an aberrant coup.

for there appears to be
a velociraptor
in my soup.

and I
shall eat it.
................................................................................................................................................................

i challenge you to make sense of the lines above the dotted one. also, this is completely justified since I have an exam tomorrow and randall munroe is my hero.

there. the cat flew right out of the bag.
it can fly, you know.

i have decided. i will write the exam sans any capitalization. i wonder if i can mess with people's heads if i keep this up long enough. again, observe the evilness that is me.

-ze rebel without socks.

Express Train of Thought.

Climbing up the walls --> Wallflower --> Epistolary --> Selective illusion --> Crunching numbers --> Paradox-8 --> Discretion--> Maskirovka --> Instinct v/s Impulse --> Discordia --> Ethics of Power --> Judgment --> Social conditioning --> Perceptual distortion --> Homogeneity --> Brownian Motion --> Relativity --> Intelligent Design --> Geocentricity --> Tree of Knowledge --> A religion with human guilt as a basic tenet --> Dark Ages --> Ice-Cream Assassin --> Blitzkrieg --> The nature of the anti-thesis --> Going too far right brings you to the left.

The last line won't let me sleep tonight.

Thus went a 20 minute bus ride. It's been one of those days. The ones that feature as a red cross on your calender. With cryptic notes attached and stuff. And to think, it all started with a song. A rather addictive one, in fact.

Happy people piss me off. Majorly. You know, the sort that spout sunshine in copious amounts from every thread of their being. By the power vested in me by virtue of being a devoted cynic, I hereby decree that any person found grinning a five-inch smile on a godawful, cold Monday morning be shot down mercilessly. Seriously!

But despite myself, I admit... this makes a pretty snazzy dashboard. Yes, clicked today. Pami's gaddi.

And,
this also featured as part of the fateful day that was. Gifted to a friend on her birthday. I think it's awesome. AWWW-SUMM. In an annoying American accent, no less.Inappropriate, did you say? I would totally wear this around town. And zoom in on random people to check if some of them are capable of not getting the pun. I have a feeling I'd be surprised. This blog is increasingly getting NSFM(Not Safe For Mom) by the day. I think I'll blare some more Manson out to the world now. I miss drag races and general nihilistic behavior. Also, I'm totally typing this to get into trouble. Behold the retired rebel that is me.

On a completely unrelated note, I'm tempted to slap a poetic license on to everything I've ever written. But that would be modesty. Good thing I don't do modesty.

*zooms in*

Closure.

Pennies and strings
and a button or two,
maybe a picture
perhaps of you.

Little lost treasures
I was carrying
in a pocket,
all these years.

Some gathered
to capture that,
which could not be
held in constancy.

A few things
to remind us,
that the past
can breathe life
into the present.

All of which
will be thrown out
with the trash tomorrow.

Except the letter.
.......................................................
That, would have to be burned.

On the Idiocy of Grapewine

Sometime during my much-missed goth phase, some-girl-from-college came up to me and asked me if was a witch. I said yes. She believed me.

True story.
.................................................................................................................................................

All goes to say, I love to do this to people. Feed their skewed notions of me with steroid-charged dog-food supplements. Makes the devil in my head do a happy little tribal dance. With the pitchfork and all. (He's called Travis, by the way. Very nice to meet you.) The boring halo-ed thing that sits on my left shoulder however, has never been considered important enough to have a name. She whimpers and cowers on occasion, and dissolves into general ignominy and irrelevance. I'm kind of serious about this.

Coming back to the pre-anecdoted incident, I think it's getting to be a hobby. Might have mentioned this before, but stupidity fascinates me. On occasion, I go out of my way to encourage it. Sometimes, I think I might be pushing my luck a wee-bit too far. That might actually explain the very interesting state of my PR.

To quote MJ:
"Why not just tell people I'm an alien from Mars. Tell them I eat live chickens and do a voodoo dance at midnight. They'll believe anything you say, because you're a reporter. But if I, Michael Jackson, were to say, "I'm an alien from Mars and I eat live chickens and do a voodoo dance at midnight," people would say, "Oh, man, that Michael Jackson is nuts. He's cracked up. You can't believe a damn word that comes out of his mouth."

So, I decided to have my fun with it. I no longer deny rumors. I reaffirm them to the point of caricature. To my surprise, they still eat it all up. Looking back on all the whack-assed things I've said, it amazes me how easily one can manipulate people. Give them what they want to hear, and they'd believe ANYTHING. They'd eat the dog-food right out of your hands.

I'm told one shouldn't give fate blue balls.
Really? Well... You tell me.

Signing out
-alleged worshipper-of-Satan/promiscuous-alcoholic-homosexual/alien-from-Pluto/Batman.

Sex and Candy.

Marcy Playground. Stuck in my head for way too long.
That's all.

Of Earthworms and the MNS Connect.

An andolan against North Indians? A controversy out of not referring to Bombay by its colloquial(and rather crass-sounding) name?

And now, an outright disruption of a state assembly session because Azmi took the oath in THE NATIONAL LANGUAGE OF INDIA! What next? Work permits to work in Maharashtra? Seriously? Last I checked, Maharashtra was a state. A part of India. Not a separate country.

I find Raj Thackeray too ridiculous to pass a serious comment on. I would merely choose to sneeze in his general direction. Sons of the Soil. Yeah, right. As is evident, earthworms have far more to their credit.

(Pretty little thing spotted on college campus. Prettier than Thackeray, at any rate. It's a caterpillar, after all.)

Once in an odd while...

Random acts of kindness by complete strangers leave me shaken and stirred. Such things don't fit into my view of the world.

And then, there are times when I wish I could believe them.

Your Touch, Cold As Ice.

Discovery--> Sappy metal music.
How very apt. Just what the (quack)shrink ordered. And Cheema recommended.

Also, is it just me, or is the vocalist a dead ringer for Morrison.
Dead-ringer, would be right. Looks like Morrison turned into a zombie and crawled out of his grave. Or was reborn as the spawn of Edward Scissorhands.


Also,names like His Infernal Majesty amuse me to no end. Right up there with Dark Tranquility, Within Temptation and In Flames. What is it with the Finnish-Swedish-Danish bands and moronic nomenclature? But then there's this. Pure genius.

P.S. Missing in action. Way too much going on, all at the same time. I'm tempted to rant, but then... luck should only be pushed so far. And that's what email is for.

From the Life of the Marionettes...

"Patience is the only thing in life that calls for absolute morality."

-Smiles of a Summer Night(1955)

Ingmar Bergman is incomparable. Brilliant direction + brilliant scripts = Beautiful, beautiful movies. Right from Through a Glass Darkly, The Silence, and Wild Strawberries to the one up there, all of his works have a certain quality that I have never chanced upon anywhere else. There are layers to every story, and there's always so much more than what meets the eye.

Go watch, if you haven't already. You have no idea of what you're missing.

Death to roses and all-things-pretty. (the painful and annoying kind, with various specimens of blunt cutlery.) DIE! DIE!! DIE!!!

To he, who does not read this blog(probably, hopefully) and does not have any idea that the searing blindness of pure fury is making me claw the plaster off my bedroom wall:

Go ahead. Annoy me some more. Pile on the indifference.

I need to redecorate anyway.
It's not just my room I'm talking about.

P.S. End-the-world-right-here-right-now. Let the compulsive knitting begin!