Recuperating rhymes

Today on my way

to post some cards

boxing match

a couple of chew cud stars

locking horns

a death match

but did I care

my hair looks shiny

so here's a selfie

sans fards

Today till now

I'm faking colours in my life. Hah. It's like affirmations really. Or maybe not. I don't care. Is been a rough few days, too much work.

And worst of all, stepping out of the house every goddamn day. The weather is warm, cool, warm, hot, sizzling, sunny, pleasant, blistering, odd. 

Had gone to the post office today (Gol Dak khana), and it's as kafkaesque as it gets. 

Totally surreal, and oddly romantic. 

(I never thought the insides of such an efficient system looked so rustic creak)

Felt like a philatelic freak today..and these aren't the stamps I want to lick, still in each life some rain must fall..and I've been fending tornadoes for a while. 

Lack of sleep and wedding work, multiplied by cat catastrophe, liberally supplemented by the sads can be a terrible thing. Nay, ..its woeful. 

I've a crick in my neck, and feel like a broken puppet with minimal head movements and exaggerated joker like smile. 

The crick that started as ignorable ache is now massive. To the point that I had to pop in a painkiller, but still it persists. 

 

I should rest I know, but I'd rather be exhausted numb.amnesiac. I wish j had amnesia. 

Tonight/morning

In the morning of night

when nothing is right

not even the light

of your room

so late at night 

it looks so bright

but actually it's dark

the light is slight

I'll give you what I have

flowers in a vase

pictures words and scars

scars we share

but even so

you can look at mine

I can look at yours 

sleep tight late at night

I want to throw a fit

hold in my breath

and stomp my feet

and throw a tantrum too

Ah I want to throw a goddamn tantrum

or even have a fucking meltdown

or just shout out in to the void

till my lungs pop out 

Or just fucking cry

not those simpering soundless bathroom kinds

but the ones I could scream out

till my throat bleeds

till I could drown my fucking sorrows

or go out of my mind

I want to throw curses, 

punch walls

kick Windows

slam tables

throw rocks

Chain smoke

smash phones

break glasses

ensconced in cotton sheets

calm, collected, convivial

no fits, no stomping feet

Craziness is an illusion to make yourself feel better when you're always defeated by reality. 

Leaf me

What love might look like had it been a potted plant.

Treasure on terrace tops—it's a hibiscus plant/tree, and I don't know what kind of sunlight these leaves have been feeding on because they're a rhapsody of rainbows.

 Keep staring for further inspiration. 

How does this all come to stay stored in a seed? All these colour codings of leaves, leathery red hibiscus petals, this goddamn tree..all from a silly seed? 

Wake and bake and ache and cake

I love a life full of do's and no dont's and yet in each life some rain must fall..and so it is with baking.

The only rule is you gotta play by the rules.

Precise measurements and temperature makes all the difference, and follow the recipe instructions. 

Do's and dont's of baking 

- bake often to get the hang of your oven and become friends with it.

- measure and weigh your ingredients. Always.

- mise en place. Every fucking time.

- always pre heat your oven at least 20-25 minutes before you put in anything to bake. The oven should always be hot hot hot when you put in anything, not warming up or tepid. That's a no no. 

- Be patient! The first few attempts mightn't be what you expected, but that will get better with each time you bake.

- be prepared to wash a lot of dishes in the aftermath. 

Dont's 

- don't bake halfheartedly 

- don't ever keep a dirty oven. Clean it routinely.

- don't use stale leavening agents. Baking soda and powder shouldn't be older than six months.

- don't use cheap quality throw away baking material to save on the washing.

------------------------------------------------

Baking basic must haves  

- measuring cups and spoons. Easily available everywhere online or otherwise. 

-kitchen weighing scale. ( some recipes specify measurements in cups and some in gms)

- parchment paper or butter paper for baking.

- baking moulds (silicon or otherwise)

-good quality oven mitts.

-large bowls for mixing batter.

-whisk with a sturdy hold. The wirey ones are difficult to use after a while.

-silicon spatula. Nothing scrapes wet batter as cleanly from the sides of a bowl as a good silicone spatula. 

-large sieve. 

-kitchen tissue rolls for degunging greasy fingers.

--------

I will write some more on baking and if I've missed out on something, I'll include it all in new baking posts, and update on my food blog.

Rrrrrrrr...rrrramble

Late night herbs and nujabes.

(Genome, ole, no way back) 

Staring contest with my cat, he creeps me out by not caring even a goddamn smidgen. Sleeps on freshly ironed dresses, doesn't respond to me sweet caresses. Not because he's a cat, but cuz he's a he. A stupid male cat, full of himself. Doesn't even know he's neutered. Stupid shite! The alpha and the omega, the gama poisoning of the goddamn genome.

..we come readily installed with a software called life, and need to keep rebooting every now and then, to keep in top condition. 

Updates happen each day, every second,  every knowing moment..and reboots are few but not rare..you're installed with a new software each time you reboot, and you wake up to a new moment in your life. A new turn, an unlocked safe house, a red pin drop, white and yellow milestone. Everything you leave behind is a beautiful scenery, and everything forward is an unknown difficulty. 

What do I know? I keep ignoring pin drops and chase stupid cars and prefer camping when it comes to full blown shoot outs. I've gotten really good at ducking and shooting and my aims are getting better. The crosshair doesn't move deliriously anymore. 

So R2 L2 R3 that's ducking and aiming and shooting. It took me a while to get used to walking wile aiming, but I'm getting better.

 The night is only a shade lighter than those irises and I'm packing wedding cards. 

-_-

Ancient television that is so ancient, it takes a while for its crt (cathode ray tube) to warm up. Until then its a horizontal blip of white luminosity...but this isn't that. 

This is a picture of edifice foliage. 

These lilies are yellow..ah!!but one can't know. 

Terrace thoughts

Lily today

Lily new in orange bloom, vased in blue gloom 

Dead end night

That time of the night, when there's no turning back. You've no where else to go except dreamland, and it doesn't show on your map..your compass is broken.

 

So tread gently, cautious. Take a right turn from lucid lane, and keep on walking, until you reach a black and white stretch of supposed dream beam..sit atop and keep on dreaming.

 

But where can I find me some technicolor nightmares? Or a flaming forest of sleepless unease?

Or a night of toss and turns where I wake up startled feverish and frozen.

I could maybe blackout or hope for amnesiac sleeps..because now I can't figure out what's the difference between a nightmare and a dream. 

Pre meal workout meal drizzled with dill

Et voilà!

Soul pampering spuds, for moments when you let your vanity take a backseat and give in to your gluttony. 

Mouthful of greenery

Fresh fronds of dill on a platter of hearts tonight..

With spuds cooked to crispy perfection on the outside, and molten fluffy within..and caramelized onions smothered in butter..and everything adorned with a fistful of lavish greenery of aniseed ache, a wishful forest of dill, my hearts' a go go.

Nighttime oddities

Why do I feel like preening? This odd hour at this part of broken night? 

It's after 2:00 and nothing good could happen, and yet here I feel like a bit of nail paint, a daub of scent, a pretty shoe. 

  I could comb out my hair, or put  them in lazy curls, and brush until they bounce and shine, and then click a selfie. 

 A nice shade of scarlet,  muted with matt pink to sit delicately on my lips, a whispering blush of bronze and gold in orange whiff, to my just out of bed, flushed with scantily clad chic look for the night. 

 Did I forget my eyes, sooty to the core, smeared with a wodge of thick kohl that looks desirous but shy still, and add to that a hint of moss green..like a pool of liquid snooker floating about the inner eyelids—for when you want a shiver of forest in a wink..and a wink it is, a bit of pout, some sparrow face and then self doubt. 

But then I leave the phone be, and pull out a little brush, that drips Moroccan earth..it's a shade of flesh, a fawn colour, upon my toes. A layer of glossy paint, for twinkling toes. 

Nighttime vanity in cinemascopic delusion. In Dolby illogical surround. 

A bit of pout, some innocent profile, an oblivious sparrow face, a renegade hipster gaze.

And then darken my lips, smear the kohl and lo and behold I'm heroin chic..add a bit of plump, some dried flowers,six inches of tattered veil and Crimson shrouds, my next selfie, I'm gothic babe and all.

But yeah, preening at this hour?

But then why not? 

Dentist diary

The dentist saw my mouth and made a prophecy..."in the not so distant future, you'll need an extraction for your wisdom tooth. It's going to go into areas uncharted (I don't think I'll like that game). 

This isn't a new story though, I've lost much too much wisdom at the dentists chair. Same story each time. It's growing into your cheek. 

So this will be the third bit of wisdom in the not so distant future.

So I've been through cleaning polishing filling..and more on that later. Maybe a post on oral hygiene.  

Just checked out the new mad max savage road game. 1080p of pure adrenalin. Fuck!! I'll die of palpitations if I play it. 

Need one of those stealth gadgets that never show up on the virtual radar. Vultures everywhere. 

Follies

Quicksand to quicksand I swim and sink..forgetting I need to fly. My wings are wet, sticky and other excuses.

Sometimes I'm waiting for the right wind, tomorrow it'll be the right cliff to dive, or I'll say it's too cold to fly outside.

My handy book of lovely excuses, in all permutation combinations.

I could tell you I hate the skies, for they're too blue and wide and endless..compared to the cozy warmth of a muddy swamp that eagerly swallows. 

But I want to swim, with sticky wings, and how could that be.?

Ugh, let me look up at the sky again..big beautiful heartbreaking impassive. Robed in blue splendor; Accepting, pleading. 

So now I decide, tomorrow it'll be..when I clean out my wings, and go for a dive..or should I just flutter? 

Weird emoji thing?

Ah yes! Red flag..dear universe. I get it. 

Sheepish

saw a sheep

saw it bleat

saw it kick around

He opened a closet

brought out a dress

and wore it about

And lo! Now the sheep

had long pointy teeth

and a snout

grey shaggy fur

no mongrel cur

t'was a wolf

Growling

angry

hungry

but alas

the wolf fed

on grass

and when it howled

it could only bleat

stupid sheep

My Top 5 lame anime list

ANIME..

To say that I love them would be a gross understatement. 

I.THRIVE.ON.THEM.

They reach life so differently. Wow!

how you say in video games — it's not the graphics. It's the gameplay. And that's exactly how it translates to anime's. It has soul a plenty, and graphics are to die for, yes.

But this blog isn't about anime glory. 

It's about anime's (series and movies) that I'd enthusiastically watched, but didn't care much for them by the time they were done.

1. Samurai X. 

This series wasn't as good as samurai x: trust and betrayal, in fact it was too shōnen for me to like.

Ok, the first arc was interesting. Shishio Makoto was a formidable villain and there was decent sword fighting too, but a lot of it didn't appeal to me. 

The later arcs were not so great, in fact it felt like it jumped the ship. 

Fair warning: if you're looking for seinan this ain't for you, as it wasn't for me. 

( but I watched all the episodes. Binged on some too)

2. Macross plus 

The only reason I watched this movie was because shinchiro watnabe was its co director. 

Totally mecha, science fiction and great music score by Yoko Kanno, and 'voices' was a great song. But that's about it. 

The male characters were too manly, the girl a whimpering fool and I didn't get the logic behind why she cared so much for her rapist and didn't want him to feel guilty about raping her??!?? 

I mean I just didn't get it.

3. Code Geass 

The story of this series was fantastic, lot of mecha and weird philosophy, and cliffhangers et al.

However it screamed shōnen, school antics and silly school dating stories, and a twisted gifted school kid (Lelouch) parading as 'zero' empowered by Geass. Its sequel - 'Lelouch of the rebellion' was still better, but hardly awesome. 

So this was a no go.

4. Steins;Gate

This was an anime series, made on a Japanese game of the same name. It felt like a nerd prequel to edge of tomorrow. 

Again shōnen. It started totally science, and ended like a childlike love story; in fact the first few episodes were full on fuzzy physics and it was fantastic for a while, but soon after that it became a lot of useless plot points and side story. It really didn't need a romantic angle in between the mystery and the time machine, but goddamit, it became so ridiculously silly towards the end that it started to drag. 

5. Last exile

 Nothing really wrong with this anime, except that it was not gripping. At all. 

Out and out steam punk with lovely graphics and wonderful story, but it was too easy to spot the tried out formulas and it was predictable too :( 

More lists coming coming soon. 

Updates

Niko Bellic has gotten better at GTA 4, and definitely improved his aiming and killing timings. 

It took a bit of practice..a lot of it. I died a hundred times or maybe 10 in each mission, but now I've got the aiming and shooting sorted. 

Just recently I was entrusted with something hardcore like stealing police cars, taking down on crime lords and getting embroiled in a Russian massacre/mess. 

I'd to cover people and protect them, and I sucked at it for a while, until I got the hang of it. 

It's as easy as L1 to aim and R2 to shoot, and R3 to move the crosshair while shooting. Aim at head for best results. I've also improved at ducking and shooting. So that's L2 R1 R2 and phew. 

I recently killed a dozen people in a warehouse and it took me four tries to get through, after which kill cops, steal police car, evade cops and my city map has started to unlock. 

However I'm still slow at shootouts and never finish a single shooting mission at one go :(..but I'll improve I hope. 

I've to kill 199 skyrats more in hopes to unlock some trophy..so I keep shooting at the sky when I'm not staring at it. 

Full circle

The night tumbled its curls into a pool of soft pink purple sky, and a few moments later, the raven strands of dying night were dyed a slutty sunlit orange.

 Thread like rays of morning light poured in through the glass windows of a large room done in tasteful sparseness. It was still dark in the room though..and he lazily slid out of his bed, making a ponderous move towards the bathroom, and turned on the shower. 

The shower roared with the enthusiastic patter of cyclonic rains against his back "The last of him leaves me, and I feel lonely yet again", a sigh, through mournful lips, and he looked at his hands; red, streaked with skin. The skin was his own, but the red belonged to someone else. A steady stream of water trickled through his fingers. It looked like a rivulet of watered down mud contrasting against the white tiles of his bathroom floor. 

 He licked his fingers ferociously and saw the last bit of murky water go down the drain. He sobbed "he's gone. I will never feel him anymore..ever again".

 He waded through the uselessness of his day, as he poured himself a cupful of coffee. Seated in his sparse office cubicle, staring at his computer screen; "type something to look busy. Get a grip on yourself. How long will you mourn a loss. But I have to think. Think about him. Remember him, how he looked. The love in his eyes, and that second we belonged to each other" pale thin lips shivering again, he exhaled at the memory of the well dressed man he'd met in the early hours of night at a club.

 "I've just his memories to get me by. He'd followed me so sweetly into the dark alleys of that barren road. He'd held my hand and shoved his tongue in my mouth and I'd kissed him back."  He shut his ears to drown out the steady noise of keyboard click clack, and gave voice to his memories of the well dressed man. 

 In his mind stereophonics he heard himself say "I love you. Be mine forever. Take me. Possess me completely . Can you do that?"

 "Of course I can" said the well dressed man. "But I don't know how to. Why don't you possess me and take me with your big fat coc..". The words hung in his mouth, and an ocean of blood gushed down the well dressed mans throat. He stared at the man whom he'd foolishly followed into a dead alley of a questionable barren road. The man muttered some gibberish and busied himself, slitting the well dressed man's throat with a long ceramic knife. The well dressed man was a dying fountain of red gurgle, and saw himself getting jabbed to ribbons.

The knife that had earlier slit his throat was now making its way down his neck and into his stomach. The man whom he'd just kissed was bent over him, knife  in hand muttering into his ears "be mine, I will love you. Be mine. Belong to me."

The knife was lodged at a ninety degree angle somewhere near his navel now, it was anchored in his ribs, and then a kiss. A kiss on his blood lips. "Help me. Please don't do this" he told the kisser. But no words would come out his mouth, save a trickle of blood. And the knife dug in deeper, it hit his spine..and it was all dark after that.

  "His insides were so warm when I pushed my hands in. I could've lived inside him, we could've always been together" sipping on his coffee he thought of him some more, and felt sad, when he remembered that he could only crawl into the well dressed man's slit stomach upto his elbows. He'd cried and tried to make more space. Pulling at his intestines, kissing his dead cold lips, begging him to let him in. "No he didn't love me. Just like everyone else. No one wants to possess me. Will I die alone, wanting. How can I be complete? I want to belong, to love, to fuse completely. To forget myself". 

A thin film of moisture built  in his eyes and he'd never felt as lonely, when suddenly on his screen popped a message that said "we're recruiting. Fight with us for a cause. Be a brother and bathe in blood of your enemies."

Two weeks and one religious conversion later, he found himself fighting for a cause.

Clad in black shroud, his pale thin lips hidden behind a black scarf that covered his entire face except his eyes, and even those he kept well hidden behind a pair of shades; he was a man who stood for a cause. 

He was given the night patrol charge of an occupied deserted town, and it was his duty to do any amount of any violence, to those who didn't believe in the cause. 

It wasn't difficult to find rebels in this city, a city that resembled a little more than rubble. "Rubble with some amount of architectural integrity still left to them" amusing himself he drove around his patrol car, looking for fresh enemies. 

"My cause is to be loved, to be felt. I want to be wanted wholly. Completely. Will you love me?" Always the same question..but at least the victims were different each time.

He was sadder each day, after each body he'd flayed, dismembered, disemboweled or beheaded. "I don't feel it. Why does it last a few seconds? my love feels so overwhelming. The hot blood, cools down. Warm organs decay to nothing. I want to merge, be one. Love me",  he saw himself rip open a woman's chest and pull out her warm heart. "So red and beautiful" he'd thought, and for a second all the joys of his pallid world were colored Crimson. He'd tasted the heart, and felt like he'd explode with happiness, and just like that, his sanguine moment was finished in a fraction. 

He saw others clad in black cheering him on to eat the entire heart but he didn't feel it anymore. The exuberant light of oneness had died out as the woman's dead heart turned into a cold lump of mortal flesh.

His sword would often rasp when it sliced through resisting bones of rebel heads, and he'd watch the blood gush out the headless neck like a forbidden waterfall of secret lust. He'd stare at it while it watered the desert sands red, and dried to red flakes; he felt like a fire within him had ignited itself. But it never sustained, in fact it was slowly dying. 

He didn't feel the love overwhelm him anymore. He'd skinned three women alive and dismembered two men while they were still breathing, and yet nothing. 

"Where's my fire? My face doesn't flush anymore. The blood doesn't rise to my temples and cave my heart in with love. I feel empty and alone still. My soul is atrophied and my heart feels famished. "Soon I will die of this pain" and it was then he was told of the well.

The well was a gigantic sinkhole, that had a bottom, though you couldn't see it..It was more of an abysmally deep earth pothole. 

No one spoke of it and no one went there, for it was a place a day's journey away, and it sent an unholy stench for miles around. It wasn't just stench though. It was a vile odor of blasphemous existence infested with the dying, dirty and rotting rebels. It was a well full of rebels who'd escaped. Most of them sick, wounded and dying. They sought shelter in the well to save themselves from getting slaughtered. Sheltered in it till they began to fester. The well was never going to be a problem, because the only way out was none. A thousand foot deep Sandhole. You could slide in but never climb out, and so the dead lay dying and the living began to starve. 

It was a cannibal colony now, and had nothing to offer save deranged rebels, who either ate or got eaten by their own. It had no food, no water..just rotting pieces of human flesh and filth. It reeked and no one cared. 

"They are an abomination. They wait in crowds for someone to fall in so they can tear him apart and chomp out chunks of flesh. They are like animals, and they rip out your entrails and eat it in front of you. They make you watch." someone had told him while checking mortar and anti gun missiles inventory. 

There were talks of bombing the whole damn place though and he knew he had to act fast. 

"I have to. To feel. To love. To be one. To fuse." He yelled at the air driving full death speed ahead to the well. 

"I want to live, to feel, to exist, to melt, to mold. To belong. To be one. To be devoured".. he jumped into the well.

Vase today

A bit of rose. Some ruined, some rogue, conventionally restored.

sometimes at nighttimes

Sometimes I'm like Dali wow! And sometimes Dali wtf?

All his stuff is mesmerizing and most of it beyond my comprehension. 

Perfectly detailed and symmetrical and disjointed? Abrupt, random, jarring, perfect! 

it looks like a luxurious canvas of abstract symbols and colorful codes. It's baffling and beautiful, and I rather feel like a dead goldfish whilst I stare at it entranced and confused.

If my head were an inbox it'd have way too much spam...and too many one line, half assed, raw baked silly cute dangerously psychotic thoughts. Filthy and insanely stupid all the way.

DYI: leftover sleep

If you store residual sleep in an iris chalice, and feed it with ache, tears darkness and regrets, you'll see how your ignored winks have started to stir and grow wings.

Dulled with tears and darkened with pain, sits a moth with a faceless face. His wings moth eaten and broken in places, this stupid moth has been awake for ages. 

A million drops of unfinished sleep to make him, a river of tears to wake him, yet he sits still waiting to mutate, back into the sleep you demonically craved. 

 One last wingless flight, a trail of blaze, triumph of glory; the moth liquidates, into a pool of sleep, sinking in your tar orbed eyes.

fat cat and love

The fat cat dozes on my bed 

Curled up next to a book I've not finished reading yet.

Does he know I've a tree called love?

One that doesn't stop growing

its roots sinking deeper

into bottomless earth

chlorophyll kisses 

tender misses

the branches feed on clouds

and leaves reek hearts

each day it grows

into an immortal giant

ripping through skies

immeasurable, impenetrable skies

spreading out itself

into a tropical blackhole

into a surplus jungle

an esoteric forest

from my tree of love 

Sparrow progress

As usual, progress is painfully slow :( 

Death and mo(u)rning

RIP sweet pigeon. The cat brought you into our house, clutched in his mouth, and you looked dead. I'm sorry you were maimed, bleeding, ripped apart and still breathing. 

You tried to fly away, splattering blood onto our walls, but alas..you were dying, the cat caught you again and turned you into a heap of torn wings and more blood.

A little too much blood and death before morning tea, not to mention cleaning of the walls. 

Not all walls need cleaning though.

A dirty wall covered with gorgeous graffiti of exquisite memories can never be washed away.  

Titter n tears

Oh god.. Smite me already. Just send something freakin ballistic! Like a shower of energy from the combustion of a thousand suns. Come the fuck on! 

  How about a goddamn rain of vampiric magnetic field? I don't know. 

Gravitational collapse? That'd be good, just suck me out of this place, this planet, this moment of existence. 

(If I had a gun, I know I wouldn't be able to kill anyone, nor ride them over with my car like GTA..and what of it?)

So what would it be? Transport me into some other dimension? Pretty please. 

No?..nothing? So just wounds and suffering? 

How about an electric bolt? Come on! 

-|_|-

Ugh, night again. Voids look so much more three dimensional in this darkness and you could literally cave into your own emptiness.. and figure that to be a better place than the one you're in right now. 

 If I could be a shadow..I wouldn't be mine..ugh, wishes and more wishes—they won't do nothing to brighten the murky cavity in my chest. 

Watever

Need a freaking confession booth, or somebody just preach me a goddamn sermon. 

Hail a passing meteor and beg it to burn this place to cinder, and we'd still be a couple poles of smouldering wind swept ashes.

Sigh :( 

Beauty then wreckage

when you're making a new drawing/art, everything about its creation is breathtaking. 

 It possesses your mind and compels you to think of nothing else except finishing .. and cradling your newest delight with your time—till the broken pieces of lines and curves blossom into a completed vision. 

The pinks look candied, yellows brighter than sunbursts and soft daubs of light whites are light as a clouds kiss. 

Oh, how the heart bleeds when you twitch and splatter a smidgen of alien colour into another pattern. But you soothe it out soon, and train your eyes to ignore it.

And voilà, after hours of drawing, erasing, coloring, sketching, painting, splotching, layering and every now or so, holding it afar to dote on it..the drawing is done. 

Click, snap Instagram. A bit on tumblr and a bit of filter, blog or choke it down your followers throats. Jam jam jam..eat my drawing assholes. Like it, comment and go mad. Say you love it, and I'll feign I don't care. 

But..moments later, that masterpiece metamorphoses into another paper. The pinks are meh, yellows looks jaundiced and the light whites are so fuck I don't care. The smidgen splatter suddenly pops into your horizon like an eyesore,  and you can't seem to look away from the colour wreck.

Woe is the life of a momentary magnum opus. 

Blabla

The voice, the voice, the voice, the mothereffin voice is back. 

Roy Dotrice in my ears again narrating A Dance with Dragons.

Fuck, yeah this is a stupid got post and I don't give a flying rats ass to the series. Not one..but this audio book is fantastic..or maybe I'm just quick to convert.

  What do I know.. I'm my blindest best in love. 

Catatonia

A morning house in disarray presents...

Rubik's cube cat

Yessss sirreee..a Rubik's cube cat, except this is that one puzzle you could never solve.

 The cat conundrum 

He will ask you to love him, and then claw you when you do. 

He will ask you to feed him and get irritated when you ask for a kiss in return.  He stays at the top of his opera game, and sings his heart in cacophonous meows near your pillow while you sleep, and as soon as you stir to pet him, the monstrous cat will flee. He will meow like a banshee again,  far from your reach, until you wake up, curse your life and give him a smile. 

Then he'll roll into a ball, near your feet, it'll melt your heart and you'll dive in for a kiss, a cuddle, touch of soft fur..and he'll ignore you, look the other way and not care if you kiss him..make you feel like a desperate loser, begging for attention. 

What do you want cat? Can I twist you and turn, put you in a pattern? A symmetry of purrs and meows and affections. I can just let you be, in your own world..and let you ruin mine, while I look at you lovingly, as you claw my sofas into a threadbare existence. 

Bb

Why am I so ridiculously addicted to bigboss? Why do cheap thrills and guilty pleasures call out to me like lost love? 

  But one shouldn't feel guilty about pleasures, so this is a guiltless pleasure, and I've no excuse for cheap thrills. 

Cheap thrills works as a palette cleanser..this is my excuse.

Or fuck that shit, I don't need a goddamn excuse. 

Casa Salama is primrose debris of gluttonous gratification. 

Stuff

Stuff that's been annoying me lately 

I've been playing GTA 4 for almost two weeks now, and I'm still sucking at a couple of things. 

Let me assure you that gaming isn't my forte but lately I've been having fun. 

The problem is well, earlier it was that I couldn't drive too well, took me a bit to get used to L2 R2 for back and acceleration and then R3 for camera angles. Don't think I'm complaining, it's just that I'm so not used to doing stuff with this certain joystick..its plastic you understand.

Fine, then I got the driving under control, in fact I got better and now I'm pretty good at it, having amassed a bit of choice cars and sports vehicles in my parking lot. After which I always save my game.

In between all this I keep doing my missions and here's the problem. Every time I've to start killing people, or do anything with guns, I'm too slow. I think it's some cog failure in my brain. 

I take too long to pull out my gun, then it takes me a while to aim and by that time Niko is dead. (He's the boorish Russian protagonist or whatever you gamers call it) it's as simple as L2 R2 and R3 for aiming. 

I think the problem is that my control with joysticks isn't good, and also that som wires in my brains get jammed or knotted. 

I need to work around this. 

Also, why the fuck do I always have to draw out a gun? Why can't I grow spikes and hug people or camouflage? 

Anyway, the aiming and the killing..yes I have to get better at that. 

Ugh, still haven't finished watching last episode of THE KILLING!! 

What wot?

Gleamin' bloomin'

cuz I've been a groomin'

steppin' out the bathroom

looks like I'm mushroomin'

and kinda fusing

or is it confusing?

Fuck I am forgettin'

No, now I remember

it was that December

you kissed my eyes said I love you 

and I said thank you fuck you too 

Post it notes on virtual walls

Spirited away is the best movie to come out of Hayao Miyazaki camp..that and Howl's moving castle. ( the English dubbed version was good too. Christian Bale voiced Howl) 

Miyazaki's animations and plots sometimes live in metaphors and there's always something pure about their beauty, and an underlying moral story that teaches us to never judge anyone. 

Talking of anime, this blog needs a comprehensive list of good anime movies and series. 

-----------

Currently watching: the killing (Forbrydelsen)

listening to: crazytown's new album 'the brimstone sluggers' 

reading: collection of stories by Ismat Chugtai in Hindi. 

Drawing: nothing

Feels

Sometimes you want to sit back, relax and do nothing. 

No music, no tv, no books or Internet.

Your brain turns into a flip book of everything you did, everything you need to do.

A miniature graphic novel of memories that's been out of print.

Stare at the ceiling, remember a joke and smile.

Try to work the steady hum of air conditioning into your night, and pretend it's bass.

Lie down flat on your bed, wrap yourself in sheets; act like they're hugging you back and whisper into your pillow 'tell me something nice, anything' 

T shirt tales

This is kinda what they'll look like, except they'll be printed and not photoshopped. 

Something like this among a lot more I've designed. The printing isn't as easy as I'd have expected. 

Because of the many customizations the designs will have to be printed as the t shirt gets stitched., because some designs start from the bottom, and some reach all the way to the back, as opposed to the basic back and front design prints. 

Let's see let's see

Merciless mornings

Mornings tend to tread gently into my room, filtering slowly through an armory of tinted windows and thick curtains. 

Mornings tread gently into my room and brutally swallow any remains of the day past. 

They scrape away at dreams I try to remember, peel off the important glaze from last nights notifications, and try to erase old memories with a bloodthirsty vengeance. 

So callous are these mornings when it comes to soothing wounds, that they chafe it raw, to the point they bleed. A couple sores of oozing salt water. 

Mornings may be a handy tool to erase dreams, but they often skimp on the nightmares. 

Now I've a collection of tattered nightmares to draw a fractured collage of delusions, and the best part about delusions is that they can masquerade as dreams, even during day time. 

Batman and nostalgia

The merest mention of the word batman, and virgins worldwide start creaming their panties. 

Lactating bat fanatics lift up their udders and fucking jizz over any conversation that is batman. 

But screw them.. I'm away from evil clutches of put on polite conversation andsitting through endless bat statistics of his dying bat-spermatozoa.

Bat maketh money and money maketh the bat, and he's been popping up every damn place since the time of his conception..and of all the stuff he's been portrayed, crammed or written into, my all time favorite is 

Batman: the animated series 

I've watched this at different periods of my school life on Cartoon Network, and then again..later in life—downloaded them and watched them back to front and back again. Yes, I've been that lifeless. 

Coming back to these series, which is by far the best batman anything to have ever  appeared in visual media.

 Batman fangirling

Batman was voiced by 'the' batman voice of  Kevin Conroy, deep dark and brooding. Byronic batman..sigh. 

Gotham was a crime grotto, slick and black and dingy with human filth. The animations were crisp and detailed, dialogues were totally awesome. 

I remember a Commisioner Gordon dialogue 

'you look more startled than a rat at a cat convention'

and the plots were clean and easily fit into a 22 minute episode, and some twisted plots were dedicated to joker brainchild. 

Favorite series villain: Man bat aka scientist Kirk Langstrom. 

Don't knock it till you try it. 

This was from a pre Nolan era so don't expect any level of douche philosophy. It's batman to the soul, old school cave, clothing, Alfred and Robin.

Yes there was Dick Grayson robin in some episodes and it wasn't bad at all.

So if you're looking for the real batman feels, then this animated series is the thing for you. 

Disney doom

You could add all the gloom you wanted to a Disney fairy tale song and it'd still sound optimistic. 

Happy endings for all, and not even the kinds you get in shoddy massage parlours.

Disney happy endings are redolent of summers that smell of berries. Their skies are a flawless turqoise, Springs have blue birds weaving a crown of yellowed leaves, and you feel like you're in a fairytale too. 

Eat a poisoned Apple, and faint forever..the world will go mad, singing lyrics dedicated to you. 

Songs of love while you're a comatose perfection of sublime virginal beauty..waiting for a kiss..dying for the kiss.

 

 Fuck fairy tales though... Gimme savage sermons, scavenger sagas or torture testaments..or even a heartbreak. Because that's so real, and less painful. Lesser painful than the upkeep of a happy ending

Happy endings has left the building.

 The best you can do is stay comatose and pretend you've been kissed.  

 

Geometry in lines and lyrics

Darling I'm a line

the shortest distance between two points

a plain jaded line

a slow smoldering forgotten joint

Darling I'm a line

and I can curl into a fetal position 

become a circle 

just like you 

fit in you if you want to

become concentric circles

or a venn diagram if need be

Darling I'm a line,

and I can do a fantastic break dance

become a square

edges four and all cool

feed on angles acute or obtuse

Or a rectangle do you fancy?

I could rectangulate(?) all over you 

Darling I'm a line

but I could bend in places

become a warm squiggle

easy to snuggle

easy to entwine around your heart

Wrap around you, without the geometric hassle

But darling, I'm a line.

the shortest distance between two points 

I'll keep going straight 

once in a while, maybe intersect 

But I'm just a line

a plain jaded line

a slow smouldering forgotten joint

Conversations and such during break times.

Chateau de bladder, I growled as I gurgled down a bottle of toxic meltdown that was knows as beer on this god forsaken place.

Cheers, said the nun, she gave me a pious wink and chugged down two bottles of (nuclear waste) beer.

Our dear nun, fellow mercenary with rules and other such fancies, killed only viscious men. No women or children she'd say. A nun to the core.

  She ran an orphanage, which would have been impoverished had it not been for her mercenary life. It's an orphanage not a cemetery, she'd often say while disemboweling poor souls.

 

How do you resist temptation on the road?  I asked her that balmy night, as we sat drawing Olympic Rings on wooden bar tables, with the bottoms of our cold bottled pestilence. 

I'm a nun, child. she said unblinking, unthinking. 

And then, with a slight humph and a lazy eye roll she told me that she lets her bush (down there) overgrow to the point it serves as her chastity belt.

Not bad,  I winked back, and we clinked our bottles of cool cool (blight) beer. 

Creepy times

The cat stares unblinking at me for more than twenty seconds and that's a bit weird but not much.. and I let him stare and I stare back.

It's been a minute.

And then I realize, he's staring right past me..right behind my shoulder.

I can see his eyes follow something, and he suddenly jerks his head to stare at the ceiling. stares, and that's it. Gets back to sleeping. 

Go to hell cat, or is that where you already are me sweetling? 

Giving in to gravity and other poetic missions.

Sometimes you want to blame everything on drugs, but you know it really wasn't drugs. It was you..you stupid moron, and other voices I hear in my head, through a decent headphone set, as I plummet down some 20,000 odd feet..dangling on a parachute—silent as a bug. 

The clouds were a whisper made of dew, and Gravity was a lusting wench.

In between this gravity and fall was a waterless ocean of azure blue, one that had no waves..just a few clouds. 

It was a bright sunny day, and as I fell, suspended on my parachute..looking down at my boots, they needed a bit more shine.  

Ho hum..another day, it'll all be fine. 

Heart hate

Tinman wanted a heart..(he was a fucking idiot) I could tell you a thousand reasons to avoid having one. 

If circumsizing heart were a thing, I'd convert to that religion.

If you could pull it out and hang it on a string, I'd stick it on a fucking rope of dynamites. 

If it weren't pumping blood into my system, and, had it evolved itself into an appendix like item, I'd have taken this organ of boundless misery, and given it its own personal hell. —The kind of hell that makes Auschwitz look like a kindergarten playground,  and ripped the heart to shreds, and dried it under the sun until it resembled a sorry excuse for a filthy resin..and then rolled it into a blunt and smoked it up! 

 Let this be known, I fucking hate hearts. 

On the bandwagon

arrivée

Hot pink baby blush

Oh please let me dwell in half witted haikus, where prose and verse are bad or worse, and limericks torn apart.

A rhyme to rhyme and then none for several hours..and Sentences end in dashes and stars.

 Let me write some garble, some Latin, quid pro quo or whatever..and then don't even bother to elaborate, let me upset you further and end my poems in questions marks. 

And then something random, something new, start with semi colons left ajar. 

Allegory and a wink, I'll distract you, add some kink. 

And a fade shade of poetry, lights, blacks, greys and blues, some blood, Some aliens, robots and guns, spaces and universes too. 

Let me start with a word and end in a lemon, or an odd poetry that finishes in a story. 

There might be no rhythms, there might be no rhymes..just some adjectives and stuff and a mess of my words. 

But they're mine. 

how to: meditation in mauling

Mornings come as a dull white inauguration to a worn out day. It's bright when I want it to rain, Grey on days that should've been sunny, and slow on days when my adrenaline is going through the roof.
Today.. todays it's hot. Like god put a magnifying glass under the sun. It's a day ready to combust into a million flames, yet here I am, in the space of my room; overlooking a rainbow of concrete.
My adrenaline is always high, and my good mood is a murderous rage. No wit no will, yet sharp as sin, I'm a pitiless mercenary.
Me and more like me .. we're hired for the entirety of a whole war..we're not hitman, we're mercenaries and killing is our purpose to breathe. Mafia war, world war, galaxy war or blackhole war..it doesn't matter.

 If you shove a rose up the barrel of my m16, I will fry your ass with benzene flare.
Fields, flowers, white flags, dwellings and mercy... everything we raid, conquer or go through, we starve, burn or kill. We've no mates, we've brethren, and even those we sometimes maim and kill.
We are sent back when the war gets over or our contracts; Whichever happens first. Some wars are swift, spanning a few months or a couple of years, but some keep on for decades..millenia.
.. for the past few turns I've been sent as torture artist for covert military operations, secret evolution projects and warlords.
Deaths on torture chairs are often inevitable and a thing of incidental beauty, and I never had to worry about that same old chestnut 'how to get rid of the body'. The dead bodies were usually flung over battle encampments, trenches, stalemates..or strewn over a freshly carpet bombed city. Once in a while they'd be sold to a starving nation.

Ah, but let me not hold you hostage to disoriented adventure of black ink white page, for it is a rabbit hole, and who's to say a mercenary wouldn't eat that silly rabbit?

   Hours of meditation are a mandatory mercenary training exercise, to keep a clearer head. It acts as a shield against all the voices that feed on your senses, and my sincere weapon for meditative calm is Audiobooks.
Audiobooks when I'm working, to drown out the voices and provide a prettier narrative to repetitive slashes and strokes. *you learn to read between the lines, uncode signals and signs that are an echo of your own

The bait was in the making as I started listening to one audiobook after another while I sank ships, burnt oil rigs, and slit throats.
and then one day I stumbled on 'Wayne of Gotham audiobook'.
- Batman, without the visual! how terribly difficult to follow and banal it would be, but it was a movie in my mind, and I smiled and gasped at how well they built on suspense and anxiety.  It was a typical Batman story, but they perfectly wove past and present through flashbacks in narratives. Old school batman, deep baritone, dank dark caves, more blue than black.

-Stepehen King came in next..in an avalanche, while I Filled silo's with severed limbs and flew F-22 Raptor's over rubble towns, Stephen started with a solo trumpet of 24 short stories, and by the time I was dressed to the nines in my combat boot and fatigues, Stephen was a full blown symphony with his 'Revival' and 'Mr. Mercedes'.. and while I do accede milord, that they weren't his absolute best, it didn't matter to moi. The narration was spectacular, like bricklaying horror and suspense,  juxtaposed with real life existence, as I punched in nuclear codes over a city.

I could burn through the tar black orbs of your eyes, sow more words into your inner eyelids, and emblazon it with random despair, dear sir, but I hear the sirens wailing. they're shouting for us to fall into ranks..it's time for deployment. lacing up my boots and feeding on covert battleground missives, I blast through audiobookbay, for strictly meditative purposes.

Pondering on plumes

This plumage didn't turn out exactly how I wanted. the colours and shading look right, but the feathers look out of tune.  I don't like its perspective, and I don't like these feathers, it somehow lacks a soul. 

  The watercolours pencils however were bloody good. I used Staedtler Luna, and brushes size 8 and size 2.  Watercolour pencils needs a bit of practice to figure out shading, strokes, and pressure application for colour intensity. 

Having said this however they lack the depth of proper water colour cakes. 

But I wish to rectify on this feather folly, and make something nicer, better. More harmonious. This drawing lacks harmony. It's disjointed and doesn't rhyme, and we can't have that..can we? 

Duh day

Walk walk walk

into the trenches of a shop

look see buy

river of shiny cloth, 

sequins and pearl drops

enraptured by vivid greens

silk screens and gold with subtle grins

get it stitched 

walk some more

our favorite boutique 

the same smell of every boutique.

assuring, ensuring, artificial but flowery

Lost and found space city.

"Beyond the coral desert of dead frequensea, you need only take a left turn, to enter the two dimensional forests of phantom metamath. It's a popular getaway for those who need a quick dose of alternate cosmos. You get to exist as 2D for a few days. 

     Beyond that lies nothing. It's a blackhole war zone and not our concern" said the friendly voice, emiting from an AI GPS commonly known as Sagpi on planet msy.

This is probably what every Sagpi would say, but then those sorry pieces of AI would be wrong. 

A few eons off south, behind the 'blackhole war zone' on the precipice of melting time, hung the lost planet. 

The lost planet was all white, and inhabited entirely by lost morse codes and signals.

Morse codes and signals from every existence. This was a lost planet of lost codes and signs.

The codes flickered on the white surface of the planet like microscopic steel ribbons..Some lost from before they could remember, and some hatchlings. Of the millions that'd appear, only a few got to disappear. 

The ones who'd disappear were called  iuktm. Redemption was theirs, for they were received. 

The disappeared ones got to travel back to the existence of time, to tell of the moments lost that you made into a saga, and whisper back sentences that didn't finish, flares that went unnoticed..they'd change to voices, noises, conversations —help us, SOS, smoke signs and beams.. images, war machine texts and binary bips, I love you, pics of alien tattoos, kisses, laser etched hot lips.

Dialogues, monologues, down votes, upvotes, technical anomalies. Lost radio bandwidth, fractions of a song, edited newsroom yawn, stupid captcha code glitch, telephone rings.. more fractured songs. How inspired are you talk show applause from '69', I'm the slattern?(surprise element) on radio 55.

    The iuktm's were received as their uncoded invisible self to revamp, relax, relapse.

Along the asteroid belt of the aphid sea, once in a lost moment, you can witness a passing code, that's been received.

Audiobook booby trap

My armour is valyrian steel, but my heart is common wax.:( 

I'm so stupidly hooked to GoT audiobooks, that I actually bothered to write its abbreviation correct.

All hell to me. 

The narrator (Roy Dotrice), painted a canvas so epic. Each character had a different voice, and each voice had its own character, and that made it so extremely easy and interesting to follow.

His narration was old school, heart warming and benevolent. 

And so imagine my shock, surprise, dismay and horror when I started with "feast of crows" and the voice wasn't 'The voice'. It'd changed. Roy Dotrice was gone, and instead there was John Lee. 

It left me in shock for a day. I couldn't do anything, I was so sad. All characters were new now, they sounded so different. After being used to Roy Dotrice's full bodied accent, there was suddenly this different voice, who sounded so very not old school.  

  It must sound so silly, but I was hurt. My favorite characters sounded different. I couldn't follow a couple of arches just because I forgot that this was a new voice that spoke with different intonations.

Ugh, my drawings weren't getting done. Still, I pushed through, and suddenly, everything got better. John Lee is fanfuckingtastic. I'm almost at the end of feast of crows and it's been a smooth sailing. His characters have a different voice too, but there feels like an added dimension of thoughts to it. 

It's difficult to explain, but he's made the characters feel more three dimensional, or maybe it could be just how this book was written. 

Even so, I must've finished half a dozen drawings listening to GoT audiobooks..and not only hooked, it has me ensnared. 

Bring me your fantasies, epic sagas of seas beyond seas, and volumes and volumes of words and voice. I'll listen as I draw. 

ps: the first line isn't GoT

Life hacks

How well are you equipped to dispose off a dead body? 

Let's assume a hypothetical situation where you've got yourself a dead body in your house. Some orphan with no kith or kin, save a few friends who don't know you. 

Just a house guest, no witnesses, no nothing. S(he) fell in the bathroom and died. No blood splatter or gore. A broken neck and fresh corpse.

 

You don't want to tell the police cuz you're beginning a new life in less than 48 hours and this isn't the mess you need right now.

You live in an apartment building in a bustling city.

 

How do you get rid of this dead body? Let's explore some options.

• bury the corpse

- this is one of the best and most tried out methods to get rid of a dead body, and it has to be done just right for perfect results otherwise we know how it turns out.

Dig a deep grave, as deep as you can go , and cover the dead body with sheets of salt to quicken the rot. Make sure, the area is secluded and you know how to get there. 

Last moment haste and indecisiveness can ruin it for you. 

Bury at a construction sight, Where it can be a part of the foundation, with tons of concrete, brick and mortar to nullify its existence. ( best idea. Make friends with a building contractor)

• weighing it down to the bottom of an ocean

- I'd never recommend this. Shit gets bloated and rises to the top. Also you end up endangering the water Eco system with human spoils. 

Still if you can reach right to the deepest part, just dump it with tons of rocks wrapped around it. Also if you can get a boat in the middle of night to dispose off a body then you sure have good friends in the construction business too. Bury it there.  

• dissolve in acid and drain the sludge into a sewage

- how very breaking bad, but it works. 

• burn the body

-a quick cremation, but a burning body attracts too much attention, not to mention it smells of a burning body. 

Logistic and utility problems

To be able to do any of the above mentioned activities of burial or burn, we need to get the body into a car, and carrying dead bodies out of your house, unseen, unnoticed might be difficult. 

You could either

-pretend your friend is drunk and carry them down to you car ( this won't work well)

-hack it into smaller pieces, bag and carry them little bundles into a nice traveling bag. ( easier) 

—Hacking away at a a dead body isn't joyous or rewarding, but there are times when you gotta think straight.

Best way to avoid any organ spillage is to remove the limb joints. Disjoint (hack away) the arms from the shoulders and shorten the legs by detaching the knee joints. 

 The corpse will be  travel friendly once you've reduced its size.

You'll need big plastic sheets to cover your floors and bathroom tiles and walls. Avoid drips. 

You also need cutting tools. Something that could hack off bones, or cut through them.

Steel pipe saw, chainsaw, saw, cleaver, axe. 

How many of us actually even keep one of these?

Once you've disjointed the bones, you'll need to simply bag them. 

Neatly, in large plastic bags. Use newspapers to absorb excess blood. Cover with more plastic sheets and pack into travel bags, to look like you're going out to travel. 

(Additional item: lots of salt)

Once you're out of the house with your bags and salt. Find your safe burial ground, and with the aid of a spade bury the corpse. 

*Burning or drowning on such a short notice won't work too efficiently, since time is of the essence, and you'd have to live near the ocean to do so.

*Dissolving in acid is a clean way to dispose off the corpse too, if you can procure all that acid and find someplace to melt the body and drain it.  ( don't flush it down your toilet please)

The most feasible option, that works from home is the burial in my opinion, that is if you don't have any acid..and the equipments needed aren't as difficult to buy and store.

Equipments

- plastic sheets. Lots of them

- small axe 

- handy spade

- large plastic bags (100 ltr plastic bags are easily available)

- strong ropes (to tie the limbs)

 

[this isn't perfected, and has scope for improvement. I'm still working on it]