Trips

As I sat in the bus and
As I listened to The Cranberries in my ipod and
As Dolores sang :
. . . they are dyiiiiiing,
the bus, it's front right tire ran over a man -
brain out, eyes out, tongue out, blood out,
crush, crush, CRUSH.

I fucked, killed,
crushed you in my mind.

Now who is the zombie, motherfucker?

The Island.

I observed my every move. How I breathed, how my hands moved, where I looked. My mind followed my eyes, my hands, my breath and I let them all be. There was an excruciating amount of ugliness around. Unusual for a Saturday. But that's what my mind, which followed my eyes, saw. The ugliness was not just in the faces. Not just. They were in the expressions in them and the way men laughed and walked and everything else they had to do with being moving and human. So what I did was I let my mind wander into myself. I couldn't be friends with these people. And if I couldn't I had to be friends and get to know someone and so I decided to befriend my breath, my hands and my eyes.

It was not the best Saturday in a long time. I was sick- sick and lonely and I wanted to go out, drink and sulk like a sot. Y was with his mother and brother and he didn't want to go out anyways, K would have come tomorrow but she was at Mira Road so she couldn't, M - well M's was the most uplifting replies. " Who would want to miss being entertained by a drunk 24 year old? But I've got plans for today. Next Friday? " Promising. All said, you don't expect anything less from a married, 29 year old. So then it was V who probably didn't know me and so never replied to the SMS and P whose phone number I've been seeing in my cellphone for a little more than 2 years never bothering to know who it belonged to and he, well he " never went home drunk". The son of a . . .

Could you blame my state of mind?

When you are living alone, you constantly feel the need to be social. Much, much more than when you are living with someone. But all you end up with is talking to your guitar or observing the clock and the ceiling or reading a difficult book ( Deleuze in my case ) which you would probably not have read when people are moving around and if you could observe the clock enough, befriending the air that moved and made the only sound in the house.

I had read about men being large, unfathomed islands. I exactly know what it means.

*************************************************************************************

As the night closes, the day seems to be not all lost. I've been wanting to watch Paul Thomas Anderson's Magnolia for a long time now and the DVD - my dear, dear, dear friend unearthed itself alongwith Persepolis. The day seems bright at 11.30 in the night.

Sad but true

You have to die to see the light?
Is the weight of the world on you?
Constantly seeking to change the world
But never to change yourself
You are a pain here but expecting pleasure hereafter?
You may be blessed but are you a blessing?

Thus begins "Sad but true", a song from "The Aryan Crusade" - Rudra's second commercial album. Rudra is a death metal band. Vedic death metal, one could classify. They pick hymns from hindu scriptures and makes songs out of them.
Rudra is a cosmic god. The lord of terror, the lord of compassion, Shivam and Shantam. According to myth, this god, Rudra, has no time to spend with the dead. He deals only with the living, the striving, the aspiring.
This is myth. This is philosophy. That which the westerner borrowed.
Ayn Rand called this living, striving, aspiring the prime mover. That small, small percentage of the population who keeps the world moving. The creators, His master copies. The dead are the parasites. The living deads. Sponges.

The desperate need for a savior
Is for the fool and the weak

The song plays on.

Insecurity. Characteristic #1 of a parasite. Insecurity at work, in a relationship, etc.
Parasites could be a pain in the ass for the next parasite.
Competition. That which keeps the dead alive.
Prime movers don't dwell in competition. Not external atleast. HE designed them for struggles so that the rest could get by. And characteristically enough, they, the sponges, look down upon the people who struggle ! Hypocrisy, lies, fear. Pick the next person and you could find all these traits and a few more.
Parasites kill. They kill that which they never created ( They never create anything, without exception. ). Not even contributed anything to. But they kill. That's their right, their nature. Characteristic #3.

Victims of ruthless negation
Your ashes shall adorn our foreheads
as a sign of Victory!
You have the right to believe but I
have the power to dismiss!
Satyameva Jayate!

Another song ends.

Names

Everything was okay till he mentioned his name.

As they lay on a tired bed on an early morning of frenzied passion - her face on his chest looking window-wards, he almost lost in the mists of sleep - she spoke as if in a dream, or so it seemed to him, "Samar, where do we go from here?"
"Anand. Anand it is."

They say madness is a manifestation of the unconscious. Freud called the unconscious a monster, an evil within us. It didn't matter if Anand agreed or not. It also didn't matter if Jung had corrected the theory or not. Anand had let off to slip something so trivial yet so devilish that his conscious had ever feared to confront.

"I don't know why marriage is so important for sex. Vice versa and that's fact. Marriage is man's one stop solution for his need of companionship. It should be above sex. Sex, outside of marriage, is a state of mind. A shallow one. I think if you are being cared for, are understood and you know . . . I don't think one should dissolve a marriage solely on sexual grounds. But then, you can't just ignore your libido forever too. "
"Hmm."

Boy, was he charming and confusing, in a charming kind of way.
It isn't difficult to get a lady, a married lady, to bed. You should be enticing and young, younger than her and talk and talk and talk. These, coincidentally are also a few things which get lost in the process of growing up in a marriage. Did I mention name?

Names don't really matter. Unless you are lying about it. And if you are, oh, don't let your unconscious play with your tongue. Anand was Samar to her till then. He was a bastard after that. For him, she was good.

P.S: This is fiction. THIS IS FICTION.

Pipe dreams !

He slept with a Ray and a Proferes and a 5200 under his chest and dreams of his younger self drinking the 8 1/2 potion from a witch and coming out of a castle, a great director.

..things are interesting when they are amazing ..things are useful when they are amazing ..things are really nice when they are amazing..

is the description of a blog called Amazing Stuffs. Sigh.

Vacation

Girl: You bloody whore.

Boy: Yeah...a bloody expensive one.

Girl: Hah!

Boy: You are boring. I thought you would ask my price.

Girl: I know your price. 23 thousand, nai?

Boy: And what’s the calculation there? 1 thousand per year?

Girl: Neah. That’s what you earn.

Boy: Shesh! Anything. You know what? Let’s fix a price now. Suppose its 1 thousand per year.

Girl: Ookay? Now, that’s too low a price for you my prince.

Boy: Well, its 1 thousand per year till 18. But after that it’s a young boy’s innocence that I’m taking care of. Very wanton, very unscrupulous. So 5 thousand per year after that. 18 thousand and 30 thousand makes it 48 thousand. That’s my price.

Girl: Nice. Is this what you do at The Firm? Think up loony logic for pricing otherwise cheap objects? What are you so thinking about, eh?

Boy: Your rate, ofcourse.

Girl: Yeah, right. Scamp!

Boy: Supposing the 1 grand price for you too till the cherry starts assuming real value. When does that happen to you guys? 16? 10? 13? Not 18. That’s old.

Girl: Scamp!

Boy: What would you sell for? Don’t give jazz like my cherry. Priceless.

Girl: Why don’t you tell me, then?

Boy: Never really thought about it. And even if I knew, I wouldn’t tell. I want to hear it from you.

Girl: Ah, bull. Though it’s not priceless. A diamond necklace? A ring maybe. Diamond.

Boy: Wow! That’s nowhere near priceless. Although I’ll have to sell myself twice over for even that ring. Implies I could never have your misuage, that holy cherry.

Girl: No, but if it’s you I could go a little cheap. A solitaire ring should do.

Boy: I’ll still have to sell myself, you see.

Girl: Dirt.

Kids! *Sigh*

No book, no writer, no one has ever made me so acutely conscious of my language as a recent Orkut testimonial. Such intensity. No, not intensity. Orgasmicity. Such orgasmicity of emotions, such torrent of profound words, such impossible orthography, such mad lovemaking with the language, you sit, shift, cringe, grin with a drop of tear and read the ejaculation once again, again and again. Kind of orgasm ( expression is really not the word here. Please bear with me ! ) only capable for people who have recently discovered it. Eighteeners, I say!
Here is what I am talking about. Oh, and if you get any real insight about what the writer is testimonying about, please! Hint: I found this on my friend's profile.

I feel honoured to write a few words for my prodigious frd..
My fingerzz r assigned 2 keyboard at present bt m in articulate of words...
Its not so easy to write about him....coz hes an immensily talented guy...... but after meeting him wht experience i had.....i will jolt down here...he is such a consortment of ingenous entity dat it wud eventually b unattainable to delineate abt his disposition..dis amiable frnd of mine wid a benignant serenity on his comely face is xtrmly bounteous n complaisant at heart....u juss talk to him once n u gonna dive in an ocean of such a mellifluous n soothin colloquy 4m him u dont wanna cum out.. Friend is a guy with a unbeatable brain and a heart full of enthusiasm..when it comes to sweetness i bet no one can beat him... I wonder how he manages so many things. he never lets any1 enter his sorrows.... but true frnds find out...... i pray to god tht my frndship wid friend continues till ma last breath....keep smiling...cheers!

Note: I have used some words you would never find in a dictionary. What do you expect!