Freewheelin'

Today, I will write. I will write free. I have no idea what I write, and why. I never write well with distractions, especially with music in my ears or in the background.
For the first time ever, I am writing with my extremely underused video iPod plugged into my ears. Am quite likely to say stuff that's absolutely unconnected, irrelevant, politically incorrect, irreverent. With enough and more spelling and grammatical errors. But it will be an interesting experiment nevertheless.

(Why Georgia, John Mayer. A quarter life crisis...Am I living it right? )

Strangely, I seem to be typing far faster than I normally do. Maybe the neurons are firing faster than they have been used to over the past some time. So, does the music really help? Does it improve concentration? Who gives a flying fuck...I'm getting high on it and that's all that really matters.

(Don't let it bring you down, Annie Lennox. It's only castles burning, find someone who's turning, and you will come around)

The road calls again. Have planned a small offroad trip tomorrow. Hope it works out. Around 60 km outta Hyderabad on the Mumbai highway, there's some plain land on both sides of the road. Looks suprisingly like the English country side. Looks interesting enough to plan a picnic someday, such as on a distant hill with no visible motorable way up, but one big shady tree on the top. Imagine sitting under that, with miles and miles of beautiful plainland countryside around you, opening a chilled beer, and having some music coursing through your veins.
Happy Place.

(Shalom, Anima Sound System)

Damn, I didn't even know I had such crazy ass music with me.

How many "fire inside"s does a man experience in one lifetime? Maybe they come in phases. I think I must be in the 'old' phase.

I was told about a rock show in a pub last night. I had planned to go home after work, change into something "cool" and go. I ran late and ended up going in my extremely sad office clothes, with a nice and bulky laptop slung on my sagging shoulders.

I might as well have had L.O.S.E.R. tattooed on my forehead.

And I ran into old rocker friends. As in, rocker friends from long ago. They are quite young, of course. All just out of college. With long hair on their heads, piercings and tattoes on their bodies, smiles on their faces, PARTYYYY on their minds and dreams in their rapidly dulling eyes.

(Nightblindness, David Grey. What we gonna do when the money runs out? Old dances, lost chances)

My friend and I looked each other in the eye, and saw ourselves in the other's place. One a few years ago, one a few years later. I'm not sure who came away from that meeting happier.

(Flaming Telepaths, Blue Oyster Cult. Experiments that failed too many times. I'm after rebellion, I'll settle for lies)

I'm sitting in office doing all this chutiyabaazi. I told my boss a few days ago that I have no work. He said great, enjoy yourself. Go home early, watch movies, do your personal work. This may continue for some more time.
Now that's what I call a kick.ass. boss.

Latest kicks - American Idol, The Apprentice, Heroes. Maximum City by Suketu Mehta (this is a MUST read).

(Maybe I'll go. Lene Marlin.)

How appropriate. Yes, maybe I will.
:-)

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