balloons and purple sweets March 2, 2008

I’m walking barefoot in the neighborhood park
trying to find someone to play marbles with.
these colored marbles, I’ve had for sometime,
She gave them to me on my birthday last month. 
I dunno how to play with them, but they sure look pretty
and she says that if you look hard, you can see tiny people 
frolicking inside them all the time.

She tells me a lot of things. she showed me how to draw teeth. 
and she brought me a cat. i love to play with him.
He has small whiskers, and if i touch them he starts sneezing, or sometime falls asleep.

most of the time, i like to sit in my room with colors and paper.
I can draw many animals now.
Soon, I will learn to paint, and then i can make paintings of farms, sunrise and old huts.

It’s six already! he’ll probably come and  pick me up now.
I can’t wait to eat purple candy when I get back home. 
buh-bye now. 

chase me biaatch! February 25, 2008

for all who don’t wanna read this, watch this it’s got nothing to do with this, but its an impressive alternative to this monotonous rambling.  

now back to my story: well, it’s odd that no matter how hard i try to get back in shape, something always tries to bite me in the back. The last time i went to work out, i went to a million dollar recreation center, and i almost died. literally. (like this) i thought i saw satan in his black suit, seated in his stretch limo with horny girls all around him and a fine bottle of some expensive champagne. anyways. that was the highlight of my attempt one.the second attempt, happened today: after a few hours of constantly reading articles on warm up stretches and jogging tips (well, i read at least four articles, from funny ones to scary ones), i packed my ass off the computer chair and hit the streets. yes, this time i chose the moon-lit misty streets for a small jog. all went extremely well.. umm.. for the first few minutes. i got into my brand new shoes that still smell of the factory they were made, and locked my apartment and set out. the first 100 yards or so were great. i felt the cool wind in my hair, and those 5$ wal-mart shorts felt super. but after a while i heard small footsteps behind me. i simply ignored them for a bit. it kept getting louder, and now i could hear a faint pant mixed with those skipy steps. it was dark and i was not prepared for encounters with aliens today.. i was about to crap my pants. but i was brave. i smartly looked at the shadow the creature behind me cast on the road, and.. holy crap! a dog was chasing me! “what the hell is thaaat!?”, yep! it was a dog. after all these years of calling myself as creative as a dog poop, i was now being chased by the real member of the “utter dogshit” clan. I knew this would happen someday, but not this soon. i had just read this article and it was now happening to me! I could see pictures in my head – myself sitting beside a sadistic doctor impatiently waiting to shoot 5 needles right down my belly in the name of rabies vaccine. crap! satan in part one was way better. but then, there was this one chinese girl to my rescue. “Choco” she yelled. “Choco, no Choco”. That’s when i realized that i had a fine story for my blog. I cut the jog short and head back to my macbook. hmm.. now here i am, lazing on the computer chair with million-calorie-chocolate-cakesters. i’m doomed. RIP.ps: for curious people — that dog looks like this.

negative hunger September 29, 2007

the black boxes have been playing the same frequency all day
a goat has been sitting here with complicated books and calculators
occasionally paying attention to what the jockey has been murmuring
the ‘others’ in the farm are busy as usual
they fly in simulated worlds and talk about numeric connectivity

brown rust deposited on the stove is hissing as it cools
water dripping from the silver tap forms a certain 9/8 rhythm
there’s music is in the air. it’s deafening

the fourth guinea pig is being mutilated in an asylum of white rats
his monotonic topics of discussions have been well explored
leaving him with his tongue twisted, and rendered useless
the surrounding is so pale, and it shall remain so for a while
he knows this, but doesn’t change it
not because he can’t, just because it’s already late
too late, like always, even this time, simply too late

his journey so looks like a rainbow to all who visit this farm
but for the creature, it has been just as tasteless as his breakfast
the techniques of heating and mixing is unknown to him
the plate is left empty, cause the others have already had remains of the previous produce

the lazy grasshopper is singing with its noisy voice as usual
the wise ant is moving sugar cubes from place to place pointlessly as usual
this is the new world? or just another faulty remake of the old black n’ white reel
with the same flaws and the same plots
a story that’s predictable, and characters made from striped socks and fingers
the show will go on, as promised. stay and watch as everything melts
one by one. please watch.

Night falls September 24, 2007

…And then again, you find yourself, walking on that same dim-lit street. You can see that same road below  your feet. And yet, it amuses you in more ways than ever. Those cracks, and the stagnant rain water trapped in between form interesting patterns, and the grainy tar road makes it look like a blurred painting. You look hard, and then your eyes focus to picking up more details from the dark atmosphere. You begin to see the reflections within the stagnant water. The light from those old orange colored spherical street lamps bounce off the water surface, makes it look like its glowing. You try to look away, but nothing around you is moving and nothing grabs your attention more than the ground below. You continue to walk on that street. The patches of moist green on the sides of road, along the side walk, and the white line becomes your guide. You can hear nothing, but yourself breathing. You can feel the veins on your fore head and behind your ears pulsate as your heart continues to beat heavily…

The shadow that’s been following you for the past ten minutes appears more darker now. You look at how it distorts your body, as you walk across the street lamps. You extend your hands and see how your shadow interprets your fingers. Skinny and long, like alien hands. You move your fingers as if you were grazing them over a bed of flowers. Imagine the garden. You can almost see it in the darkness ahead. You can almost smell those flowers. Some bright colors, and a million shades of green. You keep on walking. You just can’t stop, even if you wanted you. You just can’t.

Once in a while you turn your head around to look at silent strangers and noisy cars cruising along the street. The headlights from the cars blind you for a second, and the cold winds blowing in your face makes you wanna drop down. Maybe sit down for a while. You are exhausted, and your feet are just about to give up, but you just can’t stop, because you know that your destination is close by. Very close. You plan out things to do as soon as you get there. You make an efficient list of things and chores to do and end this day as soon as you possibly can. You plan to heat up the mashed potato curry you cooked last night, and have it with warm rice. Just the way you like it. Served on precious china, which the elder sibling bought you last month. That blue rimmed dinner plate, and the matching blue cup filled with your favorite brand of orange juice. And then a glass of milk. White, creamy. You love to blow it cold and sip it. It feels nice. So nice.

It’s just a painting, and so it shall be. It never speaks, but says so many things. About itself, its owner and its creator. It’s just a painting, it will never speak. Just look at the thousands of thoughtful strokes and tune your eyes to the million hues. Interesting. Don’t you think? This is a part of the painting. Framed. Beautiful frame.

Victory to defeat August 31, 2007

I admired your mighty arms that grew out to bear the weight of a thousand leaves. Your powerful stance, and your glorious form, and your ability to withstand the forces of high speed winds and violent storms. I wanted to conquer you. I wanted to be on top of your cumbersome branches and see the world from your perspective. And so, I gathered courage, and prepared myself for the vertical trek. I kept reminding myself that I am human and thereby above all other creatures of God. “I must be able to defeat you, for I am the only one who can,” I told myself and set foot on your giant root. You read my mind and smiled at my innocence, as if you knew that I was little and that the laws of physics were not a part of my thoughts. I grabbed a tiny axe and drove it into your trunk and pulled myself up, repeatedly, until I got better and closer to my victory stop, but you stood there tall with your branches so motionless and your leaves so silent. Oh! How bad it must have felt while I jabbed that tiny axe into your skin, even then you were so patient and did nothing at all. Instead you warned me of your slippery surface with your voiceless speech, but there I was, as stubborn as one can be, I ignored all of it and continued to celebrate my victory, swinging over your branches and scratching my name on your bark. It was meant to happen, and so it happened – I lost control, and I then fell. You tried to embrace me, and catch me in your green bed, but I deserved to fall. Fall hard, and pay for my greedy conquest. It wasn’t your fault, and I shall never blame you. It was just me and my mindless thought, which you helped me refine. And now, when I look back upon the scars that I have left on you, I think – “You are everything that I am not, and you’re the divine force. Defeating you is impossible, for had it not been for you, I’d never know what true victory was.”

price for motion August 6, 2007

all set to take the first big space invasion trip. that would take me all the way, to a different world. so far. that it would be more than just a journey, and seem more like a small lifetime. pretty much the lifespan of a dying goat. with an infection killing every other cell. i was to take this trip. i liked taking trips, but not this one. for it is so different, that it scares the hell out of me. this was the first of its kind in my account of trips. green plantation had to be piled up in pots and lockers for ages. they would slowly regenerate, and reproduce by the process of budding or perhaps grow in size by accretion. then i could blow all this in one go. and i’d always get my older guardian to do this for me. all in one go. the forest that had been flourishing for decades, would now disappear. and the barren land with those ugly twirls of the rotten roots jetting out of the loose soil would now be visible. and look like a bad rash, left untouched, and these roots, they’d look like diseased veins. pale and smelly. whatever’s left of the green forest would rot. but all of this was for a reason. the green patch was grown here with a reason. a reason why this plan was plotted out years ago. years. i will repay the green god. i’m sure, i’m bound to repay you. please wait…

Of Photos and Photocopies June 27, 2007

Chapter 1
Changing glasses and changing views?

I think the day’s coming closer. By the millisecond. And I still can’t feel the damn heat. Is this normal? People around me are melting like soft white plastic and I’m still standing hard like a pointed needle in a hay sack. One little shiny bit in the middle of a lot of flammable substance. I hope not to burn to ashes at the end in a split second on the doomsday. The day when the fire comes from the other end of the glass, from behind it. Through the speakers. The microphones squeak due to magnetic induction and other crap, and if that voice utters the damned ‘R’ word…gulp! I’ll be dead. But let me shove this negative perspective up a whore’s ass for once and look at things with a positive eye. It’s not what I’m used to ‘cos I generally follow a policy of expecting the worst and giving things a shot, ‘cos then you are happy with whatever happens at the end of the day. The sunsets…fine, for good…finer. And that’s my mindset now. The child in me just wants to be happy in any case. He’s not bothered about the existence of moon, or for that matter the meteors and comets. He just doesn’t care for what I get, or what my eyes see. But then he says that I need a pair of glasses now ‘cos I’m terribly short sighted, hmmm…smart kid I’d say.

Chapter 2
Preparation personified

So, he was here. The good old block of wood. With over 58 rings on his core. He knows pretty much all. He’s like one of those colored books of encyclopedias that were printed in the ’50s. The pages look yellow, but the stuff that’s in there hasn’t changed one bit. Most of the time, you under estimate its validity, and then it surprises you how the print on those historic pages are still applicable in “today’s” world. Magic! I tell you. The influential elder takes every footnote in this book damn seriously. I’m yet to take that much interest in encyclopedias, that’s partly because, I’m planning to print my own in a few years now, then I could lay it down in one of those rarely visited libraries and let it yellow over decade. Till the pages become as crisp as wafers. Anyways, the wood seemed pretty good, and it helped keep things afloat, nice and sturdy in a pond nearby. It seemed to know the right directions to float towards everytime. So glad that I’m a chip off this this lovely ship.

a rotten fishy pot May 26, 2007

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”.

a little visualisation is all that i need May 22, 2007

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.

looppit – a story for a sweet fool May 20, 2007

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.