Warning

Vivek Wali a.k.a. Jhabra Baba, inmate of hostel 4, room 143 has escaped the confines of his mind and is now roaming free. He was reportedly 'tripping balls' this morning after an overdose of legal drugs. He is armed and dangerous, loaded with an arsenal of misanthropic and homophobic bullshit. You can spot him by his dazed look, his wild and unkempt( but totally awesome) hair, his attempts at disproving the laws of physics and habit of addressing people as members of the phylum protozoa.
If he approaches you do not run or laugh, but listen to him patiently and offer him a ciggarette and show him a movie. This should be enough to bring him to borderline insane which is his normal operating frequency.
Thanking you
Me. Or me. No me!
Its actually the rest of us.

Eyes strangely open

Not feeling particularly creative. Hence putting up a piece by some of my favorite writers ever.

"Have you ever been in love? Horrible, isn't it? It makes you so vulnerable. It opens your chest and it opens your heart and it means someone can get inside you and mess you up. You build up all these defenses. You build up this whole armor, for years, so nothing can hurt you, then one stupid person, no different from any other stupid person, wanders into your stupid life. You give them a piece of you. They don't ask for it. They do something dumb one day like kiss you, or smile at you, and then your life isn't your own anymore. Love takes hostages. It gets inside you. It eats you out and leaves you crying in the darkness, so a simple phrase like 'Maybe we should just be friends' or 'How very perceptive' turns into a glass splinter working its way into your heart. It hurts. Not just in the imagination. Not just in the mind. It's a soul-hurt, a body-hurt, a real gets-inside-you-and-rips-you-apart pain. Nothing should be able to do that. Especially not love. I hate love."
Rose Walker
Neil Gaiman's "The Sandman: The Kindly Ones"

"Say, whoever you are, you know what Freud said about dreams about flying? He said it means you are really dreaming about having sex.
Really? Then tell me what does it mean when you dream about having sex?"
Rose Walker, Dream
Neil Gaiman's "The Sandman: Season of Mists"

"Only one creature could have duplicated the expressions on their faces, and that would be a pigeon who has heard not only that Lord Nelson has got down off his column but has also been seen buying a 12-bore repeater and a box of cartridges."
Terry Pratchett's "Mort"

"We might find out why mankind is here, although that is more complicated and begs the question "Where else should we be?""
Terry Pratchett's "The Last Continent"

The Hitch Hiker's Guide to the Galaxy has a few things to say on the subject of towels.

A towel, it says, is about the most massively useful thing an interstellar hitch hiker can have. Partly it has great practical value - you can wrap it around you for warmth as you bound across the cold moons of Jaglan Beta; you can lie on it on the brilliant marble-sanded beaches of Santraginus V, inhaling the heady sea vapours; you can sleep under it beneath the stars which shine so redly on the desert world of Kakrafoon; use it to sail a mini raft down the slow heavy river Moth; wet it for use in hand-to-hand combat; wrap it round your head to ward off noxious fumes or avoid the gaze of the Ravenous Bugblatter Beast of Traal (a mindboggingly stupid animal, it assumes that if you can't see it, it can't see you - daft as a brush, but very very ravenous); you can wave your towel in emergencies as a distress signal, and of course dry yourself off with it if it still seems to be clean enough.
More importantly, a towel has immense psychological value. For some reason, if a strag (strag: non-hitch hiker) discovers that a hitch hiker has his towel with him, he will automatically assume that he is also in possession of a toothbrush, face flannel, soap, tin of biscuits, flask, compass, map, ball of string, gnat spray, wet weather gear, space suit etc, etc. Furthermore, the strag will then happily lend the hitch hiker any of these or a dozen other items that the hitch hiker might accidentally have "lost". What the strag will think is that any man who can hitch the length and breadth of the galaxy, rough it, slum it, struggle against terrible odds, win through, and still knows where his towel is is clearly a man to be reckoned with.

Douglas Adam's "Hitchhiker's Guide to The Galaxy"

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Now Feeling : Sore
Now Playing : Pink Floyd - Atom Heart Mother
Now Reading : Electronic Devices and Circuits by Alan Mottershead (funny name)

P.S. : had a change of mind about the whole facebook notes thing.

Belief

Received a care package from home today. It contained sweets I've loved since i was a toddler. I have cherished memories of helping my mom and grandmom prepare them. Roth, laedd, don't really know how to transliterate (?) them to english, but that what we call them. They are prasad for a festival we Kashmiris call Pann,  celebrated around Ganesh Chaturti.
so yeah, the package arrived, tightly and safely packed, and with the prasad was some vermilion and a naervaen , the reddish yellow thread people tie around their wrists after puja. These were meant for what I call my Kashmiri birthday. Thats my birthday in the lunar calendar. I dont even know when it is.
All this got me thinking. I call myself atheist, agnostic, spiritual, dudeist, pastafarian etc etc, but the truth is that i dont really believe in anything. Or rather, i dont know what I believe in, because it takes a certain amount of conviction to believe in nothing. And the conviction is where i fall short.
My question is that if i dont end up believing in what my elders believe in, will the rituals also die there. The rituals and traditions that make us Kashmiri Pandits, that make up what family life, social life and personal life to some extent for people in my family and of my cultural background, will I carry them on or just leave them behind as a relic of the past or something irrational or illogical?
And even if i do keep these traditions alive, will there be any meaning, any point, any fulfillment from just doing without believing? Wont it be a sham? I feel guilty. And confused.
To think of it, isn't it sad that people like me might be the death of a culture, to save which our families fled their homes and were persecuted.
I'm proud to be a Kashmiri Pandit. But why? And is this pride of any use?
I never really had much hope from religion and even despised it, finding it pointless and many times a means to baser ends. Was I wrong, or just to quick to judge?
I dont know, and hope theres something or someone out there who has answers for me.



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I am not doing anything.

P.S. This is the last post that I will syndicate to Facebook. I'm kinda tired of the whole note thing. This is the last time you will be tagged or not tagged in one of my notes. Those who for some reason do read this outlet of mine, you know where to find me.

If you dont know where to find me, heres a quick reminder ---> News and Rants

Tata-byebye for now.

The rather faltooness of things

I never use hinglish, but there is always a first. And this is it. I'm kinda blown right now. LIke a quarter or so of rum and a couple of joints down, so pardon my whatever should be pardoned.
I am in Ranchi. I listen to ambient progressive metal. Those statements should ideally be mutually exclusive. But are not. This isn't an insult to Ranchiites or whatever they may call themselves (you cant trust people nowadays, they come up with funny names) just that i havent found people with a similar taste in music out here. Let us not forget, forgot. whoops.
I realize I need to study, but just cant seem to find any use in it. ITs not like I havent started but there just doesn't seem to be a point. And so there.
The search for potential girlfriend candidates goes on......... and on....... and on. Yet there doesn't seem to be a Land Ho!!! in earshot. Hahahaahahahah. Land Ho!.haha. ha. hmm.
We sang hindi songs today. Was fun.
Looking for somebody worthwhile online right now, but the results are in the negative.
yeah.

After extensive editing.
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Listening : ISIS - The other. Genre : Aforementioned.
Reading : Chariots of the Gods, Story of philosophy. And maybe my textbooks.
Feeling : Wasted. But in a good way. 8)

Happy. Are We? Am I? Gooblah?

Reasons. Required? Kill. Mate. Clean room. 1979. Scared. Hope. Future. Decimation. Annihilation. Sound. Climax. Crescendo. Staff. Notes. Bhaiya. Guitar. Itch. Body. Irritant. Freak. Self Respect. Get laid. Score. Weed. Smoke. High. Ciggarette. Need. Shiver. Cold. Sick. Flu. Class. Miss. Fail. Die. Sad. Drink. Whiskey. Why not? Friends. Food. Vows. Ties. Placements. Job. Life. Point?.Lungs. Air. Mucs. All over. Survive. Sing. Breath. Play. Song. music. expression. Autorickshaw. Bargain. Headfuck. A-hole. Porno. Heroin. Night clubbing. the passenger. Shit. City. Car. BAckseat. Hickey. Vampire. Blame. Shame. Heartbreak. Circle. Spiral. Downward. Gurutvakarshan. Friends., Mannerisms. Waddyfuck!!!! Hair. Curly. Big. Lack. Inferiority. Seclusion. Sardar. Fit in. Fun. Ass. Pussy. Enough.

The Eternal Optimist

I'm the one who says the glass is half full when its half empty. I'm the one who says "oh, theyll grow back" when i've just been castrated. I'm the one who says there is still a glass' worth when we're at the last pitcher. I'm the one saying its alright, when the CIA thinks we're the Al Qaeda top brass. I'm the one saying she'll come back to me, when she's already told me to fuck off a hundred million times. I'm the one trying to download a movie on a 28.8 kbps dial up. I'm the one saying this shit wont give me a hangover, after popping a dozen aspirins. I'm the one who thinks hes gonna get laid after wearing shades to the night club. I'm the one who expects a phone call from the rickshawallah, after loosing his phone. I'm the one who hopes to pass after submitting a paper clean as clean as a Mormon. I'm the one who expects his parents to forgive him for being kicked out of school. I'm the one who thinks his new cartilage piercing will heal in a day. I'm the one who hopes to get thin,rich and popular in 21 days. I'm the one who'll always say 'arey chill yaar' after insulting the local gunda.
I'm the eternal optimist.

Now Feeling : The beginnings of a hangover.
Now Playing : Red Hot Chilli Peppers - My Friends.
Now Reading : Just finished Wanted.

Tool is best enjoyed after

a couple of pegs of single malt.

Glenfiddich is

nice.

Shit

happens.

Beer in transit

Me n nath, beer and fish fingers. In cal. On my way to bombay. I was broke by the way.

Residential angst

This isn't my room. Its my friend's. But he is in Calgary, Canada. While I am living in his room in B.I.T. Mesra, Ranchi, Jharkhand, India.
Ha. Haha. Hahahahahahahaha. Cough.

Home

Two more days. I'll be in Bombay, the city I like to call my home. But is it?
OK I've lived a major part of my life there, 13 years of officially residing there. But then the three and a half years in Muscat, the 6 months or so in Faridabad, and now the better part of a year in Ranchi. Where do I belong?

And to top it all of, I'm a Kashmiri, whose been to Kashmir for only a week. Cant help that, but what the fuck?

In muscat, I bitch about the lack of freedom, and excess of boredom. I mean its a really nice place, peaceful, quiet, comfortable etc etc, but it is a little suffocating. And I cant really enjoy it because I'm not 21 and dont have a car.

Ranchi, dont let me get started. But since you really cant help it, im getting started anyway. First of all I'm not even really in Ranchi, i live 15 km away. so I'm still a lot of cash away from the closest thing that I have to a city nearby. And yes, theres no McDonalds, no Pizza Hut, no subway and the list can go on. But there is freedom, cheap booze and other inebriants. And very few people of the fairer sex. (Atleast ones I can converse with.)

Im not in Bombay enough to tell you what I dont like about it, but Im also not there long enough to feel at home. I go there, have a hell of a good time and then get the fuck out. Maybe its just the familiarity that makes me want to call Bombay home, but I cant can I? Its just not true.

So where do I belong?

It might be extremely self important of me to think that I'm the only one who goes through this dilemma, but what the hell, this is my blog, these are my thoughts, which for some reason I type out for the whole world to see.

I want to go home.

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Now playing: A Perfect Circle - The Hollow

Now Feeling : Homesick. Does that apply. And my knee still hurts. Its been 2 bleeding months almost.

Now Reading : I should be studying Data Structures in C++, but I'm reading Wigu.

Scapegoat : The Final Draft

And im done. Phew. And heres the final draft of Scapegoat. As usual comments and money or any other kind of material gifts are welcome. By the way, Disclaimer : No offence meant to anybody. At all. Except for maybe Conservatives. Fuck you.
And now, back to the story.
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Scapegoat

So there was a goat. Pretty funny isn’t it your average goat. You know, the baaing, the horns, the shaggy coat, the tendency to eat anything that’s greens and doesn’t move and then the tendency to shit as they move, so all in all, it is a pretty absurd thing. So yeah, back to the point. Rather, back to the goat.

So this goat, he wasn’t just any goat. He was the Scapegoat. Well that’s the last official title he held. In an earlier time he was called Tannnypa, or Toothnipper. He was the kid of Toothgnasher and Toothgrinder, Thor’s chariot goats. You must be wondering why I say was. Well that’s because he was disowned, by his parents and the Aesir, the old Norse gods. Don’t ask why, oh, well I’ll give you a brief anyway. It involved a lot of mead, a couple of wood nymphs and the birth of a new and irritating race called Fauns.

Disowned by the Norse, he was picked up by the Jews. Strange isn’t it. Well, so here is old Tannypa, in the hands of the Yehudis. Not being the type for long toungue twisting names, they just called him Ychnip, pronounced Yecchhnip. For convenience’s sake lets just call him Nip.

Nip was owned by the Levite Jews. They were the ones in charge of the temples and scriptures and all things holy. Nip was their special sacrificial goat. He was the one they would sacrifice when the bigwigs like David and family came around. Now you must be wondering how that works? Well Nip isn’t your regular goat is he? Nip comes from a family of goats who trace their lineage back to The Goat, the first one, from when the earth was created and blah blah blah. And he did get some employee benefits from the Aesir didn’t he. So of course he was immortal. And pretty striking too look at. He had the whole package, gigantic curly horns, long silky white fur and um the package to go with the package, if you know what I mean. If you don’t, then read up on your euphemisms.

So every once in a while the Levite priests brought out Nip, to be slaughtered in the honor of whichever big mother thought it was time to wash away a few sins. It was a pretty good deal actually. The priests got their dough, enough to last a long time. And Nip was well fed for a couple of days, and then all he had to do was a little painful regeneration. Not much for the royal treatment he was subjected to. Oh and the gentry did pay to see a magnificent capryd get its head chopped off in their honor.

Nip did eventually get tired of the whole decapitation routine, so he left the Levites, but not after poking the grand Priests grander derriere, breaking half the urns and pissing all over the Ark of the Covenant. Oh and the Covenant sure was pissed. Fleeing the scene of crime and sacrilege he swam to ancient Greece.

There he had a few dalliances here and there. He got the famed Amalthea knocked up. You know, Zeus’s foster mother. So you can imagine after Nip’s Norse-Jewish hybrid Billy the Kidd, that thunder god was a piece of baklava. The greek pantheon got so sick of him they offered him a constellation if he would get out of Greece. Hence Capricorn.

Nip was bored. He went back to Judea, just to see if things were a little different. Turns out it was the time of the Messiah. Curious to see who this long haired git was, he went down to Bethlehem. Turns out this Messiah guy was just entering the world. Nip, being the feisty bugger he was, instead of blessing him like all the other animals, he give him a whiff of L’essence de goat. Lil’ Messiah man, not all that well endowed at that age, was mighty jealous. He made up his mind to take revenge. And to this day his followers say that Lucifer is part goat. Part, not even whole goat. So there.

Nip, mighty tired of the whole civilization and organized religion scene, thought its about time to just explore the world, and also the various avenues of gainful procreation.
He went to Gaul, Alba and Abootland. For those not in the know that’s France, Scotland and Canada. Oh and he did leave behind his legacy, the French Dahu, Wild Haggis on Scotland and Wampahoofus in Vermont. Strangely, all these have been reported as goat like creatures but with one pair of legs shorter than the other.

He forgot one vital detail though, the Jews. They weren’t going to let him go scot free. The Levites did catch up with him just as he had reached India, where he was planning to meet a distant cousin, Kali’s goat. Well the Jews did have a right to him as his last mythical employers. To pay for the havoc he had wreaked in their temple, he was made an offering to Azazel and sent out into the desert, burdened with sins of mankind. He was the scapegoat for all mankind. Literally.

Nip, not one to sit down and cry about it, did eventually find his way out of this quandary. He did meet Azazel, the devil, and sold him the idea of a Hell. And that’s where they put all the sins too. The Unrepented Sins of Azazel they decided to call it. In exchange for this, Nip got his slate cleaned by all major pantheons and religious authorities, because if you look at it, he did do them a big favor. Now free of guilt and any criminal record, Nip is freelance marketing consultant and connoisseur of wine, women and all things exotic. He has houses all over the world but prefers to live in a chateau near lake Lucerne.
-------------------------------------------------------------
I would like to thank all the worlds major religions for giving me something not to believe in. And all of the worlds history and mythology, for giving me something to read and write about. And goats.


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Now playing: Janis Joplin - Piece Of My Heart

Now Feeling : Tired, relieved and bit fucked up after tiff with folks over getting home late and partaking in scented smoke related activities.

Now Reading : Nothing. And im glad. Stories are a headache. But i still love em.

Now watching : Chris Crocker. Its pathetic.

Work in progress. Title : Scapegoat

Story im trying to work on. Got a bit of writers block towards where i stopped.
Comments will be appreciated. Or neglected. Or shot down.
Any way. here goes.
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So there was a goat. Pretty funny isn’t it your average goat. You know, the baaing, the horns, the shaggy coat, the tendency to eat anything that’s greens and doesn’t move and then the tendency to shit as they move, so all in all, it is a pretty absurd thing. So yeah, back to the point. Rather, back to the goat.

So this goat, he wasn’t just any goat. He was the Scapegoat. Well that’s who he is now. In an earlier time he was called Tannnypa, or Toothnipper. He was the kid of Toothgnasher and Toothgrinder, Thor’s chariot goats. You must be wondering why I say was. Well that’s because he was disowned, by his parents and the Aesir, the old Norse gods. Don’t ask why, oh, well I’ll give you a brief anyway. It involved a lot of mead, a couple of wood nymphs and the birth of a new and irritating race called Fauns.

Disowned by the Norse, he was picked up by the Jews. Strange isn’t it. Well, so here is old Tannypa, in the hands of the Yehudis. Not being the type for long toungue twisting names, they just called him Ychnip, pronounced Yecchhnip. For convenience’s sake lets just call him Nip.

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This is just the intro. Thinking of building on this. So yeah, lemme know watya think.

Um.. yeah....10 favourite. OK.

Wokay. I got tagged. No thanks Arvind. I'm on holiday, I dont need this kind of brain taxing shit. Anyway, to get down to the dirty stuff...

Here goes. In no particular order.

There might be a one subconsciously though.
*Facebook
Its not even a pastime anymore. Its an addiction, a compulsion, a .. you get my drift.
Its aliive. Because it keeps on adding new feature that just pull me in deeper. For example the option to block application invites. Beautiful. Heroinlike.

*Goats
One of my favourite webcomics. Beer, conspiracy theories, theoretical physics, satanic chicken and New York, what else do you need.

*Stumble Upon
Its just too good. Has kept me occupied for months on end.

*Wikipedia
Information enough to fill a couple of thousand libraries. And another major pastime.

*Questionable Content
Another one of my favourite comics. As indie as indie can get. I think. Because I dont know shit about indie culture.

*Tool Shed
A fanpage for one of my favourite bands.

*Textfiles
A depository of information from a forgotten age of communication technology. Its got ASCII porn. And anarchist cookbooks.

*Slashdot
News for nerds. Stuff that matters

*Erowid
To get to that place. Drug encyclopaedia

*BIT Mesra
My beloved college. Im checing this site out 24X7 only because i really need to know my results. AAAAAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHHH too much pressure

I tag Sahej, Rushi, Aiman and Hathi.

And if they don't comply, i'll tell Arvind.

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Now playing: Radiohead - Planet Telex

Now Reading: Rant by Chuck Palahniuk, for the second time. And various webcomics.

Now Feeling: Clean. In more than one sense. And lonely, because theres no one to fight. The lil fuckers gone to manali. Hence I'm also jealous. And I really need a ciggarette.

Sloth, Despair and a little fruit youghurt. Kill me now.

One week of holidays. Bah what bullshit. Im sitting at home, clinging to my laptop as if its an IV, whatever disco shit passes for rock nowadays spewing from the telly, I want to kill myself. No seriously, I do. I hate the state I'm in. I might be getting a job. Imagine that. An end to the perfect Lebowskian or rather Dudeist little microcosm i was living in. I enjoy sitting on my ass the whole day, but I become restless. Then I don't have anything worthwhile to do. Endless fucking loop. Why does the singer of The Strokes look so fucking sleepy. I love that song Piece of My Heart, Janis captured heart rending in that intro, captured it, framed it and put it up on the wall. My brain cells are lemmings. Oh my whatever or whoever the fuck I believe in, Jay-Z and Linkin Park are on. If I didn't like my TV, I'd blow it up right now. People cheering to that stuff. I used to listen to that stuff. Bullet. Head. Mine. Dishkyaoon.

I am. Thats the saddest thing that ever happened. Once I became aware of my existence, sentience wasnt far away, i learned to envy, because I found other people. I cant be happy because there are so many people who the things I want. Being happy with who you are is an art long forgotten by people who aren't happy. Fucking loops. Surreal pig in that VH1 add. Intellectual porn. I'm outta my head. Seriously, my mind is somewhere near my liver right now, bile you see. Hopefully something good is on now. RHCP, lets see what they present me with. SO far so good, nice melodic, Anthony is a little too high, Johns doing his work with the lalalas and slide sustains.Nice brohood kind of song. Anthony your going toooo high. Whats the name of this song. Go John, solo it up, anthony shut the fuck up, flea got a nice love tattoo. I want one, but not love, but something meaningful to me. Right now loves a fucked up thing in my book. Nanananananaaaaaaaanananananananaaana. Naaaaaaa na, Naaaaa na. Desecration smile, thats what the song is called. Evanescence is on now. I'm temporarily deaf for a while.

Why, don't I like the music I used to, why do I search for different stuff to listen to. What clique am I part of. I dunno. Why are cliques needed anyway. Writing supposed to improve the writer's language skills. Hahahahahahaha. Fucking hahahahahahahah. This laptop is irritating me now. About time I stop this spontaneous narrative. I'm getting bored. AAaaaaarg. I said it, I just had to. Why don't I have a bar stockpiled with beer and whiskey. Scotch to be precise. Beers should be preferably Corona or Kalyani Black Label Strong. Plain White T's, cant believe I liked a song they made, and now they are playing some sort of degenerate, devolved teeny punk. Beep, beep beep beep, homing missile activated. Kaboom. It'll be the end of wherever these little wankers are. Arrgh, why am I so hateful. Don't know, but its fun. I hate, what do I hate??? I know I like Jack Johnson's music. I wish I had talent. I wish I knew what to do, or had some sort of Idea what I'm good at so I'd have some vague idea about what I'm to do with this biological timespan know as life.

Everyone should have a gun, it should be mandatory. Just one bullet, to take their own life, or somebody else's, when they're int that little cesspool of despair, or the hot lava pool of anger. t'll be fun. The fuckin place wouldn't be so quiet then. Aaargh, bang, another one bites the dust. Population problem solved to some extent. People would be employed in arms factories. Is simple plan even rock. What is rock?? Is there a definition. Or is it just not what rock isn't. Oh somebody please clarify. The next person I meet who likes simple plan will get slapped or choked or nipple crippled, whatever.

Person : Hey Wali!
Wali : Hey! Do you like Simple Plan?
Person : Yeah, I think theyre cool and theyre lyrics are really meaningful.
Wali : Die!!!!!!
Person : Aaaaaaaaaaaarghhhhhhh or Eeeeeeeeeeeek or Owwwwwwwwwwwwwwch (all in pain)

Man theres something seriously misanthropic with me today. Me likey.

I hate the way things seem to turn out. I have an inferiority complex. Because of someone younger than me and very close to me.

Finally something good is playing. But what the hell is it? Sounds very NWOBHM to me. Slight psychedelia observed. And I still don't know who that was. My life will forever be incomplete.

Why should lying give you a long nose? A short penis would be much more effective.

IM really sad. I need a hug. But there ain't anybody ever there to oblige.

Warning the above line was a call for love and attention. Gimme a hug. Heheheheh.
I might be mentally ill.

I think I should stop. Seriously, this could be bad for me.
And theres nothing good to watch on the telly. I'm so fucked.



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Now Listening : A mad fiddler.
Now Reading : Questionable content, by J. Jacques, kickass indie comic.
Now Feeling : Bored, depressed, happy, confused, hungry, fat, suicidal, not in the mood for musicals. At different times, in moderate doses.

The Adventures Of Psycho-Chicken

Brrr, Its cold. Where am I? This coop is rather strange, and why is my head hurting??
This is strange, very strange. A moment ago I was rutting happily with, hmm what was her, oh fuck it, one of the chicks, and the now I'm here. I feel like I've gone cuckoo.
Is this the after-life??? Or is this just some kind of purgatory, after which the Great Cock up there will welcome me into his coop, with St. Peter at the poultry gates. Wait a minute, the last that i remember, I was an atheist. Oh Fuckakakakadooooo!!!!!!!!!!

The company here is rather strange. Theres some vegetables here, and containers of BLOOD!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Is this hell??? But whywhwhywhywhywhy????? I was such a good little rooster and I grew up to be a big horny cock, isn't that what good poultry are supposed to do??

I wonder what awaits me now. Demons, maybe if I've been bad enough then a rendezvous with the big bad cock, Satan himself. Woah, theres light, and its a little too bright and white in here. Aaaargh. But now theres place to walk. Let me run out.

Oh fuck, this must be hell, theres big demons breathing smoke, and some of them holding long poking things theyre using on theat big platform, and theyre laughing and shouting, ohfuckohfuckohfuck. Well, I wasnt top cock of the coop for nothing, I'll show these demons what im made of. Ill charge right at them, give them the pecking of their lives. Cock-a-doodle-dieeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

See, how that big one jumps around, where are you going, chicken????

Aaargh, somethings got me, well atleast i went down fighting, aaaaa!!!! where am I going . Pukwaaakaaaaaaa.....................

And a plate of chilli chicken was served.

I dont think it went down very well.


Based on a real incident.

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Now playing : Vishnu - Shadows of a Bright Moonlight

Now Reading : Swithin's workshop journal, from which I have to copy 5 experiments, damn last minute work.

Now Feeling : How would you feel when you have to write 5 boring experiments in one night.

One thing I hate.

Of many that is. I do hate a small number of things, and this is a recent addition, or is it.
What am I talking about???? Alright, what I hate, really hate is that small bit of time, when you're awake, not really sleepy,but just ready to fall asleep, awaiting that wave of drowsiness to hit you. Your eyes are closed, you're lying in a comfortable position and most importantly you try and keep your mind blank, but still the sueño bueno eludes you. And its exactly at this moment that all the one thing that you don't want to think of, the one thing that depresses you, moves right into the empty space in your head. And the worst part is that it just won't go, not until you actually fall asleep, which generally takes a while.

Its stuff like this that makes me dread going to sleep, unless I'm really drowsy, or any other situation where I have nothing at all to do or even think off.

So, sleep on.

Counting sheep doesn't help, because the sheep generally turn into whatever it is you don't want to think of but are unfortunately thinking of.



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Now playing: Shakti - Get Down And Sruti

Now Reading : Just finished Charles Burn's Black Hole, but nowadays I'm reading Feynman's Lectures.

Now Feeling : Sleepy. OH FUCK!!!!!!!!!!!!

February's Revenge

Months are alive. February took her/his/its (??????) revenge on me. Just minutes after publishing the last post, I went out to answer nature's call, a very long call, but i will spare you the details.

So I reach my room, unlock it, and the door was supposed to open, but strangely it didn't. I kicked it for about half an hour but to no avail. After about half my lobby was up, they forcefully put me to sleep, in somebody else's room.

Morning, i go to class in somebody else's clothes, with no books files anything. Strangely February showed me sympathy by canceling class. Got back to hostel, scored a ladder from somewhere, Chhabra climbed up, woke up the dead drunk guy in my room and it was a happy ending. Minus the drunk guy, who was just a figment of my imagination.

Arrgh February. Oops sorry, i love you, February, Mother/father/thing full of power and benevolence.

I hope ass licking helps.

Owww, my eyes pain

I am in the initial stages of sleep deprivation. Weird day actually, both yesterday and today. Lets see what the rest of today holds. CAD lab, lectures, bad food and hopefully some sleep. I may start studying though.

Short post.

Haha.(Nelson style)

Now playing: Bob Dylan - Most Likely You Go Your Way And I'll Go Mine

Rambling on..................

I'm sitting in a peaceful place. Trees on three sides and open fields in front of me. The wind just makes it better, blowing coolly across my face, making the leaves rustle in an oh so perfect way. The sparrow chirps, the occasional cuckoo calls and every once in a while a myna's song. Bliss. Who wouldn't be happy here?? Well me.

I am calm, peaceful and at ease, but not happy. I see myself falling apart at the seams. The threads of whatever sanity I had left are slowly coming loose. But nothing can hurt me here and now, because here, I am alone, truly alone. Away from friends, family or anybody I know, in the peaceful embrace of nature, which though soothing,cannot calm my troubled mind. I know, I don;t know. Why have I come here?? when I could have been in my room, or someone else's room, in class, in the canteen or anywhere else. But I am here, and whatever it was that pulled me to this place, I am thankful for it. About time for a cigarette break.

Ahhh.

THat done. Now what was I getting to?? Yeah. Every experience in life counts. Everything you say, do or think, every place you go, its all a part of who you are, your identity, your persona. Ive been aching to say this.

I have regrets, loads of them, but still, everything I've done makes me who I am. And I am, if not proud, but at least satisfied with one thing, who I am, regardless of what I want to be, what I could've been and all those other things.



Now playing: Pink Floyd - Atom Heart Mother: Father's Shout/Breast Milky/Mother Fore/Funky Dung/Mind Your Throats Please/Remergence
Now Reading : Watchmen by Alan Moore.

Now Feeling : Sleepy.

I got em Smoky Room Blues

This post was actually meant to be a self critical post, but sadly it isn't. Instead its sad, very sad. Sorry I was trying to be ominous there. Nothing ever lives up to expectations, never. It might exceed, it might do the opposite of exceed, but never totally live up to it. Take this post for instance, what it could be and what it will be are two completely different things. You just witnessed the death of a thread of thought.

Im depressed, down, and so on. I write from a smoke filled room, now clearing up, because I'm out of cigarettes. If I were an ole nigger from the ole South, I'd be 'singin Them Ole Relationship Blues', but I'm a Kashmiri from Bombay, so im just sulking, and writing in this here blog. To cut the long story short, I was dumped, and I'm down. Well, who wouldn't be. Its just that it was so unexpected, both the time, and the person. It sort of shakes your confidence on people, makes you vulnerable and you end up missing her a lot more, than you ever did. I end up looking at the phone with a sort of longing. What should somebody in this situation do, cut all ties, cauterize the broken link that shouldn't have broken in the first place. Ok the metaphor was a little too much. But theres an upside, not really up, but something all the same. I understand all those breakup movies, I understand what people I know have gone through. But it hurts. A lot.

I miss you.


Does letting the other person know what you feel like make you weak?? And whats wrong with being weak?

I should go get a life.

But from where??

And I'm not racist.

Dont think I can write anymore.
Ive loved and lost, a little too much. And fool that I am, I'm taking centrestage and announcing it.

Well it ain't all that wrong to seek attention.

Back to the topic.I should stop writing right about NOW.


Now playing: A Perfect Circle - The Hollow (take 1)

Now Reading : Whatever I'm writing, and have written.

Now Feeling : Haven't I written enough about that.

I really really miss you.

I'm pathetic aren't I.

Tales of resolve and willpower.....

of both of which, the author has negligible supplies. Seriously, I have so many things on my to do list, and even more on my not to do list, but sadly neither of these lists ever have items checked off them. For example, its been more than a week since I moved back into hostel, and my room is more or less a 10'X10'10' dumping ground. I sleep on half my bed, the rest being taken over by stuff (generalizing , so that i don't get into unnecessary details). Every morning i wake up and dig my hand into this pile and whatever comes out, voila! are my clothes for the day.

Back to more pressing matters, I don't have any willpower. Bad habits grow and flourish within my humble shell. But who is to say whether these habits are bad or good, or just habits. AAAAAAAAAAAAAAARGGH! Society.

Isn't that just so typical of me, put the blame on somebody else, and give a big fuck you to judgmental people, who have been for a while, my pet peeve.

Getting back on my track from my judgmentalist misanthropy (WARNING! Author has just tried to coin his own phrase, which by most English dictionaries and grammar books, is wrong) i just cant continue doing something in which i have to put a conscious effort and doesn't afford me some enjoyment.To give up something, or take up something new, are not things that come easily to me.

Im tired criticizing myself, so fuck you, voyeurs. (Just kidding kind readers, i love my readership, limited as it is).

Cheers, (not that i have a drink in hand, but I would like you to believe so)

Bracket Addict
AKA Wayward Listener

Watching : Just finished Taare Zameen Par, a beautiful movie, and now watching season 18 of The Simpsons

Reading : Nothing, strangely.

Listening : Alice in Chains - Nutshell