In a cruel twist of cosmic conspiracy and fate most mundane I find myself embedded in thick slabs of soft fabric.
Its mounding humps curved in an erratic display of glowering galaxies. Arranged in a celestial disarray most beckoning.
Easing limbs slowly in frozen dried water cold confines of nighttime shroud that offers nothing but pin pricks like goosebumps upon but the slightest touch of an unfortunate terrain of vulnerable skin.
Reluctant enswathing followed by a long wait, interludes by a symphony of chattering teeth and trembling philharmonic shudders.. and a long forlorn gaze, brought upon by madame night, imperviously knit into serried fusion of doleful longing.
A longing of such zealous rapaciousness (unashamedly admitted) as to turn lifeless shallow crevices of odd meanderings formed unawares in innocent beddings into animate living leviathans of soft comforting arms; stretching from the hollows of my slowly warming neck to numb toes.
Sigh..hearts.
Wednesday, 30 November 2016
Just one thing though..
Flipping channels on a newly gotten international Iptv with so called hundreds of channels ranging from Syfy, Fx to all desi channels.
Of course it's a matter of luck which channels, when, will not buffer to make uninterrupted tv viewing easy and mostly because these channels can be annoyingly slow or the fact that they keep buffering ever so often as every scene changes that you really lose the will to go on with any further tv watching and opt to mediate instead.
But I digress..
as I was flipping channels to find some steady noise in the background to play while I'd busy myself surfing the net and playing with cat, I paused for a few moments on a channel playing a movie in which (take a deep breath) Shahrukh Khan is a music teacher and an accomplished violinist no less.
Of course you probably know about this, it being a rather popular piece of colorful tripe sporting a collection of handpicked trash rags for actors.
So I paused on this movie, less for the cinematic experience and more for the hipsterish smugness of wallowing in something insidiously crappy to alleviate my morales and feel good about myself.
Right, so while doing this I did end up watching a full ten minutes of 'Mohabbatein' (which technically isn't even a word) and realized how much mad money the producers spent on filming, location, songs, production designing etc.
What I didn't understand however was that why they didn't bother to spend even a fraction of that amount to make Shahrukh Khan take some violin lessons.
He's supposedly a senior actor who puts his heart in movies 'apparently' and such wholeheartedly and full of zeal does he perform his characters that audiences break themselves in teary gasps at his momentous dialogues and lovelorn portrayal of hurt persona.
But this greatest actor who's a milestone of our movie industry couldn't be bothered to take two violin classes just to learn how one holds the violin and bow correctly.
I mean come on. Even the dumbest of the most non-musically inclined person will know that barbarously pushing all the strings on the floorboard with your fingers is not going to produce any sound simply by rubbing the bow on strings.. which is what this highly paid actor in question did through the whole movie.
Was this flaw so oblivious to the director? Could he not have insisted that the actor learn just a bit about the instrument he's playing? Didn't the actor think of doing this himself?
And why did it have to be such a difficult instrument to start with? A violin! Thankfully it wasn't cello.
They could've just given him something comparatively easier like a couple spoons to bang inside of a bowl.
So now I'm watching this movie or rather letting it play it in the background while I go on about a book. The cat sleeps on my lap and I start up and take notice every time there's a piece of violin in the background just to torture myself and feel happy at the same.
.. a strange twist of masochist events.
Of course it's a matter of luck which channels, when, will not buffer to make uninterrupted tv viewing easy and mostly because these channels can be annoyingly slow or the fact that they keep buffering ever so often as every scene changes that you really lose the will to go on with any further tv watching and opt to mediate instead.
But I digress..
as I was flipping channels to find some steady noise in the background to play while I'd busy myself surfing the net and playing with cat, I paused for a few moments on a channel playing a movie in which (take a deep breath) Shahrukh Khan is a music teacher and an accomplished violinist no less.
Of course you probably know about this, it being a rather popular piece of colorful tripe sporting a collection of handpicked trash rags for actors.
So I paused on this movie, less for the cinematic experience and more for the hipsterish smugness of wallowing in something insidiously crappy to alleviate my morales and feel good about myself.
Right, so while doing this I did end up watching a full ten minutes of 'Mohabbatein' (which technically isn't even a word) and realized how much mad money the producers spent on filming, location, songs, production designing etc.
What I didn't understand however was that why they didn't bother to spend even a fraction of that amount to make Shahrukh Khan take some violin lessons.
He's supposedly a senior actor who puts his heart in movies 'apparently' and such wholeheartedly and full of zeal does he perform his characters that audiences break themselves in teary gasps at his momentous dialogues and lovelorn portrayal of hurt persona.
But this greatest actor who's a milestone of our movie industry couldn't be bothered to take two violin classes just to learn how one holds the violin and bow correctly.
I mean come on. Even the dumbest of the most non-musically inclined person will know that barbarously pushing all the strings on the floorboard with your fingers is not going to produce any sound simply by rubbing the bow on strings.. which is what this highly paid actor in question did through the whole movie.
Was this flaw so oblivious to the director? Could he not have insisted that the actor learn just a bit about the instrument he's playing? Didn't the actor think of doing this himself?
And why did it have to be such a difficult instrument to start with? A violin! Thankfully it wasn't cello.
They could've just given him something comparatively easier like a couple spoons to bang inside of a bowl.
So now I'm watching this movie or rather letting it play it in the background while I go on about a book. The cat sleeps on my lap and I start up and take notice every time there's a piece of violin in the background just to torture myself and feel happy at the same.
.. a strange twist of masochist events.
Blacked today
demonically deeply dark and hot
the steam escapes its diabolical dingy confines
blacker than your soul coffee
for moments when only steaming drinkable shadows will do.
walled in delight
A wall of text with nothing save words and line and sentences long. Devoid of too many punctuations and crammed with alphabets is hard to not love.
I have nothing if not love for walls and walls of texts.. anyone can do windows and small doors and little ceilings and tiny attics.. but a wall of text no less is nothing if not phenomenal.
It beckons to me. My eyes light up, feeling greedy, knowing all too well that there's so much, much and more to go through, to read to imbibe, to pleasure your much deprived irises with.
It's a bit like a glutton who'd rather have an entire table, sinking under the weight of a blowout feast as opposed to mimsy portions of a myriad courses.
I am that glutton who'd like a table dotted or spread with lavishly abundant food rather than slowly wait for more to come in.
A wall of text is nothing if not welcome, my darling. No apologies, only more and more and yet some more.
I have nothing if not love for walls and walls of texts.. anyone can do windows and small doors and little ceilings and tiny attics.. but a wall of text no less is nothing if not phenomenal.
It beckons to me. My eyes light up, feeling greedy, knowing all too well that there's so much, much and more to go through, to read to imbibe, to pleasure your much deprived irises with.
It's a bit like a glutton who'd rather have an entire table, sinking under the weight of a blowout feast as opposed to mimsy portions of a myriad courses.
I am that glutton who'd like a table dotted or spread with lavishly abundant food rather than slowly wait for more to come in.
A wall of text is nothing if not welcome, my darling. No apologies, only more and more and yet some more.
scratch that itch
And a good afternoon to you delicious honey coloured curtains, sheepishly sieving dull light into a golden tan on my bed.
A ruinous sepia tinted hue outside with a hint of dystopian warmth frozen in the crevices of icy shallows.
The world seems especially inviting if you were to coalesce into a non entity as protozoan as tumbleweed; letting yourself astray hither and thither. An absurdity insignificantly breathing, exhaling purposeless existence.
Unintelligently immune to the workings of existence and too asinine to know better.
Or perhaps if you were to turn yourself inside out, so that your ribs could see how it feels when the weather's breezy. Taut tissue relaxing, lungs deflating and muscles unwinding.
Walking on the pavement hailing hi's to eyes passing by, a sodden horror of red nerves skinless bound tight in sinews of bleeding corpuscles.
Spongy brain unfurling into thick ribbons of sticky goo, a pumping heart with chambers four black and blue.
Smiling at the sky with eyes a horrific collection of stringy veins and molten fluid.
A perfect antidote to dismal days for when you want to give up and go.
A ruinous sepia tinted hue outside with a hint of dystopian warmth frozen in the crevices of icy shallows.
The world seems especially inviting if you were to coalesce into a non entity as protozoan as tumbleweed; letting yourself astray hither and thither. An absurdity insignificantly breathing, exhaling purposeless existence.
Unintelligently immune to the workings of existence and too asinine to know better.
Or perhaps if you were to turn yourself inside out, so that your ribs could see how it feels when the weather's breezy. Taut tissue relaxing, lungs deflating and muscles unwinding.
Walking on the pavement hailing hi's to eyes passing by, a sodden horror of red nerves skinless bound tight in sinews of bleeding corpuscles.
Spongy brain unfurling into thick ribbons of sticky goo, a pumping heart with chambers four black and blue.
Smiling at the sky with eyes a horrific collection of stringy veins and molten fluid.
A perfect antidote to dismal days for when you want to give up and go.
Tuesday, 29 November 2016
Paranoia par passport pus
Getting passports are a nasty business, specifically difficult in our country. Both to apply for citizens as well as people traveling from abroad coming for short term work.
Each time I've applied for passport or gotten it renewed it's taken donkeys years to have the final result delivered, and it's not always picture perfect.
My last passport had me looking like I were vibrating. Even the printing of my name and other essentials looked like what double stamps look when you try to restamp the same space to darken the original stamping resulting in giving it a phantom echo, that makes it look shoddily doubled.
It was probably a case of laminating the page without letting the ink dry and imagine how difficult it was for me to live with that passport. Every time I travelled oversees I always had a problem with the customs.
I knew that the moment my turn in immigration would come I'd be questioned or made to wait or be asked to sign some documents and what not.
It angered me and made me feel helpless at the same time.
Every time I thought of getting it renewed or changed I was stuck with one travel plan or another and it didn't help that it also contained my resident visa.
I mean the looks I'd get from immigration police officers. I'd the worst experience in Hong Kong when they told me that such passport won't be allowed a second time.
I was aghast thinking what to do. Going back to India and getting the damn thing renewed wasn't an option. They'd take a whole month not to mention resubmitting documents which I don't understand why one has to do? Just renew my passport on the basis of my existing passport. But No.
I was so angry that I applied it in China and sent it via post to the embassy.
I got a new passport within a week sent back to me through post. No extra documents needed.
Oh come on. I mean it's that easy to get it in another country than your own. Such shitty irony.
Then I've had pathetically horrifying experiences each time I was calling a band from abroad. They'd go through such difficult times at the Indian embassy. There've been times when a band's visa has been denied just days before their concert.
I shudder thinking back those times when I'd be awake the whole night talking sense into visa officials in Indian embassies in Austria, Poland, Germany.
They'd ask me mundane questions sounding totally bored and obstinately lazy. I knew they were just dilly dallying and not interested in doing any work.
I mean I've had to send such ridiculously unneeded details like venue maps, fire exit plans, crowd capacity numbers.
And I've had to fax these details at sometime's 3:00 in the morning from office. Just so they could stamp the band visas and send them over. It angered me no end that my production person and graphic designer had to stay up with me in office doing this nonsensical work just because our embassy oversees was so incompetent and lazy.
It's a cultural defect you know. Babu types behind computers over the phones, asking myriad millions baseless, useless questions. Grievers to a fault.
So many times I had to cancel and rebook tickets just because the bands traveling party of 7 didn't get their visas on time. Such sheer waste of money and nerves.
Not once has it gone smoothly with bands. I'd got so used to this that I was well prepared to tackle a hundred idiotic questions at odd hours. Of course I was the one frantically ringing the embassy before their lunchtime to get a word in sideways. They'd keep derailing me telling so and so isn't available. 'Call in evening' (my post midnight time). 'Send the ticket design'(why the fuck do you want to see the ticket?).
And I'd be doing it all instead of telling them to fuck themselves .
If I were to start ranting on this, the entire blogosphere would be a place too cramped, such is my swilling anger thinking back those moments.
I mean talk of pressure, it was maddening. Imagine. A performance after four days, for which thousands and thousand tickets have been sold. Ads have been aired. Contest winners have been picked. Press conferences have been held. Sponsors have paid up. And the band in question is denied a visa. To say that I was tearing out my hair in wild frustration would be to put it grossly mild.
I can talk more about this. Not just passport situation but pressuring moments that had me contemplating suicide as an option. Moments that at those times felt like it'd be the end of the world, but are now fond memories of all the crazies I went through.
Ah..
now I feel like a bit of tea. Perhaps some red tea is in order.
Each time I've applied for passport or gotten it renewed it's taken donkeys years to have the final result delivered, and it's not always picture perfect.
My last passport had me looking like I were vibrating. Even the printing of my name and other essentials looked like what double stamps look when you try to restamp the same space to darken the original stamping resulting in giving it a phantom echo, that makes it look shoddily doubled.
It was probably a case of laminating the page without letting the ink dry and imagine how difficult it was for me to live with that passport. Every time I travelled oversees I always had a problem with the customs.
I knew that the moment my turn in immigration would come I'd be questioned or made to wait or be asked to sign some documents and what not.
It angered me and made me feel helpless at the same time.
Every time I thought of getting it renewed or changed I was stuck with one travel plan or another and it didn't help that it also contained my resident visa.
I mean the looks I'd get from immigration police officers. I'd the worst experience in Hong Kong when they told me that such passport won't be allowed a second time.
I was aghast thinking what to do. Going back to India and getting the damn thing renewed wasn't an option. They'd take a whole month not to mention resubmitting documents which I don't understand why one has to do? Just renew my passport on the basis of my existing passport. But No.
I was so angry that I applied it in China and sent it via post to the embassy.
I got a new passport within a week sent back to me through post. No extra documents needed.
Oh come on. I mean it's that easy to get it in another country than your own. Such shitty irony.
Then I've had pathetically horrifying experiences each time I was calling a band from abroad. They'd go through such difficult times at the Indian embassy. There've been times when a band's visa has been denied just days before their concert.
I shudder thinking back those times when I'd be awake the whole night talking sense into visa officials in Indian embassies in Austria, Poland, Germany.
They'd ask me mundane questions sounding totally bored and obstinately lazy. I knew they were just dilly dallying and not interested in doing any work.
I mean I've had to send such ridiculously unneeded details like venue maps, fire exit plans, crowd capacity numbers.
And I've had to fax these details at sometime's 3:00 in the morning from office. Just so they could stamp the band visas and send them over. It angered me no end that my production person and graphic designer had to stay up with me in office doing this nonsensical work just because our embassy oversees was so incompetent and lazy.
It's a cultural defect you know. Babu types behind computers over the phones, asking myriad millions baseless, useless questions. Grievers to a fault.
So many times I had to cancel and rebook tickets just because the bands traveling party of 7 didn't get their visas on time. Such sheer waste of money and nerves.
Not once has it gone smoothly with bands. I'd got so used to this that I was well prepared to tackle a hundred idiotic questions at odd hours. Of course I was the one frantically ringing the embassy before their lunchtime to get a word in sideways. They'd keep derailing me telling so and so isn't available. 'Call in evening' (my post midnight time). 'Send the ticket design'(why the fuck do you want to see the ticket?).
And I'd be doing it all instead of telling them to fuck themselves .
If I were to start ranting on this, the entire blogosphere would be a place too cramped, such is my swilling anger thinking back those moments.
I mean talk of pressure, it was maddening. Imagine. A performance after four days, for which thousands and thousand tickets have been sold. Ads have been aired. Contest winners have been picked. Press conferences have been held. Sponsors have paid up. And the band in question is denied a visa. To say that I was tearing out my hair in wild frustration would be to put it grossly mild.
I can talk more about this. Not just passport situation but pressuring moments that had me contemplating suicide as an option. Moments that at those times felt like it'd be the end of the world, but are now fond memories of all the crazies I went through.
Ah..
now I feel like a bit of tea. Perhaps some red tea is in order.
Arrangements
Time to pack up ye olde summery clothes and or at least tuck them away. They shan't be in any use anytime immediate.
That time to refurbish your almirah.
When you can find things you need at a moments notice instead of making do whatever you can grab only because what you intended to wear is somewhere buried in depths of cotton under layers of summer wear, and your previously thought of ensemble will be that much difficult to put together.
Right, so in spirit of arranging closets and putting your winter weaponry on the forefront it's most essential to bring out the raiments and organize them. A very seasonal chore.
Sigh.
The problem with my cupboards being that they're almost like a cave. They can work as a separate room for when you've too many guests. And thus the arising problems that clothes seem to get lost in its grotto vastness.
I haven't found a way around that except packing clothes in collapsable boxes to ensure they do not stray, and keeping the back of the closet space strictly for bags and low reaching pretty gowns and other assorted dresses.
So of course it's not my want to show around my almirahs and such, but I have spent a few morning hours just arranging the whole damnable thing.
And this doesn't even include winter coats and winter clothing.
I can't for the life of me fit my life in a suitcase. I'd probably need a truck or something or perhaps a good talking into sagehood.
Cuz seriously..
these are just the clothes I won't be wearing this season.. barring a tee or two.
Monday, 28 November 2016
Something black
Off late I've had a weird craving that to eat a lot of black coloured food.
Any food that's black in colour I feel a terrible urge to ingest, indulge, invest
Be it squid ink dyed pasta or black rice or black rice pudding or anything that has anything to do with black sesame.
I've an odd fondness for a rather sticky Chinese dessert which isn't as sweet as one would expect desserts to be, but it sets my heart a flutter. It's something called Tang Yuan. A sticky boiled rice ball filled with sesame paste. It's a rather palettes cloying dessert, in that it sticks to the roof of your mouth, teeth and tongue and bursts apart in a sweet tinted black goo that looks devilish but tastes angelic.
Right, black food. So this hankering to eat black foodstuffs. Black olives are especially inviting. Those salty dry looking unpitted ones. Ones that don't come packed in watery brine.
Maybe for a few days until this silly mania dies I will indulge myself in something black every day.
Could be my taste buds are turning goth or maybe an inner urge to indulge in something deeply decadent. After all black coloured food doesn't spring to mind as naturally as would, say green.
Perhaps a damnable delight of degenerate diet.
And depraved only in terms of colour, because black might seem tastefully austere in clothing but richly debauched when it comes to food.
Any food that's black in colour I feel a terrible urge to ingest, indulge, invest
Be it squid ink dyed pasta or black rice or black rice pudding or anything that has anything to do with black sesame.
I've an odd fondness for a rather sticky Chinese dessert which isn't as sweet as one would expect desserts to be, but it sets my heart a flutter. It's something called Tang Yuan. A sticky boiled rice ball filled with sesame paste. It's a rather palettes cloying dessert, in that it sticks to the roof of your mouth, teeth and tongue and bursts apart in a sweet tinted black goo that looks devilish but tastes angelic.
Right, black food. So this hankering to eat black foodstuffs. Black olives are especially inviting. Those salty dry looking unpitted ones. Ones that don't come packed in watery brine.
Maybe for a few days until this silly mania dies I will indulge myself in something black every day.
Could be my taste buds are turning goth or maybe an inner urge to indulge in something deeply decadent. After all black coloured food doesn't spring to mind as naturally as would, say green.
Perhaps a damnable delight of degenerate diet.
And depraved only in terms of colour, because black might seem tastefully austere in clothing but richly debauched when it comes to food.
Creamed
I'm in a mood to eat some ice cream.
But I can't eat one of the regular fares you get outside and usually I make do with some sort of sorbet.
But not this time. Sorbets, like ice creams are extraordinarily sweet, and as for some of their claims of being fat free they're true. But they're not sugar free and that's where it gets you. Sweetens carbs. I don't mind it once in a while but it starts adding up. And though one might argue that you're only eating an ice cream or a sorbet once in a while, you don't realize that every time you're dining out and you feel the need to seal the deal with a good dessert you end up adding to the once in a while theory quiet a good number of times in a small while.
So I was thinking of sticking to what I usually do.viz, make it at home. For starters I know what's going in it, none of those artificial flavorings and other difficult to pronounce chemicals, but also the ease of strolling to your refrigerator and scooping some manna in a bowl of choice.
But one thing still sticks and that is no matter how non dairy I make it, there still is a good bit of sugar content. Not as much as those industrially produced or even artisan ice creams but still, enough to not indulge everyday; which is why I've decided to make myself a non fat, non dairy non sugary version.
Having typed it I realize this might not nearly taste as good and I don't know how I'm going to go about it but I've an idea.
Soy milk instead of coconut milk (justforkicks), stevia/agave syrup/banana purée instead of sugar and slivered or chopped nuts for texture.
It sounds pretty good in theory and I seriously wonder if it will even be edible in practice but one can always try.
It will probably taste a bit like yesterday's paper but I'm thinking of giving it a spin. And if it works out well, well, you never know. A treat I could indulge in everyday, cuz not only will it be a dessert but also serve as health food. Hah.. rose coloured glasses that are delusion. My favourite state to be in, except denial of course.
But I can't eat one of the regular fares you get outside and usually I make do with some sort of sorbet.
But not this time. Sorbets, like ice creams are extraordinarily sweet, and as for some of their claims of being fat free they're true. But they're not sugar free and that's where it gets you. Sweetens carbs. I don't mind it once in a while but it starts adding up. And though one might argue that you're only eating an ice cream or a sorbet once in a while, you don't realize that every time you're dining out and you feel the need to seal the deal with a good dessert you end up adding to the once in a while theory quiet a good number of times in a small while.
So I was thinking of sticking to what I usually do.viz, make it at home. For starters I know what's going in it, none of those artificial flavorings and other difficult to pronounce chemicals, but also the ease of strolling to your refrigerator and scooping some manna in a bowl of choice.
But one thing still sticks and that is no matter how non dairy I make it, there still is a good bit of sugar content. Not as much as those industrially produced or even artisan ice creams but still, enough to not indulge everyday; which is why I've decided to make myself a non fat, non dairy non sugary version.
Having typed it I realize this might not nearly taste as good and I don't know how I'm going to go about it but I've an idea.
Soy milk instead of coconut milk (justforkicks), stevia/agave syrup/banana purée instead of sugar and slivered or chopped nuts for texture.
It sounds pretty good in theory and I seriously wonder if it will even be edible in practice but one can always try.
It will probably taste a bit like yesterday's paper but I'm thinking of giving it a spin. And if it works out well, well, you never know. A treat I could indulge in everyday, cuz not only will it be a dessert but also serve as health food. Hah.. rose coloured glasses that are delusion. My favourite state to be in, except denial of course.
Mope
Today gone. Nothing accomplished. A waste of one whole day. That I feel guilty and stupidly morose is an understatement.
Seems like this war between me and pending daily tasks is turning into a stalemate.
I was busy the entire today and yet got nothing done.
And now I'm cooking dinner. Typing while the insides of my pot come to a rollicking boil.
Here I am mourning the loss of this day.
Seems like this war between me and pending daily tasks is turning into a stalemate.
I was busy the entire today and yet got nothing done.
And now I'm cooking dinner. Typing while the insides of my pot come to a rollicking boil.
Here I am mourning the loss of this day.
Waking rituals
It's a trek really when the room is chill with morning coolness if no one has bothered to turn on the heater.
You've to decide and tell yourself that it's important to get up, that you can't be left alone to live the rest of your life wrapped in the febrile air of your blanket.
Then you wonder what would be so wrong in waking up at 9:00 nay 10:30am? 'A world of wrong', will say a voice your subconscious has tried to throttle each morning.
A world of wrong indeed. For starters your day would start much later thus effectively leaving you with none too many hours to capture this day to its fullest. So none of that carpe diem riffraff if you're to wake up late. Secondly you miss out on working out and cleaning house and cycle of your meals which is pretty much what happened this weekend. We don't want a lapse, do we?
So, wake up and leave the bed.. again that voice telling me. Sounding a bit like Uma Thurman's kill bill conversation, where she tells her paralyzed toe to wake up moments after she's killed 'buck' who liked to 'fuck' comatose patients.
Finally putting on layers of layers of clothing to cover my almost undressed frame that slept loglike on the bed I manage to slither out, but wait.
Am I forgetting something? Didn't I mention how I woke up to something warm and seriously hot near my arm.
Cajoling the recesses of my fat fat duvet I find Monsieur Chat sleeping equally loglike if not more on my side.
The things about cats is that they've tremendous amounts of body heat, just like any animal who's not accustomed to being swaddled in blankets at night, and when they rest with all their furs and what not, they produce an increased amount of heat to warm themselves.
And this particular cat is indeed furry, and he was oh so warm as he slept thus letting that heat permeate through coverings that enveloped me.
But how on earth did he come here? So early in the morning no less?
I don't know, except he slept quietly and only woke up because I did.
Sunday, 27 November 2016
Saturday, 26 November 2016
Vin
A bit of uncalled for indulgence.. sometimes
Friday, 25 November 2016
Tragedies
I'm letting myself indulge in a bit of mindless eating using weekend as an excuse.
:(
I mean pasta for dinner tonight, when usually I'd usually have eTen. I thing more than some brown rice and a salad.
Tucking in carbs like a starving tapeworm. Uhh.. this won't do.
But then I think that sometimes this is really okay.
So a bit of contradiction here that I like to term as torn between two thoughts.
Sigh.
Each time I'm spotted writing or typing something on iPad I'm stared at with roused suspicion by people.
Wha??
Odd sort of heartburn this, swallowing a mouthful of water that just moments ago was heated to a point of scalding.
You know scalding, when water has just begun to form bubbles around the edges of the pot you've boiled water in. Right, so exactly that except it was heated in an electric kettle.
I poured it into my much used water drinking mug and a few seconds later in a fit of amnesia drank a big gulp from the said mug, thus instantly boiling my throat and as it swiftly hit the gullet it continued to blanch all and every part of my esophagus .Fraction of a second later I felt like my heart was poached.
What kind of idiotic thing to do?
This sort of absent mindedness will kill me someday. I think I've inherited this from my father.
Though I'm not particularly absent minded, usually living in the now and mostly observant of my surroundings there have been moments of lapse. And this is one of them.
This kind of crap is what might be the end of me.
One moment I'm tinkering with a lever and the next thing I know I've crashed into a passing asteroid.
No no no. Must keep a more strenuous check.
I'll have to be those samurais in training who got constantly attacked by their masters while they slept. To learn the art of being aware at all times and master their surroundings.
Something to that effect.
You know scalding, when water has just begun to form bubbles around the edges of the pot you've boiled water in. Right, so exactly that except it was heated in an electric kettle.
I poured it into my much used water drinking mug and a few seconds later in a fit of amnesia drank a big gulp from the said mug, thus instantly boiling my throat and as it swiftly hit the gullet it continued to blanch all and every part of my esophagus .Fraction of a second later I felt like my heart was poached.
What kind of idiotic thing to do?
This sort of absent mindedness will kill me someday. I think I've inherited this from my father.
Though I'm not particularly absent minded, usually living in the now and mostly observant of my surroundings there have been moments of lapse. And this is one of them.
This kind of crap is what might be the end of me.
One moment I'm tinkering with a lever and the next thing I know I've crashed into a passing asteroid.
No no no. Must keep a more strenuous check.
I'll have to be those samurais in training who got constantly attacked by their masters while they slept. To learn the art of being aware at all times and master their surroundings.
Something to that effect.
Aaaand he's back
Praise ye lords. The cat is back and hungry with a vengeance. Is that why he's back? I guess not. But man oh man does it gladden my heart to see him come softly meowing into the house as I opened the door a hundredth time to check on him.
Now he silently licks and I tearfully watch.
Now he silently licks and I tearfully watch.
date to date update
Each time I look at the watch I realize I've lost an hour. Did I get stuck in some time warp where an hour is measured in minutes or did today just get smaller?
Could be something to do with the fact that I've been on phone since morning.
It's weird hw quick time lapses when you're immersed in an invigorating call discussing pets and dinner.
It was calls after calls and each call spanned more than an hour, occasionally dropping and restarting.
The cat hasn't showed up as yet and I've gone looking for him a dozen times since morning. No easy feat that. It's colder than your average heart and not sunny either.
Where could he be? Is he seriously that upset with me? I cry.
I've had almost 4 meals already and I still hunger for something to eat. Arrghhh. Feel like eating a fat piece of toast lathered with butter. But let's be real that's' not gonna happen. I leave excesses for morning breakfasts and yet hanker for them all day. Sighs.
I've just got finished folding a couple hundred clothes and I wonder how everyday there are so many clothes to take care of? I mean it's just the two people. How many clothes are getting washed every alternative day? Infinite would be the right answer.
this month is speedily coming to an end and soon this year would be gone forever. Well, good riddance.
I little care for years passing by though.
Right now the big question that looms over me is 'what should i cook for dinner'. sigh.
more. soon.
Could be something to do with the fact that I've been on phone since morning.
It's weird hw quick time lapses when you're immersed in an invigorating call discussing pets and dinner.
It was calls after calls and each call spanned more than an hour, occasionally dropping and restarting.
The cat hasn't showed up as yet and I've gone looking for him a dozen times since morning. No easy feat that. It's colder than your average heart and not sunny either.
Where could he be? Is he seriously that upset with me? I cry.
I've had almost 4 meals already and I still hunger for something to eat. Arrghhh. Feel like eating a fat piece of toast lathered with butter. But let's be real that's' not gonna happen. I leave excesses for morning breakfasts and yet hanker for them all day. Sighs.
I've just got finished folding a couple hundred clothes and I wonder how everyday there are so many clothes to take care of? I mean it's just the two people. How many clothes are getting washed every alternative day? Infinite would be the right answer.
this month is speedily coming to an end and soon this year would be gone forever. Well, good riddance.
I little care for years passing by though.
Right now the big question that looms over me is 'what should i cook for dinner'. sigh.
more. soon.
Thursday, 24 November 2016
Nighttime tittle and dream mares
Nighttime and the air is chill.
Feeling a bit deadish and mostly worse for wear I feel like I should retire to the effulgence caresses of my darling bed, one that starts as crisp cool ignorance but slowly warms to my heat and soon it's molten magma.
One has to woo their bedsides and blankets into obedience. Sigh.
The hardest part of course is the morning when you have to leave the heated receptacle of your lovers embrace that is your super warm sarcophagus that you've enkindled all night.
Weird things happen when I've to wake myself from a place that's so dark and delicious and gnawing at my consciousness into a syrupy depth of sleepy paralyses.
It's like I'm knocked out cold and have to pass my body through a wormhole to wake up.
I try to pry my eyes open, but the more I try the more insensate I feel. And that's when I panic.
Like that movie autopsy, where unsuspecting victims are rendered paralyzed by administering some fantastical muscle relaxant rendering them vegetative, almost comatose on the outside while they're fully awake and totally alive on the inside, feeling unbearable agony, pained into misery infinite, and witnessing themselves being autopsied/mutilated unable to even blink.
Something like that happens to me minus the mutilation.
I try to wake up, open my eyes, utter a word but all I can do is feel helpless at knowing that I can't as much as even hold up my arm. It's so dark in there and I try to pull myself up and it feels like I'm being pushed in to sink. But it feels sweet and the sleep is kind of welcome but it does scare me, a lot.
My brain knows what I want, even if a little drowsy but my body doesn't react to its wishes.
It's a bit panicky. Sometimes I think of screaming and inside I think I am except on the outside I just look like I'm sleeping.
This lasts not more than a mere few seconds that are nothing short of an eternity and I know it's just me trying to wake up suddenly when I'm In deep deep sleep.
Also a usual occurrence when I have woken up and still will myself to sleep a few more winks and then forcibly try to wake up.
I'll think more on this and update.
Until then.. nighty night.
Feeling a bit deadish and mostly worse for wear I feel like I should retire to the effulgence caresses of my darling bed, one that starts as crisp cool ignorance but slowly warms to my heat and soon it's molten magma.
One has to woo their bedsides and blankets into obedience. Sigh.
The hardest part of course is the morning when you have to leave the heated receptacle of your lovers embrace that is your super warm sarcophagus that you've enkindled all night.
Weird things happen when I've to wake myself from a place that's so dark and delicious and gnawing at my consciousness into a syrupy depth of sleepy paralyses.
It's like I'm knocked out cold and have to pass my body through a wormhole to wake up.
I try to pry my eyes open, but the more I try the more insensate I feel. And that's when I panic.
Like that movie autopsy, where unsuspecting victims are rendered paralyzed by administering some fantastical muscle relaxant rendering them vegetative, almost comatose on the outside while they're fully awake and totally alive on the inside, feeling unbearable agony, pained into misery infinite, and witnessing themselves being autopsied/mutilated unable to even blink.
Something like that happens to me minus the mutilation.
I try to wake up, open my eyes, utter a word but all I can do is feel helpless at knowing that I can't as much as even hold up my arm. It's so dark in there and I try to pull myself up and it feels like I'm being pushed in to sink. But it feels sweet and the sleep is kind of welcome but it does scare me, a lot.
My brain knows what I want, even if a little drowsy but my body doesn't react to its wishes.
It's a bit panicky. Sometimes I think of screaming and inside I think I am except on the outside I just look like I'm sleeping.
This lasts not more than a mere few seconds that are nothing short of an eternity and I know it's just me trying to wake up suddenly when I'm In deep deep sleep.
Also a usual occurrence when I have woken up and still will myself to sleep a few more winks and then forcibly try to wake up.
I'll think more on this and update.
Until then.. nighty night.
Assembly
That includes the washing, peeling, chopping, blanching, assembling spices, kneading dough and soaking rice.
part dos
Speaking of audiobooks, I'd gone looking for books exclusively read by Steven Pacey and my ears salivated at the thought of listening to him read horror and murder mysteries.
Talking of fantasy fiction audiobooks I started with GoT then on to Gentleman bastards #1 Lies of Locke Lamora, followed by First law series and then best served cold.
And damn I enjoyed them all to smithereens. (recco'd by the best in business). Gasping and sighing and literally pausing my work to tear my hair out, sometimes re listening a couple well philosophized passages.
What I'm guessing is that listening to comedy isn't as fun as reading it.
Would I like listening to P.G. Wodehouse? who in my opinion is the penultimate funny writer and my favourite author. I guess not.
But do I enjoy listening to horror, thriller, sci-fi, fantasy, mysteries. HELL TO THE YES milord.
(I'm sorry if I sounded a little harsh in my previous post. :(. I didn't intend to sound that way )
Talking of fantasy fiction audiobooks I started with GoT then on to Gentleman bastards #1 Lies of Locke Lamora, followed by First law series and then best served cold.
And damn I enjoyed them all to smithereens. (recco'd by the best in business). Gasping and sighing and literally pausing my work to tear my hair out, sometimes re listening a couple well philosophized passages.
What I'm guessing is that listening to comedy isn't as fun as reading it.
Would I like listening to P.G. Wodehouse? who in my opinion is the penultimate funny writer and my favourite author. I guess not.
But do I enjoy listening to horror, thriller, sci-fi, fantasy, mysteries. HELL TO THE YES milord.
(I'm sorry if I sounded a little harsh in my previous post. :(. I didn't intend to sound that way )
somethings I can't change
There are a lot many things in life that need a good audio background track.
Painting, ironing, going about daily chores viz, cleaning, mopping, sweeping etc.
Also added to this recently is photo editing. A task that can seem long and sometimes a bit mundane and arduous.
To this I usually add some good music or if I'm in between audiobooks I like to stick an audiobook to the scrim.
After having recently finished 'best served cold' by Joe Abercrombie, read by Steven Pacey I'm currently listening to 'Razor Girl' written by Carl Hiassen, read by Jon Rubinstein.
I'm 2 hours listening into the book and it's nice.
There are a couple things I know about myself that I've repeatedly understood time and again.
I don't seem to have too much love for too contemporary a writing (except lit, sci-fi, murder, crime, anne rice, weird shite etc)) one's that deal with the age today, lives, development etc. Especially one's that allude to contemporary pop cultural phenomena. I think I'd rather watch a TV series of the type.
I think I'd still be fine with new age writing that talks of days past. Perhaps this might have something to do with reading, knowing and learning about a life that I was never a part of no matter how fictional.
I seem to have little to no love for Americanized style of writing. You know the typically American stylized writing. prototypical American that is to say. Again, I don't mind that in tv series in fact enjoy it, but reading it is a different matter altogether.
So this book, I guess is pretty fun to read if you love that sort of writing, and it is well written no doubt. But listening to it does not elicit the same reactions that probably reading it might (for me) . It's culturally unrelatable and visually it always works in fact it's damn fine, but aurally it doesn't do it for me.
So perhaps, without going too roundabout..another good audio book recommendation please.
I mean I don't mind the wars, the medieval times, the plagues, the aristocrats, murders, love stories (if in the middle of a slaughter), lone wolf, vampiric beggars, terraforming galaxies, lightyear spawning inorganic lives etc etc.. but I little care for stories that talk of contemporary actors, recent happenings in terms of reality shows, iPhones and other pop cultures and American presidents.
Painting, ironing, going about daily chores viz, cleaning, mopping, sweeping etc.
Also added to this recently is photo editing. A task that can seem long and sometimes a bit mundane and arduous.
To this I usually add some good music or if I'm in between audiobooks I like to stick an audiobook to the scrim.
After having recently finished 'best served cold' by Joe Abercrombie, read by Steven Pacey I'm currently listening to 'Razor Girl' written by Carl Hiassen, read by Jon Rubinstein.
I'm 2 hours listening into the book and it's nice.
There are a couple things I know about myself that I've repeatedly understood time and again.
I don't seem to have too much love for too contemporary a writing (except lit, sci-fi, murder, crime, anne rice, weird shite etc)) one's that deal with the age today, lives, development etc. Especially one's that allude to contemporary pop cultural phenomena. I think I'd rather watch a TV series of the type.
I think I'd still be fine with new age writing that talks of days past. Perhaps this might have something to do with reading, knowing and learning about a life that I was never a part of no matter how fictional.
I seem to have little to no love for Americanized style of writing. You know the typically American stylized writing. prototypical American that is to say. Again, I don't mind that in tv series in fact enjoy it, but reading it is a different matter altogether.
So this book, I guess is pretty fun to read if you love that sort of writing, and it is well written no doubt. But listening to it does not elicit the same reactions that probably reading it might (for me) . It's culturally unrelatable and visually it always works in fact it's damn fine, but aurally it doesn't do it for me.
So perhaps, without going too roundabout..another good audio book recommendation please.
I mean I don't mind the wars, the medieval times, the plagues, the aristocrats, murders, love stories (if in the middle of a slaughter), lone wolf, vampiric beggars, terraforming galaxies, lightyear spawning inorganic lives etc etc.. but I little care for stories that talk of contemporary actors, recent happenings in terms of reality shows, iPhones and other pop cultures and American presidents.
confessions
I'm extraordinarily low today.
I might have yelled and got upset with the cat for coughing up a furball on my pristine duvet.
In my defence I woke up to arrange the bed and noticed a smear of weird brown something on my sky blue duvet cover.
Aghast, appalled and recoiling with disgust I knew at once who the culprit might be behind the odd smear of stains, which on closer inspection of duvet I realized were one too many.
I began by discerning that smear as cat poop and so infuriated was I that not for a second did I stop to think that 'Gogi' is one of the most well behaved cats who has never once in his thousand visitations to my house indulged himself in indoor ablutions.
He usually meows a tone of tender cotton to be let out.
I was irate and illogically vexed and screamed at the poor feline who'd just parked himself on my couch.
He looked confused and even cantered up to me to get petted, something he does to display his affections whenever he feels I'm off.
I refused to pet, in fact, in a fit of silly rage and meagre vengeance I began cleaning my house with a vacuum; something he is pitifully scared of. I'd no other means of telling him I'm upset and boy was I angry at him.
As I'd suspected he was scared and meowed to be let out. Which I did. Not once petting him on his way out.
Tearing out the covers and flinging them in the washer and still somewhat seething with anger I realized that the brown stains after all might not be feline droppings after all.
Little did I care and once the covers were cleansed and smelling of lavender I remembered a dream I had.
One that had gogi puking in the bathroom. I'd dreamt that the cat was throwing up in the bathroom and this dream in fact had entwined in another because somewhere during my reverie I'd heard him coughing up a furball in the middle of night. I didn't wake up to it but it permeated my thoughts and this morning I'd forgotten all about it.
Well, a furball isn't as bad as cat crap and now I feel bad for my churlish behaviour.
To mend this broken bridge I went out to find the little darling but he's nowhere around.
I even took him his favourite snack and waited, in vain.
I know I've upset him. Turning on the vacuum was indeed wrong on my part, and an extreme measure I resorted just to spite him. The awfulness of my actions now prick me and the guilt is crushing.
My only hope is to find my friend and feed him all the food he wants and pet him to sleep in the snug fit of my arms.
steering
This afternoon feels a lot like afternoon instead of a fragmented night during the day.
It's sunny and bright and bitterly cold. I use the term bitterly very loosely because a few weeks hence it will become much worse and temperatures will continue to dip thereon, not to mention a good bit of snow.
Right, so where was I? Uhh, I've consumed 300 mls of good pour over coffee and now I'm buzzing like a mosquito in heat (both, the breeding and the breeding kind)
I'd changed my exercises today, or rather escalated the vivacity of the workout and my thighs are cemented pieces of raw pain right now. idiotic to push yourself to such a point where your body starts screaming and begs you to quit it; however the results are mostly rewarding.
I know when I do the same routine after a week of continuing with it, my body wouldn't break out in such sweat. Which'd mean time to up the ante again.
That aside, today is Thursday. The most horrendous day of the week. I've no love for this day, and I wouldn't be able to explain why, except it's a couple days away from weekend. A bit like teasing you that weekdays aren't over yet loser.
Of course why do I care about these seven days at all.
There's an odd quietness in the house today. no sound of the washer or the drier or the exhaust. Usually one or all of the above mentioned thingamajig are at full whir at some time or the other..not today however.
Strange this peace.
I'm in two minds to wallow in sunlit riverside with a flask of something potable and bear the stinging cold in the process.. perhaps I'll let it pass. It's not comfortable cold.
The wind is in full force and not exactly relaxing.
There's a lot to be done and I'm behind schedule. sigh
It's sunny and bright and bitterly cold. I use the term bitterly very loosely because a few weeks hence it will become much worse and temperatures will continue to dip thereon, not to mention a good bit of snow.
Right, so where was I? Uhh, I've consumed 300 mls of good pour over coffee and now I'm buzzing like a mosquito in heat (both, the breeding and the breeding kind)
I'd changed my exercises today, or rather escalated the vivacity of the workout and my thighs are cemented pieces of raw pain right now. idiotic to push yourself to such a point where your body starts screaming and begs you to quit it; however the results are mostly rewarding.
I know when I do the same routine after a week of continuing with it, my body wouldn't break out in such sweat. Which'd mean time to up the ante again.
That aside, today is Thursday. The most horrendous day of the week. I've no love for this day, and I wouldn't be able to explain why, except it's a couple days away from weekend. A bit like teasing you that weekdays aren't over yet loser.
Of course why do I care about these seven days at all.
There's an odd quietness in the house today. no sound of the washer or the drier or the exhaust. Usually one or all of the above mentioned thingamajig are at full whir at some time or the other..not today however.
Strange this peace.
I'm in two minds to wallow in sunlit riverside with a flask of something potable and bear the stinging cold in the process.. perhaps I'll let it pass. It's not comfortable cold.
The wind is in full force and not exactly relaxing.
There's a lot to be done and I'm behind schedule. sigh
Wednesday, 23 November 2016
Kitsch life
It takes me almost 1.5 hrs to prepare dinner. That is to say your basic conventional fare. Which includes one sabzi, one daal or gravy based dish, approx 8 rotis, rice, salad and the occasional papad.
Also added to this is the dish washing I keep doing on the side, while arranging dried dishes on their shelves.
Also cleaning my work surface as I go, so I'm not swamped with a million things to do post dinner.
The only exercise that remains after dinner is the few dishes that require washing that were dined in along with a couple pots and pans. Followed by a routine nighttime sprucing up of kitchen which includes cleaning the sink, stove facing tiles, and other assorted areas that might have gotten wet or floury or messy while washing.
Hmm..as I write this I realize it sounds like a lot more work. Though it isn't as much, or maybe it is.
Weekends invite more of a laissez-fare cooking atmosphere. And usually I like to cook some pasta or some other dish that screams weekend indulgence.
The thing is dishes that take long time to cook as opposed to ones that are difficult. Some might take a few mo's but require a world of preparations.
I don't mind cooking foods that take a long time but are quick and easy to prepare, I do sometimes resent ones that take mere moments to cook up, by the chopping can take a fairly long time. I'm looking at you stir fries.
I've also been known to take a quick route out of this by bunging in cans of foodstuff into a baking dish and throwing the damn thing into an oven. Thus requiring absolutely no cooking, peeling, chopping, washing on my part. I do feel ashamed of it sometimes. Sometimes being the keyword.
Ah, why am I ranting about this? Because I'm hungry. I don't dine this late. Waiting is a bitch especially on a hungry stomach.
Also added to this is the dish washing I keep doing on the side, while arranging dried dishes on their shelves.
Also cleaning my work surface as I go, so I'm not swamped with a million things to do post dinner.
The only exercise that remains after dinner is the few dishes that require washing that were dined in along with a couple pots and pans. Followed by a routine nighttime sprucing up of kitchen which includes cleaning the sink, stove facing tiles, and other assorted areas that might have gotten wet or floury or messy while washing.
Hmm..as I write this I realize it sounds like a lot more work. Though it isn't as much, or maybe it is.
Weekends invite more of a laissez-fare cooking atmosphere. And usually I like to cook some pasta or some other dish that screams weekend indulgence.
The thing is dishes that take long time to cook as opposed to ones that are difficult. Some might take a few mo's but require a world of preparations.
I don't mind cooking foods that take a long time but are quick and easy to prepare, I do sometimes resent ones that take mere moments to cook up, by the chopping can take a fairly long time. I'm looking at you stir fries.
I've also been known to take a quick route out of this by bunging in cans of foodstuff into a baking dish and throwing the damn thing into an oven. Thus requiring absolutely no cooking, peeling, chopping, washing on my part. I do feel ashamed of it sometimes. Sometimes being the keyword.
Ah, why am I ranting about this? Because I'm hungry. I don't dine this late. Waiting is a bitch especially on a hungry stomach.
talk of winters
Not the most enlightened move to hurl yourself out in this weather, given that it's raining..especially given that it's raining.
Injudicious still more to not attire your feet in proper rainy weather footwear. Thinking to yourself 'oh I've only to walk a hundred paces.'. worse letting your legs stay wrapped in cottony bondage when a bit of felt or woolen would be have been by far the more sagacious decision while venturing on a bit of outdoorsy excursion.
Of course the same thinking came into play. 'I've only to walk a hundred odd paces'
Right, so a hundred odd paces in goddamn frigid chill, raining no less. Attired in grey cotton pants and canary yellow cloth shoes.
One step out of the house and I stood unyielding on my decision, though there was a far off voice almost a whisper at the back of my head telling me I was being a bit optimistic about my clothing's limited ability to weather the weather.
But what am I if not an impenetrable wall of firm decision making.
Down I go opening the all-knowing wise gates that are most thoughtfully kept shut, to keep out the sharp winds from entering our villaesque building.
My feelings on how I felt right after opening the gates could be surmised by understanding how a person would feel in the act of innocently opening doors of his house to let himself casually out but instead get greeted by a tumbling waterfall of icy sleet over his person, thus benumbing his veins into frosty lines of clotted blood.
My feelings were a bit like that, except I felt like I'd be found at the end of ice age, add to that tiny pinpricks of miniscule icebergs in the form of 'rains'.
What should be my next move was a question that darted through my spine jarring into my brains thus wreaking havoc on my nerve cells so that they stopped functioning for a moment and forgot to inform my feet that this is a good time to probably stop moving and RETREAT.
But no.. what am I if not resolute?
Umbrella to the rescue. Wearing a mask of nonchalant acclimatization to fool a few curious eyes that were probably trying to figure out my ill thought of attire, even if prim and fashionable.
You know that time when you're putting an act of bravado but instead trip and fall over a shoelace come undone.. well something like that, except it was my umbrella. The miserable piece of maroon contraption refused to open for a couple minutes as I walked letting myself get bedwed in ice boxed rain. It seemed to have got stuck, and I was almost about to shout a couple well rehearsed curses when it bloomed like a flower in my hands. Glory to you gods.
Now those hundred paces could have been a few thousand leagues and I'd have agreed because my legs felt like wooden boles that'd been freeze dried. So frigorific was the blasted 'breeze' that it sawed through my pants and throttled my thighs and calves with a polar vengeance.
As if my face turning white and nose blue weren't enough, I imprudently launched my foot into what felt like a pond but was in fact a rather tiny puddle of water.
But of course my canary yellow shoes wouldn't know the difference and soaked they got.
Murphy was apparently having a field day with his laws while I felt like a well dressed twig ready to blow with the stinging wind getting soaked at the same time.
Phew, hundred paces later I found myself at my destination where my intended work would not last more than five odd minutes.
Afraid that my umbrella would once again play the traitor on me, I left it to rest on its handle outside the shop while I bought what I'd come to buy (viz, eggs and banana. Just a couple things I'd forgotten after yesterdays 20 kg's worth grocery haul. Human minds I tell you.. playing such malicious games)
Triumphant I returned, trying to remember that I did in fact possess a pair of legs and promising how I'd warm them and swaddle them in winter woolens the moment I got back home.
But behold, I step out of the shop and see that my umbrella wasn't where I left it.
A frantic twist of the head in all directions showed me that a maroon thingummy was being dragged away from my sight, all on its own.
Ah the winds.. so cold so merciless so bloody annoying had in most pernicious mischief pulled and tugged at my only saviour (no matter how treacherous) and managed to tear it away to the other side of the road. Gasps!
To jaywalk like an uncivilized citizen was for me the work of moments. Retrieving my ever abandoning flying umbrella and finally unleashing my much held back curses I slowly began to cradle it. For what am I if not in love with all things reunion.
Slowly we walked back home. The umbrella, bananas and eggs and me.
The only thing I felt was my torso. Legs and feet had stopped co-operating with me in lieu of them getting frozen and wet.
Reaching my house and feeling a sudden gust of warmth wrapping my body and ensconcing stupefied limbs within its comfortable heated humidity was among the more gratifying events of this season.
I have now wrapped my legs and feet in worthy woolens, ones that demand acknowledgement this weather.
My lovely yellow shoes are now in the washer and will be stowed away for this season.
I was in denial, but I've faced the truth now.
Winters are here and it only gets worse here on.
Sigh..
Injudicious still more to not attire your feet in proper rainy weather footwear. Thinking to yourself 'oh I've only to walk a hundred paces.'. worse letting your legs stay wrapped in cottony bondage when a bit of felt or woolen would be have been by far the more sagacious decision while venturing on a bit of outdoorsy excursion.
Of course the same thinking came into play. 'I've only to walk a hundred odd paces'
Right, so a hundred odd paces in goddamn frigid chill, raining no less. Attired in grey cotton pants and canary yellow cloth shoes.
One step out of the house and I stood unyielding on my decision, though there was a far off voice almost a whisper at the back of my head telling me I was being a bit optimistic about my clothing's limited ability to weather the weather.
But what am I if not an impenetrable wall of firm decision making.
Down I go opening the all-knowing wise gates that are most thoughtfully kept shut, to keep out the sharp winds from entering our villaesque building.
My feelings on how I felt right after opening the gates could be surmised by understanding how a person would feel in the act of innocently opening doors of his house to let himself casually out but instead get greeted by a tumbling waterfall of icy sleet over his person, thus benumbing his veins into frosty lines of clotted blood.
My feelings were a bit like that, except I felt like I'd be found at the end of ice age, add to that tiny pinpricks of miniscule icebergs in the form of 'rains'.
What should be my next move was a question that darted through my spine jarring into my brains thus wreaking havoc on my nerve cells so that they stopped functioning for a moment and forgot to inform my feet that this is a good time to probably stop moving and RETREAT.
But no.. what am I if not resolute?
Umbrella to the rescue. Wearing a mask of nonchalant acclimatization to fool a few curious eyes that were probably trying to figure out my ill thought of attire, even if prim and fashionable.
You know that time when you're putting an act of bravado but instead trip and fall over a shoelace come undone.. well something like that, except it was my umbrella. The miserable piece of maroon contraption refused to open for a couple minutes as I walked letting myself get bedwed in ice boxed rain. It seemed to have got stuck, and I was almost about to shout a couple well rehearsed curses when it bloomed like a flower in my hands. Glory to you gods.
Now those hundred paces could have been a few thousand leagues and I'd have agreed because my legs felt like wooden boles that'd been freeze dried. So frigorific was the blasted 'breeze' that it sawed through my pants and throttled my thighs and calves with a polar vengeance.
As if my face turning white and nose blue weren't enough, I imprudently launched my foot into what felt like a pond but was in fact a rather tiny puddle of water.
But of course my canary yellow shoes wouldn't know the difference and soaked they got.
Murphy was apparently having a field day with his laws while I felt like a well dressed twig ready to blow with the stinging wind getting soaked at the same time.
Phew, hundred paces later I found myself at my destination where my intended work would not last more than five odd minutes.
Afraid that my umbrella would once again play the traitor on me, I left it to rest on its handle outside the shop while I bought what I'd come to buy (viz, eggs and banana. Just a couple things I'd forgotten after yesterdays 20 kg's worth grocery haul. Human minds I tell you.. playing such malicious games)
Triumphant I returned, trying to remember that I did in fact possess a pair of legs and promising how I'd warm them and swaddle them in winter woolens the moment I got back home.
But behold, I step out of the shop and see that my umbrella wasn't where I left it.
A frantic twist of the head in all directions showed me that a maroon thingummy was being dragged away from my sight, all on its own.
Ah the winds.. so cold so merciless so bloody annoying had in most pernicious mischief pulled and tugged at my only saviour (no matter how treacherous) and managed to tear it away to the other side of the road. Gasps!
To jaywalk like an uncivilized citizen was for me the work of moments. Retrieving my ever abandoning flying umbrella and finally unleashing my much held back curses I slowly began to cradle it. For what am I if not in love with all things reunion.
Slowly we walked back home. The umbrella, bananas and eggs and me.
The only thing I felt was my torso. Legs and feet had stopped co-operating with me in lieu of them getting frozen and wet.
Reaching my house and feeling a sudden gust of warmth wrapping my body and ensconcing stupefied limbs within its comfortable heated humidity was among the more gratifying events of this season.
I have now wrapped my legs and feet in worthy woolens, ones that demand acknowledgement this weather.
My lovely yellow shoes are now in the washer and will be stowed away for this season.
I was in denial, but I've faced the truth now.
Winters are here and it only gets worse here on.
Sigh..
Catattack
Transmogrifying from a cat into snail in less than any time.
inconsequential human you, did you think I'd ever care for your night hours and sleep or such.
A nocturnal animal me, I entered your warm domus and slept a few winks.
Too bad it was your time to give in to the night.
Pray why, don't you stay awake and hunt mice?
Did I disturb your precious nighttime siesta as I walked up and down your prostate bodies?
And woke you up and asked to be let out, even though it was a few hours before sunrise.
is it a problem that not ten minutes after I woke you up to let me out I cried outside your house to let me in?
Why don't you wear pants in this cold night? You wouldn't grumble as much.
And now..now I'm up and about.
Too bad you're upset cuz I didn't let you work out.
It was just a scratch on your yoga mat.
Now I sit and refuse to go, refuse to sleep, refuse to do anything that'd put you at ease.
Now I'm a snail. Carrying a house on my back. Except it's yours.
So now I'll sit for as long as I want.
Night
433 am.
Just let the cat out. He didn't let me sleep tonight.
I did snatch a few handfuls of sleep but that only happened when he was sleeping.
Curses.
Just let the cat out. He didn't let me sleep tonight.
I did snatch a few handfuls of sleep but that only happened when he was sleeping.
Curses.
Monday, 21 November 2016
=
The only way to clean a mess sometimes is by camouflaging it with more mess and passing it off as high art.
good things
A blue man group concert next month.
I thank you universe for sending something as fun as this here.
Tearing and talking
My night festooned with sleeplessness. Between tosses of sudden wakefulness and turns of complete awareness rose a discomfort from my body that couldn't decide whether it was drowsy or just uncomfortable.
Sheets under me felt like cat tongue sloughing against my skin.
I wasn't sure what to do with my arms that kept getting in the way of comfortable stupor.
Pulling the duvet away from me and then back on me. Thorny warmth and bitter cold left me feeling listless and mostly confused. My bones felt chilly but my skin pricked with heat.
Dedicated to sleeping I shut my eyes hard, my mind awake telling me I'm not sleepy.
It rained. I could hear it.
For a moment I wondered if I shouldn't sleep in another room. A sworn detachment of midnight panacea; cold isolation and the unfamiliarity of an oft unvisited room and its ignored walls.
I decided otherwise. Of the pain of dragging bedtime fixings when I'm already housed in one tomb.
And now.. now I sit awkwardly cognizant. Roused yet faking vigilance.
Twin pale pools of discs that are my eyes sporting flimsy red threads that can only be earned.
Parts of me creaking and cracking like unused hinges and dying fire. Perhaps some tea in in order.
Sheets under me felt like cat tongue sloughing against my skin.
I wasn't sure what to do with my arms that kept getting in the way of comfortable stupor.
Pulling the duvet away from me and then back on me. Thorny warmth and bitter cold left me feeling listless and mostly confused. My bones felt chilly but my skin pricked with heat.
Dedicated to sleeping I shut my eyes hard, my mind awake telling me I'm not sleepy.
It rained. I could hear it.
For a moment I wondered if I shouldn't sleep in another room. A sworn detachment of midnight panacea; cold isolation and the unfamiliarity of an oft unvisited room and its ignored walls.
I decided otherwise. Of the pain of dragging bedtime fixings when I'm already housed in one tomb.
And now.. now I sit awkwardly cognizant. Roused yet faking vigilance.
Twin pale pools of discs that are my eyes sporting flimsy red threads that can only be earned.
Parts of me creaking and cracking like unused hinges and dying fire. Perhaps some tea in in order.
Sunday, 20 November 2016
Stage
In an empty space at the back of my head is a stage where each evening or night there are plays.. of moths and flames, photos and frames..sea beds and oceanic water, time forgotten streets and intersecting lanes.
No matter what the story its premises are the same. Plots have twists and screenplays are lame.
An imaginary world I'd like to see. Where everything is perfect and us are 'we'
The stage is set imagination runs wild. Everything's extravagant, enlarged, emphasized.madly limitless there's no place for mild.
Love scenes are abundant, of melodrama there is none. Full on fiery action scenes, gut load of guns.
Dialogues are rich and music is raw. Look as you might there isn't a single flaw..all but one, that there is none.
It runs at all time with no fixed story line.
Shot mostly in dream sequence, vanilla scented, beautifully demented. Scenarios tend to be a little steep, exceptionally engrossing. Immoderately deep.
Brilliantly coloured in rainbows eighth shade, directed to dazzle to glitter and scintillate.
In liquid haze of merging light, the scenes mingle sans wrong or right. Spaces and seas, mountains and mines. Desert roads and forests of pines.
Of fantastical backdrops there's nothing excluded. My stage of fantasies with a cast of two. One is I, the other is you.
No matter what the story its premises are the same. Plots have twists and screenplays are lame.
An imaginary world I'd like to see. Where everything is perfect and us are 'we'
The stage is set imagination runs wild. Everything's extravagant, enlarged, emphasized.madly limitless there's no place for mild.
Love scenes are abundant, of melodrama there is none. Full on fiery action scenes, gut load of guns.
Dialogues are rich and music is raw. Look as you might there isn't a single flaw..all but one, that there is none.
It runs at all time with no fixed story line.
Shot mostly in dream sequence, vanilla scented, beautifully demented. Scenarios tend to be a little steep, exceptionally engrossing. Immoderately deep.
Brilliantly coloured in rainbows eighth shade, directed to dazzle to glitter and scintillate.
In liquid haze of merging light, the scenes mingle sans wrong or right. Spaces and seas, mountains and mines. Desert roads and forests of pines.
Of fantastical backdrops there's nothing excluded. My stage of fantasies with a cast of two. One is I, the other is you.
Canvas
Here's just me threading galaxies
with a careless eyelash resting on my fingernail
while my calm pond of sleepless night
gets rippled through with heartless snores
oh to pour a heart on white canvas of blank souls
etching ectoplasmic mess on bored ironing boards
in a tantric intercourse of pillow and sheets
a celibate breath suspended in drops of amber light
listening to cautious splatter of
raindrops oozing with great consternation
through clouds clenched tight
weapons on the ready
armored in wax glinting like steel
wicks hidden under iron sheen
to fend an enfilade of chill
lest you bring out matches and light a spark
with a careless eyelash resting on my fingernail
while my calm pond of sleepless night
gets rippled through with heartless snores
oh to pour a heart on white canvas of blank souls
etching ectoplasmic mess on bored ironing boards
in a tantric intercourse of pillow and sheets
a celibate breath suspended in drops of amber light
listening to cautious splatter of
raindrops oozing with great consternation
through clouds clenched tight
weapons on the ready
armored in wax glinting like steel
wicks hidden under iron sheen
to fend an enfilade of chill
lest you bring out matches and light a spark
Saturday, 19 November 2016
Smothered
It's a torture in disguise trudging the endless shifts of vast glittering inviting floors of IKEA stores.
People would line up to buy poop if these stores sold it.
The thing is their USP is making you buy stuff that you might probably not need but its simplicity and clarity makes you think that perhaps you'd need it anyway.
It's surreptitiously bewitching, in that the ambience of the store adds to the beauty of the products. Once you bring them home, they assume the aura of your house and reflect its spirit much like other furnitures and or household products.
When everything is meticulously stacked, colour coded, lit from a hundred different angles so as not to cast a singular shadow there's never a doubt in your mind that you might not want to add to your collection of twenty rusted so called stainless steel strainers another one that might or might not be plastic, but looks so perfect that oh you have to have it.
And what about that slender little expensive glass bottle that you MUST have to stick a plastic rose in.
No one stops for a moment to think that some of their products are idiotically useless. That you can upcycle a lot of household goods to use as vases and decals and a million other things, that you really don't have to spend money on such small silly expensive items..but NO!
Anything to make life easier. Anything that's easily ready-made for immediate consumption.
Having said that I did a fair bit of shopping myself. A couple rugs, Kitchen items, bowls of stoneware, plastic linings for cupboards, gorgeous bed/pillow/duvet/cushion covers, wine glasses and other bits and bobs..
I'm like the thin chick who talks about loving your curves..and I am. But at least I'm not stuffing my trolley with overpriced plastic flowers, potpourri, glass thimbles and kitchen decals.
So that makes me better..hah! Just the fact that I walked into an IKEA store makes me one of them..sigh, the 'IKEA nesting instinct' Tyler Durden spoke of..except it's not going to make me smash cars and pour lye over my hands. (Thank god)
Perhaps the ease of having everything under one roof makes it such a plush target. But boy was it crowded. Like a carnival for grown ups, where they have no fun, just seethe and sulk and vie to replicate their model showcase home spaces into their life. Not for a second imagining that,well, it's a showpiece.
Capitalism at its simplest best.
I could rant on and on but I have vegetables to chop and dishes to wash.
Sigh..soon.
People would line up to buy poop if these stores sold it.
The thing is their USP is making you buy stuff that you might probably not need but its simplicity and clarity makes you think that perhaps you'd need it anyway.
It's surreptitiously bewitching, in that the ambience of the store adds to the beauty of the products. Once you bring them home, they assume the aura of your house and reflect its spirit much like other furnitures and or household products.
When everything is meticulously stacked, colour coded, lit from a hundred different angles so as not to cast a singular shadow there's never a doubt in your mind that you might not want to add to your collection of twenty rusted so called stainless steel strainers another one that might or might not be plastic, but looks so perfect that oh you have to have it.
And what about that slender little expensive glass bottle that you MUST have to stick a plastic rose in.
No one stops for a moment to think that some of their products are idiotically useless. That you can upcycle a lot of household goods to use as vases and decals and a million other things, that you really don't have to spend money on such small silly expensive items..but NO!
Anything to make life easier. Anything that's easily ready-made for immediate consumption.
Having said that I did a fair bit of shopping myself. A couple rugs, Kitchen items, bowls of stoneware, plastic linings for cupboards, gorgeous bed/pillow/duvet/cushion covers, wine glasses and other bits and bobs..
I'm like the thin chick who talks about loving your curves..and I am. But at least I'm not stuffing my trolley with overpriced plastic flowers, potpourri, glass thimbles and kitchen decals.
So that makes me better..hah! Just the fact that I walked into an IKEA store makes me one of them..sigh, the 'IKEA nesting instinct' Tyler Durden spoke of..except it's not going to make me smash cars and pour lye over my hands. (Thank god)
Perhaps the ease of having everything under one roof makes it such a plush target. But boy was it crowded. Like a carnival for grown ups, where they have no fun, just seethe and sulk and vie to replicate their model showcase home spaces into their life. Not for a second imagining that,well, it's a showpiece.
Capitalism at its simplest best.
I could rant on and on but I have vegetables to chop and dishes to wash.
Sigh..soon.
Friday, 18 November 2016
On joint television viewing
A bit about joint tv watching.
This is that part of the day when you watch tv when not alone. Usually evenings and weekends. The kind of tv viewing that is appreciated by both parties, or at least one in most cases.
You watch something harmless, something neutral, even mundane that is easily grasped and enjoyed.
Absolutely nothing that elicits fanboyism or you strongly favor. It's usually comedy movies of a particular kind, Bollywood movies of the action kind, television series of the above the belt crime detective types. Absolutely no sci-if or fantasy or animations.
After seasons of Agatha Christie's Poirot (fantastic series), Wayward Pines, Grant Chester, sense8 and a few hundred others the tv is currently playing ' better call Saul'
And.. it's pretty good. Much better than 'breaking bad'.
Yeah. Breaking bad was nice but I never exactly grew fond of it. In fact I didn't exactly enjoy it a whole damn lot. But this series is much much better that BB.
I wasn't expecting much, thinking it'll be a bit like breaking bad, but the canvas for this series along with its story line, acting and episode shaping is pretty good.
It's the first season so all good up until now.
Let's see how it progresses.
Soon.
This is that part of the day when you watch tv when not alone. Usually evenings and weekends. The kind of tv viewing that is appreciated by both parties, or at least one in most cases.
You watch something harmless, something neutral, even mundane that is easily grasped and enjoyed.
Absolutely nothing that elicits fanboyism or you strongly favor. It's usually comedy movies of a particular kind, Bollywood movies of the action kind, television series of the above the belt crime detective types. Absolutely no sci-if or fantasy or animations.
After seasons of Agatha Christie's Poirot (fantastic series), Wayward Pines, Grant Chester, sense8 and a few hundred others the tv is currently playing ' better call Saul'
And.. it's pretty good. Much better than 'breaking bad'.
Yeah. Breaking bad was nice but I never exactly grew fond of it. In fact I didn't exactly enjoy it a whole damn lot. But this series is much much better that BB.
I wasn't expecting much, thinking it'll be a bit like breaking bad, but the canvas for this series along with its story line, acting and episode shaping is pretty good.
It's the first season so all good up until now.
Let's see how it progresses.
Soon.
Audio+drawing
The day is done for me.
A bit of crick in the neck , fingers shot with stiff pain and no complaints.
Why you might ask.. because I'm happy with the outcome..happier still that 'best served cold' was such an exciting listen. Absolutely loved it to shreds..that it made this drawing so special.
Next audiobook for when I sit down to finish the drawing after today is 'razor girl'. It's about 12 hours which means I'm going to soon have to get on with another piece of complicated drawing.
And oh, here's the update till now.
The next piece I put up here will be the finished version.
Probably gonna happen after the weekend.
in outer reaches of weather madness
Today turns out to be bipolar.
A bit of rain and then the briefest vomit of sunshine and rains again and sun after that.
Perhaps a loony bin for all things nature?
A place where dark ages live in a padded cell, cancer curing plague, demented snowflakes, room temperature snow, mammalian moths, gravity that lost its gravitas, oxygen bearing piece of space, bloodsucking magnetic fields, spherical squares, pliable diamonds..all retardation incomprehensible at best under a roof.
Somewhere in the invisible reaches of molten galaxy of the horsehead nebula; a few parallel universes apart in the Supernova lane, dying star adjacent near reverse time aesthetics lies the hospice for ubiquitous transmundane entities.
Run under the psychiatric guidance of carbon dated 180°angles.
They check on each patient with an air of calm concern and when it's decided that a case is beyond repair it's mercifully fed into a blackhole incinerator.
A black hole incinerator being a transmogrifying entity that's often used to keep the growing number of black holes in check.
So there it is.. the perfect place for where today's weather needs be gone.
Perhaps it will be cured..
A bit of rain and then the briefest vomit of sunshine and rains again and sun after that.
Perhaps a loony bin for all things nature?
A place where dark ages live in a padded cell, cancer curing plague, demented snowflakes, room temperature snow, mammalian moths, gravity that lost its gravitas, oxygen bearing piece of space, bloodsucking magnetic fields, spherical squares, pliable diamonds..all retardation incomprehensible at best under a roof.
Somewhere in the invisible reaches of molten galaxy of the horsehead nebula; a few parallel universes apart in the Supernova lane, dying star adjacent near reverse time aesthetics lies the hospice for ubiquitous transmundane entities.
Run under the psychiatric guidance of carbon dated 180°angles.
They check on each patient with an air of calm concern and when it's decided that a case is beyond repair it's mercifully fed into a blackhole incinerator.
A black hole incinerator being a transmogrifying entity that's often used to keep the growing number of black holes in check.
So there it is.. the perfect place for where today's weather needs be gone.
Perhaps it will be cured..
kat
There's a cat in my room.
Fat, furry, feckless, uninterested, unperturbed, unsympathetic, callous, heedless, self-centred, sleepy, autarchical, self contained, soft, selfish, unregimented, unallied.. adorably wooly, cutely whiskered.
petite gymnast, feline fantastical.
Fat, furry, feckless, uninterested, unperturbed, unsympathetic, callous, heedless, self-centred, sleepy, autarchical, self contained, soft, selfish, unregimented, unallied.. adorably wooly, cutely whiskered.
petite gymnast, feline fantastical.
Thursday, 17 November 2016
Penning down dates
Over fours hours just to render a bit? Some processes are slow..and slower still because you spend too much time mulling over one square inch space to get it just right.
The drawing isn't complete and neither is the audiobook.
Some messes
!!
Tame Impala it is then..
currently listening to it as I write this down..
How does one get to be so delectably divine?
you know when you transcend from being mere human into an omnipotent entity. when none of what is earthy applies to you anymore (in my eyes).. yes that..
titter
I dreamt something about water and that I kept pouring it in a container and that it spilled over and made sounds like waterfall and to that sound I woke up only to realize it was raining.
It rained all night, it rains still and will continue to do so over the weekend.
So any plans that you might have to go to a lake in a nearby town and visit a shrine are pretty much kaput.
What with the lush greenery on the outside complete with an odd collection of birds that've been chirping away to merriment coupled with the fact it's been raining lends a rather tropical aura to the landscape minus the biting cold of course.
This might not be the most suitable weather for clicking pictures but somehow I like the foreboding malaise of this pessimistic climate that lends a miserable element to pictures.
None of that blue sky white fluff of clouds. I rather like the pensive atmosphere and the distressing appearance it emanates.
There's a certain catatonia to this aspect and it tends to gel terrifically with the kind of existential dread you want some photographs to assume; not that I'm sauntering about in the rain armed with a camera and tripod ready to click cheerless frames.
maybe tomorrow.
--
(how does one so far away know it rains here? why would a simple sentence as that sound so warmly assuring?)
It rained all night, it rains still and will continue to do so over the weekend.
So any plans that you might have to go to a lake in a nearby town and visit a shrine are pretty much kaput.
What with the lush greenery on the outside complete with an odd collection of birds that've been chirping away to merriment coupled with the fact it's been raining lends a rather tropical aura to the landscape minus the biting cold of course.
This might not be the most suitable weather for clicking pictures but somehow I like the foreboding malaise of this pessimistic climate that lends a miserable element to pictures.
None of that blue sky white fluff of clouds. I rather like the pensive atmosphere and the distressing appearance it emanates.
There's a certain catatonia to this aspect and it tends to gel terrifically with the kind of existential dread you want some photographs to assume; not that I'm sauntering about in the rain armed with a camera and tripod ready to click cheerless frames.
maybe tomorrow.
--
(how does one so far away know it rains here? why would a simple sentence as that sound so warmly assuring?)
Grey glib
lilies and rose
opened wide
some curls some folds
stages away from dying
how they look their prettiest
just before perishing
Wednesday, 16 November 2016
Spice arena
That my house smells like a curry house is no consolation.
That my neighbors rang the bell just to tell me that something smells really good and 'what's cookin?' is no consolation either.
I mean I'm culinarily discreet in terms of what's cooking and what I'm making.
I dislike the thought of having food smells waft out of houses to assault others nostrils and this never happens. I mean as awesome as they are it's still something I wish it stays restricted in my house and only greets people whom I'm expecting.
Now this never happens. Usually my aromatic meals keep their redolence discreet and whatever spicy bouquet they might have to emit stays knocking about around the house only to evaporate in a zephyr of forgotten flutter under the influence of an industrial exhaust.
But today however that didn't happen. Why?
I wonder. Perhaps because it's cold and somehow that affects the chemistry of aromas.
Perhaps that I keep the windows shut now.
Perhaps because I cooked rajmah today and that in itself is pretty heavy on masala no matter how lowbrow your preparation is.
Whatever the case maybe, my house still hasn't completely gotten rid of the faint breeze of cinnamon overlaid with bay leaves.
It's like Chanel for foodstuffs.
But I don't like how my house still smells like the way it does.
I think my clothes, hair, fingernails even my uterus smells of rajmah right now.
My only consolation.. it was tasty as all hell.
That my neighbors rang the bell just to tell me that something smells really good and 'what's cookin?' is no consolation either.
I mean I'm culinarily discreet in terms of what's cooking and what I'm making.
I dislike the thought of having food smells waft out of houses to assault others nostrils and this never happens. I mean as awesome as they are it's still something I wish it stays restricted in my house and only greets people whom I'm expecting.
Now this never happens. Usually my aromatic meals keep their redolence discreet and whatever spicy bouquet they might have to emit stays knocking about around the house only to evaporate in a zephyr of forgotten flutter under the influence of an industrial exhaust.
But today however that didn't happen. Why?
I wonder. Perhaps because it's cold and somehow that affects the chemistry of aromas.
Perhaps that I keep the windows shut now.
Perhaps because I cooked rajmah today and that in itself is pretty heavy on masala no matter how lowbrow your preparation is.
Whatever the case maybe, my house still hasn't completely gotten rid of the faint breeze of cinnamon overlaid with bay leaves.
It's like Chanel for foodstuffs.
But I don't like how my house still smells like the way it does.
I think my clothes, hair, fingernails even my uterus smells of rajmah right now.
My only consolation.. it was tasty as all hell.
bazoombah
now's not the time
to mull over and whine
the clocks have spoken
I've heard them chime
to remind that it's near
the time i always fear
when I have to decide
what are we going to dine
or what is it for dinner
like a goddamn sinner
I wish it were only just me
then a small meal it'd be
but alright that's fine
the gods've given me a sign
a deaf mute signal
or was it just a mime
'child,wash off the dust
wipe out the grime
cook what you must
whatever you think of first
if yer heart is true
it could even be slime'
oh god i thank you
for the dumb whispering
divine coo
now i know what i should do
as you said my heart need be true
food is food
either drink or chew
and there's enough time
to cook a dish of mine
a baking tray full of aromatic air
by no means is that an end
of tonight's extravagant affair
for my heart leaps
with thoughts so nice
I'll serve baked air with a soup of ice
to mull over and whine
the clocks have spoken
I've heard them chime
to remind that it's near
the time i always fear
when I have to decide
what are we going to dine
or what is it for dinner
like a goddamn sinner
I wish it were only just me
then a small meal it'd be
but alright that's fine
the gods've given me a sign
a deaf mute signal
or was it just a mime
'child,wash off the dust
wipe out the grime
cook what you must
whatever you think of first
if yer heart is true
it could even be slime'
oh god i thank you
for the dumb whispering
divine coo
now i know what i should do
as you said my heart need be true
food is food
either drink or chew
and there's enough time
to cook a dish of mine
a baking tray full of aromatic air
by no means is that an end
of tonight's extravagant affair
for my heart leaps
with thoughts so nice
I'll serve baked air with a soup of ice
±±
Curtains to keep light bleeding in from windows during the day but what of when it's dark? No curtains to keep out the night?
A bulb to keep things bright but none to bring on the night?
If I want a bit of nighttide at daybreak I have simply to close my eyes.
A bulb to keep things bright but none to bring on the night?
If I want a bit of nighttide at daybreak I have simply to close my eyes.
Skeletal stage
Finished with the penciling. Tomorrow begins the penning in earnest.
news
More in news:
a woman goes topless while standing at an atm line. She got so frustrated that she took off her top. The police rushed her to the nearest police station No charges, after which she was taken to an atm and helped with quick retrieval of cash.
This was the only good piece news I've heard or rather seen all day.
I don't think it would help if men were to take their pants off. a sight hardly as appealing.
more..soon.
a woman goes topless while standing at an atm line. She got so frustrated that she took off her top. The police rushed her to the nearest police station No charges, after which she was taken to an atm and helped with quick retrieval of cash.
This was the only good piece news I've heard or rather seen all day.
I don't think it would help if men were to take their pants off. a sight hardly as appealing.
more..soon.
Ah ah ah
Let me unwrap my gift of a new day and see what devious ways 'today' has devised to ambush me.
Ah, same old methods I see.. and am I going to give in to the trap I know that lies in wait only to pounce on me and stick its fangs of mundane detachment? Of course I will give in to it. Most wholeheartedly so.
But there will be a few changes, yes.
I'll have me garroted instead of being sucked dry. That sounds like a plan indeed.
My timetable shall see a few corrections. Not that there were any errors, or maybe that I'd rather have new errors.
So let's see..there's a drawing that needs completion. And that is my whole soul agenda today. To get on with it, at least complete the skeletal stage so I can wrack my head on other issues like which pens to use.
I have to be rather cautious with my nervous system too, considering my migraine hasn't fully flown the coup and that it still vibrates enough to bother me.
If it persists of course I shall be allied with another pill, but until then I'm happily smelling like an essential oil of the strong mint variety: courtesy an ache balm.
Ah, the virtues of bromidic cliches.
I have to take out the garbage. And there's a good lot of it. Sheets and sheets of bubble wraps, cardboards, styrofoam boxes and sigh.
Soon. Hearts.
Sent from my iPhone
Ah, same old methods I see.. and am I going to give in to the trap I know that lies in wait only to pounce on me and stick its fangs of mundane detachment? Of course I will give in to it. Most wholeheartedly so.
But there will be a few changes, yes.
I'll have me garroted instead of being sucked dry. That sounds like a plan indeed.
My timetable shall see a few corrections. Not that there were any errors, or maybe that I'd rather have new errors.
So let's see..there's a drawing that needs completion. And that is my whole soul agenda today. To get on with it, at least complete the skeletal stage so I can wrack my head on other issues like which pens to use.
I have to be rather cautious with my nervous system too, considering my migraine hasn't fully flown the coup and that it still vibrates enough to bother me.
If it persists of course I shall be allied with another pill, but until then I'm happily smelling like an essential oil of the strong mint variety: courtesy an ache balm.
Ah, the virtues of bromidic cliches.
I have to take out the garbage. And there's a good lot of it. Sheets and sheets of bubble wraps, cardboards, styrofoam boxes and sigh.
Soon. Hearts.
Sent from my iPhone
Tuesday, 15 November 2016
Mania
The small bout of insanity that I suffered on singles day 11/11 showed its full blown affects today, during the hours of 11:30am -2:00pm.
After shopping over the Internet like it's going out of fashion, my doorbell did not stop ringing. Packages after packages after packages.
The full extent of this madness was realized today when I didn't remember ordering half the things because I'd ordered so many odd assorted items.
Truffle oil if you please? A maroon coloured thermos only because it matched my outfit that day. A big vat of my favorite mayonnaise..all 1 kg of it. Whut? Mini chopper. Tunisian condiments..and these aren't even the last of it.
If anyone asks I'm a bubble wrap billionaire.
I'm still expecting a few more things.. tomorrow perhaps.
After shopping over the Internet like it's going out of fashion, my doorbell did not stop ringing. Packages after packages after packages.
The full extent of this madness was realized today when I didn't remember ordering half the things because I'd ordered so many odd assorted items.
Truffle oil if you please? A maroon coloured thermos only because it matched my outfit that day. A big vat of my favorite mayonnaise..all 1 kg of it. Whut? Mini chopper. Tunisian condiments..and these aren't even the last of it.
If anyone asks I'm a bubble wrap billionaire.
I'm still expecting a few more things.. tomorrow perhaps.
Migranium pazoozoo
Depression zone warped 9.
Just the thing that always happens when I sleep during afternoons only to wake up at a time when evening's begun.
Something akin to 28 days later minus the melodrama and good background score.
Having found myself mimicking the last zombie you might have seen, I resigned myself to the distorted world of migraine. I don't know what might have triggered it but it's never a good feeling. It's the kind of pain that you'd willingly trade for a lost kidney or detonated spleen.
Like an invisible two ton weight on your shoulders with the added charm of a non stop drill burrowing itself in a phantom region of your brain that you can't exactly pinpoint but feel the agonizing vibrations nonetheless and the most painful moments of your life ensue.
Yeah, so i was going through that, and felt mighty guilty at the same time for pushing aside my ongoing drawing, because I just couldn't get myself to draw.
So I popped in a pill and realized the benefits of horizontal excursions on my bed. The way my head was banging against my eye sockets with pain I could see a whole new internal light show of my own, and would have immensely enjoyed had it not been so damn painful.
It was during these moments I realized that perhaps a siesta might be in order to let the pill take effect and for my system to reboot. Burying myself in the infinite depths of an ever faithful duvet I slowly glided into a lethargic repose.
Almost like I were hibernating, when my body clock decided I should wake up.
The house was wrapped in darkness. The time was 5:15pm.
Oh dear, did I wake up in another time or is it another life? Pretty sure it was bright out when I slept and now it's another day? Or is it still today? Is the world dead from burning or is it still dying? Has there been a methane holocaust? Am I even real.
I contemplated these thoughts while still not fully awake. Running a limbo marathon where I was knocking at the gates of complete wakefulness and deep slumber. I think I kept doing this for another twenty minutes until it finally got so damn dark that I spooked myself out.
The migraine has ebbed a little. There are strands of ache still stuck in cranium crannies and it's painful to wear a heavy jacket.
Dinner is a no go for me. I don't think I have the energy to cook. To stand in the kitchen and chop vegetables and potter around the stove. No sir. The mere thought makes me want to go on a mass slaughter spree. So here I sit, not wondering about what to cook.
Eating a banana and typing out words.
I feel exhausted.
Soon.
Just the thing that always happens when I sleep during afternoons only to wake up at a time when evening's begun.
Something akin to 28 days later minus the melodrama and good background score.
Having found myself mimicking the last zombie you might have seen, I resigned myself to the distorted world of migraine. I don't know what might have triggered it but it's never a good feeling. It's the kind of pain that you'd willingly trade for a lost kidney or detonated spleen.
Like an invisible two ton weight on your shoulders with the added charm of a non stop drill burrowing itself in a phantom region of your brain that you can't exactly pinpoint but feel the agonizing vibrations nonetheless and the most painful moments of your life ensue.
Yeah, so i was going through that, and felt mighty guilty at the same time for pushing aside my ongoing drawing, because I just couldn't get myself to draw.
So I popped in a pill and realized the benefits of horizontal excursions on my bed. The way my head was banging against my eye sockets with pain I could see a whole new internal light show of my own, and would have immensely enjoyed had it not been so damn painful.
It was during these moments I realized that perhaps a siesta might be in order to let the pill take effect and for my system to reboot. Burying myself in the infinite depths of an ever faithful duvet I slowly glided into a lethargic repose.
Almost like I were hibernating, when my body clock decided I should wake up.
The house was wrapped in darkness. The time was 5:15pm.
Oh dear, did I wake up in another time or is it another life? Pretty sure it was bright out when I slept and now it's another day? Or is it still today? Is the world dead from burning or is it still dying? Has there been a methane holocaust? Am I even real.
I contemplated these thoughts while still not fully awake. Running a limbo marathon where I was knocking at the gates of complete wakefulness and deep slumber. I think I kept doing this for another twenty minutes until it finally got so damn dark that I spooked myself out.
The migraine has ebbed a little. There are strands of ache still stuck in cranium crannies and it's painful to wear a heavy jacket.
Dinner is a no go for me. I don't think I have the energy to cook. To stand in the kitchen and chop vegetables and potter around the stove. No sir. The mere thought makes me want to go on a mass slaughter spree. So here I sit, not wondering about what to cook.
Eating a banana and typing out words.
I feel exhausted.
Soon.
ugh
A headache to kill all headaches.
The kinds that won't let you do anything.
probably a migraine.
I stare at my drawing staring back at me reproachfully and I apologize.. not today my darling.
Ugh.. feels like everything neck upwards is a mistake.
The kinds that won't let you do anything.
probably a migraine.
I stare at my drawing staring back at me reproachfully and I apologize.. not today my darling.
Ugh.. feels like everything neck upwards is a mistake.
Tuesday snooze and meow love
This morning was spent in clothing naked couches and dressing cushions in new covers. A morning well spent I'd say.
The only flip side is that I have to be a bit stern with the cat and dissuade him from jumping on just washed covers and keep him from shedding fur all over the place.
Disciplining a feline is hard work, especially since they're under no pressure from society to be a certain way, so they're pretty much independent in their thoughts and habits.
So I resorted to spreading a hand towel on his favourite place on the sofa. And voila! It worked.
Up up and away.. off to do a wee bit of work out.
Monday, 14 November 2016
Online things and such
A bit about online shopping..
It's a no go for clothes, shoes, bags and watches. (For me)
I never have once in my life found myself happy with any online clothing or shoe purchase.
It's just never happened. Just once I bought shoes online for regular everyday wear while I was in India; they were too small. I was sent the wrong size. Surprise surprise. When I did return and ask for my size (41), they didn't have it.
Ditto with clothes. Just once I'd liked a pair of trousers that I bought online, what I did receive was in fact a different pair, and that too was unceremoniously returned. ( both these incident happened when I'd bought stuff online while in India)
I've had better luck with taobao tmall's though. Still I'm usually distrustful of online shopping in terms of aforementioned products. Case in point The gorgeous dress I bought in a fit of impulsive enthusiasm. Turned out one size too small. I will wear it, but don't expect me to do cartwheels in it.
However when it comes to buying things like cushion covers, bedsheets, baking items, obscure food items like some cheeses (which I buy during winters), Indian lentils, good basmati, mayonnaise of particular brands, books, condiments, electrical appliances etc, I usually turn to online gods because finding a lot of these things in food stores, no matter how global those stores might be is often difficult if not impossible.
-p-
Dinner done, and now I'm worried what I should cook for breakfast.. sigh.
It's a no go for clothes, shoes, bags and watches. (For me)
I never have once in my life found myself happy with any online clothing or shoe purchase.
It's just never happened. Just once I bought shoes online for regular everyday wear while I was in India; they were too small. I was sent the wrong size. Surprise surprise. When I did return and ask for my size (41), they didn't have it.
Ditto with clothes. Just once I'd liked a pair of trousers that I bought online, what I did receive was in fact a different pair, and that too was unceremoniously returned. ( both these incident happened when I'd bought stuff online while in India)
I've had better luck with taobao tmall's though. Still I'm usually distrustful of online shopping in terms of aforementioned products. Case in point The gorgeous dress I bought in a fit of impulsive enthusiasm. Turned out one size too small. I will wear it, but don't expect me to do cartwheels in it.
However when it comes to buying things like cushion covers, bedsheets, baking items, obscure food items like some cheeses (which I buy during winters), Indian lentils, good basmati, mayonnaise of particular brands, books, condiments, electrical appliances etc, I usually turn to online gods because finding a lot of these things in food stores, no matter how global those stores might be is often difficult if not impossible.
-p-
Dinner done, and now I'm worried what I should cook for breakfast.. sigh.
sisyphuck
Haha to opening your mouth and letting out a swarm of locusts to attack.
How Imhotep.
I keep glancing at the watch and recoil back in my shell contemplating the amount of time left for me to enter kitchen and do a bit of dinner pottering.
Not that I have a problem against cooking.. it's the routine of cooking that gets to me.. also that it's a Monday and it's cold, and kitchen duties involve a goodly amount of wetting your hands and sobs.
Dinner countdown so to say.
Oddly enough I don't feel hungry.. and I'm loathe to confess that my lunch today was almost 2 dozen dumplings. It was an outburst of pent up anger that released itself in a hunger havoc that I unleashed over fresh dumplings that were being boiled to perfection in front of me eyes while I selected ripe tomatoes.
And now in hindsight I realize I was only short of snorting them babies up or shooting them up my veins, the way I ate them.
I might not look it but I eat more than, well, most people. Just that I like to keep my gluttony in check.
Also 11/11 tempted me to buy a dress, and against my better judgement I bought something to wear online, which turns out one size too small for me. It fits me, in fact it's almost like I'm poured into it, which means keeping carbs in check.
This is the last time I'm buying clothes online. I usually don't, in fact I never do. I slipped.
Right, off to kitchen then. sobs again.
How Imhotep.
I keep glancing at the watch and recoil back in my shell contemplating the amount of time left for me to enter kitchen and do a bit of dinner pottering.
Not that I have a problem against cooking.. it's the routine of cooking that gets to me.. also that it's a Monday and it's cold, and kitchen duties involve a goodly amount of wetting your hands and sobs.
Dinner countdown so to say.
Oddly enough I don't feel hungry.. and I'm loathe to confess that my lunch today was almost 2 dozen dumplings. It was an outburst of pent up anger that released itself in a hunger havoc that I unleashed over fresh dumplings that were being boiled to perfection in front of me eyes while I selected ripe tomatoes.
And now in hindsight I realize I was only short of snorting them babies up or shooting them up my veins, the way I ate them.
I might not look it but I eat more than, well, most people. Just that I like to keep my gluttony in check.
Also 11/11 tempted me to buy a dress, and against my better judgement I bought something to wear online, which turns out one size too small for me. It fits me, in fact it's almost like I'm poured into it, which means keeping carbs in check.
This is the last time I'm buying clothes online. I usually don't, in fact I never do. I slipped.
Right, off to kitchen then. sobs again.
southpark
South Park season 20 is out, almost 7 episodes in and I've not watched a single one.
Must rectify this mistake today itself.
This is a good season for animated series. American dad new season has started and south park too. So hell yeah.\m/
in between
Gah, what happened to today?
I cleaned, scrubbed, dusted, washed my house only short of hosing it down, and by the gods if I'm having a serious attack of the cleaning demon I might even do that.
What after that? Rage shopped groceries and veggies. I was angry at something absolutely trivial but it annoyed the bejesus out of me and so I added to my seething anger by torturing myself with buying so much of the above mentioned stuff that it broke my shoulders to caddy all the trappings back home. So that pretty much took care of my workout.
I hate that I couldn't do anything constructive today save the ritual cleansing.
But my drawing is still incomplete and it's a bit complicated drawing and I wanted to get on with it.. also wanted to listen to the ongoing audiobook.
Speaking of audiobooks. I'm only 4 hours more into the current one 'best served cold' and now I seek recommendation for the next one.. so I can at least enque a new audiobook.
I mean there's no dearth of graphic novel audios out there, but I need something more meaty.. you know what I'm saying.. you are after all a magician. :)
It's impossible for anyone to get under my skin and usually I'm able to maintain a significantly balanced outlook during distressing moments of duress.. but lately I've realized my irritation threshold has lowered itself a few significant notches and that irks me.
Why is it so I wonder?
Some mysteries seek revelation and some conundrums best stay unresolved.
It's a super Luna night..and I should whip out my camera and find myself a nice spot to click me some moon pics.
I cleaned, scrubbed, dusted, washed my house only short of hosing it down, and by the gods if I'm having a serious attack of the cleaning demon I might even do that.
What after that? Rage shopped groceries and veggies. I was angry at something absolutely trivial but it annoyed the bejesus out of me and so I added to my seething anger by torturing myself with buying so much of the above mentioned stuff that it broke my shoulders to caddy all the trappings back home. So that pretty much took care of my workout.
I hate that I couldn't do anything constructive today save the ritual cleansing.
But my drawing is still incomplete and it's a bit complicated drawing and I wanted to get on with it.. also wanted to listen to the ongoing audiobook.
Speaking of audiobooks. I'm only 4 hours more into the current one 'best served cold' and now I seek recommendation for the next one.. so I can at least enque a new audiobook.
I mean there's no dearth of graphic novel audios out there, but I need something more meaty.. you know what I'm saying.. you are after all a magician. :)
It's impossible for anyone to get under my skin and usually I'm able to maintain a significantly balanced outlook during distressing moments of duress.. but lately I've realized my irritation threshold has lowered itself a few significant notches and that irks me.
Why is it so I wonder?
Some mysteries seek revelation and some conundrums best stay unresolved.
It's a super Luna night..and I should whip out my camera and find myself a nice spot to click me some moon pics.
And so it goes
Good morning to you dear Monday and what unsurprising monotonies do your bring forth today?
Ah, let me check my tired schedule with a hundred checks on the same boxes.
So, a good bit of cleaning is in order I see.
Not just regular sprucing, but fold your sleeves and get down to it cleaning.
Elaborate things like couch covers and sofa upholsteries need to be washed. Perhaps I'll change all the cushion covers and maybe put up new curtains. Wow, that's a lot of work.
Indeed, dusting of the sort that needs me pulling backs beds and digging into nooks and crannies and then some.
Changing runners, table mats, re arranging a few bits and then perhaps I'll hopefully be done.
Not even worth mentioning the unscalable mountain of laundry that needs folding, ironing and the works.
Ah, Monday, I wholeheartedly give myself up to chores and OCD.
Sometimes I wonder why do I really do this?
The mad cleaning and shining and driving myself up the wall.. and I realize that it rather in fact calms me to clean.
Not only the activity of cleaning, but also the satisfaction derived from squinting at all angles of the house and see them glow.
Of course you can hire someone else to do it for you, but it's not their house, and their level of commitment to keep the house clean would never nearly be as much as yours.
The incessant pelting of rains has left odd stains on my window that'd need to be cleaned from the outside and for that I'm afraid gravity might not be on my side.
Perhaps this is the one thing I might seek outside help from.
This is a precious good but about cleaning, innit?
Dishes, well I never have a sink full of dishes because I make it a point to clean them as they get dirty. Dinner done, dishes done.. and just so for every meal.
Spoons.. well they do sometimes accumulate. But once there are over three spoons in my sink, they're washed.
And knives never find themselves pooling in sinks, because I'm evangelical about keeping knives clean the moment their job is done. Washed, wiped and carefully aligned in their keep.
More.. soon. Hearts.
Ah, let me check my tired schedule with a hundred checks on the same boxes.
So, a good bit of cleaning is in order I see.
Not just regular sprucing, but fold your sleeves and get down to it cleaning.
Elaborate things like couch covers and sofa upholsteries need to be washed. Perhaps I'll change all the cushion covers and maybe put up new curtains. Wow, that's a lot of work.
Indeed, dusting of the sort that needs me pulling backs beds and digging into nooks and crannies and then some.
Changing runners, table mats, re arranging a few bits and then perhaps I'll hopefully be done.
Not even worth mentioning the unscalable mountain of laundry that needs folding, ironing and the works.
Ah, Monday, I wholeheartedly give myself up to chores and OCD.
Sometimes I wonder why do I really do this?
The mad cleaning and shining and driving myself up the wall.. and I realize that it rather in fact calms me to clean.
Not only the activity of cleaning, but also the satisfaction derived from squinting at all angles of the house and see them glow.
Of course you can hire someone else to do it for you, but it's not their house, and their level of commitment to keep the house clean would never nearly be as much as yours.
The incessant pelting of rains has left odd stains on my window that'd need to be cleaned from the outside and for that I'm afraid gravity might not be on my side.
Perhaps this is the one thing I might seek outside help from.
This is a precious good but about cleaning, innit?
Dishes, well I never have a sink full of dishes because I make it a point to clean them as they get dirty. Dinner done, dishes done.. and just so for every meal.
Spoons.. well they do sometimes accumulate. But once there are over three spoons in my sink, they're washed.
And knives never find themselves pooling in sinks, because I'm evangelical about keeping knives clean the moment their job is done. Washed, wiped and carefully aligned in their keep.
More.. soon. Hearts.
Sunday, 13 November 2016
Sunday things
Yoiks Sunday!!
And I'm out for lunch, that is to say invited for lunch..by an elderly couple.
Ah, my cup runneth over.
After last nights dinner for which we were also incidentally invited now it's time for lunch.
My cache of small talks nears complete exhaustion, but I can repeat the same stuff I spoke last night and no one'd know.
Also just checked yesterday that I've almost 18k in INR and what am I to do of it? Looking for someone who'd travel back and take this cash, or I'll do what my dad said and roll joins out of the money.. except it'll be a whole lot of joints.
So what gift does one take for lunch? A whole basket of exotic fruits I reckon.
Sigh..more soon
And I'm out for lunch, that is to say invited for lunch..by an elderly couple.
Ah, my cup runneth over.
After last nights dinner for which we were also incidentally invited now it's time for lunch.
My cache of small talks nears complete exhaustion, but I can repeat the same stuff I spoke last night and no one'd know.
Also just checked yesterday that I've almost 18k in INR and what am I to do of it? Looking for someone who'd travel back and take this cash, or I'll do what my dad said and roll joins out of the money.. except it'll be a whole lot of joints.
So what gift does one take for lunch? A whole basket of exotic fruits I reckon.
Sigh..more soon
Saturday, 12 November 2016
❖❦
Disappointments mount while expectations dwindle. Is that the only sage advice life has to offer?
It could have done better than that.
It could have done better than that.
A long journey as this and this is all we learn in a nutshell. Stories are many morals only a few.
Life: a cautionary tale.
Life: live at your own peril
Life: you've been warned
and yet, this is what we cling to most dearly because what are we if not hopeful?
--to--d--a--y
An irregular night that smeared itself all over today.
Did I sleep did I not? I did wake up puffy eyed and incredibly unhappy.
What am I today?
a nurse.
there isn't much to look forward to today, except that we're going for dinner to someone's house. Do I look forward to it? not exactly. sigh. ugh
--
Someone told me my writings are kafkian, and that sort of made my day. Talk about painting nights black.
Did I sleep did I not? I did wake up puffy eyed and incredibly unhappy.
What am I today?
a nurse.
there isn't much to look forward to today, except that we're going for dinner to someone's house. Do I look forward to it? not exactly. sigh. ugh
--
Someone told me my writings are kafkian, and that sort of made my day. Talk about painting nights black.
Friday, 11 November 2016
11/11
Today is singles day or as we usually call it in China double 11.
Against my nature I'm doing what I usually don't.. browsing Taobao.
No I'm not an online shopping junkie, and it's not just the deals.. I'm not one for deals either, it's about being a part of this madness.
So I'm buying stupid things I don't need.. like a Segway. Not the massive big ones but the smaller one..perhaps a drone..or how about something even madder.
I shall update more
Sent from my iPhone
Against my nature I'm doing what I usually don't.. browsing Taobao.
No I'm not an online shopping junkie, and it's not just the deals.. I'm not one for deals either, it's about being a part of this madness.
So I'm buying stupid things I don't need.. like a Segway. Not the massive big ones but the smaller one..perhaps a drone..or how about something even madder.
I shall update more
Sent from my iPhone
this and that
After days of careful observation I've come to the conclusion that my neighbors have an au pair.
Hmm..well I'm also a sort of domestic au pair in my house.
But goddamnit if someone could swap ironing duties with me I'd be more than glad.
Ah, ah, today. Well what happened to today?
Did a lot of drawing and it taxed me cuz I like making things complicated.
The house is cold enough to switch on the air conditioner set on warm, and I'll tell you it feels livable.
Now why do I feel like having a cup of tea?
Hmm..well I'm also a sort of domestic au pair in my house.
But goddamnit if someone could swap ironing duties with me I'd be more than glad.
Ah, ah, today. Well what happened to today?
Did a lot of drawing and it taxed me cuz I like making things complicated.
The house is cold enough to switch on the air conditioner set on warm, and I'll tell you it feels livable.
Now why do I feel like having a cup of tea?
some days
Something phenomenally gratifying about a bit of sunshine in cold weather. Of course it helps thawing out those mummified muscles that've been wrapped in layers of winter clothing, but also the slight warmth overlaid with chill winds feels a weird contradiction that tends to confuse the body and delight the mind.
Against my better judgement I pull back all curtains and open some windows just to let the house air out a bit and have that thin stream of golden rays scatter on beds and floors.
It doesn't help in warming the house of course, if anything it gets colder, but the slight glow that attaches itself to different furnitures and reflection cast against mirrors and window panes lends its own magical touch which is a rarity during these days of biting dark.
Onwards and upwards then.
The weather is fine, the birds are chirping and I feel a bit of wilderness creeping into me.. the kinds that creep into city dwellers who've had the slight opportunity to live in a quiet place abundant in flora and fauna.
These are the kinds of days that beckon me to fill a flask with tea and saunter to the nearest park or in my case riverside and lie back on the benches and soak in the sunshine, which is what I think I'm planning on doing.
Perhaps I'll complete my work by the riverside, watching fellow idles fish or play with their dogs. Might be I'll take along the cat with me.
Against my better judgement I pull back all curtains and open some windows just to let the house air out a bit and have that thin stream of golden rays scatter on beds and floors.
It doesn't help in warming the house of course, if anything it gets colder, but the slight glow that attaches itself to different furnitures and reflection cast against mirrors and window panes lends its own magical touch which is a rarity during these days of biting dark.
Onwards and upwards then.
The weather is fine, the birds are chirping and I feel a bit of wilderness creeping into me.. the kinds that creep into city dwellers who've had the slight opportunity to live in a quiet place abundant in flora and fauna.
These are the kinds of days that beckon me to fill a flask with tea and saunter to the nearest park or in my case riverside and lie back on the benches and soak in the sunshine, which is what I think I'm planning on doing.
Perhaps I'll complete my work by the riverside, watching fellow idles fish or play with their dogs. Might be I'll take along the cat with me.