Sunday, April 30, 2006
One More Raisin In My bun
wet grass slips under my feet
but they are touching air
are electric pylons dead martians
do i care
sometimes it seems my brain
wants to explode with all it understands,
the intense sympathy of knowing
all and in between lard and lance
spring to, sweep at, drag under, stuff and stuff
what is left, what is undone or done
years it will take and yet everyday
there's one more raisin in my bun
but they are touching air
are electric pylons dead martians
do i care
sometimes it seems my brain
wants to explode with all it understands,
the intense sympathy of knowing
all and in between lard and lance
spring to, sweep at, drag under, stuff and stuff
what is left, what is undone or done
years it will take and yet everyday
there's one more raisin in my bun
Tuesday, March 28, 2006
Easter break.. Whew...
Ha, Thanks god for term breaks.
wib wobs was getting to me... i almost shouted at an annoying customer during my last shift. er.. told him off actually, but the brute probably didnt understand my subtle telling off. most of them don't.
another 1000 word a day pledge. marathon. 30,000 by April 25th? er.... wanna say, like hell, but being optimistic and all that (1000 words down today), i shall say.. fingers crossed.
and this has to somehow happen around disruptions like office hours, meeting shannon, davey etc, visiting the valley (ha.. that sounds mysterious), having the girls visit.. ooohh...
wanting to go anti social again, but valley and girls can't be avoided. hmmm...
wib wobs was getting to me... i almost shouted at an annoying customer during my last shift. er.. told him off actually, but the brute probably didnt understand my subtle telling off. most of them don't.
another 1000 word a day pledge. marathon. 30,000 by April 25th? er.... wanna say, like hell, but being optimistic and all that (1000 words down today), i shall say.. fingers crossed.
and this has to somehow happen around disruptions like office hours, meeting shannon, davey etc, visiting the valley (ha.. that sounds mysterious), having the girls visit.. ooohh...
wanting to go anti social again, but valley and girls can't be avoided. hmmm...
Wednesday, March 22, 2006
Monday, March 20, 2006
story by haruki murakami
Ha, I found it... dear Malchisadek,
it starts like this..
On seeing the 100% perfect girl one beautiful April morning
Haruki Murakami
One beautiful April morning, on a narrow side street in Tokyo's fashionable Harujuku neighborhood, I walked past the 100% perfect girl.
Tell you the truth, she's not that good-looking. She doesn't stand out in any way. Her clothes are nothing special. The back of her hair is still bent out of shape from sleep. She isn't young, either - must be near thirty, not even close to a "girl," properly speaking. But still, I know from fifty yards away: She's the 100% perfect girl for me. The moment I see her, there's a rumbling in my chest, and my mouth is as dry as a desert.
Maybe you have your own particular favorite type of girl - one with slim ankles, say, or big eyes, or graceful fingers, or you're drawn for no good reason to girls who take their time with every meal. I have my own preferences, of course. Sometimes in a restaurant I'll catch myself staring at the girl at the next table to mine because I like the shape of her nose.
But no one can insist that his 100% perfect girl correspond to some preconceived type. Much as I like noses, I can't recall the shape of hers - or even if she had one. All I can remember for sure is that she was no great beauty. It's weird.
"Yesterday on the street I passed the 100% girl," I tell someone.
"Yeah?" he says. "Good-looking?"
"Not really."
"Your favorite type, then?"
"I don't know. I can't seem to remember anything about her - the shape of her eyes or the size of her breasts."
"Strange."
"Yeah. Strange."
"So anyhow," he says, already bored, "what did you do? Talk to her? Follow her?"
....and so it goes
it starts like this..
On seeing the 100% perfect girl one beautiful April morning
Haruki Murakami
One beautiful April morning, on a narrow side street in Tokyo's fashionable Harujuku neighborhood, I walked past the 100% perfect girl.
Tell you the truth, she's not that good-looking. She doesn't stand out in any way. Her clothes are nothing special. The back of her hair is still bent out of shape from sleep. She isn't young, either - must be near thirty, not even close to a "girl," properly speaking. But still, I know from fifty yards away: She's the 100% perfect girl for me. The moment I see her, there's a rumbling in my chest, and my mouth is as dry as a desert.
Maybe you have your own particular favorite type of girl - one with slim ankles, say, or big eyes, or graceful fingers, or you're drawn for no good reason to girls who take their time with every meal. I have my own preferences, of course. Sometimes in a restaurant I'll catch myself staring at the girl at the next table to mine because I like the shape of her nose.
But no one can insist that his 100% perfect girl correspond to some preconceived type. Much as I like noses, I can't recall the shape of hers - or even if she had one. All I can remember for sure is that she was no great beauty. It's weird.
"Yesterday on the street I passed the 100% girl," I tell someone.
"Yeah?" he says. "Good-looking?"
"Not really."
"Your favorite type, then?"
"I don't know. I can't seem to remember anything about her - the shape of her eyes or the size of her breasts."
"Strange."
"Yeah. Strange."
"So anyhow," he says, already bored, "what did you do? Talk to her? Follow her?"
....and so it goes
Saturday, March 18, 2006
the mere bones
What do I need to write here…
Story 1
Aspiring model meets with horrid middle man..
Gap toothed..peanut crunching
Ciggie smoke blowing
Modern coffee shop
Funny ashtray; looks like a misshapen pot.
Talks of lingerie ads coming up.. tirupur
Movie.. how simran was introduced by him
Music video…
Bhavesh bhai..meeting in his car…
Picks her up.. unhappy with her conservative clothes and no/little-makeup
Bhai and her in car… talk talk… clean rich teeth and hair…
Talks of being friends.. friendly advice- never do lingerie ads- u say yes means u willing to sleep with them..
Drives all around bang; wanting to be friends, wanting promise of meeting again..
Drops her off…
Story 1
Aspiring model meets with horrid middle man..
Gap toothed..peanut crunching
Ciggie smoke blowing
Modern coffee shop
Funny ashtray; looks like a misshapen pot.
Talks of lingerie ads coming up.. tirupur
Movie.. how simran was introduced by him
Music video…
Bhavesh bhai..meeting in his car…
Picks her up.. unhappy with her conservative clothes and no/little-makeup
Bhai and her in car… talk talk… clean rich teeth and hair…
Talks of being friends.. friendly advice- never do lingerie ads- u say yes means u willing to sleep with them..
Drives all around bang; wanting to be friends, wanting promise of meeting again..
Drops her off…
Friday, March 10, 2006
embar
assing is the saturday feb 18th post now i find.
hmm.... tempting to delete, but must keep for checking every so often and renew embarrasment as lesson to learn continually.
sop. sad sap.
like to also i do talk like yoda do.
hmm.... tempting to delete, but must keep for checking every so often and renew embarrasment as lesson to learn continually.
sop. sad sap.
like to also i do talk like yoda do.
stirring the sun
stirring the sun
and leapfrog the horizon
scratch the eardrums burst
sinking in cold fathoms deep snow
pinprick the tender arch, instep
steely eyed cat on mahogany table o
rattle the woodwork
rattle the claptrap horsecart vandyke
pine tail tin drum drum
leap and leap and leap frog
the horizon
stirring, crooning like elvis
flick the hair back
talk quivery dialogue after dialogue
after dialogue
like chevalier shivaji ganesan
enunciate
hold my hand
... and jump
and leapfrog the horizon
scratch the eardrums burst
sinking in cold fathoms deep snow
pinprick the tender arch, instep
steely eyed cat on mahogany table o
rattle the woodwork
rattle the claptrap horsecart vandyke
pine tail tin drum drum
leap and leap and leap frog
the horizon
stirring, crooning like elvis
flick the hair back
talk quivery dialogue after dialogue
after dialogue
like chevalier shivaji ganesan
enunciate
hold my hand
... and jump
Saturday, February 18, 2006
This is what I see
I see that you and I would be fantastic together. We'd have great kids, and our home would be cluttered, rambling, heaving. Chaotic, rollicking, and topsy turvy. Every single day. There would be great fights, great discussions, dramatic utterences and over the top make-up sessions, apologies and declarations of love.
There'd be curiosities, nick nacks and tid bits, and not of the gastronomic kind, scattered everywhere. Each piece will have its own story, history. Even the tea spoon will be quivering with passion, and something to tell.
Our kids will not know what hit them and where they landed and whats happening till they grow up and leave home. But they will have learnt a lot of survival skills, and to argue.. a lot.
There will be a mountain of books.. or mountains of books.. in every single room, including the garage and the bathroom.
There will never be a 'Hush, baby sleeping' sign for any of the kids. They would just learn to sleep inspite of the vibrations of chaos.
Friends would know they could leave the whole world behind them when they enter ours, for they can be what they want to be and then some more. Their kids would wish they were ours. Ours would look horrified at such a wish.
This, and some more, is what i see.
But what I don't see, I suppose, is that I keep thinking you are some one that I want you to be, but you are not that, not yet, and perhaps will never be, for you don't see what I see.
You don't see that constraints are like blankets. You throw them off when the sun shines through. You might like to snuggle under and snooze as long as you like, but eventually, you do throw them off, or should. Even if after, you have to wade through piercing cold to reach your bathrobe.
There'd be curiosities, nick nacks and tid bits, and not of the gastronomic kind, scattered everywhere. Each piece will have its own story, history. Even the tea spoon will be quivering with passion, and something to tell.
Our kids will not know what hit them and where they landed and whats happening till they grow up and leave home. But they will have learnt a lot of survival skills, and to argue.. a lot.
There will be a mountain of books.. or mountains of books.. in every single room, including the garage and the bathroom.
There will never be a 'Hush, baby sleeping' sign for any of the kids. They would just learn to sleep inspite of the vibrations of chaos.
Friends would know they could leave the whole world behind them when they enter ours, for they can be what they want to be and then some more. Their kids would wish they were ours. Ours would look horrified at such a wish.
This, and some more, is what i see.
But what I don't see, I suppose, is that I keep thinking you are some one that I want you to be, but you are not that, not yet, and perhaps will never be, for you don't see what I see.
You don't see that constraints are like blankets. You throw them off when the sun shines through. You might like to snuggle under and snooze as long as you like, but eventually, you do throw them off, or should. Even if after, you have to wade through piercing cold to reach your bathrobe.
Tuesday, February 07, 2006
The Sweet Sound Of Bees
Could you love a bee
that buzzed, tickled your ear,
brought tiny legs up to lips,
while amber honey dripped
down your breast?
And if he followed it there
carried it down
to the place where you open
like flowers, clear petals. If wings
grew tongues, and he said
you were enough
the very essence of you
that he could live, grow
in the sweet sugar of your hip.
Would you then turn and walk
away?
Say he is not a man with legs,
speak of spiders or ants
who would deny you both a place.
What if these were not reasons
just something you said,
for the hum had grown so sweet,
you realized an ability to sting.
T. E. Ballard
that buzzed, tickled your ear,
brought tiny legs up to lips,
while amber honey dripped
down your breast?
And if he followed it there
carried it down
to the place where you open
like flowers, clear petals. If wings
grew tongues, and he said
you were enough
the very essence of you
that he could live, grow
in the sweet sugar of your hip.
Would you then turn and walk
away?
Say he is not a man with legs,
speak of spiders or ants
who would deny you both a place.
What if these were not reasons
just something you said,
for the hum had grown so sweet,
you realized an ability to sting.
T. E. Ballard
Friday, February 03, 2006
Wednesday, February 01, 2006
1 to
25 what the fuck am i doings.
The Flu has revisited, and has brought along Fever.
Thankfully, Toothache, after one extended visit, decided I'm not its cup of tea.
Some burdday.
The Flu has revisited, and has brought along Fever.
Thankfully, Toothache, after one extended visit, decided I'm not its cup of tea.
Some burdday.
Tuesday, January 31, 2006
Saturday, January 21, 2006
bleeurh.. The State Of Celibacy
Excrutiatingly long and excrutiatingly dull day.
Shouldn't have broken the self-imposed exile. i was happy during the long christmas break not meeting anyone at all, and just pottering about in my room and kitchen and only meeting davey for christmas and newyear, who doesnt count anywyas. shouldnt have have made a habit of meeting lumberjack every single day after term started, and going out for drinks with the manchunian and the bulgarian. heated up my blood again i think, and re-induced craving for testosterone. especially at wib-wobs, the untiring games of lets cuddle anita, exchanging chaste kisses with ni-tone under guise of enacting funny scenes or illustrating movie scenes or reward for a perfect cup of latte, and georgy-porgy teasing me as being their personal raggedy-ann to be thrown around and giving a back rub everytime my shoulders slump from the weight of work, and big-ed's crushing hugs when too many customers barge in and order blue cheese special, to make him feel better and making me sit on his knee to prove my weightlessness, and of course, the boss's penchant for a floorsliding dance moves and throwing me on the meat table to tickle me to death.
unendurable long day with no testosterone around and my state of celibacy is mortally challenged;
slept till 1, napped from 4 to 6, now sitting in gloomy reading light and typing reams of dull words.
waiting for a phone call, a text, an email, a nod, a nudge to dispel the gloom and give me an excuse to rattle out a laughter, deliver a hmmmm and fill my ears with the warmth of a communique from a different head.
shouldnt let the coldness thaw; thaw, warmth, flood, torrent, disaster. in every sense.
Shouldn't have broken the self-imposed exile. i was happy during the long christmas break not meeting anyone at all, and just pottering about in my room and kitchen and only meeting davey for christmas and newyear, who doesnt count anywyas. shouldnt have have made a habit of meeting lumberjack every single day after term started, and going out for drinks with the manchunian and the bulgarian. heated up my blood again i think, and re-induced craving for testosterone. especially at wib-wobs, the untiring games of lets cuddle anita, exchanging chaste kisses with ni-tone under guise of enacting funny scenes or illustrating movie scenes or reward for a perfect cup of latte, and georgy-porgy teasing me as being their personal raggedy-ann to be thrown around and giving a back rub everytime my shoulders slump from the weight of work, and big-ed's crushing hugs when too many customers barge in and order blue cheese special, to make him feel better and making me sit on his knee to prove my weightlessness, and of course, the boss's penchant for a floorsliding dance moves and throwing me on the meat table to tickle me to death.
unendurable long day with no testosterone around and my state of celibacy is mortally challenged;
slept till 1, napped from 4 to 6, now sitting in gloomy reading light and typing reams of dull words.
waiting for a phone call, a text, an email, a nod, a nudge to dispel the gloom and give me an excuse to rattle out a laughter, deliver a hmmmm and fill my ears with the warmth of a communique from a different head.
shouldnt let the coldness thaw; thaw, warmth, flood, torrent, disaster. in every sense.
words
fierce
unkempt
why don't i ever use these words? they are singularly loverly
this morning's (afternoon's) post awakened phase - bleary.
yyy
unkempt
why don't i ever use these words? they are singularly loverly
this morning's (afternoon's) post awakened phase - bleary.
yyy
Thursday, January 12, 2006
library... here i come...
havent written a word in 4 days.. sheer fear of frustation of efforts... and laziness...
ah... finally can get library access. tired of reading mills and boon and bloody chekov as theres nothing else in the room...
woo... what will i borrow tom..?
chandler.. farewell my lovely.. yes yes yes
hmm...dubliners.. joyce.. for sure
then ill be spontaneous and grab stuff off shelves...
ah.. i have to wait till tomorrow...
and after that.. i just wont have any time to read coz i'd be working like a pig won't i..
grrrr.....
ah... finally can get library access. tired of reading mills and boon and bloody chekov as theres nothing else in the room...
woo... what will i borrow tom..?
chandler.. farewell my lovely.. yes yes yes
hmm...dubliners.. joyce.. for sure
then ill be spontaneous and grab stuff off shelves...
ah.. i have to wait till tomorrow...
and after that.. i just wont have any time to read coz i'd be working like a pig won't i..
grrrr.....
Monday, January 09, 2006
Sunday, January 08, 2006
clinging on to sanity
ok, title is exaggerating.. i've recovered from the 2 agents' in-a-record two hour email rejection. made me realise... they're right.. i'm not happy enough with this stuff, though it has hope... so started writing from another angle right away... goody good. close to 4000 down... sorta comi-tragic (note the inversion) naipaulesque... still floundering to find my distinctive style... which is only good...
also very good is, im sticking with the story... Yep! after a year and four attempts, all diff stories, my fifth one sticks...and unlike in the case of pancakes, sticks is good.
also very good is, im sticking with the story... Yep! after a year and four attempts, all diff stories, my fifth one sticks...and unlike in the case of pancakes, sticks is good.
Friday, December 30, 2005
nabokov
Syncope – loss of sound, consciousness
Oneiric - suggestive of dreams
Chasubles – preist’s robes
Roiled - turbulent
Ineffable – indescribable, overwhelming
Parquet – wooden floor
Linden – tree with fragrant leaves
I shall read Nabakov with help of a dictionary, then my life will be enriched like the post-composted university lawns
Oneiric - suggestive of dreams
Chasubles – preist’s robes
Roiled - turbulent
Ineffable – indescribable, overwhelming
Parquet – wooden floor
Linden – tree with fragrant leaves
I shall read Nabakov with help of a dictionary, then my life will be enriched like the post-composted university lawns
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