an aberrant coup.

for there appears to be
a velociraptor
in my soup.

and I
shall eat it.
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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!

Ladies & Gentlemen...

I admit. I have given in to the great temptation.

Plagued by the miseries of life and time, the mortal seeming remains tormented by a multitude of evils, all at once. Each trial against decadence, appears as an insurmountable pinnacle. Each battle won against the norms of society, is a war lost to decadence. Such is the plight of the righteous man. And such is the gravity of a moral dilemma.

To quote the bard himself :
"I have of late, but wherefore I know not, lost all my mirth, forgone all custom of exercises; and indeed, it goes so heavily with my disposition that this goodly frame, the earth, seems to me a sterile promontory; this most excellent canopy, the air, look you, this brave o'erhanging firmament, this majestical roof fretted with golden fire! Why, it appears no other thing to me than a foul and pestilent congregation of vapours. What a piece of work is man! How noble in reason! How infinite in faculties! In form and moving, how express and admirable! In action how like an angel! in apprehension, how like a god! The beauty of the world! The paragon of animals! And yet, to me, what is this quintessence of dust?"

-Hamlet
(Act 2, Scene 2)

...............................................................................................................................................................

Yes, my friend. Take heart, for I have now joined the ranks of the Tweeters of the world!
*dramatic interlude plays in background*

Having succumbed to the pop-culture fad that Twitter epitomizes and embodies so perfectly, I consider it my job... nay, my noble duty, to pass on the malady. Corrupting the youth of the nation, after all, shall always remain a hobby. Bwuahahaha!

So, go ahead. Join me here.

P.S. Fact of the matter: I seek partners-in-crime. We'll even work out a secret-handshake!

Confession #3

I acquire a decidedly feminine demeanor when I'm upset.

Bear with me, for this is an embarrassing confession of EPIC proportions. ME, being the person who wore pink ONCE in her life and suffered enough mental trauma and general inferiority to never be able to look at anything pink without a grimace again. It was a dark day in the life of yours truly. I still have nightmares about it.

So, for posterity (lest I grow a beard-and-other-things one fine day and become the happiest person in the world), here's a list :

• I cook.
• I clean.
• I KNIT.
• I listen to chick-music. The kind no self-respecting person would be caught dead carrying on their iPod. Not James Blunt. Think lower. Think woozier. Think Belinda Carlisle and Cyndi Lauper.
  
• I watch sappy TV shows and IDENTIFY with the much-scorned and wronged protagonist.
  

Come to think of it, the last time I was in the end-the-world-right-here-right-now mood was in January. I knitted half a scarf and watched the first 4 seasons of Grey's Anatomy in 2 days flat.

Here's a picture, as proof :

I also started this blog.

Riding High on a Deep Depression.

I'm only happy when it rains - Garbage

Because I miss the band.
And this song, hits the bull's-eye.

There are times...

...when one feels competitive.

So one goes ahead and gets nominated for a rat-race. And despite not having much to gain out of it, one wants to win. Because no matter what the stakes, one is a sucker for victory.

Please note:

1. I am considering changing my name permanently to "one", to make the euphemisms and allusions more lucid. I might also insist on being referred to as "The One". Has this moronic sci-fi doomsday-prophecy ring to it. Thoroughly appropriate. I'll wear floor-length leather overcoats and dodge bullets even. I'm sure I can add a lightsaber in there somewhere too. (Darth Vader fascination.)

2. Aforesaid rat-race = Indiblogger of the month. Yep.
....................................................................................................................................................

The point of this post being:

Like this blog? Show some love, and vote here.
Make use of Ctrl+F to find this blog in the painfully long list.

Thank you for your time.
Any inconvenience caused is thoroughly intended.

So...

Diwali came and went.

And I spent it trying to negotiate with a particularly virulent throat-infection. Do you know what I did not do? I didn't magnify my carbon footprint by a million times. I didn't even aim aerial fireworks into any nosy, obnoxious neighbor's houses. Imagine the agony.

I feel decrepit.
The coughing, wheezing, doubled-over in pain kind.

And I sound like Sunny Deol. No shit.