now i’m slowly getting addicted to publishing crap here. n so, like every other paranoid android, i was wondering the worst case scenario of this stupid blog. my non-existant 6th sense tells me this is what’ll happen.
1. people will ban me from exposure to daylight. they’ll find my writings too sentimental, or plain mental. docs will declare that my writings (more…)
behold addicted readers of utterdotshit. this lovely site is about to get a million times more lovelier. hang on for a couple of days and then. bedazzled by the bright beauty. utterdogshit is about to get its first face lift. peace.
he flew like a golden eagle among the five of the pot. shining. with silvery skin and black scars. he moved boldly. like he owned the tiny shrub. eating little and frolicking. all day. all night. the pellets meant nothing to him. he was beyond that world. and by far my favorite. she called him “jackie”. and i called him “yo”. his pouted face. i watched constantly. for 24 hours. like a professed scientist filming a rare species. a 3 year old watching its reflection in the mirror. stunned. thrilled by the likeness. i made a note of his every move. every moment. gazing at him within his confined universe. playfully lost in 0.5% chlorine. and then he’d hide between fake pebbles. he’d fall a sleep. for a minute. i’d tap his universe and he’d jump back to action. it had been hours. lots of them. and i was beginning to clearly see myself in this glass. a microscopic soul. living large. in a small world. but unlike me, he was much smaller. no bigger than a coin. and something bothered him. i could see his core shake. wobble. he was restless. maybe he knew what day tomorrow would be. an intuition. like sometimes you feel that way, and you know what the next second will bring along with it. hardships or joy. a toy or a boy. like that phone call from your father’s hospital. or a dream that reminds you of your guilty deeds. secret sins. a nightmare, it was for him. at noon. then at 4. i was busy with css. every minute was lost in painstaking strokes on cheap black keys. i had to get air. just like him. so i chose to step out of my confinement. to socialize. to eat free chicken and curry rolled in indian bread. a regular trip to the greens. and talks about unusual metals and rocks. i got my heart pumping again. my mind cleared off. fresh. like an old jack hammer that was filed and polished. shiny. silvery. and then i decided to move back. sweet confinement. everything the way it was when i left. and the rain had scented the moist air with wet mud. nice. nostalgic. and. i saw him. silent. unlike his usual self. drifting. speechlessly. motionless. like a storm that had sobered down. like titanic after the crash. not so nice. the shrub was no longer owned. the eagle flew way too far. beyond my reach. into the horizon. he had seen his last nightmare. and continued to sleep. in his own sacred universe. that was no longer confined within the convex glass walls. sweer dreams “yo”.
take a piece of paper. or a book instead. get a pen. or a pencil. write down numbers. not jut any. but those. that a signify something. to you. something special. something horrible. anything. birth day. year. girlfriends phone number. date. predicted death (ps: get it here). living organisms within your body besides your own living cells. the total slices of bread you’ve had all your life. the number of days before you get your kidnies transplanted into a pig surgery. bank balance. the balancing act. between your son and your father. 5052. bottles of beer to pass you out. cigarettes smoked in a month. pounds aimed to lose. money loaned to the best friend. times tried to slit your wrist. people met in that graveyard visited last night, for cheap thrills of surrounding yourself with dead souls. web projects dealing with at the moment. girls you’ve wanted to see naked. raw orgies had. number of times you’ve been asked to paint that orkut profile picture for a cute someone . mosquitoes squashed between 2:00am 3:00pm. maximum moped speed attained. price you sold that junk to an idiot. size. in inches. then in millimeters. how long you can hold your breath. how long you can keep yourself from reading this. how many times you read this. and numbers written. papers used. numbers. numb. er. s. 0. 18937, 92684, 984, 4544, 0.78, 6565, 4523. get me?
woah …. sorry …. wrong topic … too sane and logical …. definately wrong topic …
Why do they call them smileys ?? is there any logic in calling something that symbolizes you tearing your hair ( we wont discuss why .. dude dont open that door ) …. as a smiley … does it want to make you smile … ??? crazy shit ….
chaptr 4 – preparation for the turkey hunt
i’m done with the waiting. suddenly filled with distinct feelings. one in the west. others er.. in the south? tht’s what it is. a bunch of questions haunting me like a dead bitch’s soul. howling every night. crying for bones. with her tear lit eyes full of vengeance. will i do it? is my head ready for the guillotine? am i wearing a neck tie to save myself? the quest is still flashing its torch. searching for hidden footsteps made by a tiny dinosaur. velociraptor. or a mouse. a ring dragged me to the armchair. disturbed my process. but then pulled me back. into that static picture. where i’ve lived in a fixed posture. more like an installation at a cheap night club. or a fountain piece at the quadrangle. aged and mossed out. still water flows. emitting a foul smell of dead eels. no electricity. just noise. from an incorrectly adjusted tuner. hiss. heard. till 10. there still seems to be no significant levels of exhaustion. oil drops. but the engine miraculously manages to move. rattling. conking every 5.8 meters. pushing the driver to stick himself on a wall. brown bricks. and gray cement. 9 inch nails and one jack hammer. i count the things he’ll need. a desktop activity. with access to the web. 143 done. another 980 to go. engine, keep coughing. one after the other. and another thereafter. wheels dragged by inertia. a force. hands keep on rolling. thirty minutes through. later. i break the silence. my favorite box opens. turn knobs up and down and adjust a bunch of puny slides. set the mids flaming. like hot molten metal. deafening. desensitizing. something to forget about. and that something keeps coming back.
did i say it out loud enough yet?
did i?
the end.
hmmm.. looks like we’ve been making a few waves or tides. http://www.urbandictionary.com/define.php?term=dog+shit
Read part 1 of this story here .
chapter 2 – my watch’s a year ahead.. or maybe back
i was all set. all set to get there n get out wit flying colors. but… i forgot to carry my painting kit. or pretty much like it. i lost time. d day was nearing and i was sleeping. sitting on that arm chair and reading mind numbing poems by an unknown creep who’s locked up in the jail. then i woke up from that happy theme park dream and i was late. dead lines everywhere. the marks i had made on the calendar were now a part of the gray and yellow history. and here i was. a blank slate. no chalk left to write with. and then it happend. some how. the influential elder saved my ass with her little magic wand like always. and warded off the evils of time. seven years before i was born. the world was still creating humans. the elder belonged to this era. and wit the experience of a professional lumberjack, the elder cleared the mess. and poured water into the pot where that plant grew. money plant. dying in the warmth of daylight. losing chlorophyll by the second.
chapter 3 – buns in d oven. longer the wait. harder they get.
it was now time for the flies to calculate and lay their egg’s who’d turn into swarmy maggots; into this fresh piece of shit. they took time. but then they did. it came rolling down the cliff. all the way from half a globe away. acceptance. a letter with ‘1000′ printed on it. i saw this from V’s computer. a PDF that made my day. and another. and another after that. this went on for a week or two. then i was back on the ground. and saw that i was never up there. but that’s another finger that goes nowhere.
tommorow – a little visualisation is all that i need.
she’s funny. good. baad and worse at times. she talks to me once in a while. while her busy days end. and sleepless nights start. or maybe its a sunday morning and she needs a reason to stay away from the fire. while someone special cooks. i enjoy poking her brain. with a stick. i formed with minced words. and then she opens up. all of her lies. all of her flies. from the can of dead worms. and the tennis racket that she recently bought. i love the way she is. the world is her dinner and the people her match sticks. she lit that fire and wiped the floor. clean. naughty. with a sinner repo. this one’s for u. love u to d core.
sittin on a peigon n flyin to your temple soon. till then, keep washing, and wearin out those underwear.
hmmmm. now that ive written a good amount of good shit here, i'm gonna get rid of the anonymity of this blog. so all you curious freaks, it's me here - Ganesh Rao - Nesh for short.
Here's your chance to feed yourself with crap you'll rarely find on this planet of sensible beings. everything has a motive. you ask what's behind this. and i give u a cliche answer - 'none'. pity me. pity u. eat me. feed thy hunger. give ur brain something it doesnt deserve. it will only make it work better for u... er.. i guess. 
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