Sewn & Silent

So have you taken a box

And hidden me inside of it now

Or have you taken a vow

To always conceal it with a lie?

So have you taken a walk

A walk into a life that isn't mine anymore

So have you made your place

In a place you'd left some time before

And when someone will find the key to the door

Will it still remain unexplored?

Will we be sitting here, in our wasted lands

Counting steps just to walk out of the door

In a dream that left you tainted

Wasn't it pure to you before you left it all with me?

Wasn't it impossible for you, to discard it in a drain?

Now shall I be ashamed of the time?

And will you shamefully walk away?

Time's come in our way,

But we had time to betray

And then we chased each others' thoughts

In our broken lands

And then we killed our hopes

We'll say we lived by the plan, yeah!

Will I see you once more

In the dress you never wore

Or see us in a place we never explored

This isn't the end we know

So we scar ourselves more

In a chance to live another day

We callously walk away.

Now.

Let's sleep in this trance...

It feels like I've stepped in a time machine that is going to take me back to a time and space that I had longed to get away from, that I had successfully stepped out of. But I am pushing myself towards the same place, yet again. It is like entangling myself in a never-ending cycle of events that will just run round and round and finally arrive at nothing. It will go on to destroy everything that it meets, almost ruthlessly, but it won't stop. And this my friend, is at times very scary and at the same time, extremely addictive and irresistible. The energy is so strong that it keeps pulling me towards it, like a magnet, you cannot help but stick to the downfall, to my downfall and I cannot help but slide along, deliberate and conscious, like I always wanted it, always hoped for it as this is where the drama lies. This is the only stage where I shall stand and I shall get my audience and everyone shall be watching and I shall be the star of the show, so I shall be getting all the attention in the world. Things we do to get noticed, things we did as babies so people pay attention, things we do as grown-ups so we don't feel alone. Things we do as human beings so we feel wanted, so we feel important in other person's life, things we do so we can live happily in denial, denial of the facts that we tend to accept and let go off every day. How convenient, how shameful. This trance is so beautiful, that one can only experience out of the lack of proper sleep and listening to the brilliance called deftones!

Cracks

... and that is when we start scarring each other

The two lovers

We walk like two lost lovers

In a dark night

Hand in hand, full of sins

Grasping the moment tightly

Thinking it will make us pure

This life, we keep building

A house of lies, every night

Nail by nail

Filing in the walls, that are ready to break away

Unlike us, but like our promises and words

The slippery minds

Letting us forget the clock and the present

The past just ticks away

In a parallel universe

behind us, ahead of us

The rush of blood,

The love of fear

Let us sustain our peace

At the cost of our lives

Give it up

Give it all up

To gain what we lost

To gain what we gave up

What we once had

Our Sacrifice

It's never good,

When friends alienate.

With no one to trust,

How to discriminate.

They gag your mouth.

They slit your tongue.

They tie your limbs to chair

They tell you to dance.

All you do is scream.

Just scream in your head.

The noise fills your life

It drives you insane.

They get what they want,

They sleep in your head.

A cripple, they say

Is easy to sway.

You cannot be brought down,

So you start a war.

The ego breaks down,

Now let's see you fall.

Shoot in the dark,

The darts pierce your eyes.

When we all act blind,

You can't even cry.

My bitter tongue

Keeps licking your wounds.

So condemn me now

But don't run away.

Let's join our hands

Let's jump into hell

Don't cry for me mother

We never did swell

My Right To Speak

I love job interviews. I'm given a chance to speak my heart out on the favourite topic, me. I am the center of attention. Suddenly, for those few minutes, my life is important to everyone in that room. I feel like a star. Almost a celebrity. I get to spell out my life story in front of a complete stranger, in whose I eyes, I see the curiosity to know more about my life, which shall go away as soon as the interview is over, which shall go away as soon as I am not the "interviewee" anymore and he is not my interviewer. He listens intently as I speak. I have an audience who is more interested in my life than any other shit that goes on in this whole goddamned world at that point of time. It almost makes me feel special. So I go on about my career, discuss my experience with my previous employers, I get a chance to stay lost in my past. An opportunity to talk about a past, whom no one else cares about. Finally, some ears. But at times, the joy is short-lived. It happens when the interviewer realises that my stories just go on and on and he has barely got a chance to speak. Rudely, I'm interupted. "You certainly have lot of stories to tell. But can you..". Then you cut him right there saying, "Ah well, I'm not sure if it's luck, but.. " and you start with another story. That was close!

A Funeral We Celebrated

There they were, sitting in a row. Nicely dressed. All good men filled with hunger. Greed and disgust lay everywhere. As the smell of money filled the room, we all were stooping to our new lows. A pack of hungry wolves, ready to pounce on their prey. Ready to pounce on each other. Ready to steal their neighbour's food. Everyone was hating everyone. Yet everyone talked about love. And all I kept thinking about was, how beautiful it would be, if only I were given the opportunity to blow everyone's head off, one by one. Slice them, chop them neatly into pieces and then burn down the whole goddamned place. What a holy mess I would create. Beautiful.

There is a new discotheque in town

And it's called my room.

One blessed morning, when the sun decided to set on me, a female was invited to our house. Let's call her "The Cunt". She boasted of having Vaastushastra knowledge and decided that our place was filled with negativities. So she decided to take advantage of our Holy Gods and explained us that our home wasn't constructed right. There were some issues with the directions. Hence, there was too much inflow of negative energy from all the directions into our house. But these issues can be made right if we start trapping the positive energy at the right places. This shall help our lives in various ways. As the days passed by, her influence over my family kept on increasing and poor me had to bear the consequences of the situation, as a result. Inevitable? Yes so! Because the first point she made was the Blessed Eddie, beautifully painted on my door reflected a sign of negative energy that has accumulated inside of my head. Absence of Gods in my room, really upset her. The fact that I don't believe in His Holy existence upset her more. She passed her judgement, Eddie needs to be washed away and Gods need to enter my room. I told her I can help her getting to the exit door really fast. She didn't think it was funny. So she decided to take her revenge. She got hold of these positive pyramids from somewhere and implanted them inside of my room, onto the walls. As if she was reading my mind and my intentions, she decided to not use fevicol, like any cheap Indian idiot, but to make use of drills and screws. Thus, six brilliant pyramids got screwed onto my walls and into my life. I swear I saw a smirk on her face, after she left my room with bundle of notes in her hand. Now someday, when I'll have enough money and time to waste, I'll implant a few disco lights inside of these pyramids and dance my heart out to Disco Deewane.

Till then, adios.

Here is Eddie. He eats your guts if you hate him. Adorable.

Will the real terrorists please stand up?

I really wonder what have political parties like Shiv Sena and MNS ever done for betterment of this Maharashtra state and the Marathi-manoos, than spread hatred, violence, disturbance and fear? I cannot remember one single instance where these political parties have been in the news for actually doing something good and constructive. The only reason they appear everywhere and everyday in the newspaper and on the TV is because they are burning buses somewhere IN MAHARASHTRA or are killing and injuring hapless, ignorant and totally innocent people somewhere IN MAHARASHTRA or are breaking offices and smashing some civilians' cars somewhere IN MAHARASHTRA, disrupting traffic somehwere IN MAHARASHTRA or are aiding intolerance, rage and chaos, all IN MAHARASHTRA. I also fail to understand, how these party members, rose from slums to riches. Where did the money come from? Any supporting Marathi-manoos ever cared to question them that? Did they EVER solve any of your civil problems? They follow killing in the name of Shivaji and malign the great man's name and taint and tarnish his holy image every single day and yet the Marathi-manoos sitting behind me shouts out "Shiv Sena Zindabad. MNS Zindabad".

And then I read, terrorists kill two innocent civilians in India somewhere.

this one on how one fucks up everything and then how everything else fucks you up

First you get a project you were really looking forward to work on, where you get to travel, meet new people and work on something that you always wanted to do. You go away and get distracted to the extent that you forget that there was work to be done. Then you come home and are filled with guilt, so you spend three sleepless nights in a row and finish off everything that was pending. Then there are meetings and other formalities to complete with another God. Then you go on to act super-impatient and in haste take up one more new thing that could've easily waited for a month, while you could've organized and settled yourself with the already pending work in hand. But insecurity gets the better of you and you end up, not only setting something that you haven't really done before, but you also undertake two more projects at the same time. Finally, you slog, slog, slog, slog and get everything ready from your end and then comes a gestation period, where all you can do is wait, wait, wait and wait for the delivery date. And then the grand day arrives where the clients have done their part, you have done your part and now the rest of the act depends on the actions of that third-God. The God calls in sick and sigh, again the time stands still and again we are lost in another one of those deep, dark periods of wait. Fuckin' impatience!

Needless Attention

Oh, give me attention,
So I can ignore you
Give me your trust now,
So more I can fuck you
Give me your life, bitch
So I can control you
I wanted to play God
So I went on to own you

Fuck this mindless existence
Love by love, let's kill each other
Oh, I want some pity
Give me that look
And I'll go on to smother
This wastage of a beautiful life,
I waste my time with you

Tie me in chains, so I never move on
And give me another pill to swallow
I can't live no longer on your fuckin' dose
So give me a new life
Or give me a noose

I'm a deluded child,
Squandering time,
Entangled in my life of lies
And this hole of a world, never bothered
To see my rights
So I painted my wrongs in colours of red
And bled your scars to life

Slitting your life from the cliffs of glory
Holding the black flags, high high high
I shouted and screamed, now this is my story
All I want is now, for you to die

Wisdumb

Do not mind the words of the drunk, cause he knows no fear, understands no suffering and feels no pain.

We Make Movies And Then Movies Make Us

Is it weird that I never find a reason good enough to celebrate, and actually feel celebration is a waste of time? I'm still to find anything worth fighting for. I think I had one for sometime, and then I just got bored, gave up. It was pointless. I don't like it when I start depending on anything or anyone. It makes me clingy. I detest clingy people, can't stand the sight of them. Probably cause they are a shadow of me. So I walk away. There is this sexy line in Ronin when De Niro is asked if he's killed anyone and he answers, "No. But I've hurt someone's feelings". Killer! And then I smile at myself and say, what the hell, I'm a bad man, so be it. Almost like the Rabbi from Lucky Number Slevin. "I'm a bad man who doesn't waste time wondering what could've been when I am what could've been and what could not have been. I live on both sides of the fence. My grass is always green." It's strange when I don't feel even one bit proud of anything about my life. People everywhere are proud of so many things, the college they attended, the concert they attended, the country they live in, their culture, their guitar, their family and my attitude goes, "Oh, whatever". Smiles, fun times, laughter, are all fine. But nothing lasts. I go on to attend a fantastic show and come out overwhelmed, seriously awed by the performance, trying to remember and feel the vibrations of the vocal harmonies that took over my numb brain and gave me a high that no fuckin drug in this world can ever give, and then I'm surrounded by a happy and equally awed group, left totally speechless by the same and yet I feel lost, not finding the reason to dance. It's crazy but somehow I'm always reminded of the fact that all good and beautiful things eventually turn ugly. As the wise and not so old Chuck Palahniuk puts it, there is a reason we are not immortal, else we might end up killing each other eventually. Everything finally wilts and dies. Nothing lasts. Two people, however lost they can be at that moment, cannot be in that place for good, except in movies, of course where the fuckin heart goes on and on and on. And yet we celebrate the moment, living the moment as everyone puts it. Finding joy in small things. Getting wasted doesn't make one happy, just numb. And isn't the numbness we are all after anyway? Nothing's real, these achievements and failures, greats and losers, mortals and supermen, Gods and barbarians, all these values and morals, all make-beliefs so we don't end up shooting down each other. But what's the point? We all die, eventually. It's just a mental state. Seriously Walter, what's the point?

It is that word again

It is nice to see people having faith, it makes me at times, believe in life only for a moment maybe, but well, it is just heartening to see someone having a reason to wake up the next morning. After every door gets slammed to your face and after you decide to abandon your family, since they'd abandoned you first, it's not easy to stay away from becoming a cynic and a cold-hearted creature, or so I believe. I have always been an escapist myself and no I'm not ashamed of this fact. It's just how I've been. I tend to find the easier way out and I get out of every other thing that is trying to mess me up, and this may come at whatever cost to me or anyone else, it's just my way of dealing with life. Hence, becoming a cynic and hatred or non-acceptance have come easy to me. I choose to detest everything that makes me uncomfortable, pushing the blame on that something, getting rid of the guilt factor and then rest, or attempt to rest in my dark hole.

And then you meet a person, who might have achieved everything, who might have reached the desired place, but there were always these needless struggles, painful battles, scars for life. And the person still believes in life, looks forward to it, even while a dark cloud gets formed in the background.

Maybe, maybe is a nice word, I just have lost it's meaning.

Path to salvation

Are you frustrated with the world, so bad that you won't give it a second thought to just fuckin' blow it away? Wait! Do not pull out your gun yet. Take a driver's helmet, hit the road, find a crowded place and start bashing up people with your weapon of destruction. What will happen is, the police won't interfere since, you're armed with a deadly fuckin' helmet. So they'll let you be and you can happily go about doing your act until a brave heart steps forward and attacks you. Let him do so. Once people understand that you are surrendering yourself to them, everyone will rush in and vent out their frustration onto you. Even a ten year old won't be afraid of you now. The 25-year old, who'd run away ten minutes back sighting the helmet in your hand, will come back in full force and start hitting you. Thus, you'll finally give everyone peace at your own cost. This is sacrifice. You might even die in the process, but worry not, you have helped today thousands of common men, by being their punching bag of anger, hate and disappointment. At least, for this one day, they'll go home happy and won't shout at their family members. At least for this one day, they won't get lost in some addiction to feel numb, as they won't need another escape.

Since, you've done some public service at your own cost, God the great might just forgive you of all your sins and past mistakes, and you'll be shown into the gates of Heaven. And since I've helped you attain salvation, the ultimate Judge might just forgive me of some of my sins and my chances to enter Heaven, just might have increased.

Bad Leg Day And A Memoir

Had a bad leg day. That means I broke my leg. While I was bowling myself out of nervousness, my head told my body to suddenly jump and jump it did. But since my body wasn't quite ready for it and my mind was still lost in thoughts of my work in progress, my body landed awkwardly on a twisted foot. I screamed for my dearest mommy and my mom said she's busy on a phone call. I screamed to tell her to rush to the living room corner immediately, but she screamed back telling me to stop irritating her. I did not give up and I screamed again. She finally hung up the phone and came to the living room. Seeing me on the floor, rolling in pain, she immediately declared "fracture". I mocked. I was to be proved right. Though in pain, I still went off to slavery serve my client. However, my boss was nice enough to tell me there was no work and I should just run for home before people return from their lunch break. I obediently left for the day within an hour of reaching work. But I did manage to nearly break a coffee mug as I dropped it off on my injured foot, on my way out of office.

On reaching home I was forced to go to the doc and he told my dad, exactly what I wanted to hear, "There is no need to worry, he's perfectly fine. Just take rest for a couple of days." Home again, I was running around happily everywhere. But laziness had already filled me and head has been shouting sleep, well, it's been shouting that for more than a week now, yet I fail to listen. Anyway, important message for all the overly-concerned beings: I am perfectly fine now, thank you very much for your concern. And for the rest not-so-concerned: You know I love you too :)

Of other things, Goa was brilliant. I did not know I possessed the talent of staring at the passing vehicles for an entire afternoon. I loved Goa for numberous reasons. One of the main reasons being, the Goan dogs love me, or at least they don't mind me, not one bit. Even in the drunken-most of conditions, I wasn't barked at. In fact, I actually went on to pat a stray and he happily kept following us everywhere and I did not mind one bit! I remember, a lifetime ago, when a stray was following me and this dog-loving friend of mine at Churchgate, I was petrified at the thought of a stray accompanying us and yet I was being told, "Oh ho! Poor dog looks so scared. Look at his tail, it's between his legs, shows he is scared." Trust me my friend, I was more scared! Anyway, Goa was freedom. Drinking on the streets, with passers-by shouting cheers! Where else do you get that? I was never in my life, asked if I wanted a "pussy" so openly, by a stranger. Beaches were nice. They were practically empty, except for a couple of a tourists here and there. Driving for sixteen hours, laughing at a helpless idiot stuck in swamp, Patrick's human side and serious wisdom, getting drunk at 10am, sitting on the rocks and staring at the sea undisturbed for a good three hours and not having a single thought to worry me, going to a helipad to help a friend learn to drive, I'm not going to easily forget that I was free, even if it was just for four days.

tears baby, tears

Sadness decends upon the proper earth as my guitar strings break and the club I supported for the evening lose out to the over-rated, much-hailed red-coloured-cheats. Darkness fills the night, not only cause it's 9.30pm, but also 'cause the busy boy hasn't got a single e-mail since 4pm.

No, trust me, it's driving me insane. Usually, I'm so much in demand, I am the guy who gets an e-mail every two minutes during the daytime [including spam, but who cares], and I'm the guy who wakes up to a minimum of ten unread email messages and mind you that's a minimum number ten for you. It's been 4 days and counting, I've just received about ten emails. What has happened? Why this sudden quietness? Has the world forgotten me? I am feeling fuckin' abandoned here! What in the name of Holy Satan have I done to deserve this? Comics.com and Getafreelancer.com were the only two regulars who mailed me to ask me if I was doing fine, rest of the websites, they've just acted as if they don't care. Why? Have they erased me from their mail-list? Should I re-subscribe or will that seem too desperate a move and will attract un-needed attention?

Insecurity is filling me, to the point of agony. Sigh! Don't abandon me internet, cause I need you? Can you feel my tears, can you feel my fuckin' pain? Can you feel it, baby? Can you see me bleeding? I even went on to check my spam folders and surprise hit me like a kick on my nuts, NO SPAM! SONOFADOG! No one's selling me viagra anymore? No one's selling me a seat to some MBA course? No more "Enlarge your penis" ads? Don't they no longer think I'm worth it? Am I really losing my audience? Is this damnation? I thought I was important, I thought I was something, I believed them when they said "Devil is within you, all you need to do is find Him in you" and I did, or at least I thought I did. I hailed Him, I praised Him, and yet, and yet, just ten emails in four days.

...and we let it slip away

It's funny how we keep drowning in our self-created miseries, day after day. The world which we once held on to, how it keeps on slipping away, well, how we let it slip away and then we scream for help and we keep screaming...



... while we keep on drowning!

The Self-pity Song

All these feelings get you nowhere.
All these emotions take you nowhere.
Make me mechanical, Oh god,
Automatic, self-destructible.
One shot! Bam! Bam!
Bullet, help me travel as straight as you,
In a singular direction, with no deviation.
Kill all these distractions,
The things I can never get.
But I want and I want and I want
More out of this life of imperfection,
All I feel is deprivation
Of life, as good as inexistence.
My breath, I feel asphyxiation.
As my dreams, my love, my life, they all have come to kill me.
I preach renunciation, yet I act so dependent.
I hate me so much and I hate what I am.
I'm a shadow of my yesterdays
With a glimpe of a dead man,
I never intended to be.
So cure me of this disease called me,
Or help me die in peace cause I can't bear
What I see when I look in the mirror
It shows me a face that I want to so destroy.

I am fuckin' polite

The very first question A asks me, when I meet him at the office gate is, "Hey, how are you? How is everything?" Now, I barely know A, and our longest chat had lasted for 38 long seconds, if not less. I have no interest in discussing anything with him and I am pretty sure it's vice versa. Yet the question "How is life", as if expecting me to be completely frank about my state. Now, I know it's nice of him to ask me this question, but keep it for once-in-a-while-Hi-replacement, he can use a simple "Hello" for everyday usage. But no, it has to be "How is everything?" I know he expects my standard reply to be, "All good, you tell me" but on some days, I swear I feel like telling him, "Dude, I've been lying to you all this while. I am not good. I've never been good. My life is so fucked up, you know..." And knowing very well, how busy A always is, I would love to go on and on and on and on and on, about my sad, fucked up life and crib in his ears upto no end. Then I'll go and ask "how is everything" to him, the first thing next day. But then, I am really trying hard to be a nice guy, well, at least on the face of it.

On other news, I hate to declare the sad truth of life. It takes minimum 9 minutes to make decent two-minute Maggi. Yes, they kept lying to us over all these years. They never included the time taken to search for the scissors to cut open the packet of Maggi and the masala, the time taken for the process of cleaning a utensil and filling it with water and the time taken to serve the same in a plate. I wonder how we ever believed them in first place!

Try...

... reading Sandman with Explosions In The Sky playing in the background. Bliss.

Travesty

It was just another day in life of Makhrand; get up at 7am sharp, clean yourself, rush and run, catch the 8.15am local train to work, reach the station, wait for the bus, push, shove, ticket, “Sir, make yourself comfortable. I do not mind standing”, get down, daily chai and a smoke, lift to the fifth floor, swipe swipe, “Hello, Meena”, lights on, computer power-on, run to washroom, fresh water on face, get back to the seat, type the password, open the browser and we are working in five, four, three, two, one...

It doesn't bother him that a certain politician was killed today, right outside his building. It isn't going to change his life in anyway, well, particularly. The fact that his neighbour is going to get a few thousand rupees to keep shut about the killing doesn't bring about a change in his lifestyle. He works on.

His job matters, the twenty-thousand rupees getting deposited by the end of the month matter, everything else is God's business. Family matters, giving away twelve thousand rupees to his father at the end of the month, so he can run away to his village and waste away his son's hard-earned money in alcohol and gambling habits - matters, a new lady co-worker joining the work place matters, “I am still unmarried” matters, getting employee-of-the-year award matters, getting shouted at for not completing the day's tasks matters, sitting for fourteen hours without proper food matters, having a smoke after a tiring day at work matters, catching the 11.30 pm train to home matters.

******
Alpesh wasn't the fittest of people in the world now, with his thrombocytopenia. A good looking, smart kid, with fifty-million friends to choose from, jazzy shades, rich boots and leather jackets, he is what movie-stars are made of. But what has that got to do with being rich? What has anything got to do with being son of a doting, powerful father, who only had cars and parties to offer to his two children? Seema was happy with her husband in the UK, while the much younger sibling, Alpesh was working his way in a corporate.

Ring, ring! Alarm clock. Get up at 9. Welcome sunshine, juice, wash, breakfast, “Bye, mum”, car, cruise, honk-honk, park, lift, swipe swipe, “Morning, Meena”, “Hey” and “Hi”, “Hey Makhrand”, password, log-in, mail, chat, phone, “Reached work, mum”, work, eat, break, work, break, work, 6.30pm, swipe-swipe, lift, car, girlfriend, muah-muah, car, home, eat, friends, beer, home, sleep is life.

Reaching work doesn't matter, the twenty-six thousand five hundred, that get deposited in the bank by the month end, don't matter, a pretty lady colleague at work, well, matters, “I have a girlfriend” matters, flamboyant lifestyle matters, Makhrand is my best bud at work, matters, Makhrand is over-worked, doesn't matter, Makhrand is my boss and yet highly underpaid, doesn't matter, finishing my day's tasks matters, a politician was killed outside Makhrand's place, doesn't matter. Life is a day's worth of living, everyone else thinking otherwise is an idiot.

An Ode To Beer

Last night I was up till three am
Headbanging in my room to In Flames
I banged my sleepless eye against my knee
There was blood everywhere
I need my beer to fall asleep
Oh beer
Don't you leave me alone.
Oh beer
How I love to carry you home.

After working out in gym for three hours
I felt like testing my superman powers
I put on some porn and enjoyed two hours
But without a beer I'm up till wee hours
Oh beer
You accept me as I am
Oh beer
Never try to turn me into another man

You never ask me with whom I've been
Was it a bottle of vodka, or just some feminine gin
You're the only cure to all my aches, yeah!
One beer a day will keep the doc away!

Oh beer
My unconditional love
Oh beer
It's only you I think of
Oh beer
My love so true
Oh beer
Don't you love me too
Oh beer

Stop Messing With Me!

Sunday, Lazy Sunday

Inspired by Ms. Divya, I decided to paint my wall. I clicked the picture and mailed it to a few people. Then posted it on facebook, DA, everywhere. Hell, I was so proud of it. Here, I post it again.Now, Anarchy and Punk, both the philosophies are pretty much anti-perfection and anti-order, anti-discipline, anti-shit, anti-shat. But I admire them nonetheless. Well, I also thought I represented both these cultures to quite an extent, until, on close inspection of the photograph, I realised there were a few mistakes in the Anarchy symbol. So I went ahead to perfect the symbol of imperfection.

After everything seemed decently complete, I, somehow had the urge to dip the brush in the colours again and paint a few random strokes around the symbol. Realising my stupidity, I should've stopped there. But I went on to add to this by committing a wall-breaking act. I added some water, just for kicks, to the paint brush and I moved the brush over wet paint. I have no clue what I was thinking, or if I was at all thinking. It wasn't long before I crashed to the floor holding my head in my hands in dismay. The paint had started flowing down the wall and the symbol was now looking like a spit on the wall. I calmed myself down for two minutes, and I really should've waited more but impatience is my best friend. I started correcting the spoilt areas with some white paint. The exisitng paint being still wet, the white paint started flowing along with the water, while it also mixed with the existing red paint, bringing out a bright pink. About two years back, I would've killed myself over this. But sanity restored somehow and I waited for the paint to dry now before doing any further damage to the wall or myself. Finally, I altered the anarchy smybol a bit and applied white paint over the dried drips. The output now looks alright but I still do not have the courage to take a second look at the wall.

Moral of the story: Stop aiming for perfection. Accept nothing is and nothing can ever be perfect. Stop trying to correct things. You'll only end up making them worse.

Of other stories, I think it's my duty to impart some wisdom to the young idiots out there: Do not go to a movie drunk on beer. You tend to fall asleep and your angry friends slap you awake as you disturb them with your loud snoring in the middle of a steamy scene on the screen.

That's it for now. Till next time, adios motherfuckers!

Updated pic:

And I Wonder...

Imagine sitting in a quiet empty cubicle at work, where you are lost in your deep thoughts, with your index finger up your nostril, focused on digging your nose, deep down in, in order to locate that irritating speck of dried mucus that has been on your mind since the time your nieghbour had said, “I am leaving for lunch” and you had immediately got to working that irritation out; and just when the finger is deeply lost in your nose and you have reached your moment of glory, your mucus of destination, you find this attractive colleague, whom you've always fantasized spending endless nights with, walking to your cubicle, eager to share some good news with you. Looking at her walk, you are sure that she is happy and excited. So it has to be some good news. You knew this even before she had completed the act of opening the cabin door. Yes, you have always studied her so intently, so someday, perhaps, she finds it really sweet that you understand her so well and she brings your fantasy to life, your real-life porn star, your saviour, your colleague. But right then, you start fingering your nostril vigourously so you get rid of that shitty mucus and right then it occurs to you that your entrie life has been like that, except you being the finger, who has been searching for his path to glory, the path to ultimate peace and freedom, inside a deep dark hole, all alone and when you've finally found it, and just when you are reaching for that special thing, just like your fingertips have now, you have to stop and withdraw yourself, like you withdraw your finger and neatly place it on a clean handkerchief so you are ready to indulge in a handshake with that beautiful approaching lady colleague. But your moment of peace will have to wait, as more troubles crowd your mind when the lady colleague absolutely ignores you, bypasses you to greet the guy in the next cubicle with an exaggerated hug or even worse, when she approaches you but takes back her hand almost as instantaneously as she had brought it forward, ready for you to hold and give you that one tiny moment of almost sexual gratification, in dismay after she has seen you performing the act of disgust. The words she speaks are then, some jumbled syllables' group hitting your ears, which are completely meaningless and all you can think of is, “Did she see me digging my nose and if she did, is that why she isn't shaking hands with me and if she isn't shaking hands with me now, will she ever shake her hands with me”, or an even worse thought occurs, “if she did not see me digging my nose, why did she withdraw her hand. Does she consider me so disgusting or is it that she saw me doing something even more disgusting with my hands than my fingers sticking up my nose and now I'll be forever deprived of taking her hand in my hand, even for that brief second.” And as soon as you are over with these horrible chain of thoughts, she has completed telling her good news and has been waiting for your reaction, which comes in a bit late and sounds even more lame, “Ah good! Congratulations” especially, when there was no need to add a congratulations at the end of the sentence, as she questions with intense curiosity, “Thanks. But why are you congratulating me? Are you being sarcastic?” And then it happens, the sudden loss for words and the glorified stupidity radiating from your face, so loud, that it feels like this is your real face and what you wear everyday is just a mask or some make-up. But life moves on and so does the goddess. Resigning to your fate, you return to your world, and then back to your chair, you look around to confirm you are still hidden from any other prying eyes and get back to digging out some relief. But just when your fingertip finds it's way, back to the mucus of relief, in comes your neighbour, walking in with your boss, ready to shake your hand. Here, the process is thankfully less complicated. Out comes the finger, out comes the handkerchief, cleans the dirt, handkerchief then goes into the pocket and you are all set to shake hands with your mucus for life. You are least bothered if anyone has now seen you picking your nose. Unfortunately, relief will need to wait.

Fear Of The Bark

I am the man who walks alone
And when I'm walking a dark road
At night or strolling through the park

[A soft bark keeps playing in the background]

When the light begins to change
I sometimes feel a little strange
A little anxious of that bark

Fear of the bark, fear of the bark
I have a constant fear that someone's barking there
Fear of the bark, fear of the bark
I have a phobia that some someone's smelling me

Have you rode your bikes on that road
And have you felt your hands go cold
When you're reaching for the brakes?
Sometimes when you're scared to take a look
At the back of your right foot
You've sensed that someone's smelling you

Have you ever walked alone at night
Thought you heard a bark behind
And turned around and a dog is there
And as you quicken up your pace
You find it hard to look again
Because you're sure there're two more there

Fear of the bark, fear of the bark
I have a constant fear the dogs are barking there
Fear of the bark, fear of the bark
I have a phobia that dogs are chasing me

[A heavy distorting barking solo]

Watching flight 666 an hour before
You've had a beer and some more
The unknown canines on your mind
That sleeping dog is playing tricks
You sense, and suddenly eyes fix
On chasing shadows from behind

Fear of the bark, fear of the bark
I have a constant fear that someone's barking there
Fear of the bark, fear of the bark
I have a phobia that someone's smelling me
Fear of the bark, fear of the bark
I have a constant fear that dogs are always near
Fear of the bark, fear of the bark
I have a phobia that dogs are chasing me

When I'm walking a dark road
I am a man who walks alone

Original lyrics for reference here.

[Twisted] Perception

Looking at the world around it really makes me wonder at the amount of selfishness it’s filled with. There is nothing wrong with it, as long as it doesn’t quite hurt the other beings around you, but being in a society that really can’t happen. Our actions will always, be it our choice or not, affect someone else in a way [good or bad is a matter of perception].

Look at human beings producing children. First of all they are not happy with their lives. They want more and more and more and more. You give them everything and then, in the name of evolution and progress, they stay insatiable, attached to everything they don’t own, but only perceive as theirs. The most ridiculous thing that human beings get attached to is another human being, who is the most volatile substance on this earth.

Human beings are obsessed with playing God and controlling everything around them. We are power hungry, greedy animals, with no respect for another. We say we do respect and we love someone else. That’s one of the biggest of lies we tend to believe in. No one can dare love a person who loathes you, disrespects you. Why? Cause we are selfish. We want to own a certain person so we can mutate him into a being we want. We like to play around with him and make him one of our creations. We want to be God. In fact, love is the biggest hoax this world has created. Don’t get me wrong, love is an excellent marketing tool, look around you. Love sells. Entertainment sector is selling love in hordes and we are buying it. Shops are selling love in cards and we are paying for it baby! Love, the term, I guess was creation of a genius. A gold mine that it is, you can sell anything in the name of love.

Look at these stupid kids falling in love every second day or choosing their “the ones” for lifetime. “I need a companion” they say,” A boyfriend, a girlfriend, a friend, my future family, my current family, my substitute family, so I don’t die alone, so I don’t breathe alone.” It’s a fashion statement which we all like to wear. I own have a boyfriend or a girlfriend. “You need to have one, cause everyone around you has one, hell, who wants to end up all alone”, you say, “you need a companion to share your life with”. Sorry, but statements like these make me cough my guts out.

Then there are families. Marriage or committed relationship of its kind is another way to keep your boyfriend or girlfriend for yourself. Is this an enforced trust or just a mere license to sex? Given a choice, every human being would love to have multiple companions, multiple people he or she can sleep with. Many will accept this fact, some won’t. I call them idiots and escapists; escapists because, they can’t even be true to themselves. They don’t have the courage to accept that their so-called wrong thoughts are not even one bit wrong or unethical and just plain animal psyche-driven. But marriage is a special bond or prison which shall restrain you from sleeping around with another companion [or such are the conditions of it]. Commitment is another word they designed to justify their “Godship”. After a few days, years or months of marriage, the oh-so-selfless human beings produce children to bring further happiness to their lives. Don’t get me wrong, children are a bundle of joy and I myself enjoy spending time with kids, but it still doesn’t justify my “right” to bring another life to this earth. No purpose, no meaning. “To keep this human race alive”, some say. I really wonder how many people are making children out there for the sake of humanity. If I had the balls to do so, I’d blow this human race away and end everyone’s miseries all at once. But again, I am no God to choose over your life and your right to live. So I should just mind my own business, I guess.

I’d really like to question families on why they go on to make babies, and most of them might voice, “Support for when we grow old and feeble”. So, you take care and nourish your baby, give him or her good education, so that one day he or she becomes rich and becomes your staff. You have the power to bring life to this earth. But do you really have the power then, to own this life you give birth to? For all you know, your assumptions can come crashing down all at once if the kid dies at your young age, or his young age and you are in “need” of him or her, or if he just runs away on you, or worse, he throws you off the cliff to fetch a staff for yourself. Now that would be funny, your own creation telling you to get the hell out of his life. Your chances of playing God gone for a toss. No control, no power, life of a pauper?

Need? Seriously, do we ever need anyone, at all? Can’t we just be self-sufficient and satisfied?

Then there are other idiots who claim that children are a symbol of their love. Is it a proof that they had lots of sex while they were still potent? Or is it again the fear of the unknown gripping them and so they make kids so they can still feel the existence of themselves surviving on this earth after they are long gone. Everyone is afraid of death. Nothing to be ashamed of here, life after death is completely unknown and only theories can be constructed to know what happens after. I call that fair. If you look at our lives, it’s just lived on these theories, these vague ideas. Our lives are never defined, never structured really. We are brought here blank and naked. Then we are dressed to meet the needs of the society and are given the power to think. We are even made to believe that we have a choice. Then we start “knowing” things around us. We start gaining intelligence, become “enlightened” and knowledgeable. I say, we become more and more stupid as we grow old and “wise”. We fill our heads with ideas and perceptions. We never know what life is about really, but just take an idea and live with it the whole life. It keeps mutilating no doubt, but one idea only is replaced by another. This defines our course of life. Just an idea, just a thought, and nothing more is our destiny. So, while we are walking our course and while we are breathing that air, we are aware of our surroundings. But we are not aware of a world beyond this life. This life is a prison with no windows. A heavily guarded, thick walled prison, from where death is the only escape. But we get too accustomed to the idea of life eventually, we get immune by all the good and bad, all the acceptable and unacceptable around us and then we become a part of this prison. We do not then want to go out of here as we do not then have an idea of the world outside the same. We do not then have an idea of a life beyond this prison. We are dying in our lives, drowning, falling, succumbing helplessly, sometimes happily, but definitely timidly, as we choose to rather suffer with someone like us, than with some unknown, unseen [or maybe forgotten] entity. Hence, life is chosen over death and we fear looking beyond. Therefore, create children, so we have a symbol of ourselves alive on this earth, while we are sailing on some other planet. We think we have become immortal by giving life. We think we have created life and hence we are also God. We think we know, but all we have is an idea and thoughts. All this illusion of a world is our creation, so fragile that one whisper of a breath can blow it to bits. Children are our insurance, our security blankets that make us believe, we shall survive on this earth even after our time is done.

There are quite a few couples who make children for business purpose, so they can lead a helping hand to the family business. I respect such couples. They are at least honest about their selfish attitudes. They have the courage to accept that they are creating life to serve them and don’t feed the world other deceptive ideas.

I can just reach to this conclusion from all this. World is selfish, every form of life is selfish, etching its survival at the cost of every other living form. The only person we can love is our own stupid self. The only reason we love our self is because we are afraid to die. The only reason we fear death is because we are accustomed to this prison of a life. If only we dare to step beyond and open up, accept death, will we lose this fear, this selfishness, this curse.

****** ****** ****** ****** ******

“Even Gods are mortal. They die with their followers” - Neil Gaiman

...

Why do fireflies have to die so soon?

...

It's a beautiful day, apart from the fact that we both died today.