I soldier on for you. Rain, shine, storm - they mean nothing in my journey. If I am impeded, it will only be by thoughts of you that beg my urgent attention. They are the one enemy I cannot resist; yet they are the very streams of sustenance which help me forge on. Mountains, vales, barren, hostile lands – I will traverse them all. For you.

What was an error then will be a travesty now, if I do not find you. Unknown to you, I still live only to see the divinity in your eyes and to burn in the flames of your heart. I questioned each stride I took, lest it make me unworthy. I beseech you, let my breath in ragged gasps blow gently over the dying embers of a once glorious love. Let the fire rage again, let its warmth envelope you as it once did. Let the promise of your soul guide my weary steps on my eternal quest.

Laugh...

...but not too hard, lest you fart.

Lots of fun Sat nite at Vineet's place in Whisper Valley. Not lots of fun thru Sun afternoon which was spent in recovery phase with a parent (not too clear which one) buzzing with best avoided what-are-you-doing-with-your-life questions.

And I get this first thing Monday morning. And it made me laugh. Enough said, it qualifies for a post. And no, I did not fart - that was just friendly advice.

New words added to the 21st Century Dictionary

1. Assmosis - The process by which some people seem to absorb success
and advancement by kissing up to the boss.

2. Blamestorming - Sitting around in a group discussing why a deadline was missed or a project failed and who was responsible.

3. Seagull Manager - A manager, who flies in, makes a lot of noise, craps over everything, and then leaves.

4. Salmon Day - The experience of spending an entire day swimming
upstream only to get screwed and die in the end.

5. Irritainment - Entertainment and media spectacles that are annoying but you find yourself unable to stop watching them. The O.J. trials were a prime example.

6. Chainsaw Consultant - An outside expert brought in to reduce the employee head count, leaving the brass with clean hands.

7. Adminisphere - The rarefied organizational layers beginning just
above the rank and file. Decisions that fall from the adminisphere are often profoundly inappropriate or irrelevant to the problems they were designed to solve.

8. Career Limiting Move (CLM) - Used among microserfs to describe an
ill-advised activity. Trashing your boss while he or she is within
earshot is a serious CLM.

9. Generica - Features of the American landscape that are exactly the
same no matter where one is, such as fast food joints, strip malls,
subdivisions. Used as in: "We were so lost in Generica that I forgot what city we were in."

10. Ohno-Second - That minuscule fraction of time in which you realize that you've just made a BIG mistake.[lol]

11. Umfriend - A sexual relation of dubious standing or a concealed
intimate relationship, as in "This is Dylan, my...um...friend." [umfriends are the bestest!]

12. Cube Farm - An office filled with cubicles.

13. Idea Hamsters - People who always seem to have their idea generators running.

14. Prairie Dogging - When someone yells or drops something loudly in a cube farm, and people's heads pop up over the walls to see what's going on.[LOL..how bluddy true]

15. Stress Puppy - A person who seems to thrive on being stressed out and whiny.

16. 404 - Someone who is clueless. From the World Wide Web error message "404-URL Not Found," meaning that the requested web page
could not be located. Used as in: "Don't bother asking him... he's
404, man." [lol..now, who do we know who experienced a 'higher' level of 404 on Sat nite?]

17. Percussive Maintenance - The fine art of whacking the crap out of an electronic device to get it to work again.
[LOL..p.s. whacking the crap out of something to get it to work doesn't work on EVERYthing. Yes, you, Virgin sitting in the corner...I hope you're taking notes!]

18. Alpha Geek - The most knowledgeable, technically proficient person in an office or work group.

Alright, so I'm easily amused sometimes. Anything that works on a Monday morning deserves a bloody 18 gun salute.

Zyroz Max

It was the first day of Class IX.

An excited bunch of students waited for the first class of the academic year. At least, I was excited. The textbooks I skimmed through during the holidays seemed mildly interesting, but it was exciting to be back in the same classroom I had studied Class III in. That was an exciting year, what with the discovery of girlkind (we were VERY early bloomers) and a classmate asking the class teacher if she would marry him. But that's another story.

He broke my reverie. He strode in, dark, swarthy, slightly tall. I say 'slightly' because it was all relative - I was a very late bloomer height-wise - he seemed tall to me. Come to think of it, so did everyone else. Anyway, a hush descended upon the classroom. He was new, an unknown quantity, and therefore something to be feared.
He stood in front of the blackboard and looked like he was ready to address us. I'll never forget his next two lines.

"I...am Zyroz."

And I'm thinking what a fucking COOL name for a teacher! Zyroz...Zyroz...I rolled the name around in my mouth. It sounded so cool. My hyperactive imagination took off. Maybe he knows Zaphod Beeblebrox, maybe his name is derived from a lost line of Mayan kings, maybe he's into death metal and we can bond and he can introduce me to substance abuse! Wow. And he must have had a difficult childhood - with a name like that, imagine the wait till your name was called at morning roll call! Traumatic.
And then came the second line.

“I will teach you Max”.

I couldn’t believe it. This dude was going to teach me ‘Max’, whatever that was. But who cares? It sounds so cool! Maybe it’s like some lost skill or art, passed down only by word of mouth from teacher to pupil, and has been for generations and generations. Maybe it was the code of some secret sect and we would be inducted by this dark, mysterious stranger. Maybe it was some way to discover hidden powers within yourself and hence, ‘max’imise your potential. Maybe…

You get the picture. Yes, I had a hyperactive imagination which would skyrocket at the slightest mention of any remotely intellectual activity. If you knew the company I had, you probably wouldn’t have blamed me. Anyway, I was preparing for a year of excitement and discovery; preparing to be shown a higher plane. Zyroz turned to the blackboard and began to write. Slowly, my jaw began to drop. Confusion. Non-comprehension.

“ We’ll start with Yinteasers”. Some how the coolness of the sound and the profound dumbness of the word he’d written did not seem to match. He had written:

‘Integers’.

It was like that track-in,zoom-out shot they do nowadays in the movies. It dawned on me, rather painfully. Zyroz was not cool. He was not going to show me the Way or the Path. He was not going to rescue me from...well, whatever it was I was stuck in. It was like my world had crashed and I’d lost all faith and hope. Thankfully, Mr. Jairaj’s Maths classes didn’t last very long, he left two excruciatingly painful weeks later. But not without leaving an indelible mark on a young boy forever. No wonder I became what I am.

I am still confused when a person puts a ‘laaang yeff’ in front of a Greek alphabet and asks me to carry out a mathematical procedure. And I get this vague feeling he might be talking about ‘fren-zay-son...

1.41 a.m.

You left
our stories intricately intertwined
The first lattice not by hand
or conscious design
I, below the banyans, oaks, pine
for day before's tomorrow.

I left
my heart amongst the flowers
you once walked
The fragments tinkle in summer showers
else suffocate in a time capsule, dusty, locked
Above the solitude a pain towers
as I try not to be too shocked
by the sudden gashes in happiness
which now bleed into sorrow...

Payback

The girl who shook my faith in evolution a few posts ago (see Conversations with Dog series)is now getting her own back - she haunts my dreams.

She (obviously) doesn't know of the existence of this blog. If she does, she's doing a pretty good job of hiding it because I can still feel my limbs. Actually, I can still feel, period. Anyway, based on previous evidence I'd have to put that kind of sneakiness beyond her. For the past two nights, she manages to open a chat window in my subconscious and, as if what I go through in the day is not enough, I'm subjected to a little more at night. The scary part is when she asks "who's this Non-Sensei person? I've heard of this blog...think I'll check it out..". And I scream ineffectually to get her to stop. But momentum is a powerful thing. It is, after all, MASS multiplied by velocity. I'm only ONE MAN! Mercy!! And I wake up.

I do realise it was probably a little...not nice maybe, to put up that conversation. But I could NOT help it. I had to make a choice between 'nice' and gut ripping laughter value. C'mon, this was a no-brainer question. It's like asking a guy if he'd like to be called 'cute' or which shade of pink looks better - this one or this one?

She pulled another one yesterday but the last remnants of decency I seem to possess and my concern for your stomachs prevents me from putting it up here. This one, I could let pass, but the other ones just BEGGED to be recorded for posterity. For those who may didn't find them all that funny, you had to be there. Or you would have had to have crossed similar people in life. I asked her a question yesterday and felt like Chandler waiting for the wheels to turn slowly in Joey's head, waiting to hear that satisfying click which means - ah, I think I understand now...I think...

So she haunts my dreams now. My guilty conscience won't let me sleep at night. I could be a tragic hero, sacrificing all that is dear to me for your entertainment. But those lines she said deserved this. Didn't they? Aw, c'mon...stop looking at me like that! Y'all enjoyed it while yous were reading it, now you're wagging reproaching fingers at me?! Humph!
Fair weather friends...

Depression

Is there ever a good time to be hit by depression?

As a kid, I always wondered at the reasons people got depressed. I always thought it was in the head. I mean, if you're depressed, surely it can't be all that hard to just stop thinking about whatever it was that made you feel that way. Think happy, and you'd feel better. That's all there was to it, isn't it?

I think the first time I ever faced it was, of course, relationship related. I began to actually understand what one goes through. And it was bloody painful. Of course, having never been in the company of compulsive depressives, I didn't know what to do. In fact, I didn't have a hint of a clue. I wallowed for a couple of months before I asked for help. And I asked for the first thing I thought might help - pills.

I got something akin to a tongue lashing. I knew only one person who knew something about professional help for this because he told me he'd sought it in his early teens. When you feel THAT bad, you'll take anything, do anything, if only this feeling would go away.

It lasted for another 6 months. The wound hadn't healed but thankfully, fate and distance intervened. Looking back, that probably saved me. The price one pays for intelligence is the existence of a very fine line between genius and insanity. And I was toeing deep, murky waters. At least, there was a reason then. But who's to question what is a reasonable reason for depression and what is not?

Of late, I find I slip rather easily into depression and worryingly so. You can call it what you want - I still feel like crap. The bouts I faced after that were largely related to love or acceptance. I never thought I'd ever feel so dependent on either. I did find a way to deal with the acceptance related ones, but there is no easy way out from the other path. If there is, I haven't found it.

One thinks one has grown up. One pats oneself on the back for being mature. How does one recover from wounds inflicted at the very heart of one's being? Of one's beliefs and convictions? How can I look myself in the eye if I let the wicked world shake my values? I would change if I felt my actions were unreasonable and therefore unacceptable or hurtful to others. What kind of person am I if I let other peoples' insecurities change who I am?

Ever NOT tried to do something because you knew you'd probably succeed?
It's like that with me and suicide...

Conversations with Dog 2

Ok, so this wasn't exactly a conversation with Dog.

It so happened that I was chatting to the girl (from 2 posts ago) and Dog at the same time, so in a way, it IS still a convo with Dog. Anyway, this girl isn't usually like this. But she HAD to pick a lovely Friday afternoon to do...well, this.

GIRL: did u see the pics???
me: what pics?
GIRL: i gave a link
me: didnt get that
GIRL: thats mine and ......’s pic, one night
me: no link
GIRL: i just now gave u the link
GIRL: click on it
GIRL: this link
GIRL: got it???
me: nope
GIRL: ok why dont u copy the link and paste it in ur address bar in
ur web browser
me: how can I copy n paste a link that I didnt GET???
GIRL: add http:// and then this address
GIRL: ok
GIRL: http:
GIRL: ??
GIRL: //
GIRL: ok
GIRL: got it
GIRL: ??
me: NO!!!!

*sigh*. Wall, this is Head. Head, meet Wall.

I thought there might be some problem in sending links on the chat. I don't know, it's just me; I like to eliminate all other possibilities before calling someone daft. So I decided to check.

me: ok
me: let me try sending YOU a link
GIRL: ok
me: http://clearlyblurred.fullhydblogs.com
me: can u see it?
GIRL: yeah
GIRL: i can
GIRL: if i click on it it will open a new window for me
GIRL: could u see the link u sent me???
GIRL: there is an error on that page
me: yes i know there is an error, but u cld see it rite???
GIRL: yeah i could
GIRL: couldnt u???
me: of course i could!
me: I sent it didnt i???!!

Kill me. Kill me now.

Read the post before this one.

Now I tell you it got better (worse). I have been advised to save it for tomorrow. But I won't be in tomorrow, so it'll have to be Monday.
I have been subjected to humongous...I don't know what to call it...by this blood pressure-elevating experience. I will need to wallow, soak, and drown my sorrows this weekend.
*holds head in hands*

Wait for "Conversations with Dog 2". I promise you it'll be worth it.

Conversations with Dog (...apologies Neale Donald Walsch)

This is from a chat I had with A-Dawg. I hate putting chat convos on blogs but this was too bluddy funny...I was telling him about another chat I was on at the same time.

Maverick = me
A-Dawg = A-Dawg

Maverick says:maaann..chk this out for 'dumb'

Maverick says:
girl 1: so i decided to get eggs, will cook that for today
(me): ooo..eggs...I likes eggs..
girl 1: what eggs
girl 1: ??

A-Dawg says: hehehehheeee
Maverick says: and these are consecutive sentences
A-Dawg says:lol
A-Dawg says:rotflmao
A-Dawg says:*still laughing*
A-Dawg says:I guess she means..."in what form"or "how do you like your eggs..."
Maverick says:nope

Maverick says: next 2 lines..

Maverick says:
girl: ok
girl: because there r no vegatbles

Maverick says: btw, this was how the convo started
A-Dawg says:lol
A-Dawg says:hahahahaaa

Maverick says:
girl: the cook had come, so we were deciding what to cook with out having any vegetables
girl: so i decided to get eggs, will cook that for today

A-Dawg says:omg!

[edit: just to put the whole conversation in perspective...all
consecutive sentences.

girl: the cook had come, so we were deciding what to cook
with out having any vegetables
girl: so i decided to get eggs, will cook that for today
(me): ooo..eggs...I likes eggs..
girl: what eggs
girl: ??
girl: ok
girl: because there r no vegatbles..

end of edit]

Maverick says: and this is the horny one..
A-Dawg says:lol
Maverick says: ab batao yaar...
A-Dawg says: at a loss for words
Maverick says: brb..i need some time to slap my forehead in disbelief..
A-Dawg says:lol

(after 2 minutes)

Maverick says: I swear, sometimes this woman puts blondes to shame..
A-Dawg says: guess all the gray matter in her head is turning black
A-Dawg says: or maybe her medulla oblongata isnt oblong anymore
Maverick says: lolzz
A-Dawg says: total waste of vegatables and eggs...
Maverick says: total
Maverick says: but start talkin abt sex..n she wont stop
A-Dawg says: lol
Maverick says: yesterday she talked to me for four hrs on it..
Maverick says: FOR
Maverick says: FOUR
Maverick says: HOURS
A-Dawg says: guess shes good at it and shes blowing her own trumpet...or make that horn
Maverick says: plus details on her life so far..
Maverick says: DETAILS
A-Dawg says: lol
Maverick says: in entirety, una-fuckin-bridged version
A-Dawg says: ewwwwwwwwwwwww
Maverick says: from first to last..with timings, number..
A-Dawg says:(un)lucky you!
Maverick says: oh
Maverick says: my
Maverick says: god
A-Dawg says:heheheheheeee

Maverick says: the prob is she then thinks its her god given right to know abt mine
A-Dawg says: lol
Maverick says: "..but i told u EVERYthing..."
Maverick says: who da F*** asked u to, eh?
A-Dawg says: yeah
A-Dawg says: guess shes acting on instinct
Maverick says: oh yes, positions..
Maverick says: did i tell u abt positions..
A-Dawg says:lol
Maverick says:oh
Maverick says:my
Maverick says: god

A-Dawg says: this is a RIOT!!!
A-Dawg says: rotflmao
A-Dawg says: ....
A-Dawg says: and again...
A-Dawg says: ya
Maverick says: think i'll blog this convo of ours..

And that was that. Sometimes, I swear, I get the shittiest deals. Dog, why me???

D.E.

I remember Mr.Doshi telling me about this Marathi film maker Dada Kondke.

I'd never heard of him before. I think we were in Koshy's room, getting high on something or other, when Doshi told us about the suggestive names Dada used for his movies. And they'd be those cheap, B-grade sex comedies. And I was reminded of this particular name when I saw someone else's name on another blog.

"Andheri Raat Mein Diya Tere Haath Mein"

I couldn't stop laughing. Understandable, given my condition at the time. I think I even saw a poster of it at some point. Bluddy hilarious.

But I still can't help chuckling when I think of that name and those times...

Shit, I've lost all the comments on the first 3 months of this blog.

Damn! There were some decent entries with some real good comments. Damn, Damn, Damn. How could Blogger do this? I really, really hope they come back.
That's it. After seeing what happened to P.X., I'm going to backup my favorite entries. No chances. I wrote those, they belong to me, they are a part of me.

Now, only if that snivelling sonofabitch would get me that damn CD writer some time this YEAR...

Murphy's Law - extension 22

I really didn't need the vaseline lip guard thingie...

Till yesterday, that is, when I realised I was out of it. And the lips wake up and go " What? No Vaseline? Well then...time to crack, innit?" I've never seen lips crack as fast as mine do when there's nothing to put on them...

Damn Murphy's Law.

Vande Mata Rome

humro des dubai gayo! (our country is sunk)

*sigh* Whateva man. So Sonia Gandhi will be the next Prime Minister tomorrow. Really, who gives a shit? I'm not really into politics of any sort, but what's all the fuss about? So she's of Italian origin. So what? Maybe our fashion industry will get a boost now. Maybe we'll finally get some goddamn decent pasta and macaroni. Maybe Gucci and Armani will start manufacturing locally.

So she may not be the greatest administrator. That's fine. We, as a nation, are more or less used to it. It's either puppets, sleepies, or old age home adverts. Dosen't matter, really. The good are killed/voted out (a good head of state?? sacrilege!), the bad are the puppet masters and the ugly are the puppets. Where are the young and the reckless who will take bold, impulsive decisions, sink the country in the blink of an eye and save us all the agony of waiting? Admit it, we've had it quite good for so long. Now, it's time to pay.

I'm not saying the current government will be bad. Hell, we haven't given them half a chance to fuck it up yet now, have we? The minute Laloo starts unequivocally suporrting anything other than his own ass is the minute we must start to get majorly suspicious. Govinda won. Holy Crap, what will Milan say?? It's all in the phaimlee...Welcome back, Dynasty No.1.

At the very least, I hope Mrs. Gandhi II introduces cheap return flights to the land of really-bad-sounding gaalis. St. Peter's Basilica is THE most astounding thing I have ever seen. I musta make a de trip to Milano si? And Rome...Dio! There is no place like Rome. So please Mrs Gandhi, rule my country - that's fine by me - but do help me, the travelwhore, torn by wanderlust, to go cheap to Italy. I'll shine shoes, I'll go without food for a week, I'll even...even...I'll even vote for you..

Wherever I May Roam!
Vande Mata Rome!

Outside the rain fell dark and slow,
while I pondered on this dangerous but irresistible pastime...

Damn, this blog addiction will be the death of me.

What am I doing indoors in such wham bam weather?

It's all about learning to play the best damn game you can with the cards you're dealt.

If you're happy and you're gay...

A post on Bhav's blog and a related comment reminded me of a gay party/parade I attended in London.

The receptionist at the place I stayed turned out to be one of the leaders of the movement. Of course, the first thing I was told about him upon landing there was that he was gay. And he was Pakistani. A gay Pakistani receptionist at the Indian students hostel in racist London. Who said life ain't exciting?

Anyway, we never hit it off. No no, as in friendly interaction, before you get any ideas. We had a very standoffish relationship - I would be standing asking for my room key and he would be getting off on being mean, or excessively polite (which indicates impoliteness - it WAS London, after all). But he was a nice chap overall, kind and helpful when he wanted to be, and when he was not shagging the pretty-boy Englishman from a good family who was also staying at the hostel, he'd chat to us about how much he loved his partner and was committed to him. I never did understand why we didn't get along, because I made every effort to be friendly. Maybe he thought I was a bit of alright as well in the end, 'cos he giggled shyly when I shook his hand when I was finally leaving the place. He most definitely was not expecting that.

So the gay parade was a big thing, and he invited us lot to a club on a Friday nite. Curiosity more than anything else drove us to the place. We were hoping we wouldn't get hit on and then have to explain that we were straight. Fat fuckin' chance. We looked like fried food junkie sewer workers coming off a 8-hour night shift compared to the well-groomed men there. And the bitchiest deal was that there were hot straight women there as well! Their frustration would have been hilarious, if it wasn't for the fact that we were the worse off for it. They'd look at the gay men, flirt coquettishly, and realise that the guys were just not interested. Then they'd look for the good looking straight men, and find them already with some good looking straight women, or being shown the fine art of being gay by the gay men. Then the women would sigh and look for ANY straight men, and find our slobbering faces grinning gleefully. They'd make a face, roll their eyes for a while, gulp their drinks, take half a step toward us, see us smacking our lips, groan and walk away saying "this just isn't fucking fair!".

Funny, we were thinking the exact same thing.

(to be continued...)

Rush

Getting paid to do something you like doing, and are good at, is the coolestest.

I'm talking about lending my voice, but I like the way you think.

Did a couple of ads yesterday. The ads were directed by Rana, the scion of the Ramanaidu clan, and shot by Ramesh, that superfast dude who shot 'Blur' for a while with us. Ramesh told me the ads were for Star Plus et al, so waitin' for that. Saw the process of the making of an ad jingle up close. There was this young boy on the casio, being told by the fat arse music director what to do. He chose some weird, half-beat ahead tune, and the overall effect was jarring rather than catchy. Crazy music fellows. So I asked the director what Grade of piano the boy was at, and he told me the kid had had no formal training. Damn, he was good. What a friggin’ waste.

How to become a guitar god:
Step 4 : Get an electric guitar.

After so many years of believing myself to be not good enough, I’ve finally gotten an electric. And it still isn’t mine yet; I’ve got to decide whether I want to buy it off Dr. Brijesh or not. It’s only an old Givson, but I can potter about on it for a while before the Fender or the Jackson Strat. Rajiv’s Tansen Floyd-Rose wouldn’t be too bad, but that’ll be on the market only 3 months down the line. Let’s see.

But maaaannn…that baby felt good in my arms last night…no turning back now. Once you’ve tasted it, you’re addicted to that rush.

I look at her now and I see a love that’s been sleeping,
While my guitar gently weeps...

I can’t write a love song the way I feel today,
I can’t sing no song of hope, I’ve got nothin’ to say
Life is feeling kinda strange since you went away...
I send this song to you wherever you are,
As my guitar lies bleeding in my arms...

Welcome, my horny angel.

Inhe chahiye Cinkara!

Damn, what a day yesterday.

Woke at 6 am (went into immediate systemic shock. Took 20 minutes to fully understand the implications of what I'd done).
On impulse, decided to drive 50 km (FIFTY!!What the hell was I thinking??) to pick up an electric guitar I wanted. At 6.20 am. But then, this is me. I'm friggin' crazy. I do things like this.
Back at 7.30, still in my pjs. Because I couldn't be asked to change to drive 50 km. Have to goto the studio at 8. I knew this beforehand. YET I chose to do what I did. Because I'm crazy.

I seem to remember having a shower, I can't be too sure. A shave was out of the question. Ran to the rendezvous at 8. The guy was late. Very late. Warning sirens going off in head...seeing red...explosion imminent...here it comes...here it comes..! Then a very apologetic-faced chap turns up. After formalities and excuses, run to studio. Told we have to dub a Thai movie into English. S and I looked at each other and I promised her I'd get her back for this.

Run to office at 9. Well, 9.15. Ok, it was 9.25. Sue me.

Work all day. Well, most of the day. Fine! Acting like I am isn't easy either you know! Sue me.

6 pm. Run to birthday 1. Stop for card on the way. Goto PSS 's house. Apologised for not being able to stay longer. Gulped cake, ice cream and khubani ka meetha. Ok, she force fed me. Whatever. She seemed happy I actually made it over in the first place. Met her at a party just 2 nights ago. She insisted. I couldn't refuse.

Onto birthday 2. My cuz told me about this 4 days ago. He practically booked me - "Tuesday night, your ass is mine!". I preferred not to go into its possible implications. Rush home. Meet the boys on the way. Parsa was there. HAD to discuss our film. Torn. Like Ross at the beach house, between promises and possibilities. Ran home, smiled at people, ran out. Ran (ok, rode) 10 km to Tarnaka. There by 7.22 p.m. Went another 20 km for dinner with Phani anna's wife's brother's friends.
Welcome to Indian relationships. Didn't know a soul. Didn't know why I was there.
Dinner finished at 9.30. I'm 25 km from my bike, and then a further 13 km from home. Reach home by 10.30 p.m. Pooped like a dog, LIKE A DOG!

Lights on. Uh oh. Guess what. Dad's having a party. No sleeping yet. Crapola. Faaaackin' 'ell!!!! Get to hit the sack at 1.15 a.m. A fuckin' M.!!

I can't work under these inhuman conditions. I need my 10 hours of sleep. Yes, 10. Fine, so I'm a sleepwhore...

Sue me.

Revelations in the a.m.

Assumption is most certainly the mother of all fuck ups.

Cigarettes and/or alcohol obviate the need for conversation.

For Bhav..

My Inner Hero - Wizard!





There are many types of magic, but all require a sharp mind and a cool head. There is no puzzle I can't solve, no problem I can't think my way out of. When you feel confused or uncertain, you can always rely on me to untangle the knots and put everything back in order for you.



How about you? Click here to find your own inner hero.

Cocoon

I remember the last time this happened - the sheer sugary fucking sweetness around me got to me.

The real clincher is the speed with which it hits. Blinding. It's what alcoholics call 'a moment of clarity'. Or maybe it's a moment of impenetrable obscurity. Maybe I'm running away - it's the 'from what?' part that's difficult. Or maybe I know the answer and I'm running away from that too...what's more difficult than trying to run away from your own thoughts and interpretations?

When was the last time you needed someone so bad you thought you couldn't breathe? When was the last time you wanted to be so alone that you thought you'd suffocate if you saw a familiar face? Now, what was the difference between them? Step outside, and ask each one 'hey you, how's life?'

I will go home. To my walls. My house. My shelter. My cocoon. My fortress. My fragile eggshell. My womb. My frayed sense of societal expectations and my shameful periodical submissions to them. My escape. My life. My sanity, my insanity. My peace. My solitude. My poisons. My surreal somnambulism. My all-too-real somniloquence. My irrelevance. My personal space. My lack of responsibility to all but myself. My obscurity. My one-in-four chances of dying of lung cancer. At least they are all mine. I don't need anyone else for these.

I need to disappear for a while. I need to lose myself, and find me. I like this detachment. Sadly, it seems to be getting easier all the time. I'm sure I'll have to pay for it, but right now I'm broke. I have no emotions to trade with. I was told to change. I did. I guess I was somewhat different. Seems to me I was far better off wearing my heart on my sleeve - at least I was the happier for it. I built the wall. I hated every brick, watered the cement with frustrated tears and repressed emotion. Now they tell me everyone already has one of these. Built years ago. With foundations in the deepest parts, with roots down to their hearts. Mine's so new, no wonder it's weak. Of course it shatters, of course it will leak.

I knew I shouldn't have, but I'm such a fool. I saw the cracks and cautiously peered through. I should have filled them right then! But I convinced myself a little more couldn't hurt. I looked and I looked. Someone looked back. The cracks widened. Became gaping holes. We still talked through the gaps. I thought I could use some help rebuilding this thing. Maybe this person can help! But they'd have to come in first. We made the holes bigger. The wall was crumbling. I couldn't see it.

Then, I did. While I was contemplating my next course of action, it began to rain. Oh joy! I closed my eyes, looked skyward, made a face as the drops hit my eyelids, turned round and round, ran, jumped...I ran on the grass till my lungs burned for air. I stopped to catch my breath. The rain had slowed to a drizzle, I hadn't noticed. I looked around. The Wall had fallen. I hadn't noticed. I was alone again...
I hadn't noticed.

This time, it will be stronger. I know I say that every time, but this time it'll be different. Yes, I know I say that every time too. But THIS time, there will be a door. Easier on everyone. When we're done, you can just walk out the door. Leave my walls the hell alone. If you're not satisfied with the heart you just ripped out, come back again later. It might have healed enough for me to serve it up for you again.

For now, leave. I need to be alone.

Fabienne : Who's motorcycle is this?
Butch : It's not a motorcycle, it's a chopper.
Fabienne : Who's chopper is this?
Butch : Zed's.
Fabienne : Who's Zed?
Butch : Zed's dead, baby.

Pulp Fiction.