Poem not from poems

Excerpt from a poem, that comes not from a poetry book but rather from a prose more poetic than poetry ever knew itself to be. 

'Lolita' of course..always. 

Superbores

If I could summarize this day in a 'Phew', I would..and I did..and some ugh. 

After much thinking and observing, I've come to the conclusion (however myopic) that superstores are less of weekly grocery shopping haunts and more of weekend picnic spots for families and couples. 

People should be jailed for loitering and vangrancy in superstores. 

Goddamit, I saw couples, young kids, little children treat the aisles like a public park..running up and down shouting little game things, bumping into trollies, laughing, skipping and not caring a rats ass who got hurt. 

Come on young couples, you can do better than lollygagging about in a goddamn 'carrefoure'. 

Bunch of friends, looking at shelves of chips and coffee..I mean what? 

Do these drifting protozoan not understand there are serious people with absolutely no life, doing some serious shopping here?

 Do they not see the moping faces of family members hurling burgeoning baskets, pushing 'bursting to the seams' metal trollers, standing impatiently in basilisk lines, yet putting up with vexing customers standing ahead, insistent on paying their years worth grocery in coupons? 

Do they not understand how the lifeless junta of superstore shoppers keep their abrasive moods in check, when the so called idle shoppers pollute and impregnate their check out lines with handful of grocery items like 'a' packet of salt. 

Lastly..as if walking around in superstores, looking aisle after aisle for things you only sort of need, striking them off in your grocery list, and still ending up with five times more groceries than you need isn't annoying enough, they're also tiring, these stores. 

You'd not feel as 'dearly departed' level exhausted after a Michael Phelps level workout as you'd feel after forty minutes in a superstore. 

I'm happy enough with sidekick stores please..for the meantime. 

Catfusion

When I think I've had enough of this day, and decidedly call it a night, a meow outside, soft as fur, late night purr..and lo behold, the cat comes calling, for no apparent reason except that it's a cat, and will do just as he pleases. 

Squatting on my pristine auburn floors, shedding a trail of white fur, or breadcrumbs if you please. 

Full blown gymnastics de vulgar, and a tender rub against my thighs to show he cares and that calls to be fed. 

So here I am, in my lacy night things, feeding a cat, and watching him pirouette, and he indulges in a practice most absurd, sneaks into the toilet and endeavors to climb all things tall. The washing sink, the bathtub, the shower, the shower curtain. 

What is it Gogi dearest?  

Morosity et la métaphysique

Ah, the despondent void that seems to follow one around like Mary's Lamb..except that this void isn't nearly as edible not prone to being fleeced. 

Fact: this weird sense of sadness is a perennial hanger on, and much like a ghost, it manifests itself most malevolently when acknowledged..though however I must confess, it feels awful kind of warm and sweetly miserable to step inside this gaping void, which exists for reason so well known. 

Rains don't help neither. (How decidedly Victorian lame with eww inducing romantic overtures)  

--

There's a tachyon paced 

continuous loop of infinite movie 

lining the innermost caves of my synapses, 

ceaselessly whirring 

a photo luminescent reel 

of secret delights that're endlessly 

and eternally emitted and absorbed in gasps and ganglia. 

Soon..

Doldrums morgue

Such has been the nature of this day, extravagantly long and pompously watery, that I have, till this moment—breakfasted and lunched twice..and not least because I've been hungry, darling reader, but because this day started so obscenely early that the kind of words I keep reserved to mock this day into a shriveled shell of former existence are largely unprintable. 

I have mentioned about how this day has been a watery one, the correct word however should be waterlogged. 

Today began as a sweltering block of dim-witted Friday; you could feel your spleen sweat..and just when I'd decided to dunk myself in a swimming pool for the rest of the day, Friday shocked me with a deluge of unmatched proportions. 

A thunderstorm, followed by voluptous rains, complete with its own sound and light show. 

It made such a gasping din, what with the blazing electricity searing the skies and intermittent flash of gods own camerawork, that I began to wonder if it's not some kind of a sacrificial ritual, wrought upon us (the lesser of the species) by the heavens themselves. 

 The local news would be most informative in supplying with the answers for how many mortals unwittingly gave themselves up to the Lightning carnage and I feel like I might reserve my death toll curiosity for another day, when I find myself in a grief proof sphere; just to jolt me back to life..for now however I will dedicate my time to cursing this day, and being not alone in the house.

Having been successfully ousted (day dos) from my study room, I resign myself to watching hilariously upsetting television and being an efficient hands on chambermaid and part time valet, for his majesty is in da house, and is rather prone to messing up the domus in most ingenious of ways. 

I tried clicking a picture for purposes of visual effects, to highlight the intensity of rains, except the water droplets have gone from looking like water droplets to looking like mist in the background, if you will. 

There's to be a way to click pictures with your eyes and airdrop the image into your phone. 

Some kind of bio technological marvel..perhaps some day. 

Meal sex

The squiggly allure in all its cephalopodic form. 

Something about this primeval creature that makes you want to dig your teeth in its dead tentacles. 

Soft, squidgy, chewy primordial kraken flesh. It's both poetic and sensuous..like an ancient creature that shouldn't be, and yet exists—mysterious, alien and frightening. 

Is it a power thing? To eat something that looks so monstrous? 

A fetish perhaps..of course. Tentacles are sexy..so sexy. 

Morse code books and long day

Today has been an unforgivably long day. So long, that I was almost ready to call it a night this afternoon. It's not 3:00pm still, and yet it feels like this day is done with. 

My study table is occupied for various other reason, which means I'm effectively out of drawing business this pm. 

No skin off my nose, because I've books that need to be made love to. 

I haven't started reading this book yet, and I'm already attached to it through invisible strings.

 A metaphorical harp to my heart, so to say. Each page, a sonorous twang of nostalgic chords. 

I love how this book smells. 

That my soul forensics have a perfect match for fingerprints found on each page of this book. 

That it's had a pair of almond eyes hovering on them..that it's been held by digits so warm—one'd gleefully combust under their touch. 

  A bodiless exchange of esoteric secret atoms. 

Asomatous mathematical equation that only those disposed to finding wormholes in torn fabrics of space and time would solve and understand..of how physical objects assume intangible qualities, capable of broadcasting unfathomable signals of passion to stir melancholy and fervor. 

Whistle

Fanning the flames to rush it along

won't steam rise soon

Waited an eon 

with bated ennui

for whistle to blow

in a succession of tunes, cacophonic composition 

an alarm for when food is cooked

geometric veins to pour in salt

after whistles have done their job

mapping sweat on familiar skin

conflagration of familiar blue

upturned pool atomic hue

Venus mound of metal nipple

snaking its screams 

into my heart sometimes

needling prickly thistle

mandatory scream of everyday engine

Sisyphean bellowing whistle 

Hollywood hogwash

The collective grey cells in Hollywood must have orgasmed into an ingenious fountain of unsurpassable surprise at the very news of something as flabbergasting and decisively innovative as a new KING KONG movie. Wow! it's not every day that a new king kong movie comes into existence.

Who could've ever thought of making a movie about a gargantuan gorilla, flashing his angry teeth at white people, and finally falling in love with a fair haired maiden who resembles his kind the same way we resemble our last universal ancestor. 
Hollywood transcends its visionary boundaries with each new kong movie. It's a prolific feat of inconceivable originality, to resurrect the same script from moth eaten grotto's of Hollywood existence, and add in new lines of decipherable dialogues, complete with brand new quotation marks.
Don't be surprised if they've gone as far as adding a paragraph or two of philosophical ruminations, about how we as a species are ruining the natural habitat of peaceful far away creatures that want nothing to do with meddling human affairs; that it's abhorrent on our part to colonize, and terrorize and forcefully invade natural spaces of other existences.
If you aren't shedding a tear or two at their formulation of such massive behemoth's of original thinking, then you're a monster, much like King Kong, and you deserve only the worst kinds of death; slowly stewed and roasted in the juices of your own making, getting tortured, seated in a movie hall, popcorn in hand, watching the new Kong movie.

can't wrap my head around..

I've been trying, without much success..to listen to music while writing; in the lowest of volume, the loungiest of music, and yet, it distracts to the point of compelling me to turn off any sound playing in the background.
It kills my concentration, and I can't seem to hear my own thoughts in my head..and it's not as though I were penning down sage thoughts of deep profundity requiring abstruse meditation; No!, I'm talking vacuous garble more akin Beiber's lyrics..and yet, if there's so much as a hint of anything playing in the background, I stay frozen, fingers on keyboard, eyes affixed on the screen, unable to think/type a word.

It baffles me, annoys me..I've seen people study for their exams with their headphones plugged into their ears for hours, and though admittedly my grades were far better than theirs, I've seen them study, solve equations, pen down essays and read books, all the while listening to music!
How?

The closest I come to this miraculous talent is listening to music/audiobooks while DRAWING! not reading or writing but drawing..something that doesn't need me to speak my thoughts aloud in my head. Something that only needs my hands to work on paper.

It baffles, nay, mystifies me..I mean, I tried listening to music while typing this very post, and five words into the first sentence I had to turn off the music, and wipe out each alphabet I wrote, because it felt like gibberish.

--|--

And just when I thought I was contractually obliged to life to be sane..I'm expected to be realistic too. Sigh. 

bad habits, music and updates

My new Dinosaurs are kinda exasperating. Can't get their scales right, I mean come on..they're scales. Nothing as difficult as that and I can't seem to get them in a flow.
Today's just not my day.. and I'm listening to the final audiobook in the series of 'first law books'. Loving it and wondering what's going to happen now..and talking of listening.. Nat Geo music is absolutely one of the nicest music channels out there and has been on air for some years now.
I remember spending a particularly hot summer in India, a few years back, cooped up in the house with a small circle of friends, in a haze of craze with this music channel playing non stop.

They played 'golden cobra' quite often and that was one reason my brother didn't want the channel changed.

and talking of nicotine..

..I have kicked it so hard, flooding a new packet with some H20, rendering them all but useless and dumping the allure of cancer sticks in a garbage bin.. and regretting my decision not two minutes later.
But things must be done, cuz they need to be done.
Vices, as fun as they are result in a lot of needless ache. ugh.

---
What's this disturbing trend among people to dress up and get clicked as Freida Kahlo? Instagram has been throwing a dozen images at me of accounts supposedly into high art of some sort, pose as Freida..I mean come on!!

Berserked

It's blazing hot, it's scorching.. one needn't step out unless you wish to sink into an asphalt pool of molten roads.

Hotter also because new episodes of 'Berserk' are out. Yes sir, new Berserk anime series is out.
After the golden age arc in 1997, this is the black swordsman and conviction arc.

If you've read berserk manga, then these series might be a cause of annoyance, because the story progression is really not how it should be. They've stuffed a lot of stuff from many manga volumes into an episode..the pacing comes off all wrong and is a great cause of agitation and concern.
But if you're a fanboy/girl, you'd soon overlook these problems.

If you're a big fan of the 97' series, then the new CG might be a bit of concern, because it doesn't have that anime feel of the original berserk.
The graphics in this are more like amped up computer games graphics with a solid fusion of manga art. It doesn't disappoint, just that it takes a while to sink in. There's a lot of depth, they've left no stones unturned in the detailing but it might take a bit getting used to.
The music isn't remotely as ethereal and haunting as the series, but it's not bad either.
So it's going to be a bit acquired, but as a diehard fan of anything 'berserk', these concerns, conveniently die a hipster death when you glue yourself to watching Guts' sword in action, spilling blood, crunching ribs and shattering skulls.

So yeah, nice and violent..good on gore and blood splatter..all the ingredients of 'berserk'

These are days of momentous mourning, since downloading doesn't feel the same, post kickass fiasco.

https://www.monova.org/torrent/41655065/bakedfish-berserk-2016-01-720paac-mp4.html

I found subbed episodes on this link, hope this works..in case.

Dino dilemma

New Dino's. 

There are two this time..a triceratops and a plesiosaurs. One from land and one from water. 

Something's up with my triceratops though. 

Probably take a few days before this gets done. 

Blooms

In bloom. 

I love these little flowers. They wilt and sprout in a furious cycle of 24 hours. 

reminiscing in a minor.

 Devin Townsend's sky blue and banshee's soundtrack were somehow oddly redolent of music from one of my all time favourite music albums, the 'OST' from  'Queen of the damned' movie.

Back from the time when I was still a squealing fangbanging teen, lapping up everything Anne Rice..the latter still stands..though the movie was nothing like the book, but who cares. It was worth it just for the music, and I watched it an eye watering 8 times.. and still would if it came on TV.

Anyhow's.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PBqgM0FcNRA&list=PLE45D4819ADBE0D1B&index=1

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mM9IacnSUFE&index=12&list=PLE45D4819ADBE0D1B


https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=091x6n_Tw8Y&index=10&list=PLE45D4819ADBE0D1B


I'm just pointing out a few songs..The entire soundtrack is worth a listen (a million times over) all songs fuckballs awesome..abfab..all of 'em.

--
did my chores to sky blue today.. <3

Dawnmare

In the early hours of dawn, just before waking up, I was struck by this nightmare.

I was at a house party with some friends, and I could hear water overflowing some place. 

It distracted me so, that I followed the sound and reached a bathroom where a decapitated torso of a woman lay in the bathtub. The water from an overhead tap was overflowing from the tub, and the body was floating. 

I took its pictures from my phone, and realized that the light wasn't right. So I proper her head in one hand and started taking pictures again. I could feel her dead wet hair, and once I was convinced I'd good pictures, I kept the phone on a platform, and suddenly the dead woman was standing in front of me, laughing. 

She snatched the phone and started looking at her pictures.

I was bewildered and angry..and tried to pry my phone away from her hands but she wouldn't relent and kept laughing. 

I was scared frozen and suddenly realized that the phone was still on the platform, the woman lay dead in the tub. 

I'd just had a nightmare in a nightmare..inceptioned myself silly and woke up.  

Book update

Finished reading 'salvation of a saint' by Keigo Higashino, and I'm like wha??? times infinity. I mean come on, I mean whaa??oh man. It's rattled my rib cage and splintered my brain and I couldn't have guessed the perfect crime. 

The thing about Higashino's crime investigations is that you end up taking sides with the killer. You're in absolute sympathy with the murderer. 

Also that you're aware from chapter one about the real identity of the killer. You knows who's done the deed, but HOW is the big question and that mon amour is where the crux of the matter lies. The how and wtf? of it.

Ah, tomorrow I start with another book..and after that I give myself a break for a while. Or maybe not. Who knows. 

Sandpaper minutes

Sunday's are also that time of the week when my refrigerator is veggie devoid, save a few measly odd bits of wilted flora knocking about, when all you really wish for is a garden of assorted greens. 

So what does one do? 

- well, you haul up your socks and pay your nearest vegetable market a prolonged visit in the early hours of a Sunday morning..and that is exactment what I did, mon ami..for buying fresh vegetables or at least as least genetically modified as possible is one of my favourite things to do..oui Monsieur. 

And to say that I was wholeheartedly distracted by a wonderful noodle shop would be an understatement..because I was mesmerized by it, and stood gaping like a goldfish. 

Of course I bought more than I should, but then why not? I'll be having 'em all week..I guess. 

Marché de légumes in question.

And boy did I green myself. 

And came home, to find my best friend purring outside the door. Waiting to be let in, just so he could sleep. 

Such is life..he's been scratching on my wooden floors..the feline fiend, the adorable ass..

He's a sleep contortionist. 

Pool pole

Another Sunday in a long list of uneventful Sunday's, except this one is hotter than Satan in vogue. 

It's miserably humid, and I'm resolved to loiter around the swimming pool each afternoon. 

There isn't much you can do in this heat except splash about in water, sweat while you dry, then dip into the pool again. It helps that the swimming pool in question is no more than 20 strides from my house, but the downside of this entire scheme of things is that an afternoon besides the pool means having to put up with hyper active children and their bored mommies. 

Some stealthy spying might enlighten me on a time when the pool is a child free zone. I have nothing against kids, except that they make a whole lot of din, when all I want is to steam in this heat in a relatively nuisance free circuit. 

Decapitated robot

I can't stand the emo jackass from Mr. Robot. Junkie douche bucket..cries like a baby, and shakes with withdrawals. 

A fucking Loser if there ever were. He's cringeworthy and I just know if he ever went to school with me, I'd have bullied the life out of him. 

Something about such losers that makes you want to hurt them every ingenious way. 

Everything about them begs to be violated. Like you want to watch them bleed and beg. Hmm..

Day today

The temperature outside was 39°C today. 

Thinking of forsaking my sanity for a day and watching this event. I've watched Wwf events before and they've never been disappointing. 

The last I saw had Razor Ramon fighting with Gold Dust. So yeah, it's been a while, these wrestlers are probably mummified by now. 

You can always find ways to make flowers looks aesthetically appaling. One of the most gauche structures to sprout in the middle of a park..I mean wtf? Just a tree would've sufficed. By ugh, this rainbow atrocity is an eyesore. 

Gogi Mao's sleeping stance. As peaceful as a whiskered monk in monastery

Right here now

'I love you like a love song..' By Selena, was one of those songs that stayed in my head for weeks and I couldn't shake it off. 

The reason why I know most Selena Gomez songs and a lot more pop songs that I shan't even admit here is because of my blasted aerobics classes, and the fact that every gym, mall and shopping space in China is mostly Selena stuff if not Chinese music. 

It's a hot hot day, and true to the worst of days I'm stepping out, for some home related stuff. 

The usual, sorting out bills and screaming at the internet provider. 

My internet speed is supposedly 50mbps, and yet it is no faster than a dead mule. 

Sigh..je n'ai rien de prévu pour ce soir..so hopefully I shall be glued to some screens. 

Soon.. Au revoir 

Bon nuit

Got to start a couple new drawings. Test new Watercolour paper, but before that some pen drawings. 

My days and nights are littered with torn mental images, pasted into a collage infinity..woven with voices, propped with smiles, injected with visual, imaginary, and tangible memories I've absorbed, infused with little electrodes of currents that seer through each sensory organ..resulting in goose bumps, sighs and smiles. 

It's midnight here, and I'm looking forward to some special dreams..

Did you know..of course you did

❤️

Ashes to ashes. Dough to dough

Just saw an ad for Domino's 'burger pizza'. 

Considering the stuff Domino's insists on calling 'pizza' isn't anything remotely like pizza, their burger pizza therefore isn't any blasphemous act on culinary world. 

They're just growing truer to their roots, of rapidly preaching trash food aesthetics to the world..and there ain't nothing wrong with that. Because their fan base is mostly comprised of people with little or no sensations left in their taste buds or those who really don't know, don't care about food in general, nor have time to dwell upon such trivialities. Food is fuel to some. 

Domino's has no agenda to push, nor do  they harbour any ill will to food connoisseurs around the world..and if however their 'ghastly' creations are offensive to some high brow recherché rodents (I'm looking at you, rat from ratatouille), well then, the joke's on them. 

Talking of pizza's..I don't know what tag line for Pizza Hut runs around the world, but in China it's 'Pizza and more' because chinese people rarely every order pizza. Most of their orders are sides dishes, rice bowls, or pasta's or steaks etc. Pizza's are seldom ordered at Pizza Hut in China. 

Someone from yum! foods marketing division told me that Domino's are lagging behind their competitors. Their marketing tactics aren't as fierce anymore and the number of Domino's restaurant, also Subway's have greatly reduced in numbers too. 

Could be due to aggressive yum! Foods marketing tactics or maybe cuz people are bored of Domino's. Maybe they needed a burger pizza, like an adrenaline shot in the arm. 

Who knows, I'm just speculating.

Coffee concerns

The last time I had coffee was October 26th 2015.

After that it was today. Not a whole year but almost. 

I'd almost forgotten what coffee tastes like. Bitter and silly..just as always. 

When will I have it next? I don't know..not too soon in the future though. 

whirlpool friday

Today has spiraled out of control.
Woke up at 6:45, made breakfast, packed lunch and instead of sticking to my daily schedule, went off to sleep again.
I mean what the what? It wasn't as much as sleep as it was being rendered unconscious by a tsetse fly. Woke up after 9:00!! The entire day was out of whack! everything about today got unfashionable delayed.
Entire itinerary that I stick to like an adhesive was all over the place. I feel angry and pissed off.
If I could see in binary, I'd pull back those minutes/hours I missed out, and fit them back in the Jigsaw that is today.

It doesn't help that those extra hours of sleep were chased by a bevy of dismantled outlandish dreams. They were more like short bursts of dreams, and after each I'd force myself to wake up, but ended up with another kooky dream.

This one dream I pulled out my phone to update my blog, only the phone that I whipped out of my pocket wasn't my phone at all. It was some other odd gadget that didn't belong to me, and then I realized that it's not me but someone else who has to blog, which means I needn't worry about my phone at all.

Next dream, I was in the sea at night, on a boat; except it really wasn't a boat. Just a big broad wooden plate. I wasn't alone. There was some girl and some guy who was rowing the boat/plate. My feet were submerged in water, and sometimes the water was till my waist, but it didn't scare me one bit. I had a baby in my arms, swaddled in clothing, and I was trying to protect her feet from getting wet, so kept holding her close to my chest, and weirdly the baby was talking to me like an adult. Her name was Kiya, and all this time I was clenching a pink colour iPad between my thighs. It was clearly submerged in water, but I was straining my thighs to keep the iPad in place, lest it sink in salty water. All of us didn't seem a bit perturbed by the fact that we were in the middle of the sea at night and wet up to our waists.

Then one dream that jolted me awake and yet I didn't wake up was, I saw Anil kapoor riding a bicycle, wearing a skirt and feathers stuck all over his body. Then he walked into a hut, and I was like what?? I woke up, but my eyes were so heavy lidded that I couldn't muster the strength to get out of bed.

When finally I did wake up and willed myself out of bed, it was ten minutes past nine, and I was thoroughly ashamed.
It's 1:38pm, and I'm still doing things that should've been done by 11:00 am.

mental post its

Of all the idiotic things one could be persuaded to do, this would be the last/least..ugh I stepped out and was gone for longer that I'd wanted in this hellish heat.

Coming back with a splitting headache, what else did I expect? It was so superbly white outside. The sun was a diamond of spiky shards zealously bellowing solar flares.
I came back looking like a rotisserie chicken. My only consolation was that I wasn't impaled on a skewer, though, judging by the decalescent dysentery that the sun seemed devoted to, I wouldn't have been surprised had a passing javelin done the deed.

Almost half way done with 'salvation of a saint', and man oh man, is this getting twisted with every turn.
I'm wracking my head along with the detectives, and there are a couple of theories that I've come up with as well..and I'm just waiting to see if my line of thought is possible/plausible, or if it even exists as of one of the possibilities.

---
Started watching a new series called 'Aquarius' . Real nice. Set in the late 60's..of flower power era and Manson murders. It involves fictitious accounts of the latter, and is a sort of crime investigation drama series. Not bad at all.

---
A sudden urge to eat a particular orange chocolate..a thing of incidental choice and shared fondness.
--

Thinking about what to make for dinner is probably one of my least favourite things to dwell upon, and one that occupies a lot of my dwelling upon time. sigh. 

Single serving brunch

Furnace jingle

My bed was a sanatorium of crumpled sheets and forgotten pillows this morning; a topographical nightmare of cotton folds and empty shadows.

The extent of this morning heat was benevolently beguiled by my dear air conditioner, the grandfatherly device, hung unceremoniously high on an ebony colored, silk textured wall. 

The weather today might be referred to as a heat wave, though it's nothing more than being stewed in a city cauldron that's tipped over its boiling point. 

A jaunty sweat laden saunter to the kitchen, intensified with the added scrutiny of a faithful thermometer revealed that the house temperature is nothing more than 32°C, and yet you couldn't convince me that I'm not playing hopscotch on the precipice of a very active volcano. 

It's a feeling akin to being in a jungle, but since I'm well aware that this is a city, we can call it a zoo. It feels like I'm in a zoo, with the constant bellowing of cicada's in each direction of this house, the hot winds blowing through the innumerable windows mounted on every godforsaken wall, and the foliage of green that undoubtedly houses these damned cicada's. No doubt prompting them to scream their notion of operatic tenor.

Oh mon dieu, this jungle noise and the calescent 'breeze' as some misguided poor fool had called this broiler wind, rather makes me feel like I'm hoisted up on a tree, in a forest which is at its peak of a piping hot Indian summer, looking for giant apes. How very Jane Goodall. 

I shall now proceed to shut each window, slide every sliding door that lets even a whiff of this heat tsunami into my dainty house. 

Rains..where art thou today? 

(/)

I'm a pantomimist today; gesturing my ache to the background music of raging cicada's and wild pressure cooker whistles. 

feels

What is it about today that make makes me feel like my insides are all mangled. I think I can feel my spine touch my brain, and my shoulder blades ache like they're about to sprout serrated edged steel wings.
Uh, my eyes feel like they're ready to just about ooze out of my sockets, and my arms, particularly elbows, feel like they're being weighed down with anchors.
Ah my neck feels like its crushed beneath boulders, that it's straining with great difficulty to balance my head. I can feel my spine on fire, right down to coccyx. My digits feel like permanent rigor mortis has set in.

Feels like I was cradling an atom bomb when it set off.
This isn't right, and to think it's a Wednesday. My favourite weekday.
It's like my body feels contradicted between staying starch rigid or noodle limp. Can't make up its mind.

I'm thinking back to what I did, to land up in this state of throbbing distress. My nerve cells feel lacerated. Did a body snatcher swap my nervous system with an alien one?

Ugh to everything 

music mourn

Listening to random weird music in the background as I go about my routine—cleaning, sprucing, washing, dusting, missing, is one of my top favourite things (the listening to music, not the chores). I must confess, however that I've rather skimped on new music. Most of what I've been listening a lot to these days is music that stayed hidden and ignored in my forgotten music folders.
It was a museum of sorts, and I'd to blow away the digital dust that'd settled on it from so many years of staying in abandoned wasteland of my hard drives. It includes a lot of classic, post rock/metal, modern jazz, western classical and Japanese funk.

oh, and this..this has been driving me a bit crazy for a while

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vDlVfWCDVrg

There're a tear or two as I say this, but I haven't been listening to as much music as I did last year, or from time before that. To think I was always plugged in to listening something at all times, I felt like a blackhole, sucking in all music from all over, in the vacuum of my insides. I'd sleep late nights/early mornings cuz I'd been listening to different channels on tune in radio the whole night through, and exhilarated and joyous as I'd feel, I never gave much thought to anything except spending most of my waking hours listening to music.
It feels like hour autobahn has narrowed down to a dingy back alley, or that some part of me that appreciated and loved somethings intensely has withered, weathered, worn down with time..or that probably it's just a phase.
But there is a silver lining, in that, there are impulsive moments when an irrational urge to shut myself with comforting music overwhelms me. A few hours of just that, and I'm myself again.

Traveling..now that's one time when I can't even think of getting on without music, and I've written enough about that in the archives.

I'm guessing/hoping this really is just a phase. I wish I could develop the superpowers wherein I could listen to music while writing or reading. That talent eludes me.

Just writing this post has put me in mourning. I'm bereaved at the thought of limiting music as background noise for my chores. What on earth is my day crammed full of? I know the answer, but I'm too scared to say it out aloud in my head, lest it tear the already frayed fibrous chords of assumed reality.

Night night

On the menu, this week's book du jour.

Another highlight in detective Galileo series. Kusanagi and Yukawa team up once again to investigate some well meaning murder, and make lives miserable. 

Physics to the rescue. Sigh..whodathunkit?—for what is physics, if not applied mathematics, except it has less numericals and more alphabets and signs and enigma to the untrained eye. 

So this book..yes mon ami, I shall read it with all the greediness of a juvenile glutton. 

Tonight however, I feel like I should pay heed to my eyes, gently coaxing me to give myself up to abstractions—getting lost in my mind. Revelling in thoughts that only I'm privy to.

One of those nights, when my grey cells feel rather pink, saturated with sappy chimerical thoughts. It's my intention to imbue each part of my brain, no matter how unused with some images, voices, noises..soon. 

Sweet deed

The ache, to bake..

Cookies, yes. Coconut please.

The duality of sweet redemption and diabetic hell, compacted into a sugary square. 

The colour of sand and taste of tropics. When gluttony comes knocking at your door and ensures you make no less than at least two dozen treats, and indulge your sweet tooth..nay teeth. 

Sigh..when you put the nut in coconut. 

|\|\|

A titter that leaves my lips
followed by loud guffaw sometimes
when the screen I've glued my face to blinks
with dreams, poems, enchanting lines

they can emphasize infinite melancholy
voluptuous scenarios meant to last eternities
casting a salacious spell
of fierce words
thrown in my trajectory

I could scroll down to the end of universe
breathing still, patience perverse
till this world shrunk down
to the size of fist
I'd transfuse into the scent of mists

Rains 'n' Yu

Bracing moisture in the air, precipitated to fat globes of daunting water droplets. Cascading down aimlessly; a slow desultory trickle at first, catching momentum into a disorganized waterfall..and how it falls and flows. 

 

How it wets the air, drenching it to its last atom. Pouring through invisible winds, saturating each molecule of nitrogen infested flutter into wet whiffs of aqueous earth and slimy sidewalks. 

I can't see it, but I can feel it. 

As can you. 

Torrential downpour, masquerading as an infant typhoon, it rages against my window panes. A steady stream of transparent pearls, tapping against the glass, In a voice so sonorous, it makes me ache. 

This madness outside, in chaotic symphony of glorious sounds, beckoning me to be a little foolish; perhaps step out of my cocoon or drench the invisible shroud. 

The window panes are cleansed. Spotless..not nearly as flawless..but unblemished still. Enough for me to peer out into your universe..and see you, through your glass walls. 

Night flight fanciful fun

11:16pm. Almost about to finish this book, and it's most unfortunate that this book didn't live up to its blood stained cover. 

I was half expecting some sadistically unhinged killer, jaundiced pale and flat footed, lurking in the shadows of the mine, who savagely kills off each character..all the while mumbling and berating himself; cleaving them apart untidily on a dissecting table under cold anemic yellow light. 

Something like the more you scream, the worse it gets..'so try to keep it real low when I pull your intestine out of your rectum, darling'

Hacking at them slowly, making others watch, gutting them alive, feeding them their own viscera and having sex with their gaping open bleeding wounds.

Peeling away layers of flesh with a razor, drilling holes in their knee caps and shoulder bones while persuading onlookers to applaud; how about sawing off the digits and sewing them back on to different parts of their body? 

The situation and tortures are endless in a mine.

Hopefully something crazy will happen soon. Until then I can only come up with fun scenarios to hurt helpless people. 

Sigh..  

I miss this..

But by bit today a day

Where did today go? 

Well there's always tomorrow and so the days wear on and suddenly your time's up. 

It was a day most frustratingly jammed with housework. My hands haven't seen a wetter day..that is to say, that my hands have been constantly wet with chores that required water. Hah. 

If that's wasn't enough, I'd to step out for some important work in this sweltering heat, which effulgently white, scorching and bright is not even 30 Celsius, yet it drips with unholy warmth of sunshine wrath. I had to squint my eyes through night tinted shades. Gah!

Apart from that, whatever little time I had stashed, I spent reading a new book 'the mine'

Most Indian authors I've ever read were either Hindi or Urdu (also written in Hindi). This is probably the second English book by an India author I've ever read/reading. 

T'was a gift and came highly recommended by my sister in law..and she usually does me right by recommendation of books. 

I'm guessing this is some sort of horror , it's unfolding still, and though it isn't as enrapturous as you'd expect, it still hasn't bored me yet. So going still, at easy pace. 

The only thing I have some issues with is the way it's written. 

The language is kinda colloquial, and though some passages and sentences are meant to be beautiful?, and imaginative, I feel they fail at both..or maybe I'm being too harsh. 

It's like the author realizes he's not written something poignant in the last two paragraphs, so tries to fit in metaphors and comparatives with a flourish. 

- I wanted to answer 'the dustbin'

-Uh!

Is this really mean of me? 

It feels like an overkill, sort of. If one can't come up with beautiful imagery or deep thoughts, then one should refrain from persisting with them. I mean it could have been a lot simpler and still made an impact. 

Sentences like these, (though admittedly a work of intellectual rumination stemming from hours of writing :|), somehow make you want to roll your eyes at the superficial and flimsy attempts at trying to sound highbrow or cerebrally enchanting. They also fail at projecting a proper image of what the author intends to reflect in your minds eye. 

Let's see how it all unfolds. Soon..

Book update and nostalgia

Next book in line of books

I don't know what to expect from this..I like the cover though. Looks like Jeffrey Dahmer invited a minion for dinner and fed the minion his own body parts. 

The bookmark sticking out is my absolute favourite bookmark. It's with me all times. 

Shirty nostalgia, this Sunday..sans fards. 

Today till now

Ah, Saturday! A day when you do absolutely nothing, yet you're so busy, that the busiest bee could learn a thing or two from you. 

But this post isn't a whine. No sir, it's a collage of today. 

Eel's in abundance. Not meant for being taken as pets, of course. 

Umm, Steve jobs head shaped ice creams. I mean why? Creamy cannibalism, and these ice creams are no good at all. They don't taste like what you'd expect from your average ice cream. Chinese ice creams are not too sweet, their textures are dense and they have no flavour whatsoever. 

Transformers ice creams. 

A lady with a grand headdress. 

Noodle bowl, from a quaint little eatery on the side of a road. 

All you've to do is take a basket and bung in whatever permutation combination of veggies, noodles and meats you'd like. 

The payment is made on the basis of the weight of your basket. 

Once the payment is made, the contents of your basket are upturned into a huge vat of ferociously boiling pork bone broth, and once it's cooked they get unloaded into a big bowl, and doused with ladle full of fresh fragrant pork bone stock..and voila.

The array of edibles is vast, and I didn't even click the pictures of different kinds of meat sitting in the fridge. 

And finally, dinner at home. Weekends are immodest at best. I like a bounteous table dotted with different kinds of picky things. All of the above is homemade. Yes, it was elaborate, it was time consuming and it was totally worth it. 

So there's hummus, pita, potato fries and roasted asparagus, mint and feta salad and tomatoes macerated with oregano and balsamic vinegar. 

But there's so much more..there's always more..soon. 

Fin!

Today's been a day positively racked with a bajillion 'phew's'. 

In fact if I were to stack these 'phew's' one atop another, I could easily build myself a stairway to heaven or at least limbo. 

So, phew I'm done with this. 

Here's a close up. You look too carefully and you can make out the flaws/ unsteady pen marks, microscopic inconsistencies. 

But all in all this mandala is done, and though my shaking fingers might suggest  and advanced case of Parkinson's, I assure you these digits are only experiencing after tremors of incessant detailing.

Something new next week. 

Veni, Vidi, I can't get over how awesome this book was.

Alright, so finished with 'the devotion of suspect x' and to say the my eyes rolled back into their sockets and merged with the fleshier parts of my brain would be an understatement.

Talk of twists, and talk of twists that can bludgeon you bang in the face, and leave not a trace of blood; throwing you convulsing on the floor, rolling, screaming, howling and generally making you go fuckballs nuts!

It's subtly convoluted and so deeply engrossing. 

The kind of book that gives your grey cells a field day.

I'll spend this day mulling over this book, and start with a new book tomorrow.

Cat cryptogram

This cat knows of vacuous blanks left from the sudden absence of ephemeral moments; thoughts of which, imprinted in indelible ink, stay forever imperishable.

Physically unsustainable, but mentally illimitable..these thoughts that scab over congnizant wounds offer such sweet pain, when constantly agitated. 

I digress..talking of this cat, who knows when exactly to come over and keep me company, is a mystery to me, and currently my only friend in this city. 

Sprawled on a bed, eagerly listening, while I read out aloud. 

Distracted by cicada music

Saw a bird perched on the window. 

Just my luck..to lose the cat to natural instincts. 

days of incidental beauty and other bits

Today looks bright and white. It's sunny, it's cool and sticky humid. The cicada's are making a din outside the window, and I've about 60 pages remaining of a book, which I shall now proceed to read, and over to the drawing after that. Hopefully it should be finished today as well, or else I'll be stuck with the weekend, and there isn't much space to myself to do anything other than that which includes couple recreational activities, television and chores.

Something feels wrong with my oven. It didn't work in its usual thermogenic manner this Wednesday, and I was a bit unhappy about it.
I've tinkered around with it, and there was a question of a loose coil, that I feel I've rectified, and hopefully It'll work fine now.
There are somethings I think I might bake today, and hopefully the oven would be in the best of spirits; blistering, broiling, scorching like it always did.

--
I think I'd a nightmare about being a hipster :)
Ah, you ask for an honest piece of advice/opinion and you're offered a complementary bit of patronizing statement as well. The only thing left was a condescending pat on the back. ;)

same old adage..is it a male thing? oh chill, relax, calm down, give it a rest. Such vanity..such a man.

Of course, one could argue that one didn't mean it that way, that it was just a fun thing to say, a silly statement to make or whatever, but really it isn't. Totally depends on the POV, also sometimes we do not realize when we've hit the 'patronizing' button, simply because almost everyone talks like that, so much so that it feels normal.
Ugh..

Drawing downdates

close up and a bit of update on the drawing. 

Looks like I'm out of my depth on this one. Not that it's technically difficult, it's just physically draining. I'm trying to fill the nooks of all the crannies and that's given my fingers quite a pain. 

I had to stop, because my thumb bade me to. 

It started aching because different pen strokes require different amounts of pressure, and soon I realized that the pad of my thumbs had gone bizzarrely hard, not to mention sore and numb. 

There's still some more work, perhaps a couple hours and I'll be done (hopefully). But all in good time..tomorrow, that is. 

Booxxx

Reading two different books simultaneously is not something I could ever do. 

I can read one book, listen to another audiobook and go through varied comics at the same time, but two reading two proper books isn't a strong suit. 

So let's see

-currently reading 'devotion of suspect x'

-currently listening (audiobook) 'before they are hanged'

-current comics/ graphic novel 'Maus'

 

I think it might be a subconscious thing to consummately devote, to the point of obsessive madness to one thing at a time.  Not a very charming trait I presume, but one that I cannot change. 

Speaking of audiobooks, I might be nearing the end of this one and soon on to the final 'argument of Kings'.

Having heard so many ornamental phrases about Malazan, I'm wondering if I shouldn't listen to those audiobooks, once I've finished 'first law series'. 

Would I turn into a hipster too? ;) 

'Devotion of suspect x', I'll probably finish by tomorrow and on to the next after that. 

 

Dreams

A large part of my dream was in comic panels. there was rorschach and the comedian in my room and they were staring at their feet? perhaps we were in an elevator?

Next scene, I was staring into a mirror, and a woman standing behind me asked me for a lipstick and specified if I had the particular shade called 'Goaest Goa' which surprisingly I did. A Deep Crimson colour. 

A man can running towards me cuz I was embroiled in a fight with some people, on the edge of a roof. All I had were kitchen knives which I'd sharpened the previous night before, and I kept flinging them at those men. They'd catch them in the chest vertically, the sharp edge slicing into their flesh and stayed attached there, a man slashed at my wrist, and the skin tore apart to reveal no blood but a black and white design. 

I stretched the opposite ends of the skin till it was a big gash, and there was a drawing of a building inside. I was bewildered just wondering where all the blood went. 

Showed this wound to a man who had a pretentious tattoo on his chest, and he said I'd made it on my own. 

That upset me and I complained to my mom, but she only told me to get along with him, cuz he was my new dad? Wtf? My brother didn't like him much either. 

I went to the balcony that had red roses and the entire floor was strewn with white petals, and I thought it was a mosque. 

Suddenly I was told to stand clear because this huge board that contained dangerous pellets had been fired and that I was in the way. 

I stood to one side on the edge of the terrace and the pellets that it started shooting were actually marbles used in Chinese chequers. 

----

Blessed was my morning, many times over. Repeatedly, until each little story, intonation and sentence was a part of me.
How about a poem?

Into the endless

Like never ending greed, this drawing has no end. For a while back there I thought it's done..phew, and yet five seconds later in a trance like state, I'd fished out a compass and was drawing arcs all around the page. 

Being content isn't one of my strong points. I don't even know if this drawing needed more details; over committing to a project is in fact one of my strong points. 

Stop me before I go mad with more minutiae. My eyes can't take peering into a magnifying glass anymore, as I draw thinner than thread lines. 

Sometimes it's fun to be a little mad, no matter where you reflect your madness. 

If

If
you could sprinkle a day, with few fronds of spoken words
in poetic flow of verse or prose
like assorted rare birds, that'd flap in rhymes
or limericks or none.

If
you could pack those unique words
in a bundle of voice,
which sounds like sonorous gravel on honeyed roads
and perhaps fix it atop a webwide bird
set it free, let it soar
and find its way to a nest nearby

If
it'd chirp some words, words with sounds
I'd hold it close to my ears and let it sing
like colours of music
hidden in corners of a circle round.

Noon nigh

Odd sort of noon this; weary, humid and flushed with greens. Deafening nature noises streaming through an almost invisible wire mesh; summer cicada's these, they sing in a chorus of deafening jangle, like strings of thin chains caught in cyclonic rattle. It ebbs and flows, while the whole day goes into a cryptic nighttime shroud, and still relentless cicada's they never pause with their babel song.

     The leaves are at a standstill, motionless in attention; not a trickle of air that'd help the greens rustle.

   If there ever were a dry rain, this would be it, for it isn't raining, yet everything feels wet still.

Nature's screen saver, this becalmed landscape, subtitled with insect symphony. If time came to a stand still, this imagery would suffice as its advertisement.  

At lethargic pace this day would dawdle, noon to afternoon.

Book story

Sunk moi fangs in this tonight and it already has me trapped. 

Why is this author publicized as the Japanese 'Stieg Larsson'? Why can't he just be Higashino?

 What's the need to identify someone's written work to some other popular writer's successful piece?

 People do that all the time, and it's so unsettling. It's like 'now I can't even identify my stuff as mine, without having someone compare it to another famous whatever'.

 It's never a compliment.