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
Tuesday, January 10, 2006
Wednesday, January 04, 2006
Expedite Kaiser Forthwith!
A fly! A fly that had the audacity to alight upon the most wise and revered nose of our fullgracious and benevolent sovereign, Al-Felin Felingreen, may his name be proclaimed a thousand times ere it cease to exist!
An inquiry! An inquiry most urgent, to be conducted through the land to discover the cause for this most appalling effrontery of our distinguished and highcelebrated lordship, Al-Felin Felingreen, undisputed master of the thirty six provinces of Hazim-Sikah and Groundoria.
A massacre! A massacre of four hundred, eighty thousand, twenty one flies that refused to co-operate with interrogating officials, humble servants of the esteemed and worshipful ruler, Al-Felin Felingreen, may his reign know no end, and were thus condemned to death on account of high treason and refusal to divulge such information that might forward the investigation of the cause of this despicable insult to our supreme and surely wiseprudent judge, Al-Felin Felingreen, champion of his lowly subjects, the people of Hazim-Sikah and Groundoria.
A destruction! A destruction of those structures that house or might house flies or materialstuff that so might act as a mainspring for these vileloathsome creatures, presumptuous such that they disrespect our godlike and majestic master, Al-Felin Felingreen, may his kingdom know no bounds.
A bier! A bier for our potentate, the overworthy and righteous king, Al-Felin Felingreen, who lies ostentigrandiose in his mighty repose, so austere that even the hated fly should not have disturbed him though he were dead three weeks.
An inquiry! An inquiry most urgent, to be conducted through the land to discover the cause for this most appalling effrontery of our distinguished and highcelebrated lordship, Al-Felin Felingreen, undisputed master of the thirty six provinces of Hazim-Sikah and Groundoria.
A massacre! A massacre of four hundred, eighty thousand, twenty one flies that refused to co-operate with interrogating officials, humble servants of the esteemed and worshipful ruler, Al-Felin Felingreen, may his reign know no end, and were thus condemned to death on account of high treason and refusal to divulge such information that might forward the investigation of the cause of this despicable insult to our supreme and surely wiseprudent judge, Al-Felin Felingreen, champion of his lowly subjects, the people of Hazim-Sikah and Groundoria.
A destruction! A destruction of those structures that house or might house flies or materialstuff that so might act as a mainspring for these vileloathsome creatures, presumptuous such that they disrespect our godlike and majestic master, Al-Felin Felingreen, may his kingdom know no bounds.
A bier! A bier for our potentate, the overworthy and righteous king, Al-Felin Felingreen, who lies ostentigrandiose in his mighty repose, so austere that even the hated fly should not have disturbed him though he were dead three weeks.
Monday, January 02, 2006
Of Gnu Ears and Resolutions
"This year I will be constantly striving to improve myself within the boundaries of complacency"
There!
There!
Sunday, December 04, 2005
Tuesday, November 29, 2005
The Advent of Panadol
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"
Wednesday, November 23, 2005
Wake up - It's not yet time for brunch!
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.
Wednesday, November 09, 2005
Rooftop Vigilante (or Great Expectorations)
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 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!
Friday, October 21, 2005
I just had to post this
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!
Of course I mustn't make this a habit, considering the number of comics I read per day!
Thursday, September 29, 2005
Tuesday, September 27, 2005
Monday, September 26, 2005
Friday, September 23, 2005
Pointing Systems: Deconstructing Existential Validation Metrics
“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.
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.
Sunday, September 18, 2005
Swansong Earth
"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.
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.
Tuesday, September 13, 2005
Kili Kili Kili
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!
Wednesday, August 24, 2005
Tuesday, August 23, 2005
Public Awareness Message
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!
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!
Saturday, August 20, 2005
A Rolling Stone
“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!”
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!”
Wednesday, August 17, 2005
Dance in the Sun
We’re off to the magical kingdom
Where the giant crocodiles grow
Where the sun shines bright
And P. James does magic shows!
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 “This way” he beckoned.
|  |
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. |
Friday, August 12, 2005
Sow the seed!
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!
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