclectic, what with a name like The Glass Menagerie. Also I went cause a friend's friend was acting in it.

Here I am, in this small theatre, to watch a play after a very long time. To begin with the show started late, which wasn't so bad because we got there a few minutes late ourselves (we'd have been chucked outta Ranga Shankara). Some forty five minutes later and they decided to start the play. However, a period piece with a name like Glass Menagerie should be worth the wait. No?

No.

I should have figured out how horrendous it was going to be when they had to delay the show by forty five minutes so that they could round up an audience.

It started with what I guess was the protagonist's brother bringing the audience up to speed on the events leading up to the play. Honestly, I've seen delivery boys deliver lines better than this chap! If I thought bad acting couldn't get any worse, I was wrong. The protagonist's mother hammed things up so bad, I swear amateur radio operators could have picked up signals. As for my friend's friend she remained quite stoic through all the melodrama and delivered her dialogues like a DD newsreader from the 80s. The acting was so frigid we didn't need an AC in the theatre.

I must admit, I did have fun. Though I 'm guessing that wasn't Tennessee William's intention, I think he meant it to be plain boring. One of the funniest moments, for me, was when the alleged protagonist's brother took his shoes of and was wearing Reebok socks underneath.

Almost an hour later and I was starting to get annoyed. People can only be unwittingly funny for this long, beyond that it takes exceptional talent, and I don't think the players possessed those skills, among many others. The protagonist's brother looked so bored delivering his lines I was hoping he'd fall asleep mid-way and we'd be spared the sound of his voice.

It was pure luck and bad communication that saved me from the fate of the other hapless souls who the act was being forced upon. I misunderstood a reference to the actor's orientation as an invitation to leave. So without further ado I jumped out of my seat and hopped out of the little auditorium.

In conclusion, I can say, quite confidently, the play covered reasons 14 through 437 of Why Not to Stage a Play.

Empyrean Epiphany

2006-08-18T05:58:00.000-07:00

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.

Poetry Lessons (or Birdkus)

2006-08-06T00:10:00.000-07:00

When I was in the second standard (read form or grade if you aren't Indian), I used to sit between two ding* girls: Sherry Ann Bird and Fluorella (?) Bertie.

One day Sherry told me to tell Fluorella a rhyme, which went like this:

Bertie, Bertie,
Your bum is dirty,
Why don't you wash it twice?

I dunno if Sherry made that up herself, or whether the Birds had something against the Berties for many generations. Either ways the rhyme, the structure and the syllabic form of the verse is quite nifty. Almost like a haiku. I have deemed it be called the birdku.

So, I've come up with one of my own birdkus -

Meany, meany,
Where is your beany?
Why don't you order one?

Now, I leave you, the reader, to come up with more birdkus! And while you're at it, make them funny!

(?) I cannot remember whether the girl's name was Fluorella or Furella. In any case it sounds like a bacteria.

* Ding is the horribly racist term used to refer to a person who is the result of some Brit soldier philandering through an Indian village.

Q: Why are Anglo-Indian's called Dingos?
A: Cause when the British left, they dingo!!!

Coming soon: Dadikus!

Of Black Ghosts and Suchlike

2006-08-03T22:55:00.000-07:00

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!

Rapunzel DIY

2006-06-28T13:47:00.000-07:00

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.

A Moonlight Waltz

2006-06-08T12:23:00.000-07:00

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.

Sticky Situation

2006-05-11T13:17:00.000-07:00

Aurana Spacky, wife of Johed Spacky is pregnant with child and wishes to carry out an abortion. However, the laws of Masiquisa consider abortion to be illegal except in the case of rape. Aurana claims that her husband raped her.

However the defense's case is that the intercourse that took place between Mr. and Mrs. Spacky was completely consentual, and she was not raped.

On cross-examination, Aurana acknowledges that her husband and her were being intimate with each other that night. This included kissing and cuddling, which further progressed to fondling and finally sex. However as Johed inserted his penis into his wife, she told him to use a condom. Johed said he didn't have one, however, he promised her that he would not ejaculate inside her. Yet before she knew it he had ejaculated inside her vagina, thus impregnating her.
Johed claims he did not realise he was about to come, but his wife accuses him of deliberately doing so as his parents had been pestering them to have grandkids.

The defense points out that Aurana could have easily purchased a contraceptive, since it would be effective for upto forty eight hours. However, here arose a problem. The incident in question had occurred on 24th April 2006. Two days prior to this, racial violence had erupted in the small state of Masiquisa, which had quickly escalated to shoot outs on the street, prompting the government to step in and impose a curfew. The army had been ordered to arrest anyone on the streets of Masiquisa, where the Spackys resided, and there were no pharmacies which were open.

Selective Nihilism and the Two Questions to Happiness

2006-05-11T11:13:00.000-07:00

Through time, as we have evolved, we have expounded various philosophies, in an attempt to give meaning to life. To answer the question of why we are here: religions, philosophies, ethics try to give life purpose. However, the only fact we know about life is death. Everyone who is born must die, and this is the ultimate truth.

Nihilism is an ideology that argues that everything is meaningless; life has no point and whatever course of action we take in our lives does not matter. However, to believe in this as an absolute would mean doing nothing, as nothing is significant. Hence the perfect nihilist would cease to exist, since existence itself is pointless. But we have life, irrespective of the how and why, and as long as we do, we can strive to be happy and share our happiness universally. Based on this argument we can try and exist on a day-to-day basis without worry and learn to love life instead.

The argument of selective nihilism is to accept the fact that everything is futile, however we must, in our continuing subsistence choose to do things that will make our existence worth the while. Now there is no perfect way to make these selections, but the method I would suggest is to base them on the Two Questions, under the consideration that all actions are equally pointless:

'Does the selection positively affect my quest for happiness?’

‘Does the selection negatively impact someone else’s quest for happiness?’

As long as we can answer the first question affirmatively, and the second question with a no, to the best of our knowledge and judgement, we should be able to make decisions that further our happiness. Also it is important that the answer to the second question is universal and not limited to others of the same culture, religion, sex and so forth. Using these questions as a baseline will help eliminate actions of greed, that harm or that cause suffering. They will, most probably, help live a life of goodness and righteousness.

There are further questions one can ask oneself when faced with a tough situation:

‘If I were to die now, will my choice have been worth it?’

We know that death is a truth; only the time is unknown. If we were to live our lives using the first two questions as our primary decision makers, along with the idea that every moment is our last, the quality of our selections should increase.

The final means, that I suggest, to attaining perfection in the quest for happiness is acceptance: the acceptance of the existence of others, of the existence of other beliefs, of the possibility that not all ideologies will coincide with our own. And the easiest way to enhance our acceptive abilities is nihilism. After all, if nothing matters, what difference does it make what another believes.

Unfortunately, here a dilemma arises: ‘what if another’s beliefs contradict my own, and they cannot be accepted while satisfying the Two Questions?’ One means of answering this paradox is by using Kant’s reasoning to act keeping in mind the ends of our actions, and acting towards a universal good. However, who are we to decide if our actions will work towards this Universal Good? And hence I reject this argument in favour of inaction. Thus when a thorough selection, based on these questions is not possible, I revert to pure nihilism. This, of course, is not the perfect answer, but all we can do is hope that such situations do not arise, and try and have faith that where we have not the answers, perhaps the collective will answer.

I'm not sure what came over me, but this is largely what I believe. Awaiting criticisms, opposing views and further debate.

James Dawson's Tale of Woe

2006-05-09T05:19:00.000-07:00

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.

These Indians are Crazy!

2006-04-22T00:01:00.000-07:00

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!

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

My internet connection is screwing up! This after I’ve called ‘em thrice, and they’ve come and diddly-whacked with my modem! Get the damn thing working for crying out loud!

DAMN YOU! DAMN YOU ALL TO HELL!

BLEARGH!!

I just needed to rant! Thank you, good night!

Tribute to a Lost Soul

2006-04-17T01:01:00.000-07:00

"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

Death of a Bibliophile

2006-03-19T21:21:00.000-08:00

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.

2006-03-08T22:27:00.000-08:00

It sucks to be an expert. Everyone wants to partake of your expertise.

Psychedelic Spam Poetry

2006-03-02T01:16:00.000-08:00

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.

A Lexicon of Things

2006-02-24T19:45:00.000-08:00

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

Copywriter on Acid

2006-02-12T20:47:00.000-08:00

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!

And Then

2006-02-06T22:16:00.000-08:00

Wheee, I'm part of my third blog. And Then is a group blog with Boomsa, JP, Prem, and someone who's nick is Huh, and whom I dunno!

Go check it out!

Vacations in Katatonos

2006-02-03T01:39:00.000-08:00

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.

Hampi Dumpy

2006-01-29T20:32:00.000-08:00

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.

Tagged Like an Animal in a Research Program

2006-01-25T00:03:00.000-08:00

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!

Foine It is!

2006-01-24T03:11:00.000-08:00

Oil take you down
Like the poike you are.
You'll see stars
Like the poike you are.
You'll see stars!
And your mudder will suffer.
Yeah bitch,
She will!

- Jake Nimblew

I've always admired Jake Nimblew's prose, and now that he's ventured into poetry I feel it can't get any better than this. The man is an absolute genius. Yes he is!

Sinusoidal Maniac

2006-01-19T00:08:00.000-08:00

As I write this scarabs are partying in my head, in a bacchanalia of sinovial fluids. Round and round they swirl. AUGHHHH!!!

Denominations

2006-01-11T02:14:00.000-08:00

“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.

His Trip to Katatonos

2006-01-10T00:58:00.000-08:00

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

Expedite Kaiser Forthwith!

2006-01-04T20:53:00.000-08:00

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.

Of Gnu Ears and Resolutions

2006-01-02T21:28:00.000-08:00

"This year I will be constantly striving to improve myself within the boundaries of complacency"

There!

The Cut To Incident

2005-12-13T00:43:00.000-08:00

So we're sitting around having a smoke, when one of the company decides to recount an amazing adventure from earlier in the day. Well, perhaps it wasn't an amazing adventure, as you will soon realise, however it will help set the context for the incident referred to in the title of this post.

J says "So P and I are walking down M.G. Road this morning and I see this foreigner laying out books on the pavement, and we're all intrigued and stuff, anyways..."

J continues to relate other incidents that happened which are of no relevance to this story.

Then J says "Now cut to two hours later. P and I are walking back M.G. Road and now we see this foreigner has set the books on fire. So now curiosity gets the better of me and I ask him what he's doing. Turns out all the books were copies of Mein Kampf and he was destroying them"

Gasps and other suitable noises of interest from the company.

Discussions of anti-semitism and what not.

Then A asks "Ok...but who is Cuttoo?"

Bunnnnnny!!!

2005-12-04T07:26:00.000-08:00

http://bluebabushka.blogspot.com/2005/12/blog-post.html

The Advent of Panadol

2005-11-29T20:14:00.000-08:00

This morning I thought perhaps it's time I started posting about more serious, and relevant political issues that affect all of us. But then I realised I'm not that way inclined. It would be like taking medication unsupervised, which is fun, but it's still not all that it's supposed to be. Instead I'll just speak to Chief Raincloud. It's a great excuse to get to see his daughter Golden Dawn. Yes, it's Thursday, and when Injuns meet a certain prog guitarist they say "How Howe"

An evening with

2005-11-25T01:54:00.000-08:00

Abu Simbly was destined for greatness despite the unfortunate event of his horribly mediocre birth, in one of the smaller districts of Kerala. Even his conception was without incident, or so we are told by those not present at that moment, for his parents lead a sedentary life, and one would not suppose they took an enthusiastic part in the vigourous activities that led to children. And if his name had any references to the ancient Egyptian Civilization, they were not entirely unfounded, for it was as great a mystery, as that of the Sphinx, why his parents had named him so.

Abu’s parents, with their aforementioned sedentary lifestyle, took it upon themselves to have uneventful deaths, and thus, before he reached the age of four, the lad found himself an orphan. Now where families are concerned (at least in India), it falls upon the closest of kin to take charge of such children that have been left orphaned, and so it happened that Amu Kuriakose (Abu’s mother’s sister) found herself with the onus of a foster son.

Amu and her husband Suresh were rich and childless, and would have preferred it that way, but these were the very qualities that had made them the perfect candidates for adopting Abu. Now in spite of their awfully Malayali names, this couple were no where close to the people that emanate from Puthenvelikkara and other such unpronounceable places in Kerala, instead Amu and Suresh lived glamourous socialite lives in Bangalore. They spoke without accent, dressed in impeccably garish clothes and often appeared on the third page of local tabloids.

In his new family, Abu of course received many more comforts than he would have got in his erstwhile home in that small district in Kerala, however there was no change in the amount of love or attention that he received. His new parents treated him as a necessary burden.

And so it was, Abu grew, an introverted child but a smart child nonetheless. He learnt his lessons, excelled in mathematics and literature and geography and the sciences, but of this his parents were mostly unaware. They would, of course, give him a disinterested “well done”, when he would bring home his report card at the end of the term and then turn their attentions to their pet dachshund, Bubbles. As introverted children are wont to do, Abu kept to himself and hardly spoke to anyone, including Amu and Suresh. This was no concern of his foster folks and they continued their superficial lives unabated. Occasionally Bubbles had to be taken to the vet.

The house was often the venue of parties that Amu and Suresh threw on any pretext that would allow them an introduction to more like minded people, and the further advancement of their status in high society. It had been a while since there had been any excuse for a party, and so one September, with no other possible event in the near future, Amu and Suresh reluctantly threw a party for Abu’s tenth birthday.

It began not unlike most other social evenings. The guests arrived – most were fashionably late. First to turn up were Mr. and Mrs. Venkat Pillai who were the nouveaux riches and had not yet learnt the proper time that one must appear for an evening gala. Next were Mr. and Mrs. Bob Jackson, the head of an American firm that had a local office; they filled the quota of white people required for an evening. Then there was Major General Ahluwalia who was everywhere where there were women and good whiskey in abundance, and people upon whom he could impose his war stories. Mr. and Mrs. James Abraham were there; they were not entirely liked, but one must invite fellow Keralites. Miss Tara Jaysingh came with an escort - she was the prime reason the Major General arrived at most parties. Dr and Mrs. Raj Chopra: one must always invite a good specimen of the Hippocratic Oath takers. Kitty Isaacs was there as well, she thought she could sing, other people thought her throat should best acquaint itself with a hacksaw. There was Jason Rodriguez, who filled the category of people that made appearances in advertisements. And suchlike the guests poured in.

The evening continued as expected. Mrs. Pillai had imbibed too much alcohol and was making a fool of herself. Jason flirted with some nymphomaniacs. The Major General tried to flirt with Tara, but she had never been impressed by his war stories and that didn’t look like it was going to change. Bob talked business with Narendra Rao, another IT bigwig, who was really ogling at Bob’s wife. And suchlike the events occurred.

Meanwhile Abu, to whom the evening actually belonged, had wandered into the crowd unnoticed and was wondering about the sanity of some of the invitees. He made his presence felt when he inadvertently came in the path of Major General Ahluwalia and a young lass named Sheetal Joshi and caused the old man to spill his scotch on the rocks on her back (causing her to rue her choice of backless gown for the evening). Sheetal’s reflexive scream on having the rocks from the scotch run down her back got the rest of the party’s attention.

“Awfully sorry Miss Joshi” said the General “it was the little brat’s fault”

It was then that the evil spirit entered the boy.

“Not as little as your penis” replied Abu.

The General was taken aback but he quickly covered up by pushing Abu along his way saying “alright kiddo off you go now, and be a good boy.”

Abu wasn’t deterred, “Amu says you make everyone listen to the same old boring war stories to make up for the size of your penis!”

A harsh silence descended as the full glory of the utterance bore itself down upon the distinguished company. There were a few isolated gasps as well. Amu panicked, she ran up to the boy and yelled at him. “Go to bed right now Abu!”

“Like Jason and Nina aunty?” asked the boy innocently.

Somewhere in the back a glass broke, and one could hear a “What the fuck!” from the eminent doctor whose wife’s name had been mentioned. Jason slid towards the door, if the traffic wasn’t too bad he could perhaps make a getaway in his new BMW.

“This is not funny” yelled Abu’s step-mom.

“Yesterday Suresh said the way Narendra licks Bob’s ass is funny” the boy replied nonchalant. He was doing quite well for a kid who had hardly ever spoken before.

Suresh who had not heard the initial comments caught this one, he also, unfortunately, happened to be caught in the company of both Bob and Narendra at that moment.

“So this is what you tell the boy?” asked Jolly Abraham, cloyingly sweet. She was only too happy to help the public humiliation of the Kuriakoses.

“You told uncle James that Venkat is a boor who should not be allowed to a party, especially with that wife of his who has less brains than Kitty!” retorted Abu to the nice Mrs. Abraham, while her husband suffered a mild stroke in the corner.

The rest of the party was unlike any other similar event. Melodramatic swoonings, heated words, theatrical walk-outs. Abu would later be sent to a boarding school (where he would gladly retire from public life). Other attendees to the fateful party were sent to different places, even a mental institution. The party was hushed up and after a while people pretended to have forgotten about it. Amu and Suresh stayed away from social events for a long time, and even when they slowly made their way back, they had considerably reduced press coverage. All in all it was a fun filled evening.

Wake up - It's not yet time for brunch!

2005-11-23T21:15:00.000-08:00

Drag yourself along through the overpowering grey. Brown mud splatter on the hem of your garment. The dirt seems dirtier when wet. The girl has vermillion on her forhead. The damp hangs in the air like vultures around a corpse. There is a corpse up ahead, but there are no vultures around the dead dog. The fog on the glass windows of a luxury car – evidence of the heat of its inmates. The rust eaten bus groans, weary with the weight of passengers (more than the prescribed limit), it crawls on spewing black smoke. Sleep pervades; in the fields nearby so does excrement. Later, perhaps, you can ride on dirt roads in a motocross style escape bid. Scores of people and their things lie everywhere. So many will die today, so many more will be born. The others subsist not knowing they are happy to be alive this dismal day.

Rooftop Vigilante (or Great Expectorations)

2005-11-09T21:53:00.000-08:00

I have a mothlike attraction towards heights. So last night I bounded across rooftops, scanning the cityscape through my owlish visors. Okay, so I don't have owlish visors. But the bounding across was fun. Okay, fine! So I didn't bound across either, 'twas a tad dangerous. But I did peer precariously over the edge of the terrace of a rather tall building.

The city looked beautiful from the aerial view. Above all the pollution and traffic and population. Just the treetops and the neon lights in the distance.

One thing I love doing from heights is spitting. It's so much fun to hock up a nice ball of phlegm and ptooie, "look out down below!" It's an unhealthy obsession that I picked up from college. We used to have fests, where hordes of students would seat themselves in an opening called the quadrangle which was surrounded by building on all sides. Oh the joy of shooting a wad of saliva into the unsuspecting crowd! They never knew what hit them.

So yesterday, perched atop a tall office building, I rained down upon passersby below. Gargoylike I was. Of course from very tall buildings, one has to calculate other factors like wind speed and the so on, and being out of practice I invariably missed most of those I was going for. However I did manage to hit one woman at a mall!

It's not just about spitting, it's about the aesthetics of it. It's about molding the spit, one can go for aerodynamic shots, but from heights one needs more volume. Alternatively if hitting people is not your aim then one can go for the avant garde approach. If you mix spit and phlegm to the perfect consistency you can get a heavier centred ball which will have a tinier extension orbiting it. A lot like a planet with a satellite that spirals down before it splatters on the ground!

Ah the spittle joys of life!

The What's Kevin Bacon Thinking Game

2005-11-02T02:03:00.000-08:00

"Gotcha damn mosquito!"

"Egad, I forgot to flush"

"They're airing Wild Things again!!!!"

"Cold Play made another album???"

"Mom! What are you doing with the dog?"

"Fuck, I had to get this pimple now!"

"My last name is BACON!"

Join in on the fun folks!

Self Discovery #80

2005-10-21T09:46:00.000-07:00

I can make decisions with extreme lack of prudence

I just had to post this

2005-10-21T08:09:00.000-07:00

http://www.qwantz.com/index.pl?comic=640

Of course I mustn't make this a habit, considering the number of comics I read per day!

Playing One Night Only: The Incredulous Tenets of His Mysteriousness J. Bean

2005-10-16T22:16:00.000-07:00

The scenes in the following post may be graphic, reader discretion is advised.

'Jugular Bean is now going to attempt to not force his belief systems down your throats! Watch now as he introduces the belief.'

*fanfare*

"Ahem...ah yes...belief. Belief is the mental acceptance of the validity of something, but of course we all knew that. Most people believe in a few (what they call) facts assiduously. I, however, choose to believe in almost everything, relatively. And this relativity of belief is not concrete but dynamic based on my environs.

"Belief implies faith, and faith needs no proof. Science uses the very same faith the religion uses. How many scientists have seen a muon, a lepton, or any other sub atomic particle? How many scientists have even seen an atom? Yet they don't doubt it's existence. Currently I whole-heartedly accept their theories. At the same time, I believe the existence of a superior being, a creator, is a plausible explanation for all that is. Thus I believe in a generic omnipotent being. I have no solid proof of either of these beliefs to offer you, but since my acceptance of a perspective does not in any way restrict the fullness of my life, I don't see why I cannot believe in multiple systems without proof and purely based on faith.

"In fact, I believe faith is the proof of everything. The only real proof I would accept, as an existential being, would be something that appeals to my physical senses. However, the senses are an interpretation of the mind, hence any proof that appeals to the mind as real is in turn acceptable. What the mind perceives as real is subjective, hence if I have faith in the reality of something, that is suitable proof.

"Multiple beliefs also allow me the freedom to jump from belief to belief. If one reality comes crashing down, I have backups! Haha!

"We have no way of knowing what the truth is, what is real, what is right, what is wrong. I believe everything is acceptable in subjective context. Since I don't know what's real, I have no problems in accepting the reality of most everything offered to me. Like the man who buys many tickets with a hope of having greater chances at winning the sweepstakes (and I don't even care for the sweepstakes).

"Finally, you're free to disapprove of everything I've just said, and I will assuredly agree with you!"

The philosophies of Og

2005-10-14T04:26:00.000-07:00

Discovered by archaeologist Jane Purcell-Watts, and deciphered by the esteemed Neanderthal historian Sir Thomas Archibald James Pricewaters Clapham II, the philosphies of the caveman-philosopher Og give us an insight into the metaphysical ideologies of prehistoric man. Despite their lack of grammatical coherence, being directly transliterated from the heiroglyphics of Og, they are still quite relevant today. Below are some of the more important tenets of Og's philosophies.

Og say, wake up morning. Eat. Hunt. Good.

Og say kill mammoth. Eat meat. Live. Good.

Og say hunting, hunting you die by mammoth. Good. It mean you live before.

Og say mammoth kill for everyone in tribe. Not collect for self only. It no use tomorrow. It stinky tomorrow.

Og say no mammoth, then eat wild berry. Live. Good.

Og say Wild berry not stinky tomorrow, but not collect. Tomorrow may be kill mammoth.

Og say not kill neighbour. He help kill mammoth.

Self Discovery # 49

2005-09-29T00:10:00.000-07:00

Of course I can make fun of myself, especially if it's at your expense!

Grin and Bear it!

2005-09-27T21:06:00.000-07:00

Fly traps

2005-09-26T21:16:00.000-07:00

And more doodles will be up soon!

Pointing Systems: Deconstructing Existential Validation Metrics

2005-09-23T21:59:00.000-07:00

“Everything is vanity, life is like chasing after the wind.” – King Solomon

For aeons man has questioned his purpose, his need to exist, the rational behind life. Unfortunately, a sufficiently pleasant yet universally confirmable answer is yet unknown and from our limited experience we can surmise: everything is nothing.

Thus, when existence is meaningless and purpose is pointless, the pointing systems are in place to give value to the isness of an entity, tangible or otherwise. The base principle being, the point giver awards points to the point receiver in a mutual act of observation of the other’s existence.

The value attached to the points is instantaneous and based on the unquestionable judiciousness of the point giver in the moment. The transfer of points acts as a validation of the existence of the two entities involved in the process. Thus it can be deemed as a personal expression of acknowledgement between two entities.

Points can be given a weightage when they are being distributed, especially among a group, this being to express the greater delight that the receiver’s act has brought to the giver in a momentary comparison to everything else. However this weightage is solely momentary and may vary based on a large number of external factors, the final baseline being that the point transfer has occurred, since the value of the points is infinite within the instant of reception.

Thus we can see that the accrual of points is meaningless for they have no cumulative value, each point being infinite within itself, and the instantaneous measure place on the points is only an expression of the value of the moment as seen by the giver to the receiver.

Finally, as is every other system to man, we find the pointing system is inconsequential in death, but purposeful in life. Points act as a catalyst towards a continued survival. They are mutual expressions of appreciation and affirmation of the essence of being. And if I think, therefore I am, then, I give you points, therefore we are.

Swansong Earth

2005-09-18T01:33:00.000-07:00

"Plutonic, plutonic"
The faeries sprechgesang
"Our terra is governed.
Frayed, the ends
Of the peopled race.
Oh, the folly of man!"

Dance they did
In last light,
Until the stars was come.
And then the flamebugs
Lit the night,
To kindle their dirgesong.

Far away
The machine wurzed
Incontinent along its path.
The very forest
That gave them life
Heartless, they brought down.

The phantasmagoric function done,
The faeries did retire
Into the heart of Mother Earth.
For now her wrath
Unleashed would be
Upon fool denizen.

Kili Kili Kili

2005-09-13T21:53:00.000-07:00

The damn pitcher needs a refill! There are some ideas at the bottom, but I'll need some stones of inspiration to get them to surface. And a crow, someone give me a damn crow. A crow I tell you!

Publish Icing

2005-08-24T00:50:00.000-07:00

So my alter ego, along with some other weirdos, decided to start a blog!

kvltblog.blogspot.com

Public Awareness Message

2005-08-23T22:37:00.000-07:00

Save water when you flush. A single flush drains enough water to support seven hundred and fifty three micro-midget families. The micro-midgets are an important part of the economy. They rear micro-midget sheep, whose dung is collected and sold as caviar. Yes it’s a little known fact! And without caviar the Russian economy would be further ruined, and they would take to building more nuclear missiles to supply to Asian countries, thus catalyzing the arms race, which would result in a nuclear fallout and the ultimate destruction of the Earth.

Now you know how everyone plays an important part in keeping the world safe!

Today’s message brought to you by the Malossol Caviar Production House Incorporated.

PS: Also say no to Coca Cola!

A Rolling Stone

2005-08-20T01:40:00.000-07:00

“Ah, yes! Good morning, sir
What can I do for you?
Are you interested in a room?
I’ve got a loo with a view!”

“Is this the hotel California?”
The traveller blandly said
“You know, the place
Where they have the spirits of the dead.”

“Oh, come now, sir” the innkeeper replied
“I wouldn’t believe all that rubbish if I were you!
But would you still be interested
In that loo with a view?”

The traveller looked at the innkeeper;
He was around five foot seven.
“Do you know,” he asked,
“Where I can find the Stairway to Heaven?”

“An old lady used to know that”
The innkeeper responded.
“But she’s got something with a piper
I would stay away”, he warned.

“It’s like this,” the traveller went on
“I’m interested in this weird occult and stuff”
“That’s great, sir. Why don’t you take a room?
We’ve got ladies in the buff!”

“I’ll stay,” said the traveller
“If you’ve got tapes that play backward.”
“Who’d want that?” asked the innkeeper,
“That would be really awkward!”

The traveller went on to explain
“They have secret messages, that when
Played backwards become very plain.”
“Why would you play it backwards
Unless you had no brain?”

“Well, they make the music such, that
When you play it, what’s reversed affects the mind”
“Just take a room,” the innkeeper said
“At a discount – I’ll be kind!”

“Do you know a Sergeant Pepper?
He died twenty years ago today?”
The innkeeper said, “I don’t know
But we have a band that cannot play!”

“Well,” said the customer, “just give
Me a room. I’ll take whatever’s fine”
“That’s the spirit”, the innkeeper cheered,
“I’ll give you room number Nine.”

“Number nine?” the customer asked
“Number nine” affirmed the innkeeper
“Number nine?” once more
“Number nine!” testily

Then the innkeeper lit up a candle
And showed him the way
There were voices in the corridor
He thought he heard them say
“Watch it, we just polished the floor!”

Dance in the Sun

2005-08-17T23:02:00.000-07:00

We’re off to the magical kingdom
Where the giant crocodiles grow
Where the sun shines bright
And P. James does magic shows!

“Starboard!” cried Vendu, as we all dived to one side, shifting the weight on the boat. Vendu pulled the stick to which the outboard rudder was attached, pushing the whirring blades into the surf, as the boat jumped up over the waves and swerved to the right. The Alpina Verona bounced along the waves, making good time, as we neared the temple

Vendu busied himself with anchoring the boat, as the rest of us got off one by one. With the motor of the boat cut off, there was not a single man-made sound on the island. Just the waves, crashing pacific on the shore. And animal sounds – the small furry kinds and the feathered kinds, from the forest ahead of us. Blues, greens, and bright yellows filled the scene.

The small crowd of tourists walked off in different directions, eager to explore the mystical
island. Vendu sat on a rock near his boat and lit his pipe.

“Would you like to see the temple?” he asked, his mouth bent crooked to accommodate the pipe as he spoke.

“Sure”, I replied.

He got up and jumped over a couple of rocks into the trees that lined the side of the beach. The
terrain was a mix of sand and rock. I followed him.

“This way” he beckoned.

One of the many temples stood before us. Sombre. Carved into the rocks, were gods and goddesses, monkeys, mortals, elephants – they were monolithic mammoths. The myths of yore captured in stone. Frozen in time.

The apsaras, the apsaras
They dance naked among the flowers
Mushrooming around them
As they shoot up to the stars

We climbed to the top of the hills, discovering temple after temple. Jumping from rock to rock, taking our cues from the goats that resided in the area. Night drew near as we sat atop the highest rock. In the distance the silhouette of one of the temples stood, stark, against the setting sun.

Sow the seed!

2005-08-12T10:41:00.000-07:00

It's been a while since a post! The thing is, my fertile imagination lies dormant! I need to spew some creative jizz on it! So I'm gonna take a short vacation this weekend! Yay!

I've got a Feedreader!

2005-07-31T22:21:00.000-07:00

Well so I decided to download Feed Reader 2.90 , so now I can keep meself well updated with everyone's blogs, without having to check everyday!
I suggest this to those of you'll who check a large number of blogs. The only problem with feedreader is that you have to double click the post name to get a webpage view, otherwise it has a rather shitty view!

Lappu and Teelu: A Tale of Two Aural Protuberances

2005-07-23T22:27:00.000-07:00

Like most aural protuberances, Lappu and Teelu have never actually met each other, this by virtue of being located on opposite ends of the horizontal facial axis. But Lappu and Teelu have, of course, heard of the other.

The two aural protuberances (we shall refer to them as aupros henceforth – it sounds both cute and Bengali) are thought to exist for ornamental reasons. While most evolutionary thinkers argue that the aupro is a vestigial organ, there are a handful of biologists who believe that they assimilate and filter auditory data, which can be employed for some useful purpose. While this has never been scientifically proven, aupros like Lappu and Teelu are living examples of this fact.

For purely illustratory purposes, let us take the mirthful laughter of good, old Saint Nick. “Ho ho ho” he guffaws, as he jovially cavorts from one roof top to another, accompanied with jingling bells, and the clip clop of reindeer hooves. To his credit, he seems to succeed at his task of gift deposition without as much as waking the good denizens of the household with all the Christmasy racket. But I digress. Now to the normal humar ear, all of Santa’s hos sound the same, but to one gifted with aupros, there exist four discernible hos. These are ‘ho’, ‘ho’, ‘ho’ and the oft excluded, ‘ho’. Now what’s the difference between the four, one might ask. Of course I have no way of explaining the auditory differences to the aupro impaired. I myself lack the utility of the aupro, and base these facts on the accounts of a reliable friend who is in the possession of a cute pair of aupros, the very heroes of our story – Lappu and Teelu.

Now, with such great power comes the diminishing of the other senses, and of course great responsibility (one cannot lightly discount the words of Peter Parker’s late uncle). My friend, for example, is olfactorily disabled. While those around her pass out by the dozen, due to a prevailing stench, she will barely smell it. On occasion she cannot distinguish between the taste of tea and that of coffee.

The aupro can also be used to protect the delicate insides of the ear from an increase in environmental decibels, thus saving the aupro possessor the trouble of the finger-in-ears action in case of a sudden loud noise. While one would think this would make the person partially deaf, it actually increases their sensitivity to sound. Thus auproites can be very soft-spoken, sometimes even requiring them to yell, so that others can hear them normally.

Now of the two aupros, Lappu is the more dominant, while Teelu is the more shy, reserved type. Lappu also tends to be more endearing because of his cuddly appearance. This, however, makes me feel a bit sorry for poor Teelu, who remains unnoticed while Lappu basks in the glory.

Lappu and Teelu, with their inimitable cuteness, make my friend very attractive. While at first they might throw the onlooker off, as an abnormality, with time one starts to adore the perky little blokes. People are constantly curious to know what they are about, and Lappu (particularly) and Teelu (to a lesser extent) are constantly in the limelight. They have of course learnt to handle this fame.

If I had a pair of aupros, I would cherish them dearly. And even if the most eloquent speaker were to say “lend me your ears”, well, I would lend him my ears, but I would never let go of my aupros!

To Mimi, with love.

Comics!

2005-07-14T03:21:00.000-07:00

Yes I spend most of my time online reading webcomics. They're the new rage, and I like to get with the times. Ok fine! I'm a geek! So anyways, I've decided to give you a comic review list. What more can you ask for, huh?

Note: The comics are listed in the order they appear in my IE favourites.

Bottle Rocket Chronicles (***) - The detailing of the mundane existence of a super hero. Bottle Rocket is a super hero with a family, and he's funny too. Good for a giggle.

White Ninja Comics (***.5) - Psychotic humour is an interesting tool to employ in a comic. White Ninja Comics are really badly drawn, but that's part of the whole deal. White Ninja can be rather gross on occassion, but it's almost always hilarious.

Ctrl+Alt+Del (***) - I guess most people would call this another Penny Arcade clone, but this was the first comic I read with the two gamer roomies theme, hence the slightly high rating. Decently funny, and rather l33t.

Red Meat (*****) - Ah, this one is pure psycho hilarious. Max Cannon's artwork is both minimilistic and detailed at the same time. He uses the black and white medium to the fullest. The characters in the strip have well detailed personalities, my favourite being Bug Eyed Earl.

Beaver and Steve (****.5) - BnS uses the routine two character theme, but what characters they are! I love the artwork on this one too, it's very different from what you see around. This comic by James Turner is a constant laugh riot.

Last Kiss Comics (****.5) - This one is just brilliant! John Lustig draws his comics in the style of the cheesy American comics from the 60s. The captivating factor of this comic is the discordant combination of the romantic artwork and the totally unromantic dialogue.

Scotts Mind (***) - Mostly single panels, this comic is vaguely Larsoneqsue, sometimes predictable, but generally quite funny.

Banurgle (***.5) - This comic is just pure SICK! But if you can stomach it, it's despicably hilarious! The illustrations are also totally bizzarre.

Satan's Salvation (*****) - another of the early webcomics I read. This one is not for you if you're even vaguely Christian. It's filled with (non)Christian gags, from Satan's perspective. And while I'm staunchly heterosexual, Lucifer looks real cute! Highly entertaining.

Bunny (*****) - Bunny is cute and amusing. The unique artwork and bizarre settings make this single panel a great read!

Little Gamers (***) - The two gamers storyline again. This one has very simplistic artwork, and the jokes are pretty neat!

Simulated Comic Product (**) - Nice comic, but it's missing something that I can't put my finger on. Some of the strips are dull, some are pretty funny!

John and John (****) - This comic is straight out perverse. Lotsa deviant jokes and uproarious too. Another unique drawing style by this chap who calls himself D!o. It's very, very funny! He also has two cool fundas on his site. One, each of the strips is a link to a webpage that is linked to the punchline; and two, there's a textfield where you can enter the comic number and go straight to that comic, it's very useful.

Qwantz (****) - This comic uses the exact same 6 panels for all the strips. Initially it's rather annoying, but if you can get past that the gags are super funny!

Rabid Monkeys (**.5) - Another in the long list of gamer webcomics that you find online. This one is drawn in an anime style. While the theme is quite cliche, the addition of the character death manages to just about pull it out of the routine gamer comic trap. Some of the gags are quite neat though.

Nozzman (**) - A single panel strip. This one is highly inconsistent. Some of the jokes are really hilarious, others are barely laughable.

Rehabilitating Mr. Wiggles (****.5) - Pure vileness, this one is! Barfable hilarity! The drawings are really cool too!

The Outer Circle (*.5) - Straight webcomic, average humour with a cliched style. Features the cartoonist in the lead role and a couple of other backing characters. It's slightly leet.

The Morning Improv (*****) - By far the most brilliant comic, by one of the most innovative artists, Scott McCloud. The comics are all stand alones, except for Meadow of the damned, which is my favourite. Browse through the rest of Scott's site too, cause it's just brilliant!

Assorted Miscellanea (***) - Not exactly a comic in the pure sense of the word, but random stuff by Thomas Meade. The artwork tends to be a bit messy, but it's made up for by some brilliant gags! Tom, I'd like to see your old comics archived on the site too!

Penny Arcade (**) - I think this one's supposed to be the original gamer webcomic. I didn't really get into it, and PA fans are probably gonna kick my ass bout the rating. But that's what I thought.

Cup of Suffering (***.5) - It starts of very ordinarily along the two roommates-plus-assorted-characters lines, but this comic picks up some great momentum along the way. The drawings are really nice in and some of the strips are side-splitting hilarious!

Ornery Boy (**.5) - I somehow didn't get to into this one, but it's nice and dark and the site's pretty nice.

Able and Baker (****.5) - Very standard in terms of the two character theme, but Able and Baker are an outstanding comic duo, very near the likes of the inimitable Calvin and Hobbes. The jokes are killer!

Her! Girl vs. Pig (***.5) - This one is just weird and whacky. I quite like it!

A Lesson is Learned but the Damage is Irreversible (*****) - Even if this comic weren't good I'd give it a high rating just for the long name. Some of the early strips aren't too great, but they get better, it's a rather new comic and I'm sure it's gonna get cooler. The most amazing thing bout this comic is the artwork, which is just mind blowingly awesome!

Boy on Stick and Slither (***.5) - Another crazy comic. Very similiar to Girl vs. Pig, but the landscapes and scenarios are bizarre! Quite enjoyable.

Butternut Squash (*)- the usual story about two guys, who need sex and a life, and surprise, surprise the characters are the authors of the strip. The comic is occasionally funny, occasionally gross. The only decent thing bout this one is that the artwork is pretty catchy in a webcomic sort of way!

Nazi High (**) - a rather ordinary comic, but it's readable, with a few nice gags. Follows the usual character webcomic soap style.

Perry Bible Fellowship (****.5) - Tangential comics these are. Some are really whacked, and some creep me out. But most are just darn good hilarious.

An anecdote of undisputed interest

2005-07-13T21:09:00.000-07:00

A friend once asked me if I was a bigot.

"A bigot?" I replied, "of course not. Only women or Christians would be bigots! I absolutely loathe, hate, detest, abhor and despise bigots! "

Commentary on the Departure of an Anglophile

2005-07-10T23:22:00.000-07:00

The original scoutmaster has left the building.
Eclectic.
Wood chitty grub, wood shitting grub, woochitty grub, witchetty grub? Leave it to the Golden Fafa.
The fear of the Lord is the beginning of wisdom.
Jesus Christ?
Esoteric collector of journals, scraps and other documents pertaining to memory.
We glossed over music, magazine, women, book, and walked with the upper echelons of faith.
Obnoxious. Romantic sop!
Striving for perfection within the boundaries of complacency.
“Watcha beddy saying, chile. That Winston’s baay, lotsah puhlitcal clout, ‘eel beddy colt you, chile”
Nelson Mandela song plus Deep Purple plus Kannada text book plus graduation produces lachrymose condition.
(laughter)
The best way to remember anything is in Chronological order, and the same goes for the Rolling Stones.
Jack Daniels and the dipsomaniacal challenge.
Malluland drive calling Communist, Marxist.
Jojo left his home in Tucson, Arizona
In the throes of Bibliophilic passion, our hero did fall…
Watership Down, The Silmarillion, Candy is Dandy, Foundation and Empire, Mother.
The Empire strikes back? Princess Leia.
Tear jerker of the rightwing Christian fanatics!

Bah!

Another Account of Spurious Reckoning - 2

2005-06-26T22:29:00.000-07:00

After dinner small cups of a warm, sweet liquid, which tasted vaguely like coffee, were passed around. As we sat sipping on it, some of the men started playing some rather peculiar instruments. The sounds of stringed instruments, skin drums and vocal cries filled the air. The younger women joined in with singing and dancing. They gracefully twirled around, did backflips and leapt in the air in smart synchronisation. The two girls who had served us dinner were also part of the dance. I held the gaze of the shorter, more petite one.

After what seemed like the main routine the girls split up and went to their huts. We were initially disappointed, but Prantis Bababa came up to us and told us we could share the girls’ huts that night. Apparently they had invited us during the dance, but their subtle customs were lost on us.

The remainder of the night was fascinating in the least. Scheznik and I were in separate huts. The girl I was with, whose name was Lehaka, proceeded to undress me, all the while babbling away in Ablalai, while I nodded appreciatively. She then sprinkled various fragrant leaves and flowers around the room, the floors of which were a soft carpet, before undressing herself. She continued chattering in the local dialect as she lowered herself over me. It was a liberating night of exploration and conversation that I could not fathom.

The following morning we were woken early and joined the men folk as they trekked to the quarry. The sun was already rather high in the sky before we reached the quarrying yard, which was filled with gleaming, crystalline rocks. There were already men hard at work, and we were given the necessary implements and shown how we were supposed to carry on with the excavation.

After a hard days work, all we had to show for our troubles were a few small lumps of crystalline rock. The rock was not very easy to chip away, and our arms ached from the constant work. As the sun started to set, we made our way back to the village. Here we were shown the cube farm – a large room where they went about the actually ‘cultivation’ of the cubes.

Here the women went about sorting the crystals the men had brought back into various sizes. There were huge vats around the room, filled with various liquids, within which the larger chunks of rock were dissolved. The resulting solution was then, poured into various cube moulds. The women would carefully polish one of the smaller crystals and this was dipped into the liquid in the cubes by means of a string. The crystals would be left in the solution for a few months. We looked around the farm, and saw cubes in various state of growth. Once the entire liquid had crystallized the cube could be carefully extricated and used in the telling of fortunes.

Prantis Bababa made one of his usual magical appearances, and gave us a guided tour of the farm. He explained how the different liquids from which the crystals were created gave the crystal different properties, how some liquids crystallized faster than others. At this point, Scheznik interrupted and asked Prantis Bababa, what the quickest crystallizing liquid would be. Prantis Bababa showed us a thick, silver liquid, which looked like mercury.

“I say we make our crystals from those, so we can leave quickly”, said Scheznik”

“Uh, tarry a moment” Prantis Bababa said, “are you sure you want to cultivate the crystals that quickly”

“What properties will this liquid give the cube?” I asked.

“One would not be able to tell the future” said Prantis Bababa, “but the cubes that result from this blend are always highly entertaining.”

“How long would it take?” asked Scheznik.

“It is an overnight affair!”

“That settles it” said Scheznik, “I’m getting myself one of these.

“Don’t you want to try out different ones Scheznik?” I asked.

“Well you can wait if you want to, but I have a couple of women waiting for me back in the city!”

Scheznik is Scheznik, so I shrugged and we went about setting up two moulds, with the viscous liquid, and set the crystals in them. Our cubes would be ready the next morning.

Dinner was served as usual. This time Scheznik and I decided to help out with the cooking, much to the amusement of the village women. We served out the food and handed plates out to people, and joined in the dancing too. Everyone was thoroughly entertained!

After another great night, this time with some of the women we had made the vegetable gravy with, we were excited to see the cubes we had cultivated. We made our way to the cube farm, and went to where our moulds were kept. Prantis Bababa was already there.

“You are here” he said, rather pointlessly.

We looked at the moulds; the liquid had solidified, into a translucent, gray cube. With the help of Prantis Bababa, we carefully removed the cubes from the containers. They were unbelievably light. Scheznik actually threw his cube in the air a couple of times. One could look through the cube and see distorted figures of the objects on the other side. Streaks of blue and gray ran through the cube, they were pieces of art, avant garde nonetheless.

“So how do we use these?” Scheznik asked Prantis Bababa.

“One must look into it and concentrate, each cube works differently for different people, depending on what you think of.” Prantis Bababa replied.

We decided to set off back to the city, if we left now we would make it in time for dinner. We bid our hosts farewell, and headed back to the little room where we had left our bags. After changing back to our old clothes I started packing the cubes.

“Wait, don’t you want to try them out?” asked Scheznik.

“Now? Shouldn’t we head back?” I asked.

“Come on, let’s see what our cubes do.”

“Alright, lets.”

So we kept our cubes in front of us and peered into them. I stared through the cube, but all I could see was a skewed perspective of the room.

“I don’t think it’s working.” I said, turning to Scheznik, when he vanished in front of my eyes.

Now I was left not knowing what to do, and Scheznik had disappeared too. I continued looking into my cube trying to focus, wondering where Scheznik could have gone. The quarry, the farm, the forest. The forest? As I looked through the cube, I noticed the distorted refractions slowly morph from the pale brown of the hut to various shades of green. I looked around and found myself in the middle of the forest we had crossed but two nights ago.

“Scheznik?” I yelled.

There was a rustle in the bushes near by. “Scheznik, is that you?” I asked. Unfortunately it was not, a large boar walked out of the bushes. It grunted when it saw me, and prepared to charge. I turned around ready to run, when I noticed that I was attired in battle gear, and had a broad sword in my hand. The boar was already making its way towards me. I stepped aside and swiped at it with the sword. The boar shrieked in pain, and collapsed, then it disappeared in a puff of smoke, and a gold coin remained where it had fallen.

I picked up the coin, it was real gold, and rather heavy too. I put it my belt, where I noticed I also had a dagger, and some vials of various liquids, marked ‘life force’, ‘mana’, ‘heat’ and so on. On my back was a large shield, which I tried to use, but the broadsword was too heavy to wield with one hand, so I had to secure the shield to my back once more.

“Scheznik!” I called out once more.

Another rustle in the bushes, this time it sounded like something much larger than a boar. I gripped the sword tight and readied myself for whatever would come through. Scheznik jumped out of the bushes into the clearing, he was dressed in pretty much the same way I was, and he had a short staff in his hand.

“Darius!” he said, “great you made it!”

“Yeah, though I have no idea what’s going on! Is this the forest we have to cross?” I asked

“I’m not sure.” He replied.

“Any idea what’s with the clothes and weapons?”

“No, but it’s a lot of fun, how many attacks did you survive?”

“Just one boar.”

“What a loser! Get ready now, there are some spirits coming through here!”

“What?”

As soon as the question mark emerged from my lips, two screaming wraiths appeared through the surrounding foliage.

“Check this out, Darius.” Scheznik said as he positioned himself and shot out a blast of blue light from his staff at the banshee which screeched and disappeared.

The other wraith lashed at me with some sort of whip and caught me right on the arm. I dropped my sword screaming in pain.

“Oh, come on Darius!” shouted Scheznik as he sent another blast at the second creature, and ran into the bushes.

I picked up my sword in my good hand, and followed him into the forest. We ran for a while before we stopped at another clearing, gasping for breath. Scheznik was laughing. “Isn’t this so much fun?”

“No it isn’t, my hand is killing me! What were those things?”

“I have no clue, but for your hand, drink a bit from one of those life force vials”

I looked at my belt, and picked out the life force vial. “Are you sure?” I asked him. “Trust me.” He replied. I took a quick swig from the vial, the warm liquid ran down my throat and I already felt rejuvenated. The marks from the wraith’s whip slowly disappeared from my arm. “This is crazy!” I remarked.

“I know!” said Scheznik.

We continued making our way through the forest, trying to find a way out. “Looks like our cubes were some sort of teleportation devices” I said.

“The cubes!” Scheznik shouted for joy.

“What?”

“We can use the cubes to get back!”

“Where are they?”

“In the pouch on your belt!”

“What? How is that possible, this pouch is too small to hold the cube, the cubes were much bigger…”

Scheznik interrupted me mid-sentence to pull out his cube from his pouch, “it’s quite magical he said.” Thoroughly amazed I put my hand into my pouch and pulled out my cube. We sat down on the forest floor, and looked into our cubes. I pictured the hut, imagined myself in normal surroundings. Scheznik had already disappeared. He seemed to be a natural at this. A large amount of concentration later, and I found myself in the hut. We were back in our normal clothes. Both Pico and Prantis Bababa were there too, with wide grins on their faces.

“These cubes are amazing!” said Scheznik.

“Pico is taking you’ll back to the city, I trust you have enjoyed your stay”, Prantis Bababa said in his droll monotone.
“Yes we’ve had a wonderful time,” I said “But what sort of cubes are these?”

Prantis Bababa smiled, and bowed and made the clicking sound, that we had first heard when we had arrived at K’na-Ablala. We bowed and did the same. Pico picked up his bag and headed out towards the forest, we picked up our luggage and followed him.

As we left Kna-Ablala, I looked back to get one last glimpse of the village. It wore a deserted look, Prantis Bababa was the only person in sight, standing outside the hut where we had cleansed ourselves.

“Those are Intended Game Cubes” he said, as we walked back to the city.

I love my little puns! Did anyone figure out the other gamer pun in this account?

Another Account of Spurious Reckoning - 1

2005-06-23T23:47:00.000-07:00

Twelve hours had passed since we had left the city, and the sun was now low in the sky. We were rather exhausted by the long trek. Scheznik suggested we camp before it got dark, but Pico, our guide, insisted that there was an hour of daylight and we must get out of the woods and reach the village before dark. So with leaden legs we trudged on towards our destination – the remote village of K’na-Ablala.

As the light started to fade, an acrid smell started to fill the forest.

“Hurry up” said Pico, in a loud whisper. He had a worried look on his face.

“What is it?” I asked. He quickly put his hand over my mouth and glanced around to see if anyone was there.

“We must get out of the woods before dark”, he said in a hushed tone, “there are spirits that wander this forest after dark”

“And are they dangerous?” I asked

“They are not of good intentions”, he said, and walked on in a hurried gait.

We quickened our pace and headed towards the village with renewed inspiration.

The woods started to thin, and in the distance we could see a few scattered lights. Gradually the huts materialised out of the darkness. We were now close enough to see both the moonlight and wood fires reflect of their walls.

A man came out of one of the huts to greet us.

Pico bowed and made a sound with his tongue that can best be described as a ‘tcha’, he motioned us to follow suit, and we bowed and said ‘tcha’ as best we could.

“Good evening,” said the man in a deep, slow, monotone, “I am Prantis Bababa. You have cleansed yourselves in the rooms and have eaten with us.”

Scheznik looked at me with a raised eyebrow, while Prantis Bababa bowed and left.

Pico led us into one of the huts where he told us to undress and sit cross legged around a small fireplace, which was built in the centre of the room.

“His words made no sense”, I remarked about Prantis Bababa.

“He was telling us the events that will happen the rest of tonight. For him time holds no value. They confuse tense easily.”

“Yes, of course.”

At this point in the narrative, I must break to inform the reader of an important matter that I may have overlooked. The village of K’na-Ablala is home to seers, mystics and clairvoyants. The village is also most famous (among small, secret circles) for its clairvoyant cubes. The Ablalai are precise cube farmers. These cubes that they cultivate are akin to the crystals of the gypsies. While the Ablalai cubes are much cruder, less aesthetic (to some), and a lot more obscure than their Romanian counterparts, they are a more intricate expression of space, time and the other mysteries of the universe. But more on this later.

Pico had started a fire. He explained that we would have to be cleansed before we could interact with the Ablalai, so that the outside world that we brought with us would not contaminate them.

He then stripped bare and sat cross legged at an angle from us such that we formed the vertices of an isosceles triangle. He went on to throw a few crushed and dried leaves into the fire which caused the flames to leap up momentarily, before filling the room with a faint, purple glow and a sweet, intoxicating fragrance. Pico then closed his eyes and sat still. Scheznik and I exchanged glances and then closed our eyes. The smell in the room was warm and absorbing, like none I have ever experienced.

We opened our eyes after some time. I could not gauge how long we had sat there; apparently it had been a while, for the fire was now almost dead, and mostly burning embers remained.

We felt a lot more relaxed and at ease now. The tenseness in our limbs, from the long journey, had disappeared. We slowly went about dressing ourselves in some clothes that Pico gave us. The attire consisted of a loose shirt that had to be tied at the belly, and a long piece of cloth to wrap around our waists. This was rather similar to what Prantis Bababa had been wearing.

We followed Pico to an open area in the centre of the village where food was being cooked over various fires. There were clumps of giant mushrooms growing in the area, and the village people used them as chairs. Plates with food on them were being passed around.

Prantis Bababa came up to us (he seemed to have appeared from no where), and showed us some mushrooms we could sit on. Two young girls brought plates for Pico, Scheznik and I. We smiled at them and thanked them, and they bowed and went away giggling.

Dinner consisted of balls of a mash of substances I could not identify, in a rather tasty gravy. Prantis Bababa joined us mid-dinner. Pico had told us that Prantis Bababa was the village head and one of the few who knew our language.

We asked the village chief if we could purchase a few of the clairvoyant cubes. He told us that they did not accept monetary payment and we would have to help making our own. So it was decided. The following morning we would join the villagers in their cube making process.

Part 2 from this entry in the journal of Darius will be posted on Monday (hopefully). For more from the adventures of Scheznik and Darius click here.

The phrase 'Clairvoyant Cube Farmer' was coined by JP.

Lizard of woes

2005-06-20T21:05:00.000-07:00

Phil the salamander
Would philander
Through night and day
Twas lizard’s play

In the bushes
He’d get his rushes
His needs he’d pander
With lady salamanders

During the day
On rocks he’d lay
One day as he lay on his belly
His friends got Phil a telly

He also learnt the blues harp
Which he’d play in C sharp
Thus did he tour in Corsica
With his royal Phil harmonica

His growing ego
Was now larger than a gecko
And to gold shopping sprees
Would Phil agree

Soon he was constantly cribbing
He was a moody amphibian
His friends soon got sick of his whims
And plotted to get rid of him

So they promptly took the matter
To the local rattler
And thus the prima donna’s days grew ill
And the snake had his fill of Phil

Jesus gives advice at the F1 Grand Prix

2005-06-19T23:09:00.000-07:00

Trulli, Trulli, I say unto you...

Work and suchlike

2005-06-09T21:11:00.000-07:00

Bah! I haven't found the time for a decent update. So many ideas idling in the back of my head! Will update soon!

The Interview Meme

2005-05-25T02:25:00.000-07:00

Yay! Another one of those blog filling meme's. Got this off JP who got it off Banzai Cat who got it off...hell I'll just start!

1. Who put the squaw on the hippopotamus?
This would depend on the commutative existential questions of who put the squaw and who put the hippopotamus!

2. Please outline three major contributing factors to the decline and fall of the Roman Empire, with special emphasis on plumbing.
a. Togas - they're difficult to take out in the heat of the moment. Trust me on this one!
b. The fact that they decided to use a dead language like Latin for general conversation
c. The fact that a useful element like Lead that is used in plumbing was given the moniker Plumbum! I mean, come on, Plumbum?

3. You've just been awarded a Nobel Prize in a brand new category awarded just for you. A fly settles on your nose during your thank-you speech. What colour are your socks?
Hey! There's not enough data to answer this one! What colour is the fly?

4. Moog or Wurlitzer? Explain.
Moog! Cause it rhymes with vogue!

5. If you were reborn as Frank Sinatra, which hip-hop artist would you be sure to duet with repeatedly, much to the chagrin of old-school fans?
Firstly, excuse me while I barf my guts out! Ah, now that that's done, I think it would be Alicia Keys. I'm not sure if she's classified as hip-hop, but she's drool fuckin hot for a lecherous old man like my reincarnated Frank Sinatra self!

Wanna play? These are the rules:
1. If you want to participate, leave a comment below saying “interview me.”
2. I will respond by asking you five questions - each person’s will be different.
3. You will update your journal/blog with the answers to the questions.
4. You will include this explanation and an offer to interview others in the same post.
5. When others comment asking to be interviewed, you will ask them five questions.

It's Reincarnation Time!

2005-05-24T05:59:00.000-07:00

Yeah, so my old avatar link suddenly stopped working, and I decided to switch to a new one! And this one's off our site www.zebediahplush.com (Click on the link and buy our album!), so it shouldn't stop displaying.

Also it's all arty farty!

Oh and also, BUY OUR ALBUM!

Widow Speak

2005-05-22T21:47:00.000-07:00

Kehar turned lazily in his bed. It was time he got out of bed and started getting ready for his big date this evening. His date, Arachnia, was one of the hottest chicks in college, and every guy wanted to go out with her. Of course getting a date with her wasn’t that hard since there weren’t a large number of guys in college, and the girls outnumbered the guys in a highly disproportionate ratio.

But now that Kehar had successfully asked her out, he was having second thoughts. Was the date going to be worth it? Even though he was in college, Kehar was still a virgin. He was good at his studies, excelled in sport, and was overall quite the young achiever, but he still hadn’t managed to get laid! As a kid Kehar had been a bit of a geek, and he had preferred his books to girls. This was what had saved him from sharing the fate of many of his male classmates, who never made it to college. But now with college nearing its end Kehar had taken more of an interest in his female classmates. Inside of him, his male hormones were raging. The fire of desire burned bright, but his was the wrong species to be male. Female widow spiders don’t take too kindly to post-coital snuggling; they prefer a nice meal instead!

Kehar walked downstairs to the kitchen and made himself a fly sandwich. He picked up the newspaper and skimmed through. The obituary section was overflowing - apparently there had been a carnival of sorts the previous night! Kehar saw Rachman’s mugshot among the dearly departed. Rachman was one of his friends, a rather smart young spider who seemed destined for a career in web research and architecture. He shook his head, he didn’t know whether to be happy for Rachman or not.

He looked up at the clock, he had an hour to go before he had to pick up Arachnia for a movie and dinner, (yes, it was common sense not to ask a girl out to dinner and a movie, cause then you wouldn’t make the movie!). He sat at the kitchen counter, staring at Rachman’s photo, not knowing whether to follow his head or his loins! He trudged back up to his room and put on his best clothes. A note fell out of his pocket. It was the note on which he had scribbled to Arachnia after mustering up the courage.

“Would you like to go out with me?” it said.

Behind it was the reply Arachnia had scrawled out, “I’d love to have you and your babies!”

He sighed as he picked up the heart shaped box of chocolate coated insects (assorted), that he had picked up for this very evening, and headed towards the door. He was going to get laid – he was dying to!

The Only Lie I Ever Told

2005-05-15T21:22:00.000-07:00

A friend once asked me "Do you always tell the truth?" to which I replied "No!"

Extract from Conversation with Russell

2005-05-11T22:23:00.000-07:00

“Well, I hold that, taking free will first, to consider there is no clear dividing line between man and the protozoan, therefore if we give free will to men we must give it also the protozoan; this is rather hard to do. Therefore, unless we are willing to give free will to the protozoan we cannot give it to man. This however is possible but it is difficult to imagine, if, as seems probable, protoplasm only came together in the ordinary course of nature without any special providence from God; then we and all living things are simply kept going by chemical forces and are nothing more wonderful than a tree, which no one pretends has free will, and even if we had a good enough knowledge of the forces acting on anyone at any time, the motives pro and con, the constitution of his brain, then we could tell exactly what he will do.”

“I would say, until such time as we had a good enough knowledge of the forces acting on a person, or the constitution of his brain, we are forced to accept free will, for we cannot say what another would do. For instance if I reach out and strike you at his moment, it would be of my free will, and while my actions would be governed by the physical laws of the universe, the motives thereof would not.”

“Again from a religious point of view free will is a very arrogant thing for us to claim, for of course it is an interruption of God’s laws, for by his ordinary laws all our actions would be fixed as the stars. I think we must leave to God the primary establishment of laws which are never broken and determine everybody’s doings. Man has neither free will nor soul, he is nothing more than a species of ingenious machine endowed with consciousness.”

“True, our free will is not absolute, it is restrained by the laws which cannot be broken, therefore I could not fly if I wanted to, however within the constraints of ordinary laws, I can walk, and by free will I can choose to walk in the direction I want. Even if we can determine the constitution of the brain and the forces that drive it, we would still be left with a probabilistic scenario of what action a person would choose to do at what time. Take for example if I ask you to choose a number at random, what mathematical formula would you use to arrive at such a number? Is it not free will that you choose a number which cannot be determined since there is no formula behind it? True, you and I are intelligent people, hence you might say you have used an innate formula to arrive at your response, but we can also ask a beggar of the road to choose a number at random and what formula will you have there?”

“By free will I mean that they do not, for example, obey the first law of motion, or at least that the direction in which the energy they contain is employed depends not entirely on external circumstances, but that man should be a mere perishable chemical compound whose character and his influence for good or for evil depends solely and entirely on the particular motions of the molecules of his brain and that all the greatest men have been great by reason of some one molecule hitting up against some other a little oftener than in other men.”

“Even if we assume that the motions of molecules in the brain will solely determine a man’s character, actions or his propensity for greatness, the very fact that we cannot predict the motions of the molecules implies that a mans actions are based on the free will of the molecules…erm…which means…damn! What am I saying? Well okay…so…we have no control over the molecules, hence we have no choice over what we do…so…dammit, I'll get back to you...”

If I ever had an opportunity to meet Bertrand Russell I don’t think I would have had the tongue to speak, as in the above conversation. Also the above extracts are from Russell’s diary of when he was 16 years old. I think if he kept a diary when he was 14 I just might have been able to take him on then.

I have rearranged some of Russell’s statements, to make the conversation look less broken.

I still refuse to believe in the lack of free will!

Russells statements taken from the autobiography of Bertrand Russel, vol I. George Allen and Unwin Ltd.

The Random Bunnies

2005-05-10T01:45:00.000-07:00

I’m sure most of you’ll who visit here often think, “How does he write so well?”, “Wow, his prose is amazing, I wish I was like him”, or even “You’re my hero, Jugular Bean”.

Well today I shall reveal the secret to my astounding and erudite essaying skills. In my ultimate benevolence I will help you in stepping out of the miry mediocrity of normal blogging, and ascending to the heights of poignant prose or poetry. The secret lies in a small species of furry animal called the volcano rabbit (Romerolagus diazi ), or as they are known in literature, art and spiritual circles - the random bunnies! This rare and timid creature is the answer to the mystery of good writing. Random bunnies have been used throughout time; P.G. Wodehouse, Hector Hugh Munroe, Isaac Asimov and Douglas Adams are some of the few who have used the Random Bunnies. V.S. Naipaul tried to use them too, but he went horribly wrong in the process, as one would notice if they read his books.

Procuring the random bunnies is the toughest part of the process. These bunnies are only found in the Andean mountains in Peru, Ecuador and some parts of Argentina. The best way to actually get the bunnies is to make a trip to one of these places and snare them. Personally, I would suggest flying in to Arequipa and then taking a bus or train to Puno. Puno is surrounded by the hills where the random bunnies abound. It would be best to take a local guide who knows about the uses of the bunnies with you. Also don’t carry any valuables, and go well armed, a good guide would usually have guns and knives that you could borrow. The hills are not only teeming with rabbits but also with bandits. Miguel Jesus Morientes has acted as my guide on the two occasions I have gone rabbit hunting in Puno.

We go into the hills and set the traps for the creatures and wait. Assorted substances to keep you happy while you wait are generally useful and Miguel is always well stocked. I generally snare a couple dozen random bunnies so that they last a while.

After we trap the bunnies, we must offer them in ritual sacrifice to the god El Bordo. This is part of the ancient Toltec tradition that has never before been detailed. Miguel tells me that El Bordo converts the rabbit blood into a wine that when ingested will take the drinker to the plane of the gods.

In reality, the secret about the random bunnies is that their blood is a hallucinogen, and it also stirs up the creative fragments of the brain, so a swig of random bunny fluid and a pen and voila – essayist extraordinaire.

The process of extracting the blood though is rather gruesome, and I often leave it up to the guide. I somehow cannot stomach slicing up a bunny! Afterwards, I prefer mixing the bunny fluids with some sort of alcohol, to mask the taste.

I now suppose you’ll are in complete awe of me, well perhaps I just might share some of my random bunny cocktail with you!

I am the Epitome of modesty

I have a cold!

2005-05-04T03:39:00.000-07:00

WTF! I’ve become a walking amusement park for viruses, bacteria, protozoans, allergens, and god knows what else. I just got over a severe case of laryngitis, accompanied by bouts of high fever a couple weeks ago, and now I have this awful cold, with a bonus cough thrown in!

It’s not even a dry cough. I can hear the phlegm resonate through my bronchial tracts each time I cough, and occasionally when I cough extra hard, I can hock up a nice big ball of phlegm. If you mould the phlegm properly with your tongue, it can be quite aerodynamic and you can shoot mucus balls at people!

I now officially have more phlegm than the state of Arizona!

So anyways, now with my newfound phlegmatic personality, I have decided to open a gurukul. I shall become a guru, with my calm, unperturbed aura of phlegm. Karmically imbalanced foreigners will flock to me to cleanse their souls and help them attain nirvana and all that jazz, or should I say Hindustani classical?

Karmic Realignment: According to texts in the Rig Veda, Karmic imbalances can be caused by misdeeds in one’s current or previous lives. However negative karma can be neutralised. For women this would mean they would have to lie down naked while the guru has his way with them. For men…well, perhaps my gurukul will only cater to women.

Ah, it’s good to have a cold!

Yes, you can also prostrate before me for all the useful links.

The Holy Bible: Bloopers & Outtakes

2005-05-03T00:49:00.000-07:00

“Let there be light…..ahem…..let there be light……erm….let….ahem….LET THERE BE LIGHT…….@#$(&#$(&%#........LET THERE BE @#$%$#%#$ LIGHT!.......GABRIEL…..what the $#%$ is the matter…..why aren’t the $%$# lights coming on?”

“Hey Adam, you wanna bite of this?”
“errr…ok!.....” (chomp, chomp) “HEYYYYY….you’re nekkid!”
“Hell yeah…wanna do it?”

“Look, I’m already stressed out, what with all these people hollering, and then the lions ate the last pair of Dodos, and now you tell me we haven’t made the ark big enough to fit the dinosaurs? Well the dinosaurs can go get @#%*(&@# extinct for all I $@#&% care!”

“Psssst….Aaron, come over here! Do we really need those last few Israelites? I’ve been holding my hands out for *$#$@!& eternity and they’re killing me, I can’t keep this sea parted any longer!”

“Hell, I didn’t know I’d become so unpopular among the philistine women just for killing Goliath. Apparently he had a really big schlong!”

“Blessed are you Mary, for he will be the son of God and his name shall be called…JESUS CHRIST…… I STUBBED MY $*%*#$% TOE ON THIS $#%#! STONE…”

“Hey Peter, no one’s looking, how bout I rub your thighs for you?”
“Shut the #$%@# up James, I don’t swing that way!”

“Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness for they shall be satisfied.
Blessed are the merciful for they shall obtain mercy.
Blessed…..psssst, Judas…..I told you to get a better $#%*@ speech writer!”

One of the criminals hanging there threw insults at him: "Aren't you the messiah? Save yourself and us!" The other one, however, rebuked him, saying: "Don't you fear God? Here we are all under the same sentence. Ours, however, is only right, for we are getting what we deserve for what we did; but he has done no wrong." And he said to Jesus, "Remember me, Jesus, when you come as King!" And Jesus said to him, "I tell you this: Today you will be in Paradise with me, and 2000 years from now Phil Collins will make this a hit song!"

JP provided the spark of inspiration for this one

I need less time on my hands!

2005-04-26T04:20:00.000-07:00

*Shrug...even I dunno what I was thinkin

Travailogue?

2005-04-15T07:19:00.000-07:00

Back from Gokarna along with a host of parasites, bacteria and viruses that probably have rather exotic names for themselves. Headed to work soon after landing in, felt the aches all over the body and a mild fever had set in by evening, but I dismissed it to the strain of the journey and opted to pop a paracetomol. Had to leave half day through work on Tuesday as the chills and shivering had become akin to rigor mortis.

Add to the fever, was a headache from hell, and a persistently irritating wisdom tooth. Downed various homeopathic remedies as prescribed by my dad in conjunction with the little homeopathy handbook. The fever got worse as evening progressed along with India’s bad defense of a good score. I would have to throw layers of blanket over myself to get any relief from the constant shivering, and once the paracetomol would start working then I’d have to shed all my clothes, as I’d be drenched in sweat. This procedure filled the entire night.

By the next morning the tooth had become worse, I could hardly eat, chewing was handled entirely by the right side of my mouth. The throat was absolutely inflamed and swallowing was close to impossible. At this point two appointments were made, one with the dentist and the other with the general practitioner. While my adenoids were adenoying, my duodenum seemed to be degenerating.

At the dentists I was told the wisdom tooth needed to be removed, I agreed all to happily. The procedure was far less painful and complex than I had imagined and I felt I had been cheated. She could have at least done some drilling for a while. Anyway, I returned, wisdom tooth in hand, and hopefully soon to be around my neck.

Half an hour and one blood soaked cotton later I was ready to head of for the next appointment. Possibly just the way they work or just my luck but the doctor I had the appointment with came in forty minutes late. After a quick look through he prescribed some antibiotics and some other stuff. Here however, my dietary dilemma struck. The dentist advised me not to have anything warm or hot, while the other doctor tells me nothing cold, only warm water and warm food, gargle with tepid salt water.

Back home and some tossing and turning and a rather unquiet sleep. The stomach’s become worse, bordering on diarrhea possibly. However, the range of sounds that the rectum can produce is rather amazing – the wind section of most orchestras would be amazed. I’ve done everything from clarinets, oboes, and bassoons…no, scratch that: I’m not really sure what sort of sound a bassoon makes. The name sounds more like it got interchanged with some species of primate. I bet there’s a monkey in South America that goes by the name ‘pipe reed’!

A large number of souvenirs I’ve got back from this trip. Including a few mites that I found in my hair the other day. And Laryngitis is awfully annoying.

Mills and Boon outtakes

2005-04-12T21:44:00.000-07:00

Eric strode towards Susan, as she stood forlorn in the balcony. The moonlight accentuated the perfect curves of her body as it shone through her flower-print nightgown. Eric gently put his arms around her petite waist, “Eric!” she said, as she turned around, mildly surprised. He ran his right hand through her long, dark hair, as his lips moved to meet hers.

“No Eric, we can’t...” she trailed off as Eric gently placed a finger on her lips. No talk was necessary now. He brushed his finger along her lips, down her chin and to her neck. Susan sighed softly.

Their lips met, tongues interlocked, when suddenly Susan pulled back.

“No Eric, we really can’t. I’ve got a cold and you’ll catch it too”

“Don’t worry darling”, he replied charmingly, “I have some strain of the virus myself; perhaps they’ll mate and have babies!”

Where do we go now?

2005-04-07T00:58:00.000-07:00

Silver foil and an imminent vacation are the perfect combination for a strong sense of deja vu!

Yay! I'm going to Gokarna!

Dog's Life

2005-03-25T00:38:00.000-08:00

Dogs have such peaceful lives. They get nice tummy rubs, and they can lick their private parts in public places.

Elizabethan Nonsense?

2005-03-24T20:55:00.000-08:00

Thine isentasis like stasinverous
Thine beauficsporous in gladdigvein
Smee love thee uffably andomead ferrous
My love for thee saphyllispain

Perchance the glamodibeauty
From haverscent like godoluv
I stay parouse eversivity
Nay sinefolleg sonerodove

‘Tis muchenspiffic and blithy those
How caffid wont emigetsin
Byselfous grom the unsel rose
That is the flammo perevin.

Yes, I'm bored (what else is new?), and the lady of madness beckoned seductively!

Question

2005-03-23T20:08:00.000-08:00

The coloured formatting on my previous post was an experiment I tried. I would like some feedback on how people who read it perceived it. Was it easy to distinguish the speakers based on the colour? could you associate the speakers and the colour? Etcetera.

The Ace of Spades

2005-03-21T02:41:00.000-08:00

From L to R: Patches, Kiara, Bonzo, Professor Feurich, Neimglo X3-30, Spike

“Well, professor Feurich, we’d like to thank you for your support.”

“Yes, professor, it has been an exquisite…collaboration, I must say. Bet one hundred.”

“Raise two hundred”

“Call.”

“Call. Well, I expect that I will be given safe passage to Grrnor before earth is destroyed.”

“Call.”

“Raise four hundred. Why of course professor, you can live happily on Grrnor.”

“Do you boys want anything to eat”

“Thanks, darling, but I’m good.”

“I could use a refill, Kiara”

“That’s not good for your system Patches.”

“Yes, I know, but this is the only good thing that’s come out of earth, and I’m hooked!”

Laughter all around

“You know, I’m a bit worried that I’ll be badly out of place on a planet with a superior race of dogs!”

“Don’t worry, professor, you’ll get along great with everyone. Humans are actually such sweet, naïve creatures. It’s a pity that we’re going to be annihilating the planet. But then again it’s such a rich energy source, and the positioning of earth is such that the repercussions of the implosion will be negligible.”

“By the way professor, you won’t be the only non-dog there. Grrnor is a melting pot of planetary cultures. Of course, you’ll be the first human there, but we are home to all sorts of races, even Horcens like Neimglo here.”

The dogs snicker; Neimglo glares

“I believe it’s your call Patches”

“Raise another six hundred”

“Call. You know what’s ironic, these humans call dogs ‘man’s best friend’”

More laughter among the dogs

“Call”

“Yes, but that did make our surveillance a lot simpler, than on the other planets.”

“Call”

“Yes, Kiara placed us in good homes.”

“I agree. Well done Kiara!”

“Call. Yes, the data collection was impeccable”

“I hope you have all the data you need to trigger of the implosion properly.”

“Yes, living in the homes of those scientists, made our jobs so much simpler. We won’t have to make any assumptions, we’ve got the precise data we need!”

“Not to mention good tummy rubs”

Doggy laughter

“So when will we be able to collect the plutonium”

“Don’t worry about that, we’ll handle it.”

“Well that’s what you said on the last planet too, yet you managed to inundate the sector with tachyons, and we couldn’t retrieve any of the plutonium.”

“That was a small oversight. We miscalculated the planetary mass, which caused an exponential particle decay, but this time we’ve got the exact…”

“I don’t care why that happened, I don’t want you to screw up again!”

“Shut up, Neimglo. You’re only a parasitic bounty hunter!”

“Well, perhaps you’d like to stop blabbering and show us your cards!”

“Three aces it is”

“Damn!”

“And just when I had a nice J,Q,K straight”

“Hold on a second professor, you might still have won. Perhaps Patchy here would care to explain how he keeps getting aces, especially when the Ace of Spades is still in the deck.”

“So what? I’ve got the diamonds, hearts and clubs”

“How convenient, you forgot to mention the ace of spades in your hind paw.”

Spike sniggers

“Oh, and what about you, Spike? How come you slid the king of diamonds under your seat? Oh, wait, that’s because the professor just showed a king of diamonds. You cheating lot of flea-bags!”
Patches stands up, knocking over his glass

“How dare you say that ingrate, when you should be thankful that we even let you dirty lot of scavengers tag along with us and collect up the remains at every planet!”

“Come on boys, relax!”

“Shut up, Kiara!”

“You son-of-a-bitch, don’t you dare tell my girl to shut up!”

“You go around destroying planet after planet scrounging up whatever energy you can generate from them and call us a dirty lot of scavengers?”

Now Spike stands up and whips out a de-atomiser

“I’ve had enough of you Neimglo!”

“And I’ve had enough of all of you!”

Neimglo clasps his hands together sending out waves of high amplitude ultra sound, the dogs fall to the floor flailing. Spikes sends out a blast from his de-atomiser, that hits the lightbulb and causes an flood of antimatter particles destroying nearly two blocks of building.

So finally the dogs’ devious ploy is thwarted by an unassuming ace of spades, and the earth is not obliterated (except for the two blocks around Professor Feurich’s place)

I thought it would take 15 minutes, but it took nearly an hour. Click on the image for a full sized version, I didn't post the full size pic here cause it's screwing up my blog alignment. And I hope none of the readers are colour blind!

Hip Hip Huey

2005-03-15T21:55:00.000-08:00

Yes, I changed my avataar. It's now a picture of Hamster Huey - post Gooey Kablooie. The jury gave him life (which I felt was unfair), but he may make parole!

Extract from Coversation (In Blue) started 10:19:21

2005-03-15T21:45:00.000-08:00

Jinwin Josey (10:36:29 AM): you're prog rock cum psych cum shiny buckle - unkempt shoes, live up to the genre
Avijit Michael (10:36:40 AM): what to do ra
Avijit Michael (10:36:42 AM): we're also poor
Jinwin Josey (10:38:28 AM): I've got so many friggin cool ideas and here you are cribbing about financial crunches
Jinwin Josey (10:38:34 AM): live the heineken
Jinwin Josey (10:38:36 AM): life
Avijit Michael (10:38:47 AM): dude....if financial crunches were not a thing of worry...you'd have yer fuckin lounge bar
Jinwin Josey (10:39:11 AM): suck but your's is do-able
Jinwin Josey (10:39:15 AM): I'm looking at long term
Avijit Michael (10:39:45 AM): I'm looking at 3 years with parole
Jinwin Josey (10:39:54 AM): keep in mind, you-re winding up the family silver
Avijit Michael (10:40:03 AM): we're pawning daddy's jewels?
Jinwin Josey (10:40:15 AM): do it with a twist and an unpopped cherry at the top
Avijit Michael (10:40:29 AM): the Virginians would never agree
Jinwin Josey (10:41:43 AM): Virginia's a coffee shop in amsterdam
Avijit Michael (10:42:02 AM): Coffee is a hamster in a virgin's shop
Jinwin Josey (10:42:31 AM): monkeys on caffeine high
Avijit Michael (10:42:56 AM): wrenches on psychotropic substance abuse
Jinwin Josey (10:43:34 AM): Porno princes in fields of glue
Avijit Michael (10:43:58 AM): Slobberknocker jockey in sniffles land
Jinwin Josey (10:44:31 AM): hobgoblins sucking rex dementiae
Avijit Michael (10:45:14 AM): Mexican Spatulas barfing unwarranted stowaways
Jinwin Josey (10:46:28 AM): Touching a 2 year old sprite where she shudders
Avijit Michael (10:46:41 AM): you been reading Lolita, boy?
Jinwin Josey (10:47:20 AM): na, "10 months into preganancy and still kicking"
Avijit Michael (10:47:35 AM): The Japanese man still loves his wife?
Jinwin Josey (10:49:40 AM): chaiyaaa?
Avijit Michael (10:49:47 AM): wokay brokay

An Account of Spurious Reckoning

2005-03-10T22:27:00.000-08:00

We flew south for a week, before we landed at the Copistan temple, where they worshipped Copulus, the god of reproduction. The place was a riot of elephants and placentas.

We checked into the hotel Lgugabi; the rooms were well aired and spacious. We spent the day touring the markets of Copistan, where vendors sold colourful wares. The streets were narrow and crowded, with people hawking various food stuffs of suspicious origin, people selling brightly coloured clothes (which was common attire in Copistan), medicine men peddling bizarre concoctions in bottles and packets of various shapes and sizes, dancing girls, jugglers and street magicians.

On the second morning of our stay we were accosted by a dark stranger, who informed us his name was Oi Oo Oi Oo. He was selling packaged dirt which he claimed worked as an aphrodisiac. We bought a few packets, which left us lacking a couple hundred shekels, and headed of to find some women, upon whom we could employ the dirt.

Scheznik chanced upon a buxom belle with blunt features, while I found myself a more athletic and dark beauty with enchanting eyes. After an evening at the Rikwik restaurant, where we drank black tea cooked with lotus seeds (another aphrodisiac, according to Yaa Wee Yaa Wee, the restaurant owner) we headed back to our rooms.

At the hotel, the girls performed for us the sacred rites of Khwandi – a complex process that included a lot of intertwined limbs and moaning.

Scheznik and I woke up the next morning and found ourselves rather hung over and tied to our beds. The girls had robbed us of everything except the four packets of dirt, which they had spread all over us. I couldn’t remember much of the previous night, but apparently they hadn’t required the dirt to whet their appetites.

After a few minutes of girlishly giggling at our predicament, we started yelling for help. A couple of hours and two sore throats later, the house staff came in and loosed our knots rather nonchalantly. We later found out that such were common occurrences in Copistan. We had been left down and dirty.

Yes, I'm just horny