I was deliberately trying to sink myself down the waters of the hazy realization of the not so accounted for universe that blankets my abode I dwell these days. The utility of this room is still discernible although not necessarily verifiable; yet the gazillion time’s larger universe drastically flounders to spell itself out with any degree of reasonableness, for its tendency of remaining stuck up there. While this trash portion of ponder lurks in my brain, the parallel irksome thought of its eventual inefficacy meddles with the monotony of daily routine. As a consequence, so far as my analysis can describe my mind (when mind says for mind, the assessor and the assessee are the same people ; which is even more vague than the elementary conception of the taken for granted universe), I conclude my bodily gestures are restrained by absent mindedness and by unheeded ramblings. This distorted orientation messes more the putting up and makes life some smudge over the plain white air. (Although the onset of run of the mill examinations do not mandatorily trigger existentialist inquisitiveness, but they must certainly aggravate it. Deficiency of cunts despite being around as many of them baffles the consciousness too) Well, mirth could still justify the rationale of existence but not its terrible mysticism.
Interestingly, this all seems unworthy of even subtle utterance when one can tread up to her place. She is sufficiently equipped to effortlessly overturn this mindless rattle. The virtue of carnal lure and the passing idea of uninhibited love make for some brilliant clock time and trumps the sweeping philosophy stated above. If one happens to freeze eyes and hang in there with her for a while, it is usual course to long for some extended time. Henceforth, the dates, disregarding the weird awareness of being unaware under the Sun, save for the certainties of a grappling material attraction, rarely materialize into smooth conversations. Cheesy blurts and philosophical puke makes for an untidy rendezvous, an erratic interaction, which will understandably not assist up the road.
I am still sticking to my bed at ten something in the morn, with my jeans on from the evening. I need to jump out of it for these thoughts are wearing me out and successfully discouraging me to walk out to see her. In no time it shall be noon when I am required to eat lunch together. As inciting as it would be for the taste buds I know, I harbor sympathy for the chef ahead of time, in that any meal with her sitting next is insipid to the core. Belly yearns for little, and the edible is no more of interest. Expressions of a face, and shrill voice are perhaps inorganic, but I can chew them for a while after picking up the cheque. She does not realize this for she can identify the hint of mint and the body of red wine on her tongue readily.
Narrow mindedness is a vicious slave of the profound perspective. I must also confine myself in those fences, for brutal truths invariably land in unmanned lands. I must fake it to get going. As it is, language is carved to speak and that continually the irrelevant only to budge to the workable. (Although I just realized all the irrelevant flutter just assumes mammoth significance the moment it helps one to get to the meat or reach the relevant. Thereby, inherently, the understanding of ‘relevance’ here is in fact flawed.) And then the natural course takes shape for some good. But if one pauses to rue over the ugly outbursts borne out of the colossal ‘before-thoughts’, nothing remains shortly thereafter but for heaps of lament which breeds more of itself which then stinks and stacks up.
Friday, March 25, 2011
Sunday, February 13, 2011
A run through the lousy city (of only little aid to serious travelers)
In this gross weather, bereft with continual droplets scarring the coarse, azzurish air space, one needs some poise to tread, to walk down the stretched sanitized footpaths of this mess of a city. Scantily clad women with hammered heads fumble on these. The akin monotonous chains of greasy eateries makes it ever so gruesome, so much more when amidst the incessant pubs, beer bellies protrude out, and the black smoke from a zillion cigarettes escalates unassumingly towards the blue vacuum higher up.
Not to undermine the profoundness around, largely bearing on the heritage, I like the dry sense of humor of the place, so popular, but have not come across in real time of witty blokes except for this one stand up act, I went over to last Wednesday, where they are supposed to be.
One seems to stink of primitiveness, in this European matrix, at least a guy like me from a different land mass, and when people confront. Weirdly yet I am less wary of their mindsets. Since culture is carved of reflexes and tendencies, there is little mettle in it. For bare thoughts and good humor feed on rather more. And exactly there the stink in me takes leave.
I am scarcely influenced to talk about the bodily traits of the city, for I find a town in conversations with people in places and pubs. There is a jolly lot of trash to sightsee here, but it does not invoke any inhibitions. To rendezvous gentle natured women, or if not to meet high worth sarcasm sufficiently do invoke. Yet I must go around for that’s how humans learn. I am a human so I must cling to this. I realize even in such a narration, crumbs of self loathing have meandered into; guess London is of only timid help. All it does is to harbor it better.
I realize I have not talked about the Theaters, the London Eye, and the White Chapel, British Museum and the other museums, my Asian puerile citizenry in South Hall and the like shit, but I do not intend to venture and even if I do, I do not intend to pen them. Sluggishness and lethargy is so affectionate; I would not let it down.
So much for the bastardly town.
Not to undermine the profoundness around, largely bearing on the heritage, I like the dry sense of humor of the place, so popular, but have not come across in real time of witty blokes except for this one stand up act, I went over to last Wednesday, where they are supposed to be.
One seems to stink of primitiveness, in this European matrix, at least a guy like me from a different land mass, and when people confront. Weirdly yet I am less wary of their mindsets. Since culture is carved of reflexes and tendencies, there is little mettle in it. For bare thoughts and good humor feed on rather more. And exactly there the stink in me takes leave.
I am scarcely influenced to talk about the bodily traits of the city, for I find a town in conversations with people in places and pubs. There is a jolly lot of trash to sightsee here, but it does not invoke any inhibitions. To rendezvous gentle natured women, or if not to meet high worth sarcasm sufficiently do invoke. Yet I must go around for that’s how humans learn. I am a human so I must cling to this. I realize even in such a narration, crumbs of self loathing have meandered into; guess London is of only timid help. All it does is to harbor it better.
I realize I have not talked about the Theaters, the London Eye, and the White Chapel, British Museum and the other museums, my Asian puerile citizenry in South Hall and the like shit, but I do not intend to venture and even if I do, I do not intend to pen them. Sluggishness and lethargy is so affectionate; I would not let it down.
So much for the bastardly town.
Wednesday, February 9, 2011
when the inside is at work
Stashed back forcibly I am. It is sickening to not have her in vicinity. I feel smothered beyond reckoning. Jotting incessantly is a decent mate in these wee hours of trash. Yet I do not think it is. I am sure not. Each word here ogles at me, spilling blood and nastiness on my naked face. This is psychologically being inert. For it does happen to many people, but in such breath as to smudge all the ongoing, I bet I am the zeroed one with the ugly fate.
Now, you could hang me for this one. For whenever I pen, I pen but of self loathing. Her non presence is consequential of wiping off of creativity and of hollowness in depth as well, in that I can only narrate the underneath rather than inventing to entertain. So trivial are my tendencies, so jammed is my thinking chain, that if ever I do surface with something like this, it only stinks of a wet wound instead of exhibiting solace of prose. If you can’t see, I am gasping for some oxygen now, I am missing my beats. Is it the fluffiness of love, has mushiness drenched me enough now. Am I soaking in the candy floss, seeking her affection?
I should eat my breakfast first for the transitory tongue pleasures assist quite in shying away from the robbing thought of her. I should gobble some English staple shit. That ought to mend some. (The undercurrent: That tramples miserably too. the cereals, the bread, even the celebrated jasmine tea is insipid to the core. this is not a material world for nothing material can cajole you, when the inside is at work.)
Now, you could hang me for this one. For whenever I pen, I pen but of self loathing. Her non presence is consequential of wiping off of creativity and of hollowness in depth as well, in that I can only narrate the underneath rather than inventing to entertain. So trivial are my tendencies, so jammed is my thinking chain, that if ever I do surface with something like this, it only stinks of a wet wound instead of exhibiting solace of prose. If you can’t see, I am gasping for some oxygen now, I am missing my beats. Is it the fluffiness of love, has mushiness drenched me enough now. Am I soaking in the candy floss, seeking her affection?
I should eat my breakfast first for the transitory tongue pleasures assist quite in shying away from the robbing thought of her. I should gobble some English staple shit. That ought to mend some. (The undercurrent: That tramples miserably too. the cereals, the bread, even the celebrated jasmine tea is insipid to the core. this is not a material world for nothing material can cajole you, when the inside is at work.)
Tuesday, January 18, 2011
Floss
(It’s about those junctures at times, where I am stranded to look straight into those endearing eyes, and nothing more, about just that.)
I would peek into them and would gaze unto you, but because they seem slaughtering, I am only chicken to make moves. Resting on rue and awkwardness are my gestures then. The tranquility in them pesters and destructs, more than violence ever would even in most vigorous of its forms. With a battered organ and cherry feelings, I may buy you a coffee, but I am afflicted much ahead of any further course.
Formulation of you in the mind requires only an easy imagination and discounted creativity. Much of it gives me an excruciating time between those sentences in my academic readings, and also ruins my food. I gobble without ponder and consideration. I coarsely feel that if there’s ever a guy who genuinely likes you, and the guy is not me, there’s little point in my existence.
You make me like me, from your likeability; while walking on those tiles in around midnight and while sipping some alcohol and so much more while aloof. This new matrix is of course the better world for my living for any contrary mannerisms hereafter would suggest mammoth absurdity. Fragrance of love has in it almost everything. My inhibitions stare at you, and please do not budge. For those eyes are spilling with delight, and for those lips are harmony, for rejoice on your face is beam. Existentialism is grossly accounted for. If I may say your prettiness in a cliché manner directly and with similes like this, I could just blabber indefinitely. However even an ounce of confession would transpire that, whenever done, He seemed to have His ways well in place. To utter the least, He did terribly well. So much of symmetry in you validates a gigantic lot.
Smell you later…chicken.
Wednesday, November 11, 2009
IS the world designed for Black?
The ugly ways of God, those intermingled in the scheme of this world makes this whole story quite uncalled for. For life exists, and has very many justifications for the way it is, we put up. This consciousness in human beings, however, when looks at itself, finds the concept of creation/ a start/a point so battered and caressed and what is ongoing so indulging that the inquiry, whenever, becomes a redundant venture.
And then when we utter about attainment of truth, even when all of them add up to one big lie, its only an irony . Its mostly love that still makes you feel that earth is perhaps a justified ball, however this all must stop for a while, explain itself and then itch ahead.
In that one can only conjure what is known, and by the logics learnt here, everything is in error, everything unaccounted for. The logic created within is applied outwards, to higher and above, for one who created LOGIC is also recognised by only LOGIC. This absurdity attributes an identity to the creator.
Uncertainty commands mammoth respect for what is incomprehensible is as much unconquerable. So after all what humans do conquer, the residue becomes the lame concept of God. What provokes people to believe and so much into it that God is only good is perhaps, their only anticipation that what shall happen to them should be only good. Ideas for the self carve the concept of God and that he is only likeable; and that all of it is a fight to prevent bad things, when it may be the otherwise, that all happiness is only to invite the black. This becomes rather understandable in light of the ultimate event of death, which is but only a manifestation of black.
And then when we utter about attainment of truth, even when all of them add up to one big lie, its only an irony . Its mostly love that still makes you feel that earth is perhaps a justified ball, however this all must stop for a while, explain itself and then itch ahead.
In that one can only conjure what is known, and by the logics learnt here, everything is in error, everything unaccounted for. The logic created within is applied outwards, to higher and above, for one who created LOGIC is also recognised by only LOGIC. This absurdity attributes an identity to the creator.
Uncertainty commands mammoth respect for what is incomprehensible is as much unconquerable. So after all what humans do conquer, the residue becomes the lame concept of God. What provokes people to believe and so much into it that God is only good is perhaps, their only anticipation that what shall happen to them should be only good. Ideas for the self carve the concept of God and that he is only likeable; and that all of it is a fight to prevent bad things, when it may be the otherwise, that all happiness is only to invite the black. This becomes rather understandable in light of the ultimate event of death, which is but only a manifestation of black.
Friday, September 11, 2009
Thoughts, all over the place
o Rest of my life is only an attempt to distract myself from you. A part of me travelled into you that day. Rest of me tells that it might not trace its way back ever. That still I take this exercise is only because it brings sweetness of you with it and that is why I don’t complain.
o There’s little that I would do otherwise in those moments. They seem strangely stale from now on. That they’ll pass is the only appreciable trait they have. They are hollow as bubbles and yet heavy.
o Why did God create Human beings? Perhaps He could not think of better stuff. This is His best I guess. Much because He is creating nothing new. This monopoly tells us that He’s done with what He could.
o I am a product of God. His skills come out in me. Flaws of mine are His too.
o Ok I exist. But why do I owe it on Him? This is not done. He too like so much in our case is trying to find His reason of existence.
o Is a secondary thought not natural? I mean if I am not being my obvious self or faking it up, isn’t it natural too? For how on earth, under the Sun any formulation would be unnatural.
o People care more about other’s opinion about themselves rather than one’s own opinion about self. There, right there, unintelligence barges in and the approach is distorted.
o About the Game.
Akin to a situation of a middle order batsman in the game of cricket is life. A score is already there when you are sent in. From here on you got to bat, the difference though is in not knowing who created the Game or the Ground. If you happen to inquire, you will be dismissed as a philosopher until you are good enough to do only that-a job like that of a commentator. People in your team like you only if you play well, however if you outplay them, you’ll only sow the seeds of jealousy. Nonetheless, you have to bat, your coach is looking up to you, for even he does not know who created the Ground or the Game. Perhaps, the inquiry is irrelevant, because it only helps you to justify your dismal performance, whenever it happens. Or as they say philosophy is good, it helps you keep happy during a death breakdown!
o There’s little that I would do otherwise in those moments. They seem strangely stale from now on. That they’ll pass is the only appreciable trait they have. They are hollow as bubbles and yet heavy.
o Why did God create Human beings? Perhaps He could not think of better stuff. This is His best I guess. Much because He is creating nothing new. This monopoly tells us that He’s done with what He could.
o I am a product of God. His skills come out in me. Flaws of mine are His too.
o Ok I exist. But why do I owe it on Him? This is not done. He too like so much in our case is trying to find His reason of existence.
o Is a secondary thought not natural? I mean if I am not being my obvious self or faking it up, isn’t it natural too? For how on earth, under the Sun any formulation would be unnatural.
o People care more about other’s opinion about themselves rather than one’s own opinion about self. There, right there, unintelligence barges in and the approach is distorted.
o About the Game.
Akin to a situation of a middle order batsman in the game of cricket is life. A score is already there when you are sent in. From here on you got to bat, the difference though is in not knowing who created the Game or the Ground. If you happen to inquire, you will be dismissed as a philosopher until you are good enough to do only that-a job like that of a commentator. People in your team like you only if you play well, however if you outplay them, you’ll only sow the seeds of jealousy. Nonetheless, you have to bat, your coach is looking up to you, for even he does not know who created the Ground or the Game. Perhaps, the inquiry is irrelevant, because it only helps you to justify your dismal performance, whenever it happens. Or as they say philosophy is good, it helps you keep happy during a death breakdown!
A Pondering Detenu
Although, when even this piece might contribute to so much of what King Khan is perhaps endeavoring to cook up, I am influenced to appreciate his ventures. And just when one might think that the other one was God at marketing his films, the duskier proves better and how. The magnitude of stardom determines the ill gotten strategies.
Its alright if the one who might to and fro almost on a daily basis abroad can get stuck up just weeks before his film is about to be floated and years after 9/11 but that the title of the movie is also the 2 hour story that was weaved makes me emotionally filled about our citizenry which is now only feeding on controversies. When all that is faked up is blurted upon most of the news carrying vehicles there are. Are we eating controversies now? And not even spilling out the shit, if we are, on the heinous mannerisms that dictate earning bread and butter for the most coveted in the country?
Lets not talk about the Hrithik affair, neither the kamina affair, this one engulfs whole another country and stretches to racial profiling and the star has off late uttered something about Jews. Perhaps, the movie is not well carved that such far fetched efforts have to be pulled in. It’s a regular story. Ordinariliness still clings to the Indian Film Industry.
When even US officials deny all what is projected and instead of the August 15 celebrations the news channels air all through the deep agony of the star for being security checked and side track the men who secure the borders embarrasses a genuine Indian citizen.
Assuming arguendo, the August 15 detention of the star to be utmost true, there’s still only little reason to make such fuss. There have been instances of top notch stars assuming grey colors and not just on the silver screen. If a citizen lesser known is subjected to all the check, a more influential person might as well be. The good will come out clean. We owe these checks. We owe them big time over entire earth. To each nation and back to us. But it would be better if they squeezed more content into movies than squeezing in cheesy goof ups days before the release.
Its alright if the one who might to and fro almost on a daily basis abroad can get stuck up just weeks before his film is about to be floated and years after 9/11 but that the title of the movie is also the 2 hour story that was weaved makes me emotionally filled about our citizenry which is now only feeding on controversies. When all that is faked up is blurted upon most of the news carrying vehicles there are. Are we eating controversies now? And not even spilling out the shit, if we are, on the heinous mannerisms that dictate earning bread and butter for the most coveted in the country?
Lets not talk about the Hrithik affair, neither the kamina affair, this one engulfs whole another country and stretches to racial profiling and the star has off late uttered something about Jews. Perhaps, the movie is not well carved that such far fetched efforts have to be pulled in. It’s a regular story. Ordinariliness still clings to the Indian Film Industry.
When even US officials deny all what is projected and instead of the August 15 celebrations the news channels air all through the deep agony of the star for being security checked and side track the men who secure the borders embarrasses a genuine Indian citizen.
Assuming arguendo, the August 15 detention of the star to be utmost true, there’s still only little reason to make such fuss. There have been instances of top notch stars assuming grey colors and not just on the silver screen. If a citizen lesser known is subjected to all the check, a more influential person might as well be. The good will come out clean. We owe these checks. We owe them big time over entire earth. To each nation and back to us. But it would be better if they squeezed more content into movies than squeezing in cheesy goof ups days before the release.
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