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
Friday, February 24, 2006
Sunday, February 12, 2006
Copywriter on Acid
So, I'm driving to work today, and this bus in front of me has an advertisement, for geysers, I think, or it could be for houses, or perhaps for moths. This was the copy on the ad, you decide.
Apple of you eye
your dream home
eaten by moth like geyser
NO NEVER!
Apple of you eye
your dream home
eaten by moth like geyser
NO NEVER!
Monday, February 06, 2006
Friday, February 03, 2006
Vacations in Katatonos
In the summer Corrin and I used to pluck berries. Berries always scared me. One day after we had plucked berries, I went home to find one berry left in my pocket. And it had turned into a bulbulate. The bulbulate said it was happy to see me.
During the evenings we'd sit on the verandah listening to the crickets in the distance. Corrin stayed alone with his grandfather. His mother had died when he was very young, and his father had run away fearing the revenge of the hand-that-is-always-near. Corrin's grandfather would sometimes read us stories. Occasionally a bus would pass in the distance.
The passengers on the bumpy rid to their destination. The old man with his granddaughter, the wife going back to her home village, the workers going home after a hard day's work.
Sometimes Corrin's grandfather would shoot crow, then he'd use the flesh as bait to catch fish. We'd sit by the pond with crudely fashioned rods and wait for a bite. Birds would fly out of the water with a fish thrashing in their beak.
After lunch we'd watch the old man smoke his hookah. On it was an intricately carved design telling the story of how Vahikute had vanquished the Narakumbe demons. He would sometimes recount the battle as he had seen it.
Borusada would never let us into her kitchen. We'd love to sneak in when we could, dip our fingers in her jelly fruit pickle and lick them clean. She would complain to Corrin's grandfather when she had found out the mischief we had been up to.
The temple priests would finish their rites for the evening. Then after the purification ceremony they would sit around and play a game of heloroid on the big, brown and black boards.
Corrin had a smaller heloroid game. My favourite piece was the elephant trunk, because it wriggled like a worm. I was really good at the game. During one game it started bleeding. His grandfather said it was because we played it too much.
It was always a shame when the summer would end and I'd have to go back to the city.
During the evenings we'd sit on the verandah listening to the crickets in the distance. Corrin stayed alone with his grandfather. His mother had died when he was very young, and his father had run away fearing the revenge of the hand-that-is-always-near. Corrin's grandfather would sometimes read us stories. Occasionally a bus would pass in the distance.
The passengers on the bumpy rid to their destination. The old man with his granddaughter, the wife going back to her home village, the workers going home after a hard day's work.
Sometimes Corrin's grandfather would shoot crow, then he'd use the flesh as bait to catch fish. We'd sit by the pond with crudely fashioned rods and wait for a bite. Birds would fly out of the water with a fish thrashing in their beak.
After lunch we'd watch the old man smoke his hookah. On it was an intricately carved design telling the story of how Vahikute had vanquished the Narakumbe demons. He would sometimes recount the battle as he had seen it.
Borusada would never let us into her kitchen. We'd love to sneak in when we could, dip our fingers in her jelly fruit pickle and lick them clean. She would complain to Corrin's grandfather when she had found out the mischief we had been up to.
The temple priests would finish their rites for the evening. Then after the purification ceremony they would sit around and play a game of heloroid on the big, brown and black boards.
Corrin had a smaller heloroid game. My favourite piece was the elephant trunk, because it wriggled like a worm. I was really good at the game. During one game it started bleeding. His grandfather said it was because we played it too much.
It was always a shame when the summer would end and I'd have to go back to the city.
Sunday, January 29, 2006
Hampi Dumpy
So I go on holiday for the weekend and the government collapses. Seriously, you can't leave these idiots alone for a minute. At least the new government will be a tad better than the led-by-a-bullfrog coalition.
Hampi is the place to be. For some reason, all the children there come up to touristy type people and say "Hello, school pen", at first I'd wave back and say Hi, but what the hell was 'school pen'?or sometimes "Hello, school pen?" No I'm not a school pen! Then I heard one chap say, what sounded like "Hello, school friend", now this made just a little more sense than 'school pen', even though I didn't actually go to school with these kids. However I was thrown of again by some kids who came towards me saying those lines with a writing gesture. So perhaps it did have something to do with pens? Then there were a bunch of them that would say "Hello, school pen", followed by "one rupees, two rupees" and then they'd hold out their hands expectantly. So maybe they wanted a donation to buy a school pen. I guess it'll just be one of those mysteries.
I like the smell of offerings burnt eons ago, that lingers in the temple ruins. Standing on the banks of a river flowing through rocky hills is just so peaceful.
It's a small town where everyone knows everyone else, and one can spend an entire afternoon in one of the little shacks watching animated conversations between the local folk. They somehow seemed to be fighting all the time, but without any physical violence. People would bump into each other on the road and start and argument, then they would walk away like it was a normal thing, still yelling something, trying to get the last word in, until they were out of earshot.
There's always some amount of temple sculpture reserved to show the gods fucking! And they tend to be more bizarre than most porn I've seen. There was this one image of a woman getting orally imapled by the penis of an elephant. That's why one must always think twice before agreeing to blow an elephant!
Watching pure devotion is bliss.
Hampi is the place to be. For some reason, all the children there come up to touristy type people and say "Hello, school pen", at first I'd wave back and say Hi, but what the hell was 'school pen'?or sometimes "Hello, school pen?" No I'm not a school pen! Then I heard one chap say, what sounded like "Hello, school friend", now this made just a little more sense than 'school pen', even though I didn't actually go to school with these kids. However I was thrown of again by some kids who came towards me saying those lines with a writing gesture. So perhaps it did have something to do with pens? Then there were a bunch of them that would say "Hello, school pen", followed by "one rupees, two rupees" and then they'd hold out their hands expectantly. So maybe they wanted a donation to buy a school pen. I guess it'll just be one of those mysteries.
I like the smell of offerings burnt eons ago, that lingers in the temple ruins. Standing on the banks of a river flowing through rocky hills is just so peaceful.
It's a small town where everyone knows everyone else, and one can spend an entire afternoon in one of the little shacks watching animated conversations between the local folk. They somehow seemed to be fighting all the time, but without any physical violence. People would bump into each other on the road and start and argument, then they would walk away like it was a normal thing, still yelling something, trying to get the last word in, until they were out of earshot.
There's always some amount of temple sculpture reserved to show the gods fucking! And they tend to be more bizarre than most porn I've seen. There was this one image of a woman getting orally imapled by the penis of an elephant. That's why one must always think twice before agreeing to blow an elephant!
Watching pure devotion is bliss.
Wednesday, January 25, 2006
Tagged Like an Animal in a Research Program
So, Fingers of Babushkas and Anadems fame tagged me. Apparently I'm supposed to write 8 things I'd like in an ideal partner. I'm doubting I'd ever have an ideal partner but here goes.
1. She should be quirky, and have all these little fascinating anomalies of character.
2. She should be smart and able to think for herself
3. She should have a sense of humour and it would be great if she got little subculture related jokes
4. She should dress impeccably different, not like every other woman on the road.
5. Her interests should span across a vast number of fields, not necessarily the same ones of mine. If she knew about stuff I didn't that would be awesome!
6. Not in the least bit conservative.
7. Listen to a fair amount of interesting music, again not necessarily the same genres I listen to, but she shouldn't listen to something just cause everyone else does.
8. Arrrgh....couldn't we just stop with 7? Oh, yeah, she's gotta be hot!
1. She should be quirky, and have all these little fascinating anomalies of character.
2. She should be smart and able to think for herself
3. She should have a sense of humour and it would be great if she got little subculture related jokes
4. She should dress impeccably different, not like every other woman on the road.
5. Her interests should span across a vast number of fields, not necessarily the same ones of mine. If she knew about stuff I didn't that would be awesome!
6. Not in the least bit conservative.
7. Listen to a fair amount of interesting music, again not necessarily the same genres I listen to, but she shouldn't listen to something just cause everyone else does.
8. Arrrgh....couldn't we just stop with 7? Oh, yeah, she's gotta be hot!
Thursday, January 19, 2006
Sinusoidal Maniac
As I write this scarabs are partying in my head, in a bacchanalia of sinovial fluids. Round and round they swirl. AUGHHHH!!!
Wednesday, January 11, 2006
Denominations
“Alright, I’ll make you a deal you can’t refuse: exclusive control of these territories, here, here and here, but no rights, here, here and uhm…here!”
“Are you kidding me? And what about my father’s people? They’re going to be bang in the middle of your territories?”
“Oh, that won’t be any problem, we’ll work around that! In any case, why are you looking out for them after what they did to you when you were there?”
“Look, it’s not about that, you know we just can’t leave them there. You know it will cause problems, people can’t live peacefully, it’s an innate fault of theirs.”
“And whose fault is that? What was your father thinking when he gave them their facilities? These people should have strict laws governing them, they shouldn’t be treated much better than animals – an eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth, that’s what I say.”
“You know my father tried that approach, but it’s restrictive, people should be given a choice. They should be free to control their lives…”
“Even if it means that they’ll screw up their lives, and the lives of others in the process?”
“Well… yes. We should provide guidelines for them to follow, but ultimately the choice belongs to the individual. We can’t give people a rigid set of laws and expect them to follow it fanatically. There are bound to be gray areas, we mustn’t discount their intelligence, and their ability to handle such situations. What do you say Buds?”
“Moderation…”
“Screw moderation! You know it won’t work. They need a sense of purpose, not the free time to question life. They’re like sheep, one cannot constantly tend them, and hence the need for strict rules, and righteous leaders who will ensure the rules are followed.”
“As I was saying, the middle path is the path best followed…”
“Alright Buds, how bout we just give you these territories, here and here, and you can preach to them, alright?”
“Can I also get this piece?”
“Here? That’s prime estate man!”
“I want to try a few variations”
“What the hell are you talking about? Variations? We’re talking about keeping the system together and you want variations? In any case I’m not giving you the whole thing, I want these areas. You can keep these”
“As you please.”
“Now onto this large fertile area…”
“Dibs on the west!”
“What? You think this is some sort of childish game?”
“Sorry, man, but I’ve claimed it.”
“What the fuck! You’ve already got all this land, and…”
“Listen, don’t use coarse language! You know my father made you what you are today!”
“WHAT?”
“How about we settle for a compromise? We leave the playing field open here.”
“I’ve called and I’m keeping it! Of course we can let them all mingle, so that everyone has a fair chance to see if their methods work!”
“Ha! My people are gonna kick you people’s butt!”
"Foo you!"
A 15 minute piece based on the work of aaron jasinski.
Tuesday, January 10, 2006
His Trip to Katatonos
A warm summer evening
The fireflies ever brighter
Outside his bedroom window
Bits of wind
Dancing round his room
Playing hide and seek in the curtains
Cartwheels on the bed stand
Twilight suddenly!
Across the universe
The street flooded in kaleidoscopic light
Girls in the corner shop
Putting on mascara
Quaint music wafting through
Women welcoming him, young as he was
Offering various delights
Dark alleys of the unspeakable
“Hi, how are you?”
He wanders past
Shops of darkstone
Bright yet dim colours
Flicker softly
Dancing monkeys
Floated on clouds
Through temples of stone
The fireflies ever brighter
Outside his bedroom window
Bits of wind
Dancing round his room
Playing hide and seek in the curtains
Cartwheels on the bed stand
Twilight suddenly!
Across the universe
The street flooded in kaleidoscopic light
Girls in the corner shop
Putting on mascara
Quaint music wafting through
Women welcoming him, young as he was
Offering various delights
Dark alleys of the unspeakable
“Hi, how are you?”
He wanders past
Shops of darkstone
Bright yet dim colours
Flicker softly
Dancing monkeys
Floated on clouds
Through temples of stone
Wednesday, January 04, 2006
Expedite Kaiser Forthwith!
A fly! A fly that had the audacity to alight upon the most wise and revered nose of our fullgracious and benevolent sovereign, Al-Felin Felingreen, may his name be proclaimed a thousand times ere it cease to exist!
An inquiry! An inquiry most urgent, to be conducted through the land to discover the cause for this most appalling effrontery of our distinguished and highcelebrated lordship, Al-Felin Felingreen, undisputed master of the thirty six provinces of Hazim-Sikah and Groundoria.
A massacre! A massacre of four hundred, eighty thousand, twenty one flies that refused to co-operate with interrogating officials, humble servants of the esteemed and worshipful ruler, Al-Felin Felingreen, may his reign know no end, and were thus condemned to death on account of high treason and refusal to divulge such information that might forward the investigation of the cause of this despicable insult to our supreme and surely wiseprudent judge, Al-Felin Felingreen, champion of his lowly subjects, the people of Hazim-Sikah and Groundoria.
A destruction! A destruction of those structures that house or might house flies or materialstuff that so might act as a mainspring for these vileloathsome creatures, presumptuous such that they disrespect our godlike and majestic master, Al-Felin Felingreen, may his kingdom know no bounds.
A bier! A bier for our potentate, the overworthy and righteous king, Al-Felin Felingreen, who lies ostentigrandiose in his mighty repose, so austere that even the hated fly should not have disturbed him though he were dead three weeks.
An inquiry! An inquiry most urgent, to be conducted through the land to discover the cause for this most appalling effrontery of our distinguished and highcelebrated lordship, Al-Felin Felingreen, undisputed master of the thirty six provinces of Hazim-Sikah and Groundoria.
A massacre! A massacre of four hundred, eighty thousand, twenty one flies that refused to co-operate with interrogating officials, humble servants of the esteemed and worshipful ruler, Al-Felin Felingreen, may his reign know no end, and were thus condemned to death on account of high treason and refusal to divulge such information that might forward the investigation of the cause of this despicable insult to our supreme and surely wiseprudent judge, Al-Felin Felingreen, champion of his lowly subjects, the people of Hazim-Sikah and Groundoria.
A destruction! A destruction of those structures that house or might house flies or materialstuff that so might act as a mainspring for these vileloathsome creatures, presumptuous such that they disrespect our godlike and majestic master, Al-Felin Felingreen, may his kingdom know no bounds.
A bier! A bier for our potentate, the overworthy and righteous king, Al-Felin Felingreen, who lies ostentigrandiose in his mighty repose, so austere that even the hated fly should not have disturbed him though he were dead three weeks.
Monday, January 02, 2006
Of Gnu Ears and Resolutions
"This year I will be constantly striving to improve myself within the boundaries of complacency"
There!
There!
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
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