Thursday, 31 December 2015
Some wonders
For some reason there's a bunch of people playing volleyball in a perfectly good basketball court. I don't even..
General blahs
Did my horizon just burst with a thousand flames or what?
I was going to complain about vast empty canvases insufficiently smudged by meagre drops of ink, and lo and behold..but never nearly enough. We're aiming at Jackson Pollocking the virtual space. Minimalism is so last week. :)
Ugh New Years, there's something almost reptilian about the whole welcoming feel of another year. Wet, cold, feelingless, slimy and revolting. Like a minute before I was in another world, and a minute later, the blackhole's been opened, and we're going to get sucked into some vortex that'll take us to some other time in another dimension.
All this crazy welcoming for just that one minute that'll take us into another date change.
Another day, another year. It bugs me that almost as soon as I get used to writing that year, I've to accustom myself with another date.
What am I doing? traveling to some safe place, mountains, a bit of snow, a bit of nothing, a bit of hope.
To this date, I've never made any resolution, and that's probably my resolution..to make none. To stick to a bit of chaos, and hope for a bit of anarchy in this sea of sanity.
Though, I think I've had my fill of anarchy and disturbances last (this) year..so here's to a bit of holy mess, to drowning in a babel of passion and despair.
Perhaps I'll assume the existence of a shadow..dying each night only to resurrect every morning. being a phoenix is too tiresome I think..not that I've anything against those birds.
Yeah, uke..boy am I going to play it and record it..I don't know how and where, but I will and put it up soon.. and If I' able to figure that out, perhaps I'd record some poems too..though I don't know how I'd react to listening my own voice.
About headaches:
I'd take a heartache over a headache anytime (or not). Headaches are satan's henchman much like violator from spawn. They just don't go, and you can't will them away. They'll keep gnawing you on the inside, harass, exasperate and aggravate you to the point that you'd wish you could dismantle your head and hang it by the window.. those limbless demons of agonizing misery.
It sucks on your happiness and any inclination you might have towards existence. Headaches aren't for the faint of heart..sometimes only a medicine would do. If I could, I would nuke each headache out of existence.
__
Sometimes I think of heaven, its roads paved with blades and nails, its walls painted with smoke and flames, but it's heaven still
I remember enquing a million songs in winamp, a thousand years ago.. I've started to do that with my chores now-not necessarily chores exactly though, for house chores are those few things I'm absolutely evangelical about. I'd finish them no matter what the nature of apocalypse.
I've enqued things to do. Update my food blog.. I have to, finish my new drawing, start reading a new book, finish a couple books I've been writing (yeah, like that's gonna happen anytime soon) but seriously one of them is a cookbook, start my youtube drawing channel, record uke..go mad in the process.. and yes oh yes,,refresh like a maniac.
There's more, there's always more..and soon.
I was going to complain about vast empty canvases insufficiently smudged by meagre drops of ink, and lo and behold..but never nearly enough. We're aiming at Jackson Pollocking the virtual space. Minimalism is so last week. :)
Ugh New Years, there's something almost reptilian about the whole welcoming feel of another year. Wet, cold, feelingless, slimy and revolting. Like a minute before I was in another world, and a minute later, the blackhole's been opened, and we're going to get sucked into some vortex that'll take us to some other time in another dimension.
All this crazy welcoming for just that one minute that'll take us into another date change.
Another day, another year. It bugs me that almost as soon as I get used to writing that year, I've to accustom myself with another date.
What am I doing? traveling to some safe place, mountains, a bit of snow, a bit of nothing, a bit of hope.
To this date, I've never made any resolution, and that's probably my resolution..to make none. To stick to a bit of chaos, and hope for a bit of anarchy in this sea of sanity.
Though, I think I've had my fill of anarchy and disturbances last (this) year..so here's to a bit of holy mess, to drowning in a babel of passion and despair.
Perhaps I'll assume the existence of a shadow..dying each night only to resurrect every morning. being a phoenix is too tiresome I think..not that I've anything against those birds.
Yeah, uke..boy am I going to play it and record it..I don't know how and where, but I will and put it up soon.. and If I' able to figure that out, perhaps I'd record some poems too..though I don't know how I'd react to listening my own voice.
About headaches:
I'd take a heartache over a headache anytime (or not). Headaches are satan's henchman much like violator from spawn. They just don't go, and you can't will them away. They'll keep gnawing you on the inside, harass, exasperate and aggravate you to the point that you'd wish you could dismantle your head and hang it by the window.. those limbless demons of agonizing misery.
It sucks on your happiness and any inclination you might have towards existence. Headaches aren't for the faint of heart..sometimes only a medicine would do. If I could, I would nuke each headache out of existence.
__
Sometimes I think of heaven, its roads paved with blades and nails, its walls painted with smoke and flames, but it's heaven still
I remember enquing a million songs in winamp, a thousand years ago.. I've started to do that with my chores now-not necessarily chores exactly though, for house chores are those few things I'm absolutely evangelical about. I'd finish them no matter what the nature of apocalypse.
I've enqued things to do. Update my food blog.. I have to, finish my new drawing, start reading a new book, finish a couple books I've been writing (yeah, like that's gonna happen anytime soon) but seriously one of them is a cookbook, start my youtube drawing channel, record uke..go mad in the process.. and yes oh yes,,refresh like a maniac.
There's more, there's always more..and soon.
Tuesday, 29 December 2015
weird obsessions
I've so many things queued up to do, and yet I'm not doing them. Namely I've got over 3 posts for my food blog, yet to finish the last few chapters of audiobook, yet to start a new book and I've been thinking of this new drawing that I wanted to get started on asap..but No! I'm not doing any of that.. why? because I'm too busy playing my ukulele these days.
that's all I ever do, all day, play the ukulele.
It's so much easier than violin, has such a sweet melody, and it's like a pixie guitar..what's not to love about it?
It's an odd obsession, bordering on the verge of madness, but it's so much fun. I've kinda mastered the art of chuck strum mute, and now I'm giving all songs a John Lennon vibe except i's not a guitar, it's a ukulele.
It's a cute one, I'll post a picture of it soon, but really that's all what I'm doing these days.
Sometimes when I'm playing it late night, sort of giving a soundtrack to empty nights and sleepless eyes, I feel like, any time now someone is going to start knocking on my door and ask me to shut the hell up. But it never happens, why? because the damn things sounds so sweet, and also cuz I don't really suck at it.
For some reason I'm playing a lot of Ben E King songs on it..maybe cuz they're so easy to strum on a uke. But I don't sing..just strum, and chuck strum kapow!
Another obsession..Ikebana! I mean why and then why not?
More on Ikebana soon.
that's all I ever do, all day, play the ukulele.
It's so much easier than violin, has such a sweet melody, and it's like a pixie guitar..what's not to love about it?
It's an odd obsession, bordering on the verge of madness, but it's so much fun. I've kinda mastered the art of chuck strum mute, and now I'm giving all songs a John Lennon vibe except i's not a guitar, it's a ukulele.
It's a cute one, I'll post a picture of it soon, but really that's all what I'm doing these days.
Sometimes when I'm playing it late night, sort of giving a soundtrack to empty nights and sleepless eyes, I feel like, any time now someone is going to start knocking on my door and ask me to shut the hell up. But it never happens, why? because the damn things sounds so sweet, and also cuz I don't really suck at it.
For some reason I'm playing a lot of Ben E King songs on it..maybe cuz they're so easy to strum on a uke. But I don't sing..just strum, and chuck strum kapow!
Another obsession..Ikebana! I mean why and then why not?
More on Ikebana soon.
Monday, 28 December 2015
Metamorphosis
It was a Saturday afternoon unlike any other Saturday afternoon. It was his fourteenth birthday, and on this bright cloudless day, the boy spent his time camped out in their garden with his parents. Spring was at its peak, the sky shimmered brighter than any blue it had known, and the small family of three basked in the clear sunshine of this happy Saturday.
They'd laid out his Birthday feast on a jute mat on the freshly mown grass, green as moss and bejeweled with dew. It was a feast alright..mother was up early making his favourite food. There was cake, with thick splodges of buttercream frosting (his favourite thing in the world), fresh bread, fizzy drinks, fruits that he'd helped father pluck from their very own garden trees and fried snacks of all kinds. "it's a picnic" his mother had said, "but instead of going out, we're staying in, and we'll have so much fun in our own garden. The flowers are blooming, there are new birds, and all the trees have put on chlorophyll makeup". The boy liked nothing better, he had few friends, and preferred the company of his books and playing by himself alone in their big garden.
The day was warm, accentuated by cool breeze, and soon his parents had started yawning and this he knew was their adult indication of nap time. Sprawled out on their jute mat, under a lazy sun, they lay dozing in that impossibly perfect weather.
It was his fourteenth birthday, and he knew he had to do something fun, something silly, something like climbing that big cherry tree to get a better view of his surroundings. It was while he stayed stuck on the second branch of the tree that he caught a glimpse of something moving in between the leaves. "what on earth" he muttered, and bent a little more into the leaves to get a better view. It was like a rainbow had assumed a living form, and learnt to crawl its way on leaves. In a chaotic array of bright prismatic hues was a tiny caterpillar. "wow" he gasped. "I've never seen one so beautiful. It's so different than any other caterpillars in our garden. it's golden and purple and green and blue and so shiny". Gently he held out a leaf and the caterpillar leisurely crawled onto it and began nibbling.
"the little guy is hungry".
He carried the leaf, walking a gentle pace, lest it cause the caterpillar any turbulence and showed it to his now awake parents. "Mom, look..look what I found", he half shrieked, half whispered with excitement. "Oh dear, that's one beautiful caterpillar. Won't it be the envy of every flower in our garden", smiled his mother as she goggled at the hungry larva.
"Mom, can I keep it please?. It'll make such a nice pet, and such a beautiful one too".
"Of course, it's not like it's a dog, you can keep it. But what'll you do once it's a butterfly"?
"Then the butterfly will be my pet" he laughed and hurried to his room to give his new found pet a cozy room.
He found an old shoe box, and laid it with a layer of cotton and leaves to provide his pet a soft bed. Then ran out to the refrigerator and yelled out "Mom, what do they eat?"
"Leaves, leave the fridge be. Pick out some fresh ones from the garden".
"I'll help" father said and plucked out carrot and lettuce leaves and even some apples.
"take care of that little thing, he's one of a kind, and looks like a rare one"
"I will dad, and I'll give him fresh food each day, so he becomes even more colourful. we'll have so much fun together"
He rushed back to him room and looked at the ever hungry new found pet. "here, eat some more". It was almost strange, the way it looked at him, acknowledging him, or so the boy seemed to think.
Each day, he couldn't wait for his school to end. Running back to his room, peering into his shoe box, he'd spend hours talking to his caterpillar. "he understands me, and waits for me. I know it. He recognizes me."
One day, on account of extra classes at school, the boy reached home a few hours too late and as he ran to greet his pet his mom met him on the doorway, looking a bit worried.
"It's not eaten anything today. Just stayed there in its corner, not moving. I don't know what's wrong"
"what?" the boy shrieked and ran to his room
"what's wrong with you" he sobbed, "are you alright". He held out a lettuce leaf to his caterpillar. And it was almost as if he'd been roused from coma, the caterpillar moved, looked at the boy and started nibbling on the leaf.
"oh" he cried and looked at his mother.
wide eyed and a bit confused she said "it really is your pet. I think it was waiting for you"
"he is my little pet, isn't he" he smiled and for a second he though the caterpillar smiled back too.
"Tomorrow is Saturday, I'll take him out to the garden. Look how fat and pretty he's become."
It was true, the caterpillar was glowing with a warm bronze belly. Its colours shimmered with a radiant brilliance and echoed an exotic bouquet of unearthly flowers, wrapped in sparkling green translucence.
The boy woke up to the splatter of raindrops on his window pane. It wasn't morning yet and the day promised to be a sunless gloom he knew.
"I'll sleep some more, and surprise mom by coming early for breakfast. But before that, let me feed my fat friend". He rolled out of bed and stared sleepily into his shoe box.. but it was empty. "Oh my god" he switched on all the lights. "where are you, where are you, where are you" he half muttered half wondered half yelled hysterically.
"He's gone, oh my god, I can't find him". He ran to the smell of freshly brewed tea permeating from the kitchen and found his mom, bent over a mug, straining tea, half asleep, still in her soft slippers.
"Mom, I can't find him"
"Oh, wait. I'll come and check" She finished straining tea, mug in hand and followed the now almost weeping boy.
"Look, he's not in his box. He never leaves his box. Where is he"?
"Stop crying, there it is. Look at your study table. Near the table lamp."
There it was, not a caterpillar but a strange shaped silk box.
"Is that a chrysalis"he muttered?
"Yes, looks like your pet is finally going to be a big boy" she laughed sipping her tea and left the room.
"Oh wow, look at you, all weird and silvery and polka dotted golden. You're a fat pupa. Oh boy, I can't wait for you to come out. You'll be the most gorgeous thing this side of the planet. My pretty pet".
The boy had got into a habit of checking on his pet every hour to see if the metamorphosis had been complete.
"I wan't him to see me the first thing. I know he'll recognize me. He'll sit on my shoulder while I go to school and sleep on my pen when I do my homework"
And then one day as he got ready for school, he felt something stirring. It was deja vu. "I felt this way when I found him on our cherry tree. Him and I, we are meant to be"
Buttoning his shirt he gazed uninterrupted at the stirring chrysalis to greet his little pet, and crawling out slowly was his caterpillar..not a caterpillar anymore.
Its beautiful golden rainbow hued wings, were now a mottled gray, with black splotches of dull tar. The beaming crystal transparent skin now a papery cloth. Broad winged, powder sooty coloured grotesque moth.
It crept out slowly, unfurling its wings as dingy and ashen as death, its body a ghastly existence of loathsome horror. More insect looking than any insect, the caterpillar had morphed into a nightmarish wretch of a moth.
Horrified, the boy stared wide eyed and disgusted, and backed away slowly, too repelled and speechless to say anything.
The moth flew out, opened its wings wide as it could, and stared at the boy the same way it did as a caterpillar, and flew over to him.
By now the boy had rolled a newspaper, and swatted at the moth "eww..get out you, disgusting thing. eww".
he swat at it repeatedly, till he'd driven it out of the window, which he now shut with a loud thud,
"Ugh" the boy said.
They'd laid out his Birthday feast on a jute mat on the freshly mown grass, green as moss and bejeweled with dew. It was a feast alright..mother was up early making his favourite food. There was cake, with thick splodges of buttercream frosting (his favourite thing in the world), fresh bread, fizzy drinks, fruits that he'd helped father pluck from their very own garden trees and fried snacks of all kinds. "it's a picnic" his mother had said, "but instead of going out, we're staying in, and we'll have so much fun in our own garden. The flowers are blooming, there are new birds, and all the trees have put on chlorophyll makeup". The boy liked nothing better, he had few friends, and preferred the company of his books and playing by himself alone in their big garden.
The day was warm, accentuated by cool breeze, and soon his parents had started yawning and this he knew was their adult indication of nap time. Sprawled out on their jute mat, under a lazy sun, they lay dozing in that impossibly perfect weather.
It was his fourteenth birthday, and he knew he had to do something fun, something silly, something like climbing that big cherry tree to get a better view of his surroundings. It was while he stayed stuck on the second branch of the tree that he caught a glimpse of something moving in between the leaves. "what on earth" he muttered, and bent a little more into the leaves to get a better view. It was like a rainbow had assumed a living form, and learnt to crawl its way on leaves. In a chaotic array of bright prismatic hues was a tiny caterpillar. "wow" he gasped. "I've never seen one so beautiful. It's so different than any other caterpillars in our garden. it's golden and purple and green and blue and so shiny". Gently he held out a leaf and the caterpillar leisurely crawled onto it and began nibbling.
"the little guy is hungry".
He carried the leaf, walking a gentle pace, lest it cause the caterpillar any turbulence and showed it to his now awake parents. "Mom, look..look what I found", he half shrieked, half whispered with excitement. "Oh dear, that's one beautiful caterpillar. Won't it be the envy of every flower in our garden", smiled his mother as she goggled at the hungry larva.
"Mom, can I keep it please?. It'll make such a nice pet, and such a beautiful one too".
"Of course, it's not like it's a dog, you can keep it. But what'll you do once it's a butterfly"?
"Then the butterfly will be my pet" he laughed and hurried to his room to give his new found pet a cozy room.
He found an old shoe box, and laid it with a layer of cotton and leaves to provide his pet a soft bed. Then ran out to the refrigerator and yelled out "Mom, what do they eat?"
"Leaves, leave the fridge be. Pick out some fresh ones from the garden".
"I'll help" father said and plucked out carrot and lettuce leaves and even some apples.
"take care of that little thing, he's one of a kind, and looks like a rare one"
"I will dad, and I'll give him fresh food each day, so he becomes even more colourful. we'll have so much fun together"
He rushed back to him room and looked at the ever hungry new found pet. "here, eat some more". It was almost strange, the way it looked at him, acknowledging him, or so the boy seemed to think.
Each day, he couldn't wait for his school to end. Running back to his room, peering into his shoe box, he'd spend hours talking to his caterpillar. "he understands me, and waits for me. I know it. He recognizes me."
One day, on account of extra classes at school, the boy reached home a few hours too late and as he ran to greet his pet his mom met him on the doorway, looking a bit worried.
"It's not eaten anything today. Just stayed there in its corner, not moving. I don't know what's wrong"
"what?" the boy shrieked and ran to his room
"what's wrong with you" he sobbed, "are you alright". He held out a lettuce leaf to his caterpillar. And it was almost as if he'd been roused from coma, the caterpillar moved, looked at the boy and started nibbling on the leaf.
"oh" he cried and looked at his mother.
wide eyed and a bit confused she said "it really is your pet. I think it was waiting for you"
"he is my little pet, isn't he" he smiled and for a second he though the caterpillar smiled back too.
"Tomorrow is Saturday, I'll take him out to the garden. Look how fat and pretty he's become."
It was true, the caterpillar was glowing with a warm bronze belly. Its colours shimmered with a radiant brilliance and echoed an exotic bouquet of unearthly flowers, wrapped in sparkling green translucence.
The boy woke up to the splatter of raindrops on his window pane. It wasn't morning yet and the day promised to be a sunless gloom he knew.
"I'll sleep some more, and surprise mom by coming early for breakfast. But before that, let me feed my fat friend". He rolled out of bed and stared sleepily into his shoe box.. but it was empty. "Oh my god" he switched on all the lights. "where are you, where are you, where are you" he half muttered half wondered half yelled hysterically.
"He's gone, oh my god, I can't find him". He ran to the smell of freshly brewed tea permeating from the kitchen and found his mom, bent over a mug, straining tea, half asleep, still in her soft slippers.
"Mom, I can't find him"
"Oh, wait. I'll come and check" She finished straining tea, mug in hand and followed the now almost weeping boy.
"Look, he's not in his box. He never leaves his box. Where is he"?
"Stop crying, there it is. Look at your study table. Near the table lamp."
There it was, not a caterpillar but a strange shaped silk box.
"Is that a chrysalis"he muttered?
"Yes, looks like your pet is finally going to be a big boy" she laughed sipping her tea and left the room.
"Oh wow, look at you, all weird and silvery and polka dotted golden. You're a fat pupa. Oh boy, I can't wait for you to come out. You'll be the most gorgeous thing this side of the planet. My pretty pet".
The boy had got into a habit of checking on his pet every hour to see if the metamorphosis had been complete.
"I wan't him to see me the first thing. I know he'll recognize me. He'll sit on my shoulder while I go to school and sleep on my pen when I do my homework"
And then one day as he got ready for school, he felt something stirring. It was deja vu. "I felt this way when I found him on our cherry tree. Him and I, we are meant to be"
Buttoning his shirt he gazed uninterrupted at the stirring chrysalis to greet his little pet, and crawling out slowly was his caterpillar..not a caterpillar anymore.
Its beautiful golden rainbow hued wings, were now a mottled gray, with black splotches of dull tar. The beaming crystal transparent skin now a papery cloth. Broad winged, powder sooty coloured grotesque moth.
It crept out slowly, unfurling its wings as dingy and ashen as death, its body a ghastly existence of loathsome horror. More insect looking than any insect, the caterpillar had morphed into a nightmarish wretch of a moth.
Horrified, the boy stared wide eyed and disgusted, and backed away slowly, too repelled and speechless to say anything.
The moth flew out, opened its wings wide as it could, and stared at the boy the same way it did as a caterpillar, and flew over to him.
By now the boy had rolled a newspaper, and swatted at the moth "eww..get out you, disgusting thing. eww".
he swat at it repeatedly, till he'd driven it out of the window, which he now shut with a loud thud,
"Ugh" the boy said.
Drawing disappointment
So I'm almost done with my pending drawing, and it's come out really bad. Seriously bad, like way below what I'd expected it to be. Amongst my worst drawings.
This happens when you let there be too many too long gaps between a process. You lose the thread, the train of your thoughts and you end up with a botched piece of what you'd earlier envisioned.
Need to redeem with a better drawing. No seriously. This drawing has been a disappointment.
I didn't think I could go wrong with water colours, yet I did. :(
Uhh ho hum
Sometimes when you want to scald under a blistering blaze
you end up making peace with an insipid embrace
----
Morning mist
What do I say this frozen dull morning? That I'm burgeoning with sanity and idiotically full of self restraint? That I've dipped into the prosaic waters of rationality and logical thinking? Maybe I have, but what do clouds know of placid rivers that cloak volcanoes, or even a magma oozing earth rupture that's neatly hidden by the smiling calmness of a quiet rivulet?
Friday, 25 December 2015
No name
just found this poem scribbled in the small of my moleskine..I must've been in a pretty bad sarcastic mood I think
There's fulfillment in emptiness
you've just to find emptiness within
and fill your insides with it to the brim
Destroy new pathways
and burn all the roads
block everything that goes to the light
a magnificent cave behold
you'll find enough to do in this emptiness
just shut all your windows
douse your flames with nothing soaked days
light a pyre of pretty passions
put them ablaze with hot thoughts of blank
Pull up your covers blind yourself
stay in dark, stark dense and call it white
madness is but a word
ration your feelings, dim your senses
live by fierce logic, you'll always be free
surprises for the wearisome
and warmth for the weak
tears when you need to and breathe just to live
eat because you have to and die cuz you can't help it.
There's fulfillment in emptiness
you've just to find emptiness within
and fill your insides with it to the brim
Destroy new pathways
and burn all the roads
block everything that goes to the light
a magnificent cave behold
you'll find enough to do in this emptiness
just shut all your windows
douse your flames with nothing soaked days
light a pyre of pretty passions
put them ablaze with hot thoughts of blank
Pull up your covers blind yourself
stay in dark, stark dense and call it white
madness is but a word
ration your feelings, dim your senses
live by fierce logic, you'll always be free
surprises for the wearisome
and warmth for the weak
tears when you need to and breathe just to live
eat because you have to and die cuz you can't help it.
stuff
The past 24 hours have been a whirlwind of sorts. I was in the hospital, getting updates on my sickness, and what kind of progress I'd made.
Something new, I was given general anesthesia for a particular procedure, and that was probably the sweetest 15 minute nap I've ever had. I mean one minute I was looking at the world, and the other I was in a comatose sweetness of siesta unknown.
When I woke up, everything was done and my reports were ready. Things are looking up, I'll be better soon and bla bla.
So yeah, weird day.
I've still my drawing to finish, and I've seen it glaring at me reproachfully.. and yes dear drawing, you shall be done..I've just been busy with things I wish I didn't have to care about.
Everyday gets colder, and I've been rocking my eskimo chic. It's funny that the jackets here have to be categorized as (0 to -10°c) and (-10°c and higher), it's a bit bleh, and my house plants do not appreciate this winter at all. My flower pots have almost given up on life, and have started drooping, I'm trying to revive them, but there's only so much I can do.
Ah, Is it odd that I really want to know what fixings and improvements doth one talk about? considering perfection is pretty perfect anyways. sigh.
I don't know, I feel like ranting all over again, and bitching the world out..oh so much glorious bitching and gluttonous gossiping.
Something new, I was given general anesthesia for a particular procedure, and that was probably the sweetest 15 minute nap I've ever had. I mean one minute I was looking at the world, and the other I was in a comatose sweetness of siesta unknown.
When I woke up, everything was done and my reports were ready. Things are looking up, I'll be better soon and bla bla.
So yeah, weird day.
I've still my drawing to finish, and I've seen it glaring at me reproachfully.. and yes dear drawing, you shall be done..I've just been busy with things I wish I didn't have to care about.
Everyday gets colder, and I've been rocking my eskimo chic. It's funny that the jackets here have to be categorized as (0 to -10°c) and (-10°c and higher), it's a bit bleh, and my house plants do not appreciate this winter at all. My flower pots have almost given up on life, and have started drooping, I'm trying to revive them, but there's only so much I can do.
Ah, Is it odd that I really want to know what fixings and improvements doth one talk about? considering perfection is pretty perfect anyways. sigh.
I don't know, I feel like ranting all over again, and bitching the world out..oh so much glorious bitching and gluttonous gossiping.
Wednesday, 23 December 2015
Update and sads
Goddamn chickens..ah, but the ones that caw aren't chickens but roosters.
So goddamn roosters, roosting up so early! Seriously what's with their love for mornings? It's like come quick people, cull me!
———
Oyster mushrooms if cooked just right with proper seasonings taste absolutely delicious. I like to roast them in the oven sometimes, or cook on low flame, they're an excellent accompaniment to chicken..or roosters if one is so inclined. Mushroom soup and toasted rooster..what I wouldn't give to eat something like that right now.
But no, I've to stick to my recuperating diet for a few more weeks. Sigh, until then, it's avocados and steamed greens, and potatoes and ugh. (But it's all for the better, so there)
———
Speaking of funerals, I just found out my grandmother passed away today. I don't know how to react to this. She wasn't in a good place physically during her last days, and perhaps it came as a relief to her. She was like a part of the root, from which stemmed the tree, and leaves. Slowly we're sinking to root level too, and she's gone in deeper, into the soil.
She was 94, and taught me how to write at the age of three. I'll miss her, and I've got the sads now.
Soon.
Cat found
The cat has been found, after a series of well laid traps. 
To cut a long story short, he was found, grabbed, hauled and taken back.
He's lost weight, got himself a dozen bruises and is as unwashed and dirty as Napolean's mistresses.
But he's been found, yay! Thank heavens. Boy is he gonna be pampered and fed to the whiskers.
Him
Us
||-_||
Just when I thought this afternoon couldn't get anymore sepia tinted, it went a little further and assumed an atrophied greyscale aura.
It feels like a crumbling visage got kissed by dystopia. This is a ruinous afternoon; the skies are grey with rain threats, and the wind shrieks with icy warmth.
The house feels darker than a cave, and I might have to ignite a few suns just to get some light in here.
Cold as cold can be, yet here I am..melting into a puddle of sinful needs.
Nights in limbo and puzzling mornings
Is there a name for that sleepless sleep where you feel you're stuck in limbo, not really sure whether you've slept or stayed up throughout the night?
When you don't remember if you actually dreamt or thought up scenarios the whole night through just so you could sleep.
When each time you opened your eyes to realize it's not time to wake up yet, and shut them again so you could tell your body you're sleeping.
When you remember each toss and turn, each huddle for cozier spots under your duvet, and each time you stretched out your hand for a quick sip of water.
It's limbo alright, because you don't wake up feeling dead, your legs aren't aching from lack of sleep, your face feels fresh and yet you know somewhere inside you hardly slept..or maybe you did. How can you tell? Awake at 7:00am and still shutting out the morning light, eyelids are a flimsy curtain though, and yet you shut them hard, for an hour but it's only been five minutes and you're out of bed.
Puzzle yourself hard, you remember the entire night and yet maybe you slept somewhere, maybe in your mind.
What did I do the entire night? Ah, I kept running some voices, some faces, images and words. Lines and poems, and stories of space slatterns and mercenaries. Of rhymes that rhymed and ones that didn't, and prose and verse and letters unwritten.
Tuesday, 22 December 2015
state of affairs
So I went vegetable shopping today, after almost a week and instead of my usual haunt I swung by another vegetable market.
It felt like the gods of greens had assembled there and beckoned me to join in on the green revolution. So enamoured was I with all the leafage and greenery, that I ended up buying heaps upon tons of vegetables I didn't even know the names of. Most of them, in fact almost all are very Chinese, and used almost always in Chinese preparations, but that is not such a big deterrent, when you're bitten by the green bug. I do not know, how I'm going to translate these into Indian cooking, but that's the least of my problems.
Turns out the last time we went orange picking, we ended up with almost 20kgs of oranges. My kitchen is bursting to the seams with oranges, and though there's something very Christmasy about oranges and the smell of citrus, I do not know how I'm going to plough through 20 kg's of fat ones.
Maybe start making everything orange now. Orange cakes, Orange kheer, orange marmalade, orange juice, orange sweets, orange stew, orange jelly, orange what? what am I to do. Probably give away some, but still, I'd have plenty left.
Oranges and greens it is then.
____________
a few stable greens for my fridge are: celery, chives, leeks, spring onions, bok choy, broccoli, spinach, peas, broad beans.
Things I bought today: choi sum, Red cabbage (which is red, but I still think it's pretty green), a heap of leaves I thought was arugula but wasn't, snake beans, kangkong, tong hao and gai lan.
I'll probably end up steaming the greens and having them in a sort of broth with some seasoning, or maybe roll them with rice sheets or make them into a salad with some vermicelli. I don't know, whatever I do, I'll try to put up on my food blog.
It felt like the gods of greens had assembled there and beckoned me to join in on the green revolution. So enamoured was I with all the leafage and greenery, that I ended up buying heaps upon tons of vegetables I didn't even know the names of. Most of them, in fact almost all are very Chinese, and used almost always in Chinese preparations, but that is not such a big deterrent, when you're bitten by the green bug. I do not know, how I'm going to translate these into Indian cooking, but that's the least of my problems.
Turns out the last time we went orange picking, we ended up with almost 20kgs of oranges. My kitchen is bursting to the seams with oranges, and though there's something very Christmasy about oranges and the smell of citrus, I do not know how I'm going to plough through 20 kg's of fat ones.
Maybe start making everything orange now. Orange cakes, Orange kheer, orange marmalade, orange juice, orange sweets, orange stew, orange jelly, orange what? what am I to do. Probably give away some, but still, I'd have plenty left.
Oranges and greens it is then.
____________
a few stable greens for my fridge are: celery, chives, leeks, spring onions, bok choy, broccoli, spinach, peas, broad beans.
Things I bought today: choi sum, Red cabbage (which is red, but I still think it's pretty green), a heap of leaves I thought was arugula but wasn't, snake beans, kangkong, tong hao and gai lan.
I'll probably end up steaming the greens and having them in a sort of broth with some seasoning, or maybe roll them with rice sheets or make them into a salad with some vermicelli. I don't know, whatever I do, I'll try to put up on my food blog.
Monday, 21 December 2015
drawing updates
I'd read a beautiful poem about a tree floating in space..and it was an image too precious to let go waste, which is why I've put it in my new drawing, which seems to be going at snail pace, but hopefully it will be done this week.
It's really a patchwork of dreams and poems and stories.
More on it later
It's really a patchwork of dreams and poems and stories.
More on it later
late night lost time
There's no logical explanation to why I'm listening to depeche mode at this hour. I mean it's well past midnight.
Maybe cuz I've nothing better to do, or maybe I'm hoping against hope that I'll be able to stretch this night into morning. hah, waking up to the moon instead of the sun. Won't that be something?
sigh, here I am, stranded in a swamp of insignificant musings..please, nobody throw me a rope!
It's official..it's late night, and just when I thought this heap of routine couldn't look anymore revolting, it applies fresh makeup of promise, and entices me with a rosy hope again.
What can I say? I'm a sucker for utopia.
The air is thick with all the castles I've built in it, and my paradise is overrun by fools.
letting my desires get the better of me, I'm a glutton for passion. Greedy and covetous..miserably ravenous for more..this need for effulgent furnace not a primrose spark.
to get sandblasted by ferocious heat
not thaw my bones in a sunlit park.
Silly late night, smearing wishful cravings on my insides
I sit here seeping blood
or is this rose petals
aching myself to a sigh
thirsting, craving
for a sinkhole to swallow me
or lend me wings maybe, so I could fly
The ceiling is probably my best friend, it gazes back when I stare at it..never judging; poker face, always! But here it is, my dearest darling night. Clad in a morbid smile, promises to sew shut my
eyes, and not a single word about what I'd see tonight..I'm hoping it'd be a dream, but I won't complain if it's a nightmare.
Maybe cuz I've nothing better to do, or maybe I'm hoping against hope that I'll be able to stretch this night into morning. hah, waking up to the moon instead of the sun. Won't that be something?
sigh, here I am, stranded in a swamp of insignificant musings..please, nobody throw me a rope!
It's official..it's late night, and just when I thought this heap of routine couldn't look anymore revolting, it applies fresh makeup of promise, and entices me with a rosy hope again.
What can I say? I'm a sucker for utopia.
The air is thick with all the castles I've built in it, and my paradise is overrun by fools.
letting my desires get the better of me, I'm a glutton for passion. Greedy and covetous..miserably ravenous for more..this need for effulgent furnace not a primrose spark.
to get sandblasted by ferocious heat
not thaw my bones in a sunlit park.
Silly late night, smearing wishful cravings on my insides
I sit here seeping blood
or is this rose petals
aching myself to a sigh
thirsting, craving
for a sinkhole to swallow me
or lend me wings maybe, so I could fly
The ceiling is probably my best friend, it gazes back when I stare at it..never judging; poker face, always! But here it is, my dearest darling night. Clad in a morbid smile, promises to sew shut my
eyes, and not a single word about what I'd see tonight..I'm hoping it'd be a dream, but I won't complain if it's a nightmare.
Sunday, 20 December 2015
more on thoughts and rant
I wonder if it's as much about basic building blocks of human consciousness as it is about laziness and easy access to creativity that has been dumbed down to feed human consumption.
The fact that there were maybe five people doing something creative at some point of time when apps weren't all the rage..now we've five thousand people doing the same thing, just because downloading an app to add vignettes and blue grey effects has become that easy. Now everyone's doing it. And apps are intelligent, they give you a limited set of values to get creative, with permutations and combinations of your choosing, and there you are. Making art out of confined space through a shoe box vision that an app has provided you.
When twitter replaced stars to hearts, it wasn't as much a change as it was falling into line with the prevailing norm of hearting everything you like. Instead of being different, it slowly became everything that already exists.
Is it that much about hating change as it is about being lazy and not wanting to do something different, or breaking moulds or the fact that every idiot on this planet has easy access to being creative, and the fact that being creative has been made that easy. Conveyer belt creativity so to say.
It's like every monkey has a bucketful of feces and an endless white wall to paint as they will. So all day long they Jackson Pollock the shit out of that wall, and they're encouraged to do so, and some lesser brained chimps marvel at their shitpieces, and each day this monkey population keeps growing.
This is probably the best time to boost your vanity, and the golden age to be dumb. Not that there's anything wrong with either.. the problem is that shit flinging monkeys live to sounds of applause, while somewhere out there might be a rainbow coloured sloth who goes totally unnoticed..again probably because of shit loving lesser minded chimps who're resolved to dumb down every second. It's a full circle. And this isn't just about apps, it's everything, everywhere..yeah, the movies, the music, everything.
It's like 'hey man, if they love shit, let's give 'em more crap'.
Mayhaps it's a part of our evolution, the fact that it's alright is it's 'just okay', awesome even..and yeah I don't want to say it, horribly cliche as it sounds but also commercialization. Milk them udders until they're stone and milk them still.
Now when you got everyone doing the same thing with small tweaks and cute interfaces, the world does go gaga, but it doesn't change the fact that it's similar shitprint on a different space of a clean white wall.
The fact that there were maybe five people doing something creative at some point of time when apps weren't all the rage..now we've five thousand people doing the same thing, just because downloading an app to add vignettes and blue grey effects has become that easy. Now everyone's doing it. And apps are intelligent, they give you a limited set of values to get creative, with permutations and combinations of your choosing, and there you are. Making art out of confined space through a shoe box vision that an app has provided you.
When twitter replaced stars to hearts, it wasn't as much a change as it was falling into line with the prevailing norm of hearting everything you like. Instead of being different, it slowly became everything that already exists.
Is it that much about hating change as it is about being lazy and not wanting to do something different, or breaking moulds or the fact that every idiot on this planet has easy access to being creative, and the fact that being creative has been made that easy. Conveyer belt creativity so to say.
It's like every monkey has a bucketful of feces and an endless white wall to paint as they will. So all day long they Jackson Pollock the shit out of that wall, and they're encouraged to do so, and some lesser brained chimps marvel at their shitpieces, and each day this monkey population keeps growing.
This is probably the best time to boost your vanity, and the golden age to be dumb. Not that there's anything wrong with either.. the problem is that shit flinging monkeys live to sounds of applause, while somewhere out there might be a rainbow coloured sloth who goes totally unnoticed..again probably because of shit loving lesser minded chimps who're resolved to dumb down every second. It's a full circle. And this isn't just about apps, it's everything, everywhere..yeah, the movies, the music, everything.
It's like 'hey man, if they love shit, let's give 'em more crap'.
Mayhaps it's a part of our evolution, the fact that it's alright is it's 'just okay', awesome even..and yeah I don't want to say it, horribly cliche as it sounds but also commercialization. Milk them udders until they're stone and milk them still.
Now when you got everyone doing the same thing with small tweaks and cute interfaces, the world does go gaga, but it doesn't change the fact that it's similar shitprint on a different space of a clean white wall.
rants and reasons to die
This isn't just a rant, this is irritation.
the why of everything?
why does it feel like everything is being airbrushed to a sort of soulless perfection to give a false sense of paradise? Like photoshop for life, where everything looks glitzy and wonderful at a cursory glance, but poke in too hard and you see the grimy pixels no one wants you to see.
The pyramid of mediocrity, instagram for reality with a million filters and contrast adjustments..where you know it's a shit deal but you can make it look glossy and chic and momentarily forget about it, and even if you don't, you've to look at the the filtered reality to feel "hey, it's not so bad" and you get on with it anyway.
The over commercialization, extreme exploitation and culling off the natural to replace with plastic prettiness.
It feels like it's happening everywhere, from faces to places. Novelty is a bane, it's like the whole lot is being fixed on a conveyer belt to look the same, think the same, do the same, feel the same.
Like a wave of fad that everybody's gotta dip in, and not just a simple little dip, but a whole soak, where you terminate your real existence and fit yourself with the now approved copy paste replicant of what you're supposed to be this year.
The real goddamn reason why everything nowadays is an innovation instead of an invention. The same idea, with another filter, another tweak, another layer of airbrush..'the case of the disappearing nose and lost bellybuttons'
The new and improved jaded with bleached hair, eyelash extensions, trimmed nose, plumped lips, and all the other fixings to be at par with the rest of the jaded, where you can't tell the two apart, but here they are, with shiny surfaces, metallic finishes, sleek tones and one touch monosyllables.
Here we all are, finding a spot on the same bus, to stand on one leg, breathe in oxymundane and exhale mediocrity, with different filters and contrast adjustments. To hell with the unique and the unfamiliar, to hell with the odd and original.
____________________________________________
Recently I happened to visit a new coffee shop that was all the rage because of its antique fixings, and the intellectual vibe it gave off. It was giganormous, with a rustic chic edge to it, teeming with people who were armoured to the teeth with their apple laptops and reading and drawing materials. The entire place had a library look to it, with fresh coffee aroma. It look so impressive and beautiful, with book cases stashed with hundreds of books. I was so intrigued, I pulled out a book, which to my horror was hollow, and it wasn't just that one book. All the books that made the place look so intelligent were in fact hollow cases, made to resemble fat books. The only books that were real were in the first couple shelves, and well those books were trivial at best.
And the people there, oh god, talking in soft tones, like they'd have only to sneeze to change the world.
Screw them, and screw everything else. And these coffee shops, which to my horror are aplenty and mushrooming everywhere are in fact just mirroring everything and everyone around us.
Put a bullet in my head if I ever lose myself in this maze of formula existence.
the why of everything?
why does it feel like everything is being airbrushed to a sort of soulless perfection to give a false sense of paradise? Like photoshop for life, where everything looks glitzy and wonderful at a cursory glance, but poke in too hard and you see the grimy pixels no one wants you to see.
The pyramid of mediocrity, instagram for reality with a million filters and contrast adjustments..where you know it's a shit deal but you can make it look glossy and chic and momentarily forget about it, and even if you don't, you've to look at the the filtered reality to feel "hey, it's not so bad" and you get on with it anyway.
The over commercialization, extreme exploitation and culling off the natural to replace with plastic prettiness.
It feels like it's happening everywhere, from faces to places. Novelty is a bane, it's like the whole lot is being fixed on a conveyer belt to look the same, think the same, do the same, feel the same.
Like a wave of fad that everybody's gotta dip in, and not just a simple little dip, but a whole soak, where you terminate your real existence and fit yourself with the now approved copy paste replicant of what you're supposed to be this year.
The real goddamn reason why everything nowadays is an innovation instead of an invention. The same idea, with another filter, another tweak, another layer of airbrush..'the case of the disappearing nose and lost bellybuttons'
The new and improved jaded with bleached hair, eyelash extensions, trimmed nose, plumped lips, and all the other fixings to be at par with the rest of the jaded, where you can't tell the two apart, but here they are, with shiny surfaces, metallic finishes, sleek tones and one touch monosyllables.
Here we all are, finding a spot on the same bus, to stand on one leg, breathe in oxymundane and exhale mediocrity, with different filters and contrast adjustments. To hell with the unique and the unfamiliar, to hell with the odd and original.
____________________________________________
Recently I happened to visit a new coffee shop that was all the rage because of its antique fixings, and the intellectual vibe it gave off. It was giganormous, with a rustic chic edge to it, teeming with people who were armoured to the teeth with their apple laptops and reading and drawing materials. The entire place had a library look to it, with fresh coffee aroma. It look so impressive and beautiful, with book cases stashed with hundreds of books. I was so intrigued, I pulled out a book, which to my horror was hollow, and it wasn't just that one book. All the books that made the place look so intelligent were in fact hollow cases, made to resemble fat books. The only books that were real were in the first couple shelves, and well those books were trivial at best.
And the people there, oh god, talking in soft tones, like they'd have only to sneeze to change the world.
Screw them, and screw everything else. And these coffee shops, which to my horror are aplenty and mushrooming everywhere are in fact just mirroring everything and everyone around us.
Put a bullet in my head if I ever lose myself in this maze of formula existence.
draw a blank
some days when you draw a blank
you could stare at the screen
and rhyme blank with spank, flank, crank, bank
and nothing could make you write
anything remotely sensible
or you could rhyme write with tight, white, blight, height
but if simply rhyming were the case
I could rhyme a whole bloody lot
(by God's grace) ;)
and rhyme this place asunder
till next fall or winter
but that's not the point
I've stared at the screen
and thought I could write
about tears and rain
and distances and pain
and ripped out hearts
and souls that lay slain
or write abut voids
and a languishing voice
and how it murmurs
in whispers and tremors
about what it loved and lost
and lost and lost
and loved still
you could stare at the screen
and rhyme blank with spank, flank, crank, bank
and nothing could make you write
anything remotely sensible
or you could rhyme write with tight, white, blight, height
but if simply rhyming were the case
I could rhyme a whole bloody lot
(by God's grace) ;)
and rhyme this place asunder
till next fall or winter
but that's not the point
I've stared at the screen
and thought I could write
about tears and rain
and distances and pain
and ripped out hearts
and souls that lay slain
or write abut voids
and a languishing voice
and how it murmurs
in whispers and tremors
about what it loved and lost
and lost and lost
and loved still
Saturday, 19 December 2015
Oranges
So, Saturday..cold and frigid and sunless. The temperatures are dropping faster than my morals and we're running out of fun things to do.
Our town is in a somewhat hilly region and it was decided we'd beat the winters by injecting a bit of vitamin C into our lives (a placebo to vitamin S probably)
So away we went to an orange orchard to pick oranges.
hundreds of trees, drooping to the ground with swollen oranges is enough to make you forget you've been living in a sunless city.
It was beautiful alright, I didn't know if we should busy ourselves with picking oranges or eating them. I did both, more of the latter, but man was it a joyous sight.
I mean trees, so many wonderful trees, with typically citrusy leaves that emanates the smell of winters, redolent of warm sunshine on frozen terraces.
And then oranges, like minuscule edible orange Suns, hanging low with juicy abundance. It makes your heart sing..but of course nothing, absolutely nothing can make you forget that it's cold..so cold, that plucking oranges was almost impossible with fingers that felt they'd suffered rigor Mortis--and of course the fact that all hands were liberally suffused with orange juice from previous peelings and greedy eatings didn't help our case..and oh, it started raining too, but what of it, I've enough loot to last me this winter.
Friday, 18 December 2015
ugh this and that
My VPN has been giving me a whole lot of trouble, and staying connected for anything longer than five minutes is a miracle.
My drawing is going at snail pace and it doesn't help that I'm going to be stuck with a weekend where I'll neither have the time, nor the mental peace to draw. Oh well, I was supposed to give my neck a rest for a month, so I guess this kind of rest might help.
As it is I can't draw for long hours at a stretch and that's a bit annoying.
Also false alarm, I'm shifting to Shanghai instead of what I'd previously thought. Still same difference.
All of a sudden it's become so difficult to put my thoughts out on a blank space. Is it odd, that some days I can't have enough to keep talking about, and some days I draw a blank.
I had a story brewing, and now it doesn't feel good enough to write.. need to reboot my senses.
My drawing is going at snail pace and it doesn't help that I'm going to be stuck with a weekend where I'll neither have the time, nor the mental peace to draw. Oh well, I was supposed to give my neck a rest for a month, so I guess this kind of rest might help.
As it is I can't draw for long hours at a stretch and that's a bit annoying.
Also false alarm, I'm shifting to Shanghai instead of what I'd previously thought. Still same difference.
All of a sudden it's become so difficult to put my thoughts out on a blank space. Is it odd, that some days I can't have enough to keep talking about, and some days I draw a blank.
I had a story brewing, and now it doesn't feel good enough to write.. need to reboot my senses.
Wednesday, 16 December 2015
sunshine and updates
In a miraculous twist of events, we have sunshine today. I thought our town had terraformed to become more vampire friendly, but as luck would have it, there was sun, there was shine and there was warmth. I mean it looks warm from the coziness of your room, but if you step out it's freezing cold, but the point is that there were shadow formations today.
I never thought I'd ever be this happy to see a sunny day, but I am. I've placed my house plants in our balcony so they can drink up all the sun they want, and get on about their chlorophyll manufacturing business.
I've started a new drawing, and it's going to take me days to finish, it's not complicated, just a bit tedious. Needs layers upon layers of detailing.
Just when I thought I'm getting comfortable in our new house, news is we have to shift again, and this time to the capital city of this country. I have an aversion for big cities and this is getting me a bit annoyed. The shift is due early next year, probably by March, so that's kinda ugh.
The only silver lining is that home will be only six aeroplane hours away.
Ovens start off as a bit finicky, but as you bake and use it more often, you end up getting used to and learn its temperature habits. A few baking attempts should about set things right.
We get no Tv here, because we haven't subscribed to any channels yet, and I don't think we will, but I've started watching fargo season 2 after Mr. Robot. I've launched an all out crusade against time by sponging series and movies and currently downloading bates motel.
In life I'm not a very positive person, nor completely negative. I prepare for the worst always, and have an oddly cynical streak. It's like, everything becomes a bit tedious because I'm unable to put off things (even when they can be) for even a short while. I keep thinking how much relaxed I'd feel in the aftermath of completed chores or whatever that had to be done, but it's never that way. I find more things to bother me.
I've been off tea and coffee for almost two months. Not of my own volition, but because I was terribly sick and caffeine along with certain other food items was a gross No No. Let's see, I'll probably start drinking and eating everything that I wasn't supposed to from next month. Maybe even celebrate my birthday again, just so I can eat my birthday cake. :)
The only good outcome from staying off these drinks and foods was that I dropped a lot of weight that was primarily composed of sugar-basically fat..so wow.. I didn't realize how much sugar we keep stuffing into our bodies cuz of our caffeine addictions.
I think, I'll be done with the audiobook by the time I finish a couple more drawings. After that, let's see.
My drawing demands completion, and in between drying layers, I'll be transfixed..refreshing, loving.
I never thought I'd ever be this happy to see a sunny day, but I am. I've placed my house plants in our balcony so they can drink up all the sun they want, and get on about their chlorophyll manufacturing business.
I've started a new drawing, and it's going to take me days to finish, it's not complicated, just a bit tedious. Needs layers upon layers of detailing.
Just when I thought I'm getting comfortable in our new house, news is we have to shift again, and this time to the capital city of this country. I have an aversion for big cities and this is getting me a bit annoyed. The shift is due early next year, probably by March, so that's kinda ugh.
The only silver lining is that home will be only six aeroplane hours away.
Ovens start off as a bit finicky, but as you bake and use it more often, you end up getting used to and learn its temperature habits. A few baking attempts should about set things right.
We get no Tv here, because we haven't subscribed to any channels yet, and I don't think we will, but I've started watching fargo season 2 after Mr. Robot. I've launched an all out crusade against time by sponging series and movies and currently downloading bates motel.
In life I'm not a very positive person, nor completely negative. I prepare for the worst always, and have an oddly cynical streak. It's like, everything becomes a bit tedious because I'm unable to put off things (even when they can be) for even a short while. I keep thinking how much relaxed I'd feel in the aftermath of completed chores or whatever that had to be done, but it's never that way. I find more things to bother me.
I've been off tea and coffee for almost two months. Not of my own volition, but because I was terribly sick and caffeine along with certain other food items was a gross No No. Let's see, I'll probably start drinking and eating everything that I wasn't supposed to from next month. Maybe even celebrate my birthday again, just so I can eat my birthday cake. :)
The only good outcome from staying off these drinks and foods was that I dropped a lot of weight that was primarily composed of sugar-basically fat..so wow.. I didn't realize how much sugar we keep stuffing into our bodies cuz of our caffeine addictions.
I think, I'll be done with the audiobook by the time I finish a couple more drawings. After that, let's see.
My drawing demands completion, and in between drying layers, I'll be transfixed..refreshing, loving.
Tuesday, 15 December 2015
--\-
Here I am, in a state of rapture
willingly ensconced. enshrined. entombed.
forever a resident under your skin
your voices stuck in my head
I've absorbed you all in.
willingly ensconced. enshrined. entombed.
forever a resident under your skin
your voices stuck in my head
I've absorbed you all in.
Monday, 14 December 2015
vacuum choke slam
It's been a while since I saw the stars or the moon or even the blinking lights of an aeroplane passing by. It's been a while since I looked up, stared and stared at the sky. Partially because it's too cold to step out at night, maybe because the sky looks dull from all the blazing city lights, or perhaps the clouds are to blame. They stay frozen, in a state of tundra..hiding all that needs to be seen.
When I want to see the sky, I peer out my window and see a stream of unbearable skyline. A glitzy twinkle of neons and lasers, clouds above and fairy light cables, entwined around rooftops, terrace gardens and restaurant tables. My horizon soiled with concrete skyscrapers; I don't know where the clouds disappear and buildings start.
I stare out for five minutes, maybe ten and return into an echoless room to know it's been only two minutes. Start collecting pieces of the day, and stuff into a bottomless sack of emptiness. Plucking out pieces from a jigsaw puzzle, that's hardly a puzzle, just torn out pages mundane, rearranged to look baffling.
So into the bottomless sack I shove in my daily broodings, musings, stories and hobbies. Movies I've watched, youtube videos played, music heard, people stalked, and that's hardly the end of my day. I stuff the sack with more information..about food I ate, things I baked, art I made and some words of hate.
I stuff into this emptiness all the endless ways I've pretended to fend off voids, and make believe tricks to assume, I do not live inside a vacuum. I try to saturate this sack with all the knowledge I process everyday, news, articles and things people say. The wanton sack stays empty, no matter what I put, would it make a difference, if I didn't give it as much as a second look? But how can that be, I've something to prove to me..or perhaps it gives me a reason to be condescending.
My bottomless sack is better than yours..even though they're still empty.
Don't you see, how my ashes will be better, my rust bespeckled with stardust, my bones ivory and my hair a silken cloth.
I can blaze in the knowledge of my emptiness, enlightened with never a real smile. Always aware when I laugh and confused if I've a face or a facade.
When I want to see the sky, I peer out my window and see a stream of unbearable skyline. A glitzy twinkle of neons and lasers, clouds above and fairy light cables, entwined around rooftops, terrace gardens and restaurant tables. My horizon soiled with concrete skyscrapers; I don't know where the clouds disappear and buildings start.
I stare out for five minutes, maybe ten and return into an echoless room to know it's been only two minutes. Start collecting pieces of the day, and stuff into a bottomless sack of emptiness. Plucking out pieces from a jigsaw puzzle, that's hardly a puzzle, just torn out pages mundane, rearranged to look baffling.
So into the bottomless sack I shove in my daily broodings, musings, stories and hobbies. Movies I've watched, youtube videos played, music heard, people stalked, and that's hardly the end of my day. I stuff the sack with more information..about food I ate, things I baked, art I made and some words of hate.
I stuff into this emptiness all the endless ways I've pretended to fend off voids, and make believe tricks to assume, I do not live inside a vacuum. I try to saturate this sack with all the knowledge I process everyday, news, articles and things people say. The wanton sack stays empty, no matter what I put, would it make a difference, if I didn't give it as much as a second look? But how can that be, I've something to prove to me..or perhaps it gives me a reason to be condescending.
My bottomless sack is better than yours..even though they're still empty.
Don't you see, how my ashes will be better, my rust bespeckled with stardust, my bones ivory and my hair a silken cloth.
I can blaze in the knowledge of my emptiness, enlightened with never a real smile. Always aware when I laugh and confused if I've a face or a facade.
some dreams some updates and oh I love you.
Talking about dreams
I was fishing in a sinkhole with a fishing rod that didn't make much sense. It had an elastic quality to it and no matter how much I pulled, it kept stretching into a neverend. It didn't help that it was fluorescent orange in colour, and as I pulled at it for what seemed like an eternity, there came a fish attached to its hook. It was a big fish, almost five feet, and strangely it wasn't trying to wrench itself free.. It stayed stuck there, hook in its mouth, calmer than patience, just stayed still. It was alive, I could see its gills expand and contract, but the fish wasn't particularly eager to live.
It scared me so, I threw away the fishing rod, and the fish just lied there, staring in space. Its preservation instincts weren't having a field day.
It was creepy and sad and it woke me up, of course it was 7:00 am.
_________________________________________________________________
Updates:
So I binge watched Mr. Robot. Loved how it felt like a cyber punk version of fight club. The whole series felt like I were watching it on a rusted computer screen..and that made it even better.
I've been listening to a lot of type O negative, and there's no reason for me not to.
--about short term disappearing acts--
I'll make sure to fill all voids with scrolls upon scrolls of digital papyrus, filled with readable hieroglyphics.
I've to update my tumblr, and get cracking on it really, maybe start writing a bit there. Not a lot, maybe something like tweets. I mean it stays vacant when I'm not drawing, and it makes me sad.
I was fishing in a sinkhole with a fishing rod that didn't make much sense. It had an elastic quality to it and no matter how much I pulled, it kept stretching into a neverend. It didn't help that it was fluorescent orange in colour, and as I pulled at it for what seemed like an eternity, there came a fish attached to its hook. It was a big fish, almost five feet, and strangely it wasn't trying to wrench itself free.. It stayed stuck there, hook in its mouth, calmer than patience, just stayed still. It was alive, I could see its gills expand and contract, but the fish wasn't particularly eager to live.
It scared me so, I threw away the fishing rod, and the fish just lied there, staring in space. Its preservation instincts weren't having a field day.
It was creepy and sad and it woke me up, of course it was 7:00 am.
_________________________________________________________________
Updates:
So I binge watched Mr. Robot. Loved how it felt like a cyber punk version of fight club. The whole series felt like I were watching it on a rusted computer screen..and that made it even better.
I've been listening to a lot of type O negative, and there's no reason for me not to.
--about short term disappearing acts--
I'll make sure to fill all voids with scrolls upon scrolls of digital papyrus, filled with readable hieroglyphics.
I've to update my tumblr, and get cracking on it really, maybe start writing a bit there. Not a lot, maybe something like tweets. I mean it stays vacant when I'm not drawing, and it makes me sad.
Lily life (morning)
Morning lilies in my room
with such eagerness did they bloom
do they not know
eternity does not beckon
with what ambitious thoughts
did they spread their petals?
or perhaps they thought
they could masquerade as wings
and fly away?
alas! Submerged in water
they live in a glass jar
doomed to wither in my room
diffusing it with celestial perfume
Friday, 11 December 2015
cat
I didn't think I'd want to talk about it because it's unbearably sad, but perhaps I should..maybe that'd turn the course of this universe and something miraculous might happen.
The thing is, my cat has disappeared. He left the house the same day I left for China, and he's not come home since.
He's never gone for this long, and usually returns home after his daily hunting spree. It's easy to lure him with his favourite cat snack, but not this time.
He's been spotted by a lot of people, and is apparently doing well, and has adopted a small orphan family for his own, and reigns as their alpha male..but why? why did Mr. Bilu have to leave? sure his world turned upside down after my brothers marriage, but that's no reason to leave home. A lot of furniture in his room was replaced with marital lodgings, and that's a flimsy excuse to leave if any. He'd have gotten himself a warmer bed and another person to take care of him.
My mother was so depressed, she'd leave the house every day and carry all his cat snacks and wander on the roads to find him..but no!
A couple of kids spotted him a few times, and have the same thing to report. He's got a different family of assorted kitten and young ones.
Whats on earth is he eating? where is he sleeping? I don't know if I should cry or feel happy for him?
My brother is resolved to find him and in his own words "redomesticate the fuck out of him"..but that's hardly possible. Maybe he's happier with fellow felines, or could be he's just going through a phase and will come back.
I don't know. :(
The thing is, my cat has disappeared. He left the house the same day I left for China, and he's not come home since.
He's never gone for this long, and usually returns home after his daily hunting spree. It's easy to lure him with his favourite cat snack, but not this time.
He's been spotted by a lot of people, and is apparently doing well, and has adopted a small orphan family for his own, and reigns as their alpha male..but why? why did Mr. Bilu have to leave? sure his world turned upside down after my brothers marriage, but that's no reason to leave home. A lot of furniture in his room was replaced with marital lodgings, and that's a flimsy excuse to leave if any. He'd have gotten himself a warmer bed and another person to take care of him.
My mother was so depressed, she'd leave the house every day and carry all his cat snacks and wander on the roads to find him..but no!
A couple of kids spotted him a few times, and have the same thing to report. He's got a different family of assorted kitten and young ones.
Whats on earth is he eating? where is he sleeping? I don't know if I should cry or feel happy for him?
My brother is resolved to find him and in his own words "redomesticate the fuck out of him"..but that's hardly possible. Maybe he's happier with fellow felines, or could be he's just going through a phase and will come back.
I don't know. :(
Morning musings
I love this imagery of space dinosaurs. So reminiscent of Calvins spaced out classroom episodes, where he'd conjure fantastical images of a T-Rex or was it velociraptor flying a spacecraft.
I don't know how to implement that thought in my current drawing, but by the gods I'm going to draw a triceratops jettisoning through the Orion on starlight fleet dinosaur enterprise.
Also I'm kinda hating on feedly. I somehow don't like the interface, and though it's cool when I want to check insta and poems, it doesn't serve me too well with tumblr content. Somehow I don't like reading my favorite words served so haphazardly. I mean the current stuff doesn't load. Sometimes I feel like it doesn't refresh the content, even though I know there's something new out up already.
I've to do something about it. Soon! I can't labour around an app looking for posts I know exist. So yeah, I'll do something about that.
What else? Ugh, weekend soon. Why?
Thursday, 10 December 2015
Dino dilemma
I've yet to finish this dinosaur and I already feel like I need to do something totally idiotic to it. I don't know what. I mean it can't just stay as is.
I'd earlier thought of making a full bodied T-Rex and putting it in a jungle, but I've done the jungle bit with my velociraptor and pterodactyl.
Then I thought of putting it in a mirror, but decided against it, maybe I want to reserve that for another dinosaur.
Thinking of adding something that doesn't belong with a T- rex at all.
Plumage? Colours? Something half witted and silly? Something extravagant and stupidly detailed? Or should this just be? I'd still have to put it in a frame.
I started drawing this without any thought. And ended up with this, and now I am stuck.
Maybe I can draw its skull, like a reference skull..of course it'd be a fossil, like a 'then' and 'now' kinda thing.
Something to show the relevance of time.
Arghh, this won't let me sleep tonight.
Wednesday, 9 December 2015
Silence
In an immaculate box
of white sanitary walls
dwells a cacophony of silence
the only sounds that're ever heard
are of objects inanimate
when utensils clang
or ac's hum
or arrangement of plates
of knife on chopping boards
sudden creaks of wooden floors
or laughter from tv
on a table for four
there sits a single entity
chewing in silence
watching in silence
washing a plate for one
squinting at this realm of delusional solitude
breathing slow,
lest there be palpitations
and unreasonable heartburn
when you wish for peace
pretty please
you could be blessed
with so much solace
you'd have nothing to say
to this loneliness
How to kill a spider
As creepy as spiders are, it's rarely ever a good idea to kill them. Mostly because you can never differentiate between a male spider and a female spider. Killing a male spider is okay, but if you ever kill a female spider, chances are it's carrying hundreds of microscopic eggs, that get stuck to your shoes. 
Something like this. Got this picture off google.
Spiders are hardy creatures and the eggs will hatch, no matter what the weather condition. They'll hatch, and they'll grow and you'd have unknowingly infested your house with hundreds of baby spiders that are almost impossible to spot.
Spiders grow everywhere. In your cars, super bazaars, walls, groceries. Cracks of walls, baby cribs, bathrooms, hidden in brooms.
You don't even realize it that you're the one responsible for bringing these monstrosities home.
Spiders are complicated, and if you ever kill them, it's always a better idea to burn them, instead of squishing them under your shoes.
You can make your own homemade flamethrower by simply using a lighter and a deodorant you don't like. Spray the deo on the lighter flare in the trajectory of your spider, and voila, the creature is burnt to a crisp with no future generations to avenge its crematory murder. (Just be careful when you do this) It's tried and tested.
Dream
This ain't a dream log, I hardly ever write about my dreams and mostly don't remember them, but this one stuck.
It stuck partially because it was not as easy to forget and partially because I've been trying to analyze it since morning.
The Crux of it was that my hands didn't feel the same. There wasn't any pain, but my fingers felt odd, and I pressed each finger hard against the pad of my thumb, only to realize there were needles in each of them. So I started pulling them out, one by one. There wasn't any blood. No pain, just gentle relief, and I pulled out exactly hundred needles out of my right hand.
They were invisible, but when I started pulling them out, they were there.
I kept placing all the needles on a table.
That's all I remember, but it didn't feel as gross in my dream as it feels writing about it.
Tuesday, 8 December 2015
letter
Maybe I want to read a sappy letter
because I just blitzkrieged
with refresh bombs
steadfast every two minutes
until I saw the hours go by
from 8 to 13
maybe I want to cry
and laugh
chuckle and smile
nod a secret nod
my memory lane
is sacredly defiled
with a collage
that's glued together
with double sided tapes
of doomed desires
and anxious pains
of languishing words
left unspoken in blank space
did you know you buried something
that deserved to roam unrestrained
a letter in tears then
apology and anger
self loathing is a must
but it's lost on narcissists
a sappy letter perhaps
full of nice things
wild stories
where I can see yourself
melt into words
that one thing, I so much love
because I just blitzkrieged
with refresh bombs
steadfast every two minutes
until I saw the hours go by
from 8 to 13
maybe I want to cry
and laugh
chuckle and smile
nod a secret nod
my memory lane
is sacredly defiled
with a collage
that's glued together
with double sided tapes
of doomed desires
and anxious pains
of languishing words
left unspoken in blank space
did you know you buried something
that deserved to roam unrestrained
a letter in tears then
apology and anger
self loathing is a must
but it's lost on narcissists
a sappy letter perhaps
full of nice things
wild stories
where I can see yourself
melt into words
that one thing, I so much love
songs from the sea
... 'the fish never want to see the sun'
The sea relentlessly hugged the shore in a symphony of crashing waves, kissing the salt soaked sand, washing over it tirelessly. Picture perfect blue each morning, the beach was a tar black enigma at night outlined with faint white waves, that devotedly died each time they hit the sandy shores.
scrape, scrape 'grunt, phew' scrape, went the little fishing boat as it was slowly pushed into the pitch dark night waters of the midnight sea.
'grrunt.grrunt. phew. Just a little more. phew' the fisherman murmured to himself, as he pushed his little fishing boat, till it hit the waves. 'A little more' and he pushed it again. He could feel the sea wrapping around his knees, it was almost to his waist, when his boat miraculously steadied itself afloat. 'That's a good girl then', he smiled and heaved himself onto his wooden livelihood, and as effortless as breathing he started paddling, steering his little boat into deeper waters.
It was a full moon night, and as he steered further away from the shore, he knew the sand would glint like a million diamonds under the satellite. This picturesque, almost dreamy landscape that could've inspired an artist one too many, was to him another night, indistinguishable from a thousand other starlit nights.
He knew this routine well enough to repeat it in his sleep, hell, he could do it from his grave. Each night he'd set off on his little boat, equipped with a net, older than time itself and a new bottle of fermented coconut water. The net by the looks of it, had been mended several times with an unskilled hand, but it worked- 'it catches enough fish, to get me by. Some I eat, some I sell and the rest I give away. Life is good. It could be better, but what do I need more in this small village. I feel content, even if a little lonely, and for that I have this', he smiled at his bottle of fermented coconut water, and chugged it, coughed a little, and drank some more. 'There's no purpose, I know, but I don't need purpose in my life to feel content. What purpose do fish have? Just swim, and feed and make more fish and get caught in some net?. haha', he mused, laughed and continued paddling to where waters got impossibly darker.
It was the deeper part of ocean, where he'd often struck gold with several schools of little fish, and sometimes renegade bigger ones too.
The sea grows eerily calm when you feel yourself getting closer to the horizon, and as the fisherman looked up at the cloudless sky, he felt like it was mismatched with the night. Sure there were stars, a thousand of them; it felt like the sky was a dark village with a single road paved with glitter, and they were falling? 'shooting stars, so many today. That's new. Maybe it's a good omen'.
He held up his bottle and peered at the star studded sky through its thick soda glass, and laughed. 'The only worthwhile thing I know in my life apart from fishing is making fermented water', he guffawed, and with one seasoned hand stroke flung his net into the inky depths, and sat and waited. Just like every night..and then for a fraction of a fraction of existence, he sensed a smell. A smell strange to the sea, he smelled a flower, and just like that, it was gone. 'What on earth' he murmured annoyed. 'This is one of those irregular moments that aren't supposed to happen. Maybe I drank too much'. He swished around his bottle and drank some more, and pulled back his net. 'huh, no catch. the fish are sleeping, haha. They found a purpose I guess.' He inhaled in deep again, same old salt breeze, no flowers.
'Let's go a bit to the left, I know they're biting there, my favourite hotspot', and he paddled a little more. Thankfully, the breeze was favourable and in five minutes he was ready to cast his net again, when there it was again. This time more pronounced, a faint whiff of a whisper of a flower, like a gentle flap to his senses. 'Flowers, why do I smell flowers in this godforsaken sea? I'm supposed to smell the sea, the salt and fish', but there it was again, like a streak of light and suddenly he saw something.
He stared hard, the flowers he felt were all around him, but there were no flowers, nothing..except his little boat, rocking gently in vast open darkness and a flash of light swimming near his boat. 'Is that a lightbulb? but why is it still glowing?god? is it swimming? I've had too much to drink' he stared at it and wrapped himself in the exotic sweet scent of flowers that now surrounded him.
The little glare of luminosity swam ferociously. It was a rich golden blush, almost an incandescent orange and looked like a careless drop of sun had taken to the sea.
'What on earth is this? Is this why I smell flowers?', and in a blink of thought he spread out his net.
His trained ears knew what those splashing sounds meant, he chuckled to himself. 'looks like I've caught the little sunshine'.
He pulled it out, and saw the little thing thrashing painfully in his ancient net. He brought it closer to his face to inspect it, and at that moment he felt like he was standing in a rich forest of luxurious blooms. 'By the heavens, what are you?' he murmured. 'You glow brighter than all the bulbs, and smell like heavenly roses. Won't you make a neat little pet, in my tiny bowl. You can glow all you want for me, and mask the stench of fermented coconut water. Looks like you've found your purpose in life—to make me happy.'
'My purpose in life is to be free', the fish murmured and for a second, the fisherman almost dropped his net into the sea.
'you talk? or am I drunk?'
'I talk, but I shan't if you put me in a bowl. neither will I glow, nor smell of flowers. Please let me go.' pleaded the fish in a faint jangle that sounded like waves.
'If you talk, lightbulb fish, I'm sure you can sing. Sing me a song and I'll think of letting you go. If you don't, you can stay in this net and die' the fisherman leered at the little fish, licked his lips and took a big swig from his bottle. 'go on, sing then'
And the fish sang. It sang of the colourful corals, and the seaweeds. Of rainbow coloured conches and giant crabs. Of rocks buried deep in the sea, and thousand year old krakens. It sang till it could sing no more.
'please let me go now. I sang as you wanted. Please set me free'
'What's in it for me? If I set you free, what do I get? will you sing me a song every night?'
'No, I cannot do that.' the fish sobbed and pleaded the fisherman to set it free.
'On one condition' the fisherman said licking his lips greedily. 'you sing for me every night. If you miss even a single day, I'll put the word out for a glowing fish, and it won't be difficult for fishermen to hunt you down. You're not that difficult to miss. Sing for me each night and I will maybe spare you.'
'No, please no. I sang as you asked. Please let me go'
'make a choice, fish. Either I put you in a little bowl, or you sing. What'll it be.'
'Come at the same hour each night, and I promise to meet you here and sing' wept the fish.
'tomorrow then', said the fisherman lowering his net, 'if you don't show up, I'll make sure you end up on a plate'
The fisherman had found a purpose in his life, created his own little secret. each night he'd stay surrounded by the smell of flowers in pitch dark seas, and hear the fish sing. Its voice like lilting raindrops falling upon the ocean.
Each night, he'd paddle himself to the same place, and spend hours, listening to the songs of deep ocean pearl blankets, gentle sea snakes, thriving living fossils, rebellious anemones.
Each night the songs got sadder, but he threatened and urged the fish to sing till it was daybreak.
'Sing me another song, or I have my net you know'
and the fish sang, mournful, jaded, morose, monotonous, cheerless.
From full moon to full moon. It happened over a hundred nights, when the fish told the fisherman it would sing no more.
'I'm tired and unhappy. I cannot sing for you anymore, because I don't want to. It's been a hundred nights, and I want to be free'
'but you are free' laughed the fisherman, gulping the last of his fermented coconut water, staring at the orange sky. 'see, it's morning, and soon you'll swim away. You're free'
'But I'll have to come back at night and sing again. That's not free. I want to sing when I want'.
'Do you want me to tell the world about you, stupid fish? I'll come again at night, till then you're free'. The fisherman made his way back to the shore, humming to himself, the same tune he'd just heard, of a sea cucumber that fell in love with the sea bed.
He returned to the sea at night, and waited for the little fish. he waited for an hour, and waited till he'd finished the contents of his bottle. 'where are you little', fish he shouted. 'I want to smell flowers in the sea and hear your voice. Come out, or I'll have you hunted'. Hours passed by. The night faded into bright streaks in the sky. Stars disappeared.
The fisherman was panicking now. 'where are you fish? you'd better not have cheated and broken your promise. I'll tell the world of you, and they'll hunt you down. come out fish. sing me a song' his voice grew hoarse and desperate.
He inhaled hysterically. 'flowers, my flowers. I can't smell them. The sea is getting blue, and you're not here. Do you not feel it with me? your purpose in life? how could you abandon me? I've nothing to live for. Come to me, sing a song, let me smell you'. he cried as he spat each word. Breathless with tears, he screamed till he could all but croak 'don't leave me fish...smell..sing..flowers..I beg you...what'll I live for?'
He didn't remember when he slept, but when he woke up, he was still in his fishing boat, and the skies were starlit again. Parched, hungry yet hopeful, he waited. 'I know you'll come tonight fish. what else will you do?' but there was nothing. He was tired, hungry, thirsty and he didn't have the strength to paddle back to the shore, but somehow he did.
Night after night, for over a hundred nights, from full moon to full moon, he took his fishing boat to the same spot, to smell flowers, to hear a song, but each night all he ever did was cry, and shout, and throw curses in the air. Beseeching, threatening, begging the fish to come back.
He never smelled the flowers, never heard another song.
His misery had reduced him to a thinning shadow, too weak to take his boat into the waters, he'd beg every fisherman to look for his glowing fish that smelled like full blooms, it sings, he'd say.
He'd torn at his hair in anguish, beaten himself out of frustration, and sobbed himself to sleep each night.
His eyes had sunk into the hollows of his sockets, his ribs now protruding, he could barely walk. He was reduced to the local freak show, of the scary skeletal lunatic, pleading everyone to look for his fish.
'the sea will drive you mad' they'd say. ' No fish looks like a sun, they hate the sun. They know they'd die if they ever saw the sun' they'd say.
--()--/
You're a splendid win dahling..but now my brain is fried and I'm going to write, whatever comes to mind..making art out of randomness and despair..for in trenches of wars gone stalemate since eons—there are gardens, dainty flowers, amidst decaying machines, empty shells of broken bombs and half witted pardons.
Roses of wrath or besotted thorns, and trees of heart shaped cherries (zero calories) they are lush, abrush with exotic dew of glinting declarations..Exhaling whispers and breathe in deep.. new leather!!
Sitting and chillin' in my new rippin' jeep
making out with my dude
he'd kissed me in his dreams
and it wasn't kinda rude
and then comes a shot
a silver bullet through his chest
it tore out his heart
and snuck in through my skin
Back to that garden, cherries and blooms and glints of shiny skulls that sprout lilies. Inhale deep
Revamping, relaxing, relapsing, revamping.
Monday, 7 December 2015
Light to light
I've mended a broken torch
now I shine it in binary
like a secret morse code
at a bright light house
sometimes I hold up a lighter
and let it flicker
in response to a halogen,
glowing like a reflection
an echo from a mirrored surface
that tiptoes its way
into a glimmering screen
In between all that
is a passage of time
a thin long line
a gallery of voids
that feeds on empty insides
a cavity spilling with nothingness
dark alley that swallows any light
perhaps it needs a good blaze
but then everything would be bright
no halogen, no flicker of light
could ever shine
through a burning maze
so the darkness stays
devouring its insides.
Hate updates
The only reason to love Mondays is because everyone hates it..but not me. No siree. I've no ache for Monday's. Tuesday..now that's a day worth hating.
What's also worth hating is the fact that I've not been able to set up my study area the way I'd want it. The table's too small to fit my eccentricities. I'll have to Japan my way out of getting used to this tiny space. I don't like how this room pesters me to make everything compact, but what can a gal do? Maybe I'll get used to it, maybe I'll pretend to love it, maybe I'll always hate it, but still get around to working on it. I think it's just a matter of time. I'm not the one to hate changes, but I can be extremely fussy, and I don't want to change that about myself.
Slowly rebuilding my life here, after three months of absence, I'd almost forgotten how to survive this country. But these are tiny woes, little cribs and minuscule pain points, hardly the stuff of good blogs (I'd like to think it's a good blog)
Why does ranting and reading rants feel so good? Not to mention pretty poetry and absorbing stories, like fragrant petals on frozen dull days.
Perhaps there's some solace in the fact that everyone's miserable, and it's pretty awful to seek happiness in misery, but then we're human beings, and tend to be complicated. So awful or not, it's good to see others join chorus in your misery.
I mean, why? I can't even keep my gojira on the table. :(
Saturday, 5 December 2015
Hate on weekends
It's the weekend! the slow, monotonous one way traffic to life.
It's a Saturday, the perfect day to introspect your overgrowing pile of failures and regrets.
Oh no, they keep growing everyday. Small things like slipping on spilled water on your polished pristine glass reflecting tiles to bigger ones, like, well they're big..with consequences.
So yeah, introspect while wading through a quagmire of cringeworthy thoughts, and mistakes and remnants of regrets that keep popping up like old ad jingles at random moments on any odd day.
Well, silver lining of the day..I saw something. A face, a pair of eyes, an abstraction of all my desires and sigh.
The hate is strong today. I'm getting engulfed by the idiot box tetra pack limits of bastard internet abominations that're now called applications or apps and to make matters worse I've got a water dispenser, a dish dryer and a kitchen chimney that are made up of touch screen blasphemy. I don't want touch screens goddamit. They don't even work that well, and hell no, I hate the neon blue and red lights that subtly shimmy across the sleek black surfaces.
Gimme nobs to fiddle, buttons to push and lever to pull.
Touch screens can go to hell along with apps.
Seriously apps..what the fuck? You don't tell me how I should surf the Internet and screw your idiotic ads. You can pretend to know all about me and how I think and what I need, but the joke's on you..cuz I've been feeding you a bunch of lies.
Friday, 4 December 2015
Updates
My current life is a long list of pending stuff. I've a list, and I haven't checked any empty boxes. I intend to, yes, but it's only been a few days and I'm changing gears slowly.
But here's an upto date account (sorta) of stuff I'm doing.
Current music: author and punisher's new album called 'Melk en honing'. It's industrial doom and uncomfortable and I like it. Also listening to Jaga Jazzist only because is so different, and melodious.
Currently watching: pending south park season 19
Currently downloading: mr. Robot. Because..you know why.
Currently reading: absolutely nothing. I don't know what to read right now. Open to suggestions. Not too many, but one single book that I must must read.
I was thinking the other day, how caught up I was in stuff the last three months that I just didn't give myself time to read, and not having my fingers buried in molding pages of a book, makes me feel all sorts of empty.
Currently drawing: nothing! :( . I've been advised to lay off inking papers for a month. A month sounds ridiculous. I'll probably start scribbling in a week. How can I not?
Currently writing: nothing! :( except this blog. And some other random words in a moleskine, but other than that I've not picked up my pen for some serious word on paper immersion.
Things I gotta do. : start writing on my food blog. I just kinda broke the momentum and lost interest cuz I was wallowing in sads, but you know, you gotta pull the reins and steer your horses.
Start cooking and baking with a vengeance. It'll start sometime next week, I know it.
Read, read, read..until words pour out of my ears. And then read some more.
Write more poems..and it feels blank to not see some poetry..I thought I'd read a new one everyday. :(
Start drawing. Yes. I've to pick up where I left off, and draw.
Ah, what else..? I want to know stuff. Tell me nice things. Anything.
Thursday, 3 December 2015
New House etc
Ho hum. Freezing in another timezone, and recuperating slowly. Yes I'd been pretty sick last month, and haven't fully recovered, but that's another story for another day.
It's a technicolor cave, I can tell you that much.
Today, it's about getting used to a new house, new rooms, new kitchen and a totally new locality.
It's only been a few days, and I'm still getting used to the idea of a new house and figuring myself around it. I still don't know where most of my stuff is, and I'm not all that eager to find out so soon.
The sounds here are different, street noises are different too.
Ah yes, there's a wonderful kotatsu in the living room, instead of a regular table..so that's a big plus.
Internet works fine, and I only realized yesterday that it's attached to the biggest mall in the city. So yeah, everything is a bit different, but I'm not complaining.
I want to write so much more, but my fingers are freezing.
Rage against 7am
Death to 7am. No, not a metaphorical death, but a real death. The kind of death that blimps this time out of history, out of existence, out of misery. Stupid 7am. I wish the clocks would melt before they struck seven, I wish my eyelids could stay sewed with sleep and never bother about opening up like those stupid dolls the moment the hour hand hits 7am.
It's a ghastly time to be awake, no matter what the timezone. Hell has frozen over in this part of the world, but somehow 7am doesn't give a flying rats ass. My nemesis, mortal enemy, morning ache.
I don't want to be up at seven, and stare through blankets, half squinting, half wishing I was asleep. My feet wrapped in warmth, that took me all night to conjure, and now must I sigh and cast away my nightly armour and step into cold morning shoes, just cuz it's 7am? Hell no.
Ah, but try as I might, each morning, regular as a clockwork, something inside me jolts me awake and each time it's 7am.
We can never be friends seven. You stupid odd number.
Wednesday, 2 December 2015
Brain decals and wallpaper thoughts
I could make a collage
and stick pictures of interest
or take a knife/scissors
and make a mesh
snip out some pics
Glue it with the rest
staple together some sighs
stitch in wishful thoughts
paste that tune I was humming
or a little moan that came out
tie it together into a thought bubble
that endlessly ran the images
of your face
and clip in your voice note
that I tried each night
to imitate
file everything in a phantom bookcase
invisible, surreal, abstract and mine
a wink, a squint, a blink, a smile.
Seconds before swimming 
Moments before diving Lost times and making up for them.
Feels like I could make a tiny encyclopedia of all the things I did, and didn't write. Would you read an encyclopedic account; alphabetically A to Z?
Pick out the one with a C and it'd be a small documentation on catharsis and cats. Or a T, that'd tell you about turbulence, tears, travel and tea. How about an S? Flip it's pages and it's about sunning, scuba, swimming, sleep and sickness.
I could attach a little handy book on sleep, minus the dreams. What do I even remember of my dreams? Not much, because I don't know for sure what times I really fell asleep and woke up. Waking moments and sleep merged like one of those horizons I'd taken to staring, while holidaying on a godforsaken (gorgeous) island in the middle of nowhere.
Pick out a W, and its a chronological account on wedding and winter. Winter might not have come some places, but it's right here under my feet, where I am. The temperatures though not as frigid as a frozen heart, are still bone chilling.
If you're not going to find a sepulcher of warm layers of duvets and woollens, I suggest the next best option is to find a scorching shroud of inexhaustible boundless love..for if you pick out D, dear darling, you'd read an endless account on dementia, devotion, deranged divinity.. And then an L, because you know it's all about love.
Friday, 13 November 2015
I love potatoes
I read enthusiasm as euthenasia, and now I'm wondering if universe is throwing subtexts at my life.
Or am I confusing dyslexia with divine intervention.
But wasn't I hoping for divine intervention to come as a ruinous meteor shower or a sinkhole in the heart of earth?Or even a sudden soul freezing cooling of the planet ?
Alas..this isn't the case of some uncalled divine intervention, or even some universal subtexts. I could delude myself with an exotic Freudian theory but nay..it's just moi.
Something akin to slip of the tongue..it's merely a slip of the iris? Or perhaps my nerve cells and neurons have stopped cooperating. Ah, could it be my grey cells are digging themselves a grave?
Wednesday, 11 November 2015
--
What do you do when wifi is down and radio silence is pushed down your throat? For how long? Heaven knows.
Sigh!!
Monday, 9 November 2015
Hell to symmetry
Oh, hell to this poetic symmetry, all hell to rhythms that rhyme.
Death to subtlety, and to those words that rhyme with rhyme.
Not a petal out of place: perfection in your face.
Who tought this bloody flower how to grow in a random space?
Oh no! These words are in a silly rhyme
and we hate symmetry
So I'll sit here and ridicule this flower
for, it'll never be a fully grown tree
Oh hell, rhyme again!
Time to rectify
I'd invited a bit of chaos
it still lingers in a tsunami of sigh
Rhyme again? that's not done
stop crying, it's a silly heartburn
we're hating on symmetry
so hate on, with a heart that's free
stop rhyming! Cuz now it's sounds banal
of course it doesn't, symmetry is eternal
was that a rhyme?
No it wasn't
yes it was!
Now we can fight, without a bloody pause.
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