Tuesday, December 29, 2015

lko stadium run

Today marks the grand occasion that I went out for a run. It has been a while since my last 'un - far back in November. However, as the year draws to a close, any purposeful activity will be indulgent and give far more satisfaction - meeting so many people builds up a resignation to the winter vacation days, and to poor health, which is broken by the act of intent, such as going out really early in the morning for a run. At this trough of existence, things like this are a positive step towards a crest. Besides, it takes care of my drinks and the pork of last week, juicing out those calories.

Through the run, was a novel companion sight of chemtrails, which got more fascinating with the rising sun. There were two of 'em (chemtrails), to the East, cutting two diagonal gashes across the cloudless sky.  One of them curved sharply, suggesting a drastic change of course for some jet. There is an air base nearby, and I can imagine that's where the parent body of those chemtrails takes off from. Above the open expanse of Colvin Taluqdars' playfield, the rising sun seemed like an orange bulb dangling from the firmament on a white chemtrail wire.

The early mornings bring out two kinds of people - the deadbeat, crowding at the temple, and the spirited, crowding at the stadia, separated by the river Gomti. The temple crowd is middle aged and oddly shaped - mostly obese - and emanates the fragrance of Marigold and Jasmine. A lot many of 'em prefer to come to find their God in swanky cars, which now neatly stack in the parking lot built along the river.
At the stadium, all age groups and both the sexes find representation. The standard atomic unit of a coach and a team formed clusters at the periphery - cricket team, hockey team, judo team, etc. Since everybody was still at warmup, there was no actual sport to be seen, but a boy-dad duo kicking a big maroon ball around.

Some stretches, and the Dragon Walk, the Frog Walk, the Horse Walk.. these helped me make the best of the chance morning I got. Then a seemingly-long walk back home. 

Monday, December 28, 2015

Making amends (again)

we have drifted apart so many times, but like magnets, our fields pull us little by little to bring us back again, o blog.

the world has claimed to come up with things more beautiful, but you remain as appealing as before, and my paths never meander around you in daily continuity but put you in the middle.

i remember you as often as the friends i can't find the time for (or vice versa); and not at all like the friends i don't find the time for. i have not been short of thoughts or words welded well to represent those thoughts, but much like a quick jerk-off, they have come often - an onset of virile moment - and shed as soon, irresponsibly. you shouldn't consider that there is someone else.

you will love to know my love - that i've lost, found, and regained over this time of absence, - better over these vacations.

Tuesday, November 24, 2015

Monkey Business (no more)

Nov 24, 2015. ~2PM. I am stirred from my sleep by some noise in the house. 
It is a delayed reaction, and my being comes to a sufficient amount of waking and cognitive sensory processing only 5 minutes later. The noise is still there. A low moan strikes my ears, the location of whose origin seems to be right outside my bedroom door (that opens to the balcony). It sounds familiar… like rhesus monkeys. Some of ‘em are probably inside right now.

Stepping off the bed, I cautiously strain my neck to see what beastiary my dining space - where the food is, the fridge is, adjacent to which is the kitchen - now boasts. A lone russet figure sits busy on the table. I am more of a surprise to it than the other way round. It is startled, and gives me a hate look. [Threat display is a behavior every being in nature often uses to defend themselves from aggression, more like an open declaration of hostility, beyond which things will be hella different from the different situation that has already occurred].

I step away from the general access path from the dining to the balcony, via the gallery. I watch it scurry out - and reunite with a baby monkey; and hence end our trifle confrontation. 
It turned out to be a female monkey, a mother, foraging for her child. Both of them now sit huddled outside, on the balcony. I rush to close the balcony grille, and successfully manage to.

Then a gander through my dining. The place is clear - there are no other monkeys. Examination tells, there hasn’t been any destruction at the table. The fridge is open, but all its contents seem intact. The kitchen hadn’t been touched - my sleep lasted a bit short than its expectations. She was a mother that put herself at a great risk for her child, to make out with (apparently) nothing.

Then the answer - that she could find no food in the house, or nothing that qualified as “food” to her. There isn’t a single natural food in my home. An old rotten orange, that she tried to bite into, lies on the table - the lone extant fruit in our household that is used for erecting incense sticks. I feel ashamed.

Wednesday, November 04, 2015

Crackin' Intolerance

India is such a huge nation, that to see trash opinions being doled out by the political class, amplified by the media class, and reacted to by the cattle class is terrifying. Intolerance is the latest "in" thing, and we are made to believe that the government that has in past gained huge vote banks on intolerant lines has nothing to do with encouraging these intolerant opinions, and it is not in protocol to give an open condemnation; that this tolerance of intolerant opinions is coincidental; and that we should all agree, without protest, that there is no intolerance in our society whatsoever, and call it a "jolly good day" every waking hour.

Five minutes of listening to these opinions have shut down my pyloric valve. Severe constipation might follow, a psychosomatic response to the verbal diarrhea from these protostomes that encapsulate several prejudices in a pithy dispatch - such viscerally vicious statements should be met with body's autonomous response and nothing else.

People in this country have a very limited thought space, as is, and yet others litter that space with garbage with existential abandon, and make one completely resign to not thinking at all, or giving them a cleanup job that leaves no time to think. It reflects our cultural attitude towards  garbage - there is so much of it generated that we just quit thinking about it instead of formulating wise civic policies to handle that menace. Our streets and neighbourhoods reek of it sometimes, but that is okay, we can always insulate ourselves further, and even mislead our guests about our standards of sanitation and hygiene.

The only intolerance we should show is towards time. Time, that is finite, will not wait while we sit and discuss or try to understand the nature of our politicians and our politik, - their understanding of religion, their definition of patriotism, and the ulterior motives behind foisting such retrograde constructs on a contemporary society that is trying to match shoulders with mature, diversified, and tolerant societies. Time wants to talk about progressive concepts, breakthrough research, and here we are squandering our money, and airtime on whose shit stinks more. One could derive through calculations the money circulated in the system over our daily fix of offensive garbage, and wonder how they - the common man - is never in loop of that money circulation, and if such spending could have - rather unjudiciously - simply been doled out to some community in death throes, on the verge of losing their art, their culture, their tolerant heritage, their song and their science.

Even my last hour of the daylight, on the 11,091st day of my life was irresponsibly spent in this reaction. FML. FMP.

Sunday, November 01, 2015

Ootheca and the Ancient Astronauts

This morning, I came across a curious object in the forest. It was a green-colored spongy ball the size of the palm of my hand. It was about as heavy as a paper rolled into a ball of the same size. There was some detritus - a leaf, a coupla pine nettles - lodged in this object that was closed from everywhere. Gentle wind blew this morning, and I deduced this had been carried to its present spot by that same wind through the night. Realizing that anything so fragile lying so bare on the forest floor (which was most likely an accidental occurence) will not last for long in the daylight hours, I carried the ball home.

My impulse, that this was an Ootheca - the cocoon sac that the Praying Mantis weaves and lays egg in, kinda like an incubation chamber - turned to be correct. The Mantids - the females, in this case - are industrious, artful spinners that build this colossal structure overnight from their spit. Meticulously, the female mantid would spit some, then lay an eggs, and wrap them neatly in more spit, to total about 100-200 eggs, that results in a ball the size of the mantid herself (comparing it to humans, it is akin to being in labor, building a house, then giving birth, all by oneself; but the distinctions make this a lesser worthwhile comparison).
Striking gold Ootheca felt special, since I have the Mantoidae in my mindae of late. My obsessiveness has resulted in a few GBs of nothing but extreme closeups of them in their nature, just lounging.

The Ootheca is a brilliant labyrinthine structure. The mantids indeed work very hard on something that offers an evolutionary closure. It is a very resilient structure, that can withstand winds and cold for months. The Mantids generally take 2-3 months for incubation. For something of that small a size, that is a long while. The while gets even longer, when temperature and moisture conditions are not appropriate. For this reason, predicting a mantid hatching is difficult, unless done in a controlled manner. This fact is put in intelligent use among insect/mantis breeder communities, who collect and keep the Ootheca in cold storage, and produce suitable conditions in a controlled environment to initiate the hatching. Yes, it will survive the period of unfavorable conditions, almost like plant seeds. It is a structure that seems to offer insights into how we can populate other worlds with the species of our own that can be frozen (in development), transported, and later made to "hatch".

Back home, when my guess was unconfirmed, I put my curiosity to the first person around, a village boy about 16 years old, Amit. He had seen it before. "It comes from the meteors at night," he said. It was surprising, since, firstly, there was an existing cultural explanation of an Ootheca, and secondly, because it connected to the outer space. I asked a senior villager, 75-year old DK, and his reply resonated with Amit's, "It is a fragment broken from the stars".
Then I hastened to ask a third village person around - a resident of another Himalayan region called Garhwal (aka Garhwal-is, as against the first two who were Kumaon-is), Vir. "It is the dropping of creatures living in distant stars," Vir said with confidence. It was happening to discover a cultural commonality, that had a connection to the outer space, and maybe even a keen insight into how life came to be on this planet.
That there is an understanding of space beyond Heaven and Hell, a un-earth-centric theory that talks of cosmic plularity, and that it exists as an understanding among the commoners, is thought fodder for me. The Ancient Astronaut theory also came to my mind, and this could offer some insight into how/why life started / was started.


I, for one, will welcome our new Mantid overlords.

Monday, October 26, 2015

Indexing GEB

Hear a musico-logical offering,
my sonata for unaccompanied Achilles,
and come running at the location of meaning,
to rest your eyes on my three part invention,
while I finger that two-part invention,
on thee upper contracrostipunctus,
discovering the meaning and form in mathematics,
through consistency, completeness, and geometry,
that lies between my hand, your figure, and ground,
experiencing recursive structures and processes,
while blasting in our little harmonic Labyrinth,
a canon by intervallic augmentation,
thinking one day we solve the MU-puzzle,
trapped in this Gödel's quintessential strange loop.



I Heart Start Mondays

Morning are really nights rolling out positively. So it happened that some last minute positivity showed me the way out the door, into a run. The early hours had a new feel-tone to it, in the way of the cold breeze. AFAIC, this is the same weather disturbance that brought the snows to Gulmarg and Kullu. That in itself could've been the A+ positivity to pull me out, had I realized it earlier. It took something else to do that.

The stroll to the park was a blur of ideas, which came about by the dissonating sound of chimes sounding on somebody's verandah in the neighborhood. The route of my exit now has a Gular tree (Ficus Racemosa, a very versatile organism that supports a lotta others during fruition), and these chimes, to distract from the banality of domestic existence - the dirty kitchen sink and the beer patch on my room floor. At one point of time I started counting the number of identifiable living crossing my way, and gave up after calling it "too much". I did not anticipate that the Delhi of 0630AM of October 26, 2015 would have so many identifiable living things ambling or rumbling about with intent.

As for this living thing, it kept well on its intent to do a harsh abusive run. 3 days of break, and weekend excess, neither could deter much. 6x laps, dedicated as following: One for the Caturday, One for the Sunday, One for the habits, One for a running lifestyle, One for the hills, One for the Penguins.
There were about 35 fellow living things in the park, doing their own thing. There was an interesting couple with kid who egged the kid to punch and do body exercises, and later played frisbee; it wanted to watch them more but they had left by the time it finished its run. There was also a Daschund in a green vest - looking like a flourescent sausage, and its owner in a green vest, followed by an old woman complaining about the dog's poop having ruined her shoe.

It was also a rare time for me being out sans a phone or headphones. This time it ended being more enjoyable, since I was committed to the run and the concept of fitness more than the concept of being out and witnessing the world, which I maybe ended up doing more anyways. Takes an eye and a free mind to do that.

Thursday, October 22, 2015

Hobbes never talked about poop, did he

Hobbes gave the social contract theory in the middle 16th century. Yesterday, it hit me - brought out my warring best - and also led to an agreement with his pithy "bellum omnium contra omnes", or war of all against all, that underlines human situation.
Mr. Hobbes would like to be informed that 350 years since his proposals, which saw unquestioned implementation (or perhaps how our culture of forming 'societies' came to be), things are no different. The state of warring individuals still complicates the human condition, and the state has not made the situation any different.

Oh, world, you dumb child.

Friday, October 16, 2015

Dénes_Kőnig

Dénes_Kőnig, who set graph theory on roll, who gave us that fun theorm on bipartite graphs. He, who isn't related to the Bridges of Königsberg. He, who used to talk about the finite and the inifinite (endlichen und unendlichen).
Dénes_Kőnig whose name had 
Dénes_Kőnig, who had Pál Erdős for a student.

Ph.D. Technical University of Budapest 1907 Hungary
Dissertation: Elementary Discussion of Rotations and Finite Rotation Group of a Space of Many Dimensions

 Who didn't run away till the end, and chose death over persecution.
On October 15, 1944 the National Socialist Arrow Cross Party took over the country. Days later on October 19, 1944 he committed suicide to evade persecution from the Nazis being a Hungarian Jew.

Sunday, October 11, 2015

Closest Pair

The regressive lapse continues. I pick up more of my college freshman routine - programming, old pc games, dense books, and strange movies. Who said the novelty ever ended? Hence, at 30, much like at 20, I am stuck into the same lifestyle, while not being the same person at all. Or I must be stuck in a repeat loop of hobbies and interests. There could be a better metaphor than loops. Loops stand for recursion. Mine is more like connections that I keep revisiting, in wanton aloofness of greater concerns.

As in life, as in code, I am working on recursion. Recursion, as a domain, has seated itself in high honors in every other domain - the concept helps model/solve the real world better. The aim has to be minimize the execution time, which is where I presently suck at, and expect to alleviate myself out of, soon as I'm done with the Closest Pair Problem and Week 2 of my chapters on Coursera. Inshallah.

Sunday, October 04, 2015

The Best Book Summary award

Zwei of my anchor points - Chuck Jones, Flatland - intersect in The Dot and the Line, a book by Norton Juster. With "A Romance in Lower Mathematics" for a tagline, I continued on the wiki.

Here's how the story goes
The story details a straight line who is hopelessly in love with a dot. The dot, finding the line to be stiff, dull, and conventional, turns her affections toward a wild and unkempt squiggle. The squiggle then takes advantage of the line's stiffness by reminding him that he's a lot more fun for the dot. The line's friends tried to get him to settle down with another female line, but he refuses. He tries to dream of greatness until he finally understands what the squiggle meant and decides that he needs to by mysterious and unconventional. Willing to do whatever it takes to win the dot's affection, the line manages to bend himself and form an angle. He works to refine this new ability, creating shapes so complex that he has to label his sides and angles to keep his place. When competing again, the squiggle claims that the line still has nothing to show for the dot. He proves his rival wrong and is able to show the dot what she's really worth with him. She realizes that she has made a mistake after seeing what the line was really offering her. The dot wondered what she had thought she has seen in the squiggle to be freedom and joy was nothing more than chaos and sloth. The squiggle tries to reclaim her love, but finds himself out of shape. Fed up, the dot tells him off how she really feels about him. She leaves with the line, having realized that he has much more to offer, and the punning moral is presented: "To the vector belong the spoils."

On the movie
In 1965, famed animator Chuck Jones and the MGM Animation/Visual Arts studio worked with Norton Juster to adapt The Dot and the Line into a 10-minute animated short film for Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer, narrated by Robert Morley with the narration almost verbatim to the book. The Dot and the Line won the 1965 Academy Award for Animated Short Film.[1] It was entered into the Short Film Palme d'Or competition at the 1966 Cannes Film Festival.[2]

Indira's Pearls Contents/Context

Dear,
Hope this gets Between the cracks
since we're already Crossing boundaries 
not realizing that Accidents will happen.
Lay your eyes upon The glowing gasket with which,
you shall be blessed with Indra's necklace 
which you, until now, thought was A delightful fiction.
Using  The language of symmetry,
making you feel the creation of The Schottky dance,
making you imagine Double spirals and Möbius maps.
So, now, get Playing with parameters
and let my mind blow, in Fractal dust and infinite words.

Friday, October 02, 2015

Good run, resuming run too

Well, it happened. Every second I feel irresponsible enough to get back out there, and enjoy a morning or a dusk, then get back in here, and connect it to a personal world. Often, like today, interests overlap, and I end up with Priyanka Chopra selling cancer, a crow feather, a matchbox, and Gular fruits, besides the sweat of the run.

Run happens so rare, but I plan to change that. Yay, changes in modalities of everyday living to keep me defocused from the great purpose at hand. But runs are worth it complemented with podcasts. I started listening to one - Mtn Meister - and it was nice listening about pain while experiencing a slice of the same, and then pushing oneself to go for more, in immediate response. I have a ton of podcast eps on my system which I'll keep feeding to my phone. One hour-long podcast a day, enough to keep the blues away. Embarrasingly, though, my run lasted a mere half hour, and I felt blasted - what happens after evenings with some stalwarts of the couch potato variety, namely blackrat and Af. To bring it to an hour of tireless running would have to be a monthly endeavor. Since I'm relegated to Delhi in a hazy phase right now, might as well make some worth of it, or its mornings.

Haven't plugged myself out since last evening. It has been over 24 hours. Muslces need the relaxation hours, as I've come to interpret health holistically, so a sleep is shortly due, then dreams of a new dawn variety, and going out to realize a new one.

Thursday, October 01, 2015

some population density statistics

Uttarakhand is an Indian hill state, but one with a population of 10,116,000 and a total area of 53,483 - coming to a population density of ~189, which is higher than our national mean of 186, which is surprising since the premise started from the conjecture that hills would make for india's lowest population densities. Well, I understand that the terai would count for more (Hardwar has a population density of 800 /sqkm).
To take Himachal Pradesh in consideration, which is a wee bit bigger, and supports half the population, it turns to be a difference in human density by a fourth.

India's averages are over-the-top in population statistics.
To consider, that the world average is 13.something - India's is 13 times of that!

Uttar Pradesh: 800/sqkm. That is 61 times the planet's average and 4.3 times India's. Ghaziabad has a population density of 1995 people per sqkm - astounding! While Lucknow is 1456.
If it were a separate country, Uttar Pradesh would be the world's fifth most populous nation, next only to China, India, the United States of America and Indonesia. 

West Bengal: 1000/sqkm. Boom!
Uttar Pradesh, with an area of 243,286 sqkm, makes up for 204.2 million of India's 1262 million population. West Bengal 88, 572, counting for 90 million of those remaining 1258 million people. Besides these two, are still 1168 million people.

These figures are from a 2013 survey. Add the factor of 1.2% average annual growth rate for India.
20 births per 1000 people, which translates to 4,082,000 (or 4 million) babies being added every year just to the state of Uttar Pradesh, alone.

To contrast, Norway's population is 5.084 million, which UP generates every year and a quarter. France's population is a third of UP's, at 66 million only.

Allahabad has a pouplation of 5.9 million people alone. 1.2x the population of Norway, in an area a five thousand four hundred and sixty three times small (5463x). In terms of quality of life by geographic area per person, Allahabad promises a standard of life one by six thousandth four hundred and fourty six (6446) times that of Norway.

Norway I've used for a benchmark, because its average beats the earth's average, just by a beat, to represent classic freedom. The lucky 13.


Wednesday, September 30, 2015

Treble Uttarakhand Cohibas

Sorting has led to uploading

Here's a coupla long single handled shots, now on YT.

Three different locations, all in Uttarakhand
- Gethia, Nainital
- Haldwani, Nainital
- Hardwar, Nainital








Cohibas - because some fancy icon could be sitting on a hill in the backdrop of Nanda Devi, playing them, smoking a nice Cuban cigar.

Obit on a sad dawn

I'd have called him Russet or Burns, if he were still around. I don't think he saw the light of this morning. He got ran over, and was found placed in a corner of his sanctuary - the neighborhood park.
Funny, that I liked him more than his siblings. Funny, that I saw something special in him, by the way of his interaction with the world. Funny, that I also suspected this day to come. But optimism can go along with calculated fears; every day I urged him to take care out there, in the hope that experience will come his way sooner than accident.
All he had to do was survive his childhood. Him dying now corrupts my morning thought.
RIP

Sunday, September 27, 2015

uprooted and sorted

No drumrolls, but this week has been more sorted. Too bad it ended up sorting me.

Sortedness
========

Studies: I got my nose back into the books. For my 'crowd' its hard to start, so the messy, wet, sloppy experience of (yet another) start will soon be cruise sailing.

Orderliness: for all the data that I now own, it was begging for consolidation. I have found meself wasting so much time over 'that photo' that I sat and made a lotta buckets through the day. Sadly, it is kinda addicting to do that with one's own pics, and I might lapse into this addictive habit regularly until all that content is available for immediate consumption.
Physically running through folders is still quicker than on any software I've used. Tagging is amazing, but the first cleavage should be a file-to-copy-file effort. Now lemme look for that copy of Windows Commander. (Update: it is now called Total Commander, and still available for upto Win 7!)

Externality: Over the week, two tiny lives have given me the only reasons to step out. I've fed them on three consecutive days, including today. The local nexus of the cobbler, the tobacconist, the chaiwallah, and the cassette wallah, look over them with great care, and even in the middle of a bustling market with a lotta traffic most of the day, the pups are healthy, happy and feel secure. They are very playful, more so after a hearty lunch like today's.
I had to drag them out from under the parked cars by their tail, those sleepy heads. They were lazy to boot, but once they came out of their dream and realized they were in another one with a lotta food and a human, they were in high energies and played for a long while (or maybe the rice helped increase their sugar levels, which is what promoted activity).

Sub-new: Blackrat's new OnePlus 2, on which we had a sub-sub-new: 4k video shooting.
Our memories now exist in 4k. To consider how far we've come in a mere 15 years, in terms of resolution, from 172x something, which is approx 0.1k, to 4k; and our minute-long videos that barely exceeded 40MB on older digicams (cameras dedicated to recording stuff), to this 4k res on a phone, which generates a ~400MB file for the same.

Work: in doing new stuff, the old stuff didn't find time. Makes for too many post-its on my walls.

Unsortedness
==========
Work: Got fired, now feeling fried. Luck strikes early, or finally ends.
New lows for somebody who didn't imagine all such this strife.

Advice for losers
Another low?
Whattey blow!
Break the flow,
Take it slow.

Saturday, September 26, 2015

One handsome Giant Leaf-footed Stink-bug (Acanthocephala Declivis)


With a quick mail exchange with Ted (of Beetles in the Bush), my hour was to go into looking up ID of this phantasm that was spotted one lucky afternoon in 2008.

With an even lesser of a foundation in ID back then, my trail went in a wrong direction, into Phasmatodea (erring right at the level of Order).
Where I was supposed to go, was Hempitera. And thereon to Hemiptera > Heteroptera > Pentatomorpha > Coreoidea > Coreidae.

As sure as Ted was with his ID (replying inside minutes of my asking), I wasn't, even after landing on the Coreidae page on Wikipedia. As an amateur, much of my identification is visual than morphological. But reading up the bit on morphology was helpful
Morphology
The general morphological features of the Coreidae are an oval-shaped body, antennae composed of four segments, a numerously veined fore wing membrane, a metathoracic stink gland, and enlarged hind tibiae. Many species are covered with spines and tubercles
Considering Ted's comment on the horns, morphological adaptations came to mind, which could result in differently proportioned features. That consideration helped look for a more accurate match.


Which is an Acanthocephala, like one found here:
Giant Leaf-footed Stink-bug, Acanthocephala declivis
Photo courtesy Pete Williams, Gulf Breeze, Florida
December 12, 2006

Copyright (C) 2006 Pete Williams


This was the closest match, and reading on its ID solved the puzzle
Identification
Humeral angles of pronotum broadly expanded, extending laterally well beyond maximum lateral abdominal margin.
Next I went into an expanded/elongated pronotum frenzy. While Acantocephala has 27 subspecies, A. declivis seems a sure match, since its size and distribution both match.

A cursory search for related keywords on Google Images didn't throw a more beautiful specimen as this one. Makes me feel kinda swell, and lucky.

Wednesday, September 23, 2015

A minor victory for Disbelief

...but victory, nonetheless.

A recent Whatsapp-shared wisdom had me curious. It comes in several forms - a slideshow, or a subtitled video, or a composite image. It described an exceptional behavior by the falcon to symbolise letting go. Besdies the fact that people around play a passive dominant part through such clips in my present situation, it got me very curious that such behavior existed in nature.

The big claims it made
- Eagles and Falcons live for upto 70 years
- They feathers lose their function between the ages of 30-40 years
- The beak bends
- Then they perch on their nest on top of a mountain
- Then they pluck each of their feathers one by one
- They break their beak off
- They grow back a fresh set of feathers and beak
- They extend their lifespan by another 30 years through this

It turned to be just the kind of quackery to be proven as that, and make my day. Snopes has already taken it apart here http://www.snopes.com/critters/wild/eaglerebirth.asp

An Eagle has a curved beak to tear through meat and bones, not because it tears through meat and bones. Just imagine birds of prey with frugivoral adaptations, lol.
Well, we haven't found one yet.

"Uh, I kinda saw myself as a bird that sacrifices its past and rises out anew, to find that some 4chan rejects tried passing that as a meme a few years back."
People won't understand how enervating such untruths can get. One can understand where time flies by - keeping off delusionary sociality, or dabbling in it. We are wasting time, don't you see, you passive-agressive and socially-motivated-to-the-level-of-spreading-untruths people!

Sunday, September 20, 2015

Screwed in Spirituality

I entered their complex for the first time. It is huge. The inner sanctum added further credence to adjectives forming in my head. Beautiful. Serene. Aesthetic.

It was breakfast time when I arrived. My relatives were packed, and ready to leave. The in-house breakfast was approaching its closing time, and moreover, my cousin soon had her flight to catch, so we were in a bit of a rush.

The 'crowd' - or rest of the people - was made of several resident pupils doing their rounds and finishing their morning duties; wayfarers from across the nation - like my relatives - endorsing the to institution's ethos and getting free lodging (transit services) in the process; foreigners who had come to find their inner light; and the institution staff that seemed calmer and lesser occupied than staff anywhere else.
Cultured, peaceful, happy crowd.
Also, sedate and passive.

In the middle of the inner sanctum, is a large circular fountain, that must be operating on special days, but today was sitting dry. Crossing it, I noticed, as everybody else had, a mole in the hole. (छुछुंदर) I imagine it had fallen in by accident at night time, and hadn't been able to get out since. It circled the circular fountain, vainly. The sun was about to flood the planet, and this little thing had grim chances of keeping at its jig, once it got hot. It already looked emaciated, and either starvation or a flying predator (aka bird) would get it eventually.

In a place of spiritual enlightenment, I didn't expect to see such a sight. Compassion should've seen the mole rescued the first thing by the first person who chances to come across the sight. The young band of pupils - who I'm sure were amongst the first to wake up - merrily flitted about, cleaning the floors, washing the sinks, collecting trash.. things small and belittling but regular, that made them fit in, as 'disciplined', 'responsible', 'a good learner'. But none of them bothered about the mole.

The wayfarers, and great men and women of the West, who had come down to India, to seek spirituality, calmly walked to the breakfast hall, just next door. Their curiosity, too, was piqued by the sight of the emaciated mole, then they got around the fountain and proceeded onwards to their morning fill.

The staff in all its peacefulness, seemed least bothered to break their peace.

The mole kept running in circles.

In rush, I myself skirted around that fountain on my way to and back from the lodging. We moved out 65kg of luggage. On insistence, aunt asked one of the pupils to help the mole out. The pupil, a young girl, had a huge basket, that she had just merrily carried trash out with, which could help in the situation. Her reaction, was to promptly recede and merrily tell us on her way out that she'll have the janitor boy do it.

We left for breakfast in our haste. The mole was still running in circles.
We got out from the breakfast hall. The mole was still running in circles.

I found it appalling that the sight of a living thing going around in pointless circles, with death-as-eventuality gaining probability, was not symbolic enough for anyone there.
It wasn't like I hadn't tried. The first time I crossed it, I was puzzled a bit in my decision, thinking that it could slink out the mesh at the far end of the fountain floor by itself. The second time, I threw in a stick that was too weak to climb out on, and tried finding a piece of paper or cardboard in the trash, but found one that was covered in something like goo, that I didn't really want to get my hands around. The third time, this merry girl gave us a merry promise to get help and leave it to them.

This was the fourth time, and having seen the nature of people around I gave up acting 'appropriate'. I took my sandals off and stepped in. The sandals could work as a trap, using which I would haul the mole out. Or so I thought. I tried cordoning off the mole, but a smooth surface and lack of corners defeated my purpose. I chased it around like one would chase wild partridge, with the same effect, of being outwitted every time I got close. It found ways to keep distance from approaching sandal-traps. These small creatures are Thigmotaxic, that is, they will keep to the edges, so a second person could've surely helped.

I stepped out in ignominy, defeated in purpose. Shortly before, somebody had casually commented, while walking by the scene of my compassionate antics, that what I was at wouldn't work. Wise men who had calculated the high probability of all negativities. It felt amazing to be in middle (literally, as the fountain was in the middle of the sanctum) of such people, and receive their wisdom. More amazing, that, seeing somebody take on an active role, the passives will not only dissolve their responsibility, but also step out of their skins and comment on another who is trying. They must teach some contemporary spirituality in this place, which works more towards social acceptance and sedation-till-death, than any behaviors arising from virtues.

These people whom I thought rich in their currency of the spiritual, had none of that. Their spiritual was more like a code. "Thou shalt not fornicate" type of code (which was a rule set by their divine Guru/Mother), that they were expected to follow, and in turn, told that they were good people by other people whom they perceive as 'good people'. Otherwise they were just beggars, poor people with saucers begging for spirituality in a place that claimed to be holding a lot of "spirituality", hoping that they'd get rich quick.

The mole was still running in circles when I left the complex. Asking the receptionist guy, got a response shocking in its callousness, "oh its been there since the morning". If not for the symbolic scare of death, at least get him out for the effect of hygiene, he was told. Hopefully he can really get a janitor with a long broom or a cloth, that could help out the mole, who must be having a different experience of sorts in the middle of a place full of so kind and compassionate people.

He didn't read into my annoyance or overbearing feeling of helplessness as I left. How small things break and shake me. After this episode, I am more lucid about where my heroes are. Or are not.

Landscape With the Fall of Icarus, a panting by Breugel, is a close parallel. Breugel drew the fall of Icarus - a man with wings made of wax that melted and drowned him in the sea - as he imagined it. It connects to today's episode, in that nobody gives a hoot about the drowning Icarus.

Saturday, September 19, 2015

poop happenings contd..

The poop standoff at my home has reached to mythical proportions. If I find time from studies - which I have been shirking in favor of other things, and work - which i have been shirking in favor of other things - then I could draw a fictional character derived from my roomie who has raised a storm in a teacup instead of issuing a minor apology/promise towards managing his poop (literally). He has put himself under room-arrest when in the sanctum of our home, and barely ventures out but to sneak away water and butter (and my facewash, i suspect). He even brought a friend home - and made sure to keep her under room-arrest too, crippled under the influence of aspirin, tobacco, junk food, and youtube - to prove how he's got his own circles. There has been not a single word between us. His daily exit for work has taken a dramatic persona, which is sneaking out when the access is clear and ringing the doorbell in his wake.

This has some Buddhist undertones going. Thanks to roomie, I understand the concept of Heruka better - Herukas represent the embodiment of indivisible bliss and emptiness. Well, his emptiness under a pretense of bliss kinda reminds of that. I imagine him in a wrathful pose if confronted, too, albeit without a deity-ness about him.

This is turning into a bigger farce than I thought. Let me write about that some other time.

Thursday, September 17, 2015

poop on mind

Yesterday, relations with the roomie kinda derailed, over the issue of his poop etiquette. He, literally, cannot take care of his own poop. Consequently, it takes somebody to notice his day's misdemeanor, which is usually MSR in the evening time, and do what's been left undone i.e. flush it down the pot. By this time, the poop has worked up quite a stench in the bathroom (#1), and it becomes a challenge to get in there, flush, and get out.

This guy apparently has no muscle memory of flushing his poop after pooping. In between the 5 seconds of wiping his ass and getting up from the pot, he has forgotten he ever pooped, and calmly walks away from the pot, that poop unflushed. How could somebody be like that, at 25! What a baby!

MSR has to take care of it (at least) twice a week, and he's not happy about it. Every evening, he walks in, to find questionable or no hygiene code in practice by the roomie, - issues like poop and more - and loses it. Every evening starts with imprecations to the roomie.

MSR enters a foul state of mind. The roomie gains bad karma. Nobody wins. It's all downhill. Our home becomes a segregated zone when roomie gets back from the office later and shuts himself out, trying to avoid a direct confrontation, anticipating further embarrassment. He doesn't talk, he skips dinner together, we don't roll. All coz of poop.

Friday, September 04, 2015

Infibeam over Flipkart

My bookbag is again full. I can count 8 new ones ones in possession through the past week. It is a bit enervating, considering it's been a while since a full-novel read. With work done, I hope, there is time. Writing in detail will come later.

Right now just wanted to put a smooth shopping experience out there. I was going to order a set of books from Flipkart, until I ran into Infibeam. That helped with an instant saving of INR250. Flipkart is out of its discounts and free shipping these days. Albeit their book inventory is the largest, Amazon and Infibeam are also there to match (Amazon, I believe, will over time, get the book market). I'd already ranted about how FK is losing out on customers because of poor sales support. This gives another reason to customers like moi.
Flipkart - INR 1229

Infibeam - INR 973 (-256)

Indian trends spotted today


From the above trends graph on Facebook, corresponding things Indians have on their minds
- Sex
- Idealism
- Travel
- Family
- Frisky Relief

I would like to believe this is the facet of every single individual, at least from what I can say looking around me. 

Tuesday, September 01, 2015

Look who came knocking

SHTF today. It could've been a Quentin Tarantino movie I was going through.

Here is as it goes in Pulp Fiction:
Jules[throws the small table in the room] What country are you from!?
Brett: Wha-what?
Jules: "What" ain't no country I ever heard of! They speak English in "What"!?
Brett: What?
JulesEnglish, motherfucker! Do you speak it!?
Brett: Yes!!
Jules: Then you know what I'm saying!
Brett: Yes..!
Jules: Describe what Marsellus Wallace looks like!!
Brett: Wha-what I—?
Jules[points gun directly in Brett's face] Say "what" again! SAY "what" again! I dare you! I double-dare you, motherfucker! Say "what" one more goddamn time!
Brett: He-he's black...
Jules: Go on!
Brett: ...He's bald!
Jules: Does he look like a bitch?
Brett: What? [Jules shoots Brett in the shoulder] AGHH!! Anh..!!
JulesDOES—HE—LOOK... LIKE—A BITCH!!?BrettNOHH!!Jules: Then why'd you try to fuck him like a bitch, Brett?
Brett: I didn't!
Jules: Yes, you did! YES, you DID, Brett! You tried to fuck him.
Brett: No..no....
Jules And Marsellus Wallace don't like to be fucked by anybody except Mrs. Wallace. You read the Bible, Brett?
Brett[gasping for breath] Yes...!

It didn't go to those extremes for me. But, yes, I did have to sit on a chair in front of a bewildered boss and promise to cough up work soon. I would've started with work, if a flood of memes didn't come in my head as I biked out to office (after a long hiatus), which I continue to be blogging about right now.

It will be fitting to be ambling about in the Samuel L. Jackson tee for rest of the time till my work is finished. And to well verse Ezekiel 25:17. My part is easy, though, since I get no dialogs playing Brett, and will be the one sitting on the chair taking SMG fire, come work remains undone.




Also, I ran into a magnetically abject audio track by Meursault - "One Day This'll All Be Fields". My day had started on a crooning of
"And we will descend from the sky.""And we will bury you alive."
I thought it met an unanticipated closure today. Literally!


---
Later on I got fed Rotis and Bhindi at the office, a fact which will make my boss come as a compassionate being, hence I will pray doesn't get out.
---
I was thankful that things stayed in the QT zone. Tarantino still makes cool shit. They didn't descend into Bollywood-ean chaos, which I have always felt being on the cusp of these days. That could've happened had K, A, N, A, S, S would've converged upon me on the same day at the same time. What fireworks!
---
Also makes me wonder of my source of next enervation. They haven't been what I thought they'd be. My lessons into chaos. Also, the world demands me to learn about a lot of insecurities, and I fail to.
---
Also forgot paying some bills today.
---

Monday, August 31, 2015

Behavior of the Cane Toad

The Cane Toad is an interesting frog species. The Bufo Marinus.
It is native to Central and South America, but has been reintroduced in Australia and already asserted itself a million square-km of habitat. It also sports deadly poison glands (the tadpoles are esp toxic if ingested). For this reason, it has been introduced in regions for pest control (one of them being Cane Beetle, the colloquial namesake for this species).

My interest grows from coming across its mention twice in the recent week.

First, over how frogs - esp documented in Cane Toads - lure their prey by wiggling their toe. The Ranitomeya (or Poison Dart Frogs) do the same. Uma Thurman in Kill Bill does the same (toe wiggle), albeit to different ends.
Toe wiggling creates motions, vibrations that get potential prey moving.
Cane toads flutter their toes when small prey appear, and the intriguing pedal lure draws little cane toads closer to bigger cannibalistic ones, reported Mattias Hagman, now at Stockholm University in Sweden, and Rick Shine of the University of Sydney in Australia, in January.

Second, about how the introduction of B. Marinus in Australia, has forced evolution to kick in... not on the frog or its pest, but on the Green Tree Snake which thrives in the same habitat. With time, these snakes (only in this region) have developed a smaller heads, which allows controlled quantities of toad venom to enter their bodies (smaller head = smaller prey).


Ghosts you cannot see

Familiar smells wafting in from the kitchen bring some comfort. Distress, that which felt less comfortable, comes from the day-gone-by, which should've been iconic for reasons of severance, but wasn't for the reasons of my indolence. It surprises me how complacent I've become about some more focal points of life, my professional discipline being one. Right now I'm that unprofessional that managers fear - lying, procrastinating, evasive, and in my own calm (and own thought space) about it.
There are not but ghosts behind this endless canopy
and they all hold small comfort for deserters such as we.
You have failed us in memories, your recollections all are lies.
You've been such a disappointment from the moment that we died.
And we will descend from the sky.
And we will bury you alive.
I can imagine this one guy doing a Stroszek-inspired gig.

Ride to R, Passive Politeness

Sunday was a timeless one. I could've been 22, 25, or in the present, living out the same Sunday. It started on the bike, and peaked between the fifth and eighth hour of the day. It was a long break since the last I'd been out on a bike.  Delhi, however, easily grows back on me, now that I have indexed it well, and it takes only a while out there, to get back into enjoying the city.

It was a small loop, to Rajpath and back. The sea of humanity along Rajpath / India Gate was touching. Some activity groups noticed: Cyclists, Runners, Skaters, Motorbikers. It was surprising to not see any Yoga groups, now that Yoga has been endorsed to epic levels. A Sunday feature are Segways, offloaded from minivans, for the tourist or for a demo to prospective clients - this being the only place I've seen them in action. I can think of our bird sanctuaries doing with a few Segways. The lawns either side of Rajpath were still lined with pockets of floral blooms - yellow, white, magenta like an artist's dab of the brush.

I wiled some time at the lawns before heading back. There was a injured pigeon spotted earlier, which was unfortunately missing on the way back (or fortunately?). Rajpath sees injured birds often ending up there, maybe the open lawns giving them visibility (as against cover of the urban canopy). I could imagine riding out with bag with a bird compartment, which could come handy for such situations, alongwith a short detour to the Jain Bird Hospital at Lal Qila (in Old Delhi). Felt like asking the kids out for a game of Football, but didn't and instead kept it for later. Also, first time I went up a tree upside down.

Back home, the day was about evading boss and alleviating other similar afflictions. Studied a bit. Slept a good while. Each of the days are colorful ways of plays of reality (even in the imagination) but the progress of time keeps me jittery.

Saturday, August 29, 2015

Closures, Beginnings

Caturday is here. 5 days of the week got over pretty fast, though my boss will attach any label but 'fast' to the way I'm doing things. I have no answer, for now. Play has tragically dominated my life, and though it has felt a bit useless and uneasy, it has also felt workable and 'contemporary'.

As today fades away, I recollect and find that today was about closure to a BIG premise which I'd put forward to friends in ideological (or, humanist) passion a decade back. An inquiry into modalities of seeking, which worked out just fine for me. Oh how I get to rub them over it. Serendipitously, we - the same trio of that inquiry - meet in a few hours; timing to match south Indian movies.

First day of the weekend, that I am already in, is planned with the sis. She gets to physically tie me a thread of validation-as-brother and I get to vouchsafe her protection (and/or money), one last time, for this annual recurrence would be difficult to partake in once she's infected with marriage and relocates to Australia with Hub.

Roomie is taken with the version of bed-bound fitness regime introduced. He has bluffed about giving a fvck about fitness for so long that I got annoyed and gave him some encouragement today. His room/ bed, in fact is a better place to start on it than my own. He, predictably, found it amusing and hard, and beneficial. If there's the least he could start with, it gotta be this (otherwise we're staring into a void here). He followed his first try with a cigarette, which tells a lot of his cancerous disposition.

Somebody went on a shopping spree and got a whole lotta brain juice - books - over the week. At the end of it, 5 new books in the stack, and 1 in transit. They shall be devoured the coming week, which has a zealous streak of activity planned and purchases towards maker projects lined up.

Wednesday, August 26, 2015

dreaming bromides, sehjal olifera

Woke up in a fix. Had dreams I couldn't understand. Wishing that I were still with Mwg who would spend hours interpreting my dreams, at the expense, of both our office times and the world economy (since our employers were international cos); she enjoyed picking on my subconscious hurt. Back then, however, I had a rather simplistic theme of snakes ongoing. Like a short movie, they were mostly about one person (me or somebody) going through a trippy moment or a transforming experience. Now they have bloated to being about one person, and another person, and with a lot of other persons around. Highlight of the dream was embrace moments with ex, and a record throw of breaking a Seven Tiles tile-pile from a throw from hundreds of yards and over the treetops - like a Remi Gaillard video.

So it happens that a coupla weeks after running into a gentleman who was running a Sehjan / Sejal / Sejan (Moringa Oleifera) plantation somewhere in Ghaziabad (suburbs of Delhi), I come across a convincing train of data and YT videos on the efficacy of the tree. It's serves a broad range of proteins / amino acids, and Vit C, Calcium, Vit A, Protien, Potassium, times multiple of that contained in other food sources. I shall get in touch promptly plan to dope myself with some unusual bio-hacks (is that what Ayurveda is, or claims to be, all about unprocessed natural concoctions?).

Sunday, August 23, 2015

morning (un)run, malormed social vertical

i had signed up to a run, that was to happen this morning. i was out there, too, only that i took the road less traveled (or less guided) and parted from the group outside the stadia where it started from. got bored. it felt revulsive to go on after the first km and beyond the turnpike. not very sporty of me, is it. but then the sport, which i enjoy on a regular basis, needs to be seen as a sporty endorsement both by its sponsor and its participants. okay, in less abstract terms, and to brief, i felt lousy after finding out that bib names didn't matter - i wanted to run to 'borat' listening to 'borat' while 'curled' like 'borat', which is what i had registered under 'borat sagdiyev'. so much for my hat-trick of pushing borat in world registers. the tee as the free giveaway took away crowd 'qualia'.

but it was a wiser-in-retrospect calculation. the rains must've turned the run to be a literal 'dampener'. they had a short warning spell right as i left out to the stadia, then held on till the time i took off and got back home, then came down as a heavy downpour. i don't hate them, but i'm over the initial experience of run-in-the-rains. i don't enjoy delhi when it rains, because running through it becomes an experience of splashing not just water on oneself. delhi is dreamier with sunrises, or with precipitation as fog.
i wanted to run back home along the railway tracks but it would've meant getting home with all diseases of delhi and dying a bit sooner than thought (will have to increase my consumption of peanut butter, which is already at peak levels) {digress: expecting parenthesis to auto-fold in Blogger, a habit from ST}

so that 15k expectation from the morning was reduced to around 5k. between choosing the phone out taking pictures, to out on the run, the latter dominated, but turned to be a short experience. hazaron khwaishein chhod ke wapas aa gaye.
but, to fall back on the psyche instead of physique,

Be glad for the song that has no ending.

got back home to start reading on all the fucked up stuff pertaining to 'women'. it was the google news homepage that asked me to consume (awareness or consumption, what makes a better source, or what makes a better behavior, one could argue later, as i mite?) and constitute myself of the image of my own nation having screwed up situation of understanding women's rights right from the domestic to the political level.
in india, domestic could be perceived as behaviors when no eyes are on you. and political means behavior when all eyes are on you. its further distressing to see that such things have creeped to the judicial level, which should be above the political but-lamentably-isn't, and shouldn't give a hoot about how many eyes are on it.
and then we'll have the annually-recurrent milestones when we look back and evaluate and go 'wtf' for a day and regress back into being the people who will seem hypocrites in surveys.

Friday, August 21, 2015

Demands to give up Friends

It didn't matter this much last night. Through yesterday, I found myself suspended (or 'locked') into a friend-ful state. It came as a funny feeling. The feeling, the void, was attempted to be overcome with ingestion, intoxication, and conversation. The Chinese food ensured the funny feeling will sustain till the morning, so that I get to reflect upon it.

Right now, upon waking up, hostility reeks from my reflections. Last afternoon, that was to be fun, turned to be intimidating, to the point that of wishing it would be over asap. I have come to cherish complicated friends a bit less, of late; they combine a few amazing and envious interests and talents to make up themselves; but socially they've come out as as people of hurtful sensibilities. They can't help it, so natural/engrained/magnified that hurt-response-cycle has become. People, who tend to offend as a means of social engagement.

I know I know some smart people, who are less outright vocal and more thoughtful, biding time for their responses. Sometimes, in lighter or newly-developing situations, their thoughts only go so as far as to the point where they will find a minimum basic coherent response. These responses are the ones derived from neologisms or memes or locally-viral-or-common phrases ('social culture'), as it quickens delivery of a social response (the nostalgic pull of these responses, is an added factor).

The response that comes at the end, however, is disconcerting. It smells both of misogyny and shock-value-to-drive-engagement.

It makes friends come off as creepy, rather than smart. It is not nice to see their cool turned into creepy. We feel creepy, as a response to the ambiguity of threat conveyed by an agency. One can't really talk about being with 'friends' when a 'threat' is in place. They probably saw it as 'frivolous' than 'threatful' in their own calculation; but failed to see how it could be perceived by friends they meet after almost a year's time. Creepy threats create anxiety, and drive response paralysis. Paralysed, we can't do much socially. Even when not pick up as a 'threat', the 'triteness' of their thought will drive my paralysis.

Coming to know about it, I can't explain why people would need to convey a passive threat in a gathering, just to prove their presence or build their identity. Or use the same trite shock value stuff which they were (in)famous for, 8 years outta college, which doesn't sound as cool anymore.

The only good a shock-response might encourage, is my blogging. Unless I blog bad.

Tuesday, August 18, 2015

Jack is not a dull boy

I have not yet started with work since the resolve of yesterday (29 hours ago, to be precise). GBPM (गयी भैंस पानी में), or SHTF (शिट हिट्स दी फ़ैन) situation incoming.

However, I did lyric-synch myself to Daft Punk's Harder Better Faster Stronger. The day had a long phase of DP - thanks to discovery of Daft Hands and Daft Bodies, memes which bloomed and withered without my knowledge, back in my early-employment days. I didn't know DP came onto the scene in such sweeping fashion. I always saw DP as the most genius and esoteric of musicians, but they got better and popular quickly. The world is moving to better music, it seems. Or at least the geeks rise, if this is a movement through the online sub-communities.

Lyrics

Work it
Make it
Do it
Makes us
Harder
Better
Faster
Stronger
More than
Hour
Our
Never [1:10]
Ever
After
Work is
Over [1:19]
Work it
Make it
Do it
Makes us [1:27]
Harder
Better
Faster
Stronger[1:35]
Work it
Harder
Make it
Better
Do it
Faster
Makes us
Stronger [1:43]
More than
Ever
Hour
After
Our
Work is
Never
Over [1:50]
Work it
Harder
Make it
Better
Do it
Faster
Makes us
Stronger
More than
Ever
Hour
After
Our
Work is
Never
Over [1:56]
Work it
Harder
Make it
Better
Do it
Faster
Makes us
Stronger
More than
Ever
Hour
After
Our
Work Is
Never
Over [2:09]
Work it
Harder
Make it
Better
Do it
Faster
Makes us
Stronger
More than
Ever
Hour
After
Our
Work is
Never
Over [2:16]
Work it
Harder
Make it
Better
Do it
Faster
Makes us
Stronger
More than
Ever
Hour
After
Our
Work is
Never
Over [2:25]
Work It
Harder
Make it
Better
Do it
Faster
Makes us
[2:28]
More than
Ever
Hour
After
Our
Work is
Never
Over [2:34]
Work it
Harder
Make it
Better
Do it
Faster
Makes us
Stronger
More than
Ever
Hour
After
Our
Work is
Never
Over [2:40]
Work it
Harder
Make it
[2:50]
Do it
Faster
Makes us
[2:52]
More than
Ever
Hour

Our work
Is
Never
Over [2:56]
Work it
Harder
Make it
Better
Do it
Faster
Makes us
Stronger [3:00]
More than
Ever
Hour
After
Our
Work is
Never
Over [3:04]
Work it
Harder
Make it
Better
Do it
Faster
Makes us
Stronger
More than
Ever
Hour
After
Our
Work is
Never
Over [3:12]
Work it
Harder
Make it
Better
Do it
Faster
Makes us
Stronger
More than
Ever
Hour
After
Our
Work is
Never
Over [3:18]
~Work it
~Harder
~Make it
~Better
~Do it
~Faster
~Makes us
~Stronger [3:23]
~More than
~Ever
~Hour
~After
~Our
~Work is
~Never
~Over [3:26]
Work it
Harder
Do it
Faster
More than
Ever
Our work
Is
Never
Over [3:34]
Work it
Harder
Make it
Better
Do it
Faster
Makes us
Stronger [3:38]
More than
Ever
Hour
After
Our
Work is
Never
Over [3:42]