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Tuesday, September 14, 2010

Society 2

The society has become sick.parents, teachers, hypocrites, politicians, rules,EVERYTHING has been effected.love has become too narrow minded.children have been warned not to talk to strangers!is this what we're living for?don't talk to people you don't know?everyone is a stranger in this world mom n dad!we are not imparted with knowledge anymore.all that we learn are rules and guidelines.we do not learn to use our own head and bare hands to survive,we learn how to trick and fool people.we learn how to cheat on life.

I mean FUCK PEOPLE!what the fuck is wrong with us?What happened to anything that was original? Yes, the root of any originality comes from an influence. But that influence is meant to create not copy and paste!has music become that hard to be an original thing in a little over 20 years? Pictures losing their art and is being taken over by lust and frustration rather than love and possibilities.Photos that we consider a work of art today always have a hint of despair and sorrow.I used to believe in magic until Friday night TV ruined it. Was it unacceptable for me to believe in something that my eyes and logic could not comprehend? When will we be satisfied? If man had found God what would he do? Would he allow himself to believe or would he put God on a table in a medical room and dissect him?

Art in its own way is telling us that the world is dying.

Society 1

I was born in the 90's. it was a weird era. People had no clue about anything anymore.the promising 60's and the radical 70's had ended with a warning that foresaw the end of positive thinking and free living. the 80's came in with a force of destruction.it destroyed the hippies and the love generation, with its trash and metal culture, killing rock n roll, urging people not to feel love anymore and shut yourselves in.and by the time the 90's came everything had been divided and broken into what i can only refer to as "khichdi".

The hippies had been reduced to potheads about whom you read in books as a kid and meant not to idolize.freedom of expression had lost its magic.the schools became like prisons, trying to hide the failures of the teachers.why else would a parent in this era not know why children don't like going to schools? what happens when that little kid from the 90's grows up and starts to think?a man raised by women and surrounded by weak womanly-men?when the free thinking boy turns into a man and sees the radical change that has taken over the earth like a drug?

what do you do when all that you need is nothing but all the luxuries have become a necessity?what can you do other than join the herd and live a predetermined life and force yourself to believe that you are not a part of the herd?

Saturday, June 5, 2010

A Starry NIght re-done





Vincent van Gogh's “A starry night”. Done by a very close friend of mine, out of boredom. Using just crayons! He managed to replicate this masterpiece on the back of a maths copy. The guy is simply brilliant! No, I am not talking about van Gogh!

According to him this is not one of his best creations. He had done a beautiful face portrait of a woman on a chalk slate a few years ago, which he could never replicate again no matter how hard he tried. So I am not taking any chances with this masterpiece and posting it on my blog.

Hopefully I can coax him into taking this up seriously and post more works of art here!

Tuesday, June 1, 2010

The Man in the Mirror

Stairs…long…spiraling…winding stairs. They seem to go on forever. One look at them and you'd know they wouldn’t end until you reached the fiery pits of hell. My own stairway to hell... Aah well, you know the set up, might as well get it over with. Take 'em two at a time.

Shit. Faulty stairs. Just my luck. I slip. I fall. For an eternity.

Falling. One of the most complex sensations felt by a human being. More complex when you dream about it. Just like love. The fluid filled passages in the inner ear detects motion. All the while you are lying in the comfort of a bed next to a beautiful naked woman. Yeah, just like love. Just like a very bad nightmare. I calm myself. Enjoy the sensation for a while...c'mon now time to wake up. Wake up! Now! Wake the fuck up God damn it!

BUZZ!!!

FUCK! I yell out as I wake up. Stupid alarm clock. I check the time. Its 3:30 in the morning. Who sets up an alarm clock at 3:30 in the morning? I could have had a heart attack in the condition I was in. Lost my high. Cant go back to sleep now. Why am I up though? Can’t remember. Better ask the lovely creature still sleeping soundlessly beside me. I get up and grab her sheets and yank them off her hoping that would wake her.

God she's beautiful. Curled up on her side facing where I was laying beside her. She mumbles something, twitches for a while and turns. Her hand resting under her head. Her naked leg finds a pillow at her side and she curls around it. Holding it tight to her breasts. Her long black hair kissing her shoulders erotically. The last of the silvery moonlight knocks at the window as if asking the silk curtains for permission to come inside and wash her off the filth I had given her. The light replaced the covers I had removed from her and entwined with her bare skin. Covering her. Comforting her... and I suddenly feel, not love but sorry... I feel sorry for her. I feel sorry for myself.

I walk up to her side of the bed and bend down on my knees. After a night of intense drug abuse, drinking and multiple wild sex I wake her up with a gentle kiss on the lips…who needs alarm clocks anyway?

She wakes up just like me, emerging from a dream. Unlike me, smiling like an angel that she wasn’t. I ask her about why she set up the clock to ring at 3:30. She reminds me her parents are supposed to get back at around 5. Funny, she never mentioned that last night...

I get up and walk to the bathroom. Look myself in the mirror. God I look beautiful. Only a month into the hard drugs and Dionysus walks the earth again. My pupils are dilated. No wonder I’m seeing more than I’m supposed to. Standing there, staring into my own two dark eyes through the mirror. Staring into my own soul. The mirror shakes. My feet suddenly heavy. The bathroom floor disappears making way to a never-ending set of stairs. I have such a long way to go still...

Snap out of it. Splash water on your face.

"That wont work." the man in the mirror says.
"Aah what do you care?"
"I don’t. I’m just stating the obvious."
"Quit bothering me."
"I cant. I love to watch. It’s in my nature. I see everything that you see and even more. Ironic isn't it? I love to watch as much as you hate being watched."
"What the fuck did I take last night...?”
"The usual."
"Quit bothering me."
"You need a shave."

"Babe you got a razor I could use?" I call her. She says something about having one behind the mirror. The mirror man smiles. I take out the razor and a cream.

"You do know where she puts that don’t you? Of course you do. You found out last night and you've been dying to try the blade on yourself."

I start shaving.

"Disgusting!"
"I thought you didn’t care." I say shaving my stubble.
"I don’t care about you! I care about me!"
"Shut up, or I’ll cut you."

I drop the razor again and again. Can’t seem to get a grip yet. The mirror man had enough and he left. Leaving me to myself. Finally…God I look awful. Only a month into the hard drugs and its already taking its toll on me. I stare into my white face through my own brown eyes.

Snap out of it.

I take a cold shower, washing myself of everything that happened last night sending them down the drain, to where they belong, before finally getting out of the bathroom. Its 4:30. I make myself a drink from her dad's collection of fine whiskeys. I go back in her room. She's still just like she was when I got up. Clutching the pillow to her chest. Foot resting on her side. Naked. Beautiful. Eternal. I’m standing at the door to her room. All I can see of her is from behind. The pure bright morning sunlight replacing the pearly silvery light from last night. Covering her. Comforting her. The sky that was black as the infinite only a few moments ago drowned by the blue colour of hope. All the while I was washing away my own darkness...and I suddenly feel. I feel love.

"Now what happens?" Black eyes. From the mirror in the dresser.

I smile. I finish my drink. I get dressed. And I leave.

Now I let her sleep.

Sunday, May 16, 2010

Devika

My old school...the same old hallways...same old walls...same old smell...same old faces…

I am walking through the crowd. I am excited. I shouldn’t be. I hated that place. Violins and disco music playing somewhere…that’s odd. Old friends of mine in every room. Some with no faces. Some with faces I cant remember. I can’t recognize a face if I don’t concentrate on some one in particular. I’m with a buddy of mine, we were never in the same school but somehow he's here and I know this isn’t a regular class session. Yes, I know it’s a dream. Damn… late for my first class.

I walk in. The teacher's already there. Can’t place her. The classroom changes in a rush of colours. I’m in some sort of an exotic hall and somehow I know the purpose of the class. I walk up through the rows of desks and benches and people. I don’t feel eyes on the back of my head boring through my skull. For the first time in that place I feel at peace.

Aah an old friend I haven’t met in years! He's even got a girlfriend! Lucky bastard. But then why would he make room for me in the middle? Between the girl and him... something's not right. I move on. Another friend as I walk up. He says something to me about not being in touch and I finally move to the back row. The last two benches seem empty. Just in front of the wall. In front of me a girl with dusky skin and flaming hair. I can’t seem to recall the exact colour of her hair for some reason. It keeps changing in every memory. Sometimes its black as the night and yet when I look at her again its bright golden with flaming red at the tips. She was overflowing with elegance and she looked positively bored. A waitress in a red and green tight body suit is serving drinks to some north-eastern lady. She tips her for a show. The waitress, an Asian, gets into this beautiful colourful trance and starts dancing... the sleeves of her top too long for her hands and the stay hidden. Kind of like Kurt Cobain. I longed to see those hands as they move over her breasts as she rubs and squeezes them. She keeps on playing with herself for a while just standing there. Body flowing with the soft rhythm of the hair-raising music and finally she puts water on herself. All drenched she took erotism to the next level with the moves she conjured out of thin air. No one except the lady and me notice her. It’s as if I am not supposed to and yet I am tapping into her.

I can’t concentrate on the class. The girl in front of me turns around and whispers in my ear about being bored. Her voice unlike any other I’ve heard before. It’s soothing. We talk throughout the class. Nothing seemed to bother us. Not the guy she is sitting with, not my buddy sitting beside me. I kept getting drawn to her. Our cheeks touching as she leaned back to whisper in my ear. The classroom changes into a whirlwind of colours and we were at peace with ourselves. Pasts forgotten, the future a mystery. I can finally look forward to the future as long as she keeps talking. It’s like listening to L.Shankar's violin on acid. You feel each and every raw emotions emerging from the high pitch notes. Its sad and its happy its pain and its freedom. Its like being on a beach in the night with the water rising up to the shore just kissing our feet as it tries to embrace us with its cool, assuring, all will be well. Hope.

I ask for her name.I did not want to leave her. Who would?I ask for her name. She takes my face in her hands looks me deeply in the eye and says her name. Devika. At least that is what I remember when I wake up every time. She said she didn’t like her name so I asked if I could call her Devi instead.

I like to believe it was Devi. The eternal woman. The girl of my dreams is a Goddess. A Devi. She was just perfect. In every way...the perfect being, the perfect woman. With eyes you could die for, voice that you long to hear every time you wake up. That’s the irony of it I guess...I can only hear her calling me when I’m asleep. I don’t know her any other way.

Its one of those dreams you wish you never wake up from.

Friday, May 14, 2010



The fact that life has fucked us all is certain.

Though we try to hide the fact that it was us to begin with. It took a great amount of energy in part of creation for us to actually see, hear and feel it. And being able to do so on our own, is reason enough to go through the whole process. And while we ponder over the existence of divine astronomical powers and give up the control over our actions to fate, who is the only being divine celestial or demonic, going against the process of nature our life is over.

We die before we even get started.

Sunday, April 4, 2010

I am what I am

I can tell her by the way she walks
I can tell when you want more
I can tell when i am hated
I can tell that you don't know that you are too...

I can make an army stop in their tracks
I can call upon the destruction of man kind
I can tear down the wall in your head
I can change the course of nature

I know God by his first name
I know languages of the other world
I know her smell from miles away
I know how to kill without causing pain

I can make myself invisible
I can become gigantic
I can summon the dead
I can... i can... i am just a fool

I am what I am

Saturday, April 3, 2010

THE OPENING OF THE TRUNK (he enters stage)

Blood boots. Killer storm.
Fool's gold. God in a heaven.
Where is she?
Have you seen her?
Has anyone seen this girl?
snap shot (projected)
She's my sister.
Ladies & gentlemen:
please attend carefully to these words & events
It's your last chance, our last hope.
In this womb or tomb, we're free of the swarming streets.
The black fever which rages is safely out those doors
My friends & I come from
Far Arden w/ dances, &
new music
Everywhere followers accrue
to our procession.
Tales of Kings, gods, warriors
and lovers dangled like
jewels for your careless pleasure

I'm Me!
Can you dig it.
My meat is real.
My hands--how they move
balanced like lithe demons
My hair--so twined and writhing
The skin of my face--pinch the cheeks
My flaming sword tongue
spraying verbal fire-flys
I'm real.
I'm human
But I'm not an ordinary man
No No No

-Jim Morrison

Mad as a hatter

NORTH: Many years - I was Sultan of Bello for a long period, until dethroned by an act of the grossest injustice ; but I intend to expose the traitorous conspirators to the indignation of an outraged world.

TICKLER (aside to SHEPHERD.): He's raving.

SHEPHERD (to TICKLER.): Dementit.

ODOHERTY (to both.): Mad as a hatter. Hand me a segar.