Monday, February 18, 2013


I'm not so good at this. Have been wanting to say my mind since last night, when the realization started to set in that I would be gone from the urban maze for the longest duration in my life this far, but there has been too much to say. Anxieties, preparation, verballing, near-future-gazing, and all that. Did catch sleep, but around 2. Woken up again at 0430, and the next hour and a half has been an anxious one.
Around this time last year, I thought I was at a peak. This year, I saw myself questioningly languishing in a trough. Now I set out again to make amends. Slow Exit. Fade out. Fade in to a world of powdery snow, gas heaters, and adventures.


You have to trust these pictures here. They tell a long story.

So it was yesterday that I saw this tiny new member of our household making itself more popular, shuffling about in its curiosity. With no intention to hurt the bugger, but with a desire to get closer, I tried trapping it. It was one of those rare times in my life when I not only succeeded, but did so on the first try, and did so with no fore-planning, and with a tiny steel bowl. After a few hours I let it escape; I wanted to keep it, and in some way fill that void of a pet that has existed since Ben Hur departed in 2007.

A day later, i.e. today, I found the aforementioned thought nonsense. Mice = sleepless nights. Mice = chaos. Mice = paper for food (my precious books!). Mice = more mice. So I trapped it again, this time with a mug in the bathroom; again a first attempt WIN. Before I left it somewhere faraway, I thought of doing something worthy. I gassed it - with research smoke; harmless fun. It got stoned pretty good. All in the name of science.

Sunday, February 17, 2013

Summarising My Present

If I ever die, or am accidentally lifted by some superior alien race, or am husked away to a mutant facility or a special training cell for super-modified-soldiers, then this is one thing I don't wanna be found open on my desktop. That image perfectly summarises my immediate present - keep guessing on the specifics. That image, in fact, is what I think the government should randomly issue to brackets of the populace to make it clear; esp the Soviets. Gems will never taste the same, since; the memories revisited seeing a packet on display have been tinted forever - by something as innocuous as... this^ image.

Friday, February 15, 2013

A Toast, to C&D

Ich habe assembled a new gaming system, recently. First game the usuals - Civlization V, Far Cry 2, Portal 2, Mass Effect, NFS Shift 2, and some that didn't work (subtext: piracy!). Somebody could be shouting "Dude, those are, like so 2010". But then I went much further back in time, to the "good 'ol days" as I remember - the arcade days, and downloaded Kawaks, an emulator (it has come a long way) for CPS1/2 and NeoGeo, and my <3 game, Cadillacs and Dinosaurs. Now I have a dedicated 2.15 billion transistors pushing out 1.792 teraflops for a game of 25 years in the past. So 1980s, and I know it. Feels like revisiting my life.

Curious to learn that the game spawned from a comic series, Xenozoic Tales, and saw moderate success in its translation into a CBS cartoon series, a Capcom arcade game, action figures, trading cards, and other assorted merchandise. Even the dinos we were fending off had names - Shivat, Mack, Cutter, Krenkel, Wahonchuck, Zake, Sambuck...

Besides the ones we could claim familiarity to (through the game), this scrip summarises other characters: "...various criminals, politicians, scientists, and inventors who populate the dystopian world of tomorrow. There is also a race of reptilian humanoids who cannot speak in a human language but instead communicate by spelling words with Scrabble tiles."

Alongside this trivia, I also had an iota-upgrade on dinosaurs. For example, I had no idea that those ferocious little 'uns in all the movies are Allosaurus, and that the Brontosaurus is not called that anymore, it's Apatosaurus, and that it wasn't the biggest thing out there (note: see Sauropods, and esp see this). Oh, and now Opiliones give me a hard-on.

And I think I'm gonna print and hang this on my wall

Thursday, February 14, 2013

Day's notes

Just got done with my Valentine's Day dinner; it was the best one in a long while. It isn't everyday that we celebrate this day, and it isn't everyday that my Mom's here. Yes, Ma, my valentine. [insert forever along guy here] She gets all my love for the good food she pampered me with through the day. There was chocolate cake, laddoos (sweetmeats), apples, and pomegranates (arrgh!). Otherwise, I'd have been some regular guy cooking Maggi for himself, in the company of a void. Some loser, huh.
Ma's love, however, isn't unconditional - she keeps insisting that her genetic code, that has been passed onto me, be passed further down the biological chain so she can derive the satisfaction - commonplace, in my opinion, nowadays - of claiming biological dominance. Well, whatever, happy valentines to her. I'm deaf beyond that.

I got a new Oral B toothbrush today. Its the fanciest brush I've ever had - there are 4 types of bristles with 7 functions; that puts such responsibility on one that they might be scared away before even layering it with paste. Did I miss something, or weren't the contents of the paste the damn thing that actually made a difference? What do we need evolutionary brush technology for, when it produces no visible difference (ask me, I can verify that claim with proven rot). I guess they had to show something worth the price. But when it comes down the core brushing area, it is measly compared to whatever I've used before. Any dentists that probably approved of this brush probably did so after a good chuckle. Did someone shout "scam"?

Okay, smaller things in life: I've been unwell - throat, nose, head, stomach, all going in revolt in that order over the last week. And then it had to be unceasing flatulence. While that is expected to cease itself, meantime, I got loaded up on turmeric milk, which is supposed to be a local remedy (passed down generations since India was called the golden bird) for my nasal blockage (and impending sinusitis). Let it be known that I still haven't taken a single medicine in the past many years. Well, that's it.
Pillage, destroy, and enjoy.

Friday, February 08, 2013


My destiny is to die
Your destiny is to live

I’ve been promiscuous, lately. First her, then someone else, then some other. Different colors. I know, it’s bad. But what can I do. I have a good inconsistency. I’m trying. This is the first time that I fucken care. About myself. And being versatile at the same time. I might ask shaurya to bring me a new pen this Sunday, and then it continues. I thought I’d keep my love to just this one pen, until I found that despite her gone, I could live a happy life.

Love, is essentially a commitment. There are so many things that I’ve already committed to. Like I once committed to cycling. Once to education. Once to health. I never stopped getting married. Polygamy at its conceptual best. So many marriages to take care of.

My engine-of-truth-instrument promiscuity makes me wonder if the general structural pair of social inclusion i.e. man-woman, or maybe even in this day man-man, could be changed... so that a marital relationship needs 3 or 4 people to consummate. it'll be curious seeing that one could be allowed to have a man-woman-transgender triad in the life contract, or a man-woman-sexualneedthird triad.

Picture it this way - Being a society is management of several complex varied social structures. Being a social person is a consistent evolution into higher or more evolved social structures. Being antisocial is reducing the complexity of those social circles or disrupting the network of those social circles. Being patriotic is - ignoring that it's, more often than not, being regional - is keeping a controlled network social structures that do not grow in complexity outside a certain threshold.

Tuesday, February 05, 2013

Theka Chala Rakkha Hai

[if not for ms. q and ms. k, this would've been put up right then,  at end of the same evening]
Goodnight. I'm at the threshold of sleep. The B.P. hasn't had much of an effect, or so we delude ourselves. Well, we barely managed ourselves a second serving, so I doubt we could feel under any such effect. But it did facilitate a conversation that started at 2220 and continued till 0120, 3 hours, at the end of which we realized that the way"managed" people do alco is by using it as a facilitator rather than an indulgence. The indulgent would do it to the point of going reckless, while the managed combine alco with food, conversation, games towards a long evening, of the kind that I've had of late with the D, the S, and right now with the G. Wisdom come late, right? I hate this kinda nightly wisdom that you can't remember in the morning.

We were frightened, considering of this same bunch of guys, 6 in number, 10 years back, without any drinks, or cigarettes, yet having long nights of great fun. It is sad, to see now,we picked too many detractors from the fun, that chain us to our rooms on evenings. Nobody back then knew of the world of vices. Nobody back them knew of the vices of the Djembe, too. Everything is a curative act towards the frustrations we feel with time with our incomplete lives, or non-vital existence, more than anything else. We all agree?

0625. The skies have been grumbling all night. I stay bedridden much through it, as if anticipating a flood, but really just bring lazy. Read some, snacked some, tea drank some, farewell some, and some delving into the optical properties of aerosols and clouds, and just some more doing this -scribing. The wetness of all existence outside this room of mine bewilders me. People are out there, not too afraid of getting muddy despite the water choked streets of a city not so popular coz of its drainage systems. I'll be going nowhere, but only 10600 miles away into an imaginary future that nay cometh true for any beeds.

Friday, February 01, 2013

Chapter 4: headfuck

"Okay, so you wanna get fucked? Head Fucked?" They now stare at him blankly, but in rapt attention - that was previously focused towards "veg" subjects, ranging from canine care to herpes prognosis. At this moment, the room had been abuzz with conversations. Two or three strains among these voices in the buzzing room also engaged in a discussion of this swole alumni - one of their very own - among them, not corrupted by a single day of indiscretionary eating, denying the existence of atrophy, and looking as good as they never even did at their prime. Those voices discussed of his enigmatic profile - that blurred out of imagination on magnifying into detail, and how even his facticities were unconfirmed. Now they all were bringing him into their vision's best focus, so that their confused eyes could convince him to help their imagination at a game that they'd obviously never even heard of.

"So, who all here know Frank Sinatra?" There were many raised hands.
"Well, he's dead."

"Just a sample of how it could be... a headfuck... grabbing, humorous, and DARK. Alright, should we go for one?" He saw some nods in the silhouettes. "I won't do it unless there is a 100% audience, which means ALL of you..." More heads nod, until all of them are seen pulsating - albeit arrythmically - at the same time. That is when his voice fills the room again; "Great. Green flag. So I'll begin..."

"But there are a few rules:

1. Positive criticism is appreciated
2. Negative criticism or taking offence is banned. A single wretched voice condemning me to damnation, or summin' like that, and I'll stop.
3. Nobody is allowed to punch me - now or afterwards.

All agree?"
They merrily did, acting as if they were in a fucking Walt Disney fucking Mickey Mouse episode.

"I have been..." he began, pausing to collect words for his upcoming fuck. These 'fucks' were a part of every avant-garde wind-out session among his university colleagues; liberal arts colleges do bring in that something extra. Everybody wanted to fuck. Everyone loved getting fucked; the harder the fuck, the more they loved it. Their fucks could be anything that can grab an audience 'viscerally'. Among these people, messing one's head was considered highest recreational activity (albeit some had, by now, extended its underlying philosophy to their professional and public matters). On any meet following a good fuck, they'd go "Woah, she fucked us hard the last time," or "Oh, Jimmy, you rarely fuck us these days. Can't get something up?"

Though this 'fuck' was a metaphorical one, tonight he decided to use a literal 'fuck' to fuck them up.

Head is dense

Head is dense right now. Maybe that is why it feels so heavy. My eyes feel heavy, too. In that hours of musing since boarding the metro, I'm only at chattarpur, which hints at how disoriented my time keeping has already become. It will get worse, as the stories tell, for somebody outside the ambiguity of employment. I choose - and was delivered - unemployment. Call it a retirement, or so I hope. So it goes.
Suicide and regeneration.

I can now quickly reflect back on how light headed and cheery tempered I've been, which I am not now, as I can feel in these moments of being lost in thoughts, being minimally aware of my surroundings, and not noticing the humanness around me to the extent of indulging and critiquing on it.
There. I'm done with a quick reflection... Quick, because I have no time (what an irony) - my friend Y has stolen away the gloom of my emotion and instead put the spotlights of gloom all on him, with this: "I m committing suicide. just cal up the police in a few hours. Goodbye my frnd." (01/02/2013 142026)
Soon as I could find escape from the office, myself making am exit with a heavy heart for my own reasons, I started with a couple of message exchanges with Y (yes he did reply to those, but), but since then, there has been no response from his side, neither on his cell or landline or gtalk. Called up ghoru but he was apparently not intimated of these most audacious plans by our common friend, so the decision space is all up to me. I'll go and check it out.