Product Benefit

Walked in through that door
Feeling vague
Its one term that could be the middle name
Trash all around
Along with the scattered brain,mind and heart

One part of the deal is a blank sheet
The other jumbled
Normal,it looks from a distance
Detached it feels from within
And starts the 3 month trial period

Is it convenience or has it gone numb
or is it one of those things called
This too shall pass
In the city of dreams
Wanna be in love
With r for roger
And in here, forever
(If there is one)

Yet Again over juvenile discrepencies

For Judas and the mood she is in :)
By the Selfish Giant


Love on the rocks
Ain't no surprise
Pour me a drink
And I'll tell you some lies
Got nothing to lose
So you just sing the blues all the time

Gave you my heart
Gave you my soul
You left me alone here
With nothing to hold
Yesterday's gone
Now all I want is a smile

First, they say they want you
How they really need you
Suddenly you find you're out there
Walking in the storm
When they know they have you
Then they really have you
Nothing you can do or say
You've got to leave, just get away
We all know the song

You need what you need
You can say what you want
Not much you can do
When the feeling is gone
May be blue skies above
But it's cold when you're love's on the rocks

First, they say they want you
How they really need you
Suddenly you find you're out there
Walking in the storm
When they know they have you
Then they really have you
Nothing you can do or say
You've got to leave, just get away
We all know the song

Love on the rocks
Ain't no surprise
Pour me a drink
And I'll tell you some lies
Yesterday's gone
And now all I want is a smile

Martini

Tiny small olives
Three,actually one of three
Two sleepless nights
One edgy couple
Thin crust pizzas

And this is just the prelude

The alcohol is hand made
But not the wit
The paws on the neck are too on the face
So is the bling of "I play car race"

Eyes drowning in sleep
But not the mind
Text-pectations to be set or surprise has a better shock value
Is not really the question

The question is
what was I talking about again?
Oh yes,
Three,Tiny small olives
Three? Actually one of three

Means Everything

It doesnt mean a thing
Highly over-rated
And picking up pieces is not met under deadlines,not even without deadlines
Television makes no sense,nor does meat
Not even cigarettes....
I think I am suffering from caffeine and alien deficiency
I need to be abducted by aliens or meet Captain Hook or exchange lives with Peter Pan
But Peter Pan is stubborn and he hates grown ups, so maybe he will understand.
And together we will banish Captain Hook and I will keep his red hat and the tool box.
I need to dirty my hands with turpentine and lightners, but the black buck needs to fly in before that.

Of Cowards and Emotional Gibber.....

Something that was left as a draft way back in 2009...left it like tht,couldn't remember state of affairs,though the state hasn't changed too much,except that I am writing :)

Whenever someone asks me what I think he should do with his life, I always say, First, leave home. Get out there, where if you care to listen, you will find many other people dreaming of making connections and changing the world, just like you. The only mistake is in thinking that you will make an important difference in the lives of the people you're among. The profound difference will be in you.

I read this and it seemed the question I was pondering with is headed somewhere.
I try and do care to listen, I don't have a home for a while now, and after I thought I knew a little about who and what I am,they said intensity was a problem,emotions are a problem,and to top it all,the buck has turned to me.
I don't care about losing anything anymore, atleast conceptually.
I need to think more, a lot more than I do, and yes get so deep into the thought that I can't find myself anymore.

The sky last night was way too dark. The bright stars also seemed afraid to shine,but it still wanted to be seen,wanted to be somebody....
Sometimes I can scream my lungs at pretentions,but then as I take that one step back and think, I feel like a coward.
I want to do what I want to do. I mean go bagpack,hike across continents,live anywhere,love everything.....not think about money.
But the rebel seems to be dying a death,quicker than I thought and I feel perturbed that I have not explored enough. I do not have the guts to do so.
Read madly,watch rentlessly,create a cinema paradiso everytime with anything around.
I don't want this state of existence, where measurement is a way of life.....
Saw Kate,she inspired me.
Theres so much to do and I am not doing it....blaming it on things that I despise.
Just being an escapist.

My Speech over the Kings Speech

So this was intended to be the review of the two films that I saw back to back yesterday ie Sunday however, a lot more has happened in between for this to be only the reviews. And it scares me that to get back to the discipline to write reviews I would need dedicated time...by the way found a new inspiration,a friend,named Uddhav Ghosh...his zeal was something to look upto. I don't know why I am not consistent about things.

Anyways so The Kings speech...hero of the film Geoffrey Rush...and it tells me have to have to watch Mad Men,yes that doesn't take away the great performance of Colin Firth, specially in the crass brit humour and sense of disgust when he initially meets Lionel, or thinks about giving speeches and most definitely in the final speech to the nation when its out to go for a war, but must say all said the writer of the film,actually the screenwriter did a great job....some of the lines that stayed on -

Lionel Logue: Do you know any jokes?
King George VI: ...Timing isn't my strong suit.

Queen Elizabeth: [Using the name "Mrs. Johnson"] My husband's work involves a great deal of public speaking.
Lionel Logue: Then he should change jobs.
Queen Elizabeth: He can't.
Lionel Logue: What is he, an indentured servant?
Queen Elizabeth: Something like that.

King George VI: In this grave hour fuck fuck fuck perhaps the most fateful in our history bugger shit shit.
[singing]
King George VI: I send to every household of my p-p-peoples... The letter'P' is always difficult.

The storytelling is classic. Getting into technicalities,it was classic editing,cinematography, the art direction takes the trophy away along with lighting....and the Tim Burton-ish touch Helena Carter brings in....the slight quirk of a so called conservative dutchess of England. But the best part is the humane bit of the stiff uplipped brit shit....the rhythm of the curse...the fucks,the shits.

There was more but need a calmer mind to write it....and ofcourse not keep drafts for months. The date at the end of the post must say when I started it
And then there was No Strings Attached... Rom-Coms make me go weak in the knees,yes it does. But as the film it was nothing extraordinary except for performance of Lucy,Lake Bell,I liked the character, of a director and different as a woman, a pyscho perfectionist. I loved the script,some smart one liners and tons of mush at times, to an extent you wanna go aawwwhh. But somehow the lead pair's (Aston Kutcher and Natalia Portman) talent hasnt been exploited well.
As far as the story goes,the problem is that it reinforces my belief that 'friends with benefits' deal always leaves someone hurt; the joy was to see how all this lust did make so called not emotionally vulnerable people fall in love.

I came back home happy, with both the films,cinematic-ally quenched and thoroughly entertained.

April 3rd 2011

I dunno How it sounds,but I know How it feels

To and From the Selfish Giant
With SOMETHING called love n hate,like n dislike,milds n goldflake lights,rain n moon, cigarettes and caffeine

You ask me if I love you
And I choke on my reply
I d'rather hurt you honestly
Than mislead you with a lie
And who m I to judge you
On what you say or do
I am only beginning to see the real you

And sometimes when we touch
The honesty is too much
And I have to close my eyes and hide
I wanna hold you til I die
Till we both break down and die
I wanna hold you till the fear in me subsides

Romance and all its strategy
Leaves me battling with my pride
But through the insecurity
Some tenderness survives
I m just another writer
Still trapped within my truth
A hesitant prize fighter
Still trapped within my youth

And sometimes when we touch
The honesty is too much
And I have to close my eyes and hide
I wanna hold you til I die
Till we both break down and die
I wanna hold you till the fear in me subsides

The Tragic Hero

Why the Tragic hero suddenly? It’s been in my head for a while but haven’t been able to nail down why is it moving me to write. Anyways, the scope arose when a fellow human, with whom I played alter ego sometime in life, brought this up.
His take was how the Greek civilization defined things in life for us. And one of the most amazing of them is the tragic hero. And the evening was spent talking about traits of the tragic hero and contextualizing the aspect of the character in our lives.

I went back to basics, before the Greek, my tragic heroes emerged from English Literature, the one and only Shakespeare. Hamlet rules the roost and each of his plays have the main characters that are tragic heroes or have elements of the character. The quest however is to unearth how so called mundane characters like me and the alter ego and a few people I know are modern day tragic heroes. (And here I would want to keep away from the gender aspect of it).

The typical traits of a tragic hero – from some ref when I googled it
1) Goodness, (2) appropriateness, (3) likeness, and (4) consistency. Moreover, (5) though the tragic hero intends good, (6) because of his or her tragic flaw, (7) he or she experiences a reversal of fortune, (8) which leads to his or her downfall, (9) an experience that causes him or her to have some kind of enlightenment, or to gain some kind of new wisdom or self-knowledge. And overall, (10) the experiences and suffering of the tragic hero are cathartic for the audience.

So when I am analyzing the modern day tragic hero, though one would like to romanticize about it, but gone are the days when we could be selfless, for the larger objective, well being of an empire, a race, or of loved ones. All of this hardly would be reasons to navigate the modern hero’s tragic flaw.
The tragic flaw is often rationalized in the minds of modern day tragic hero. But the catharsis leads to self pity. And that often comes out to be epitome of realization. They say tragic heroes are faced with serious decision, in retrospect personally the decision and dilemma is self inflicted. At the same time one would also realize that for some people the everlasting dilemma is a way of life. If that gets lost the quest seems to have gotten lost. Some struggle is necessary for tragic heroes!

Unlike the classic tragic hero, such as Odysseus from Homer's The Odyssey, the modern tragic hero is usually an ordinary man who possesses qualities that elevates him above the ordinary masses as he fights courageously against the overwhelming odds of the society. Accordingly, Atticus Finch, of Harper Lee’s work of To Kill a Mockingbird, are examples of such tragic heroes.

Today I was being the tragic hero when I was trying to conclude on the debate of Harry Potter being the tragic hero or would it be Snape. The checklist had its own set of answers of how the characters are set for the novels to develop a certain feel and storyline, however Harry was not a tragic hero, he was trapped in circumstances and then emerged a hero, almost every time in Hogwarts however Snape was the real tragic hero, not because the catharsis hits him at the end but how he for the intent, reverses his own fortune and for the larger good of lives of promises of tomorrow, and that takes his life. So is Jack Dawson from Titanic, his giving away of his life was for his love, a fit to the t example, his struggle wasn’t that intense however.

And now my most favorite, The Dark Knight. The Dark Knight is, structurally speaking, a dramatically different sort of story. It's not simply that the characters themselves are more complex. Christopher Nolan goes deeper and brings out the stark difference, the nature of the conflict itself. Now, at the beginning of the film, Batman is all out to get Harvey Dent, as a DA, and accomplish what Batman cannot—to ultimately reconcile justice and law in Gotham City. If this could be made possible then Bruce Wayne could stop being Batman. The relationship therefore is something Wayne clearly wants, that clarifies his intent—he thinks if he is able to give up Batman, he 'gets the girl', a "normal life". When Rachel dies, Bruce loses everything, the woman he loves and his hope for Gotham. When Dent becomes Two-Face, he gives up both justice and law for the sake of revenge. Thus the reversal of fortune. Thus the way Batman begins as a superhero, in Dark Knight the way it ends, Batman is no longer a symbol of hope. Inspector Gordon's statement that "The Joker won" has a double meaning. Batman takes the blame because he wants the reconciliation of justice and law, hope, and he realizes that Batman cannot be that hope. Batman operates outside of the law for the sake of justice, but at the same time needs the law to avoid being out for revenge. In this way, Batman's task is shown to be an impossible one. Batman must fight but can never win. He is thus a tragic hero, a "dark knight" as rightly as the film is names.

As far as people in reality are concerned and they exist in flesh and blood Many characters of National Geographic Channels celebrated tv show Jailed Abroad have been tragic heroes and oofh what heroes! Revolutions have had the ability to create modern day tragic hero, right from unsung heroes of wars remembered in history to modern day struggles of arms movement and the politics around it.
A thinking individual who questions his situation, society, environment and falls into its complex mesh of weird calculations, sometimes succeeds in providing solutions or atleast attempts to fight it are modern day tragic heroes, lets says a Martha Stewart or a Michael Vick or right at home our soldiers who fought several battles at the LOC, though as I write here I feel the lines are blurring between a tragic hero and a martyr.

Coming down to what prompted me to write this was to draw references of real life characters. I think we all become tragic heroes, sometime or the other however some of us naturally have the tragic flaw, and some since they have been educated to the phenomenon of philosophy and literature grab their attempt of self pity as being the tragic hero and the victim of all wrongs, right from time to sex to drunken driving to sheer stupid behavior or social conduct. They are friends so beyond a point the crudest thing one does is abandon them.

But ya Hamlet still stirs my heart and The Dark Knight kisses the soul. The Tragic hero is kinda romantic

DABBA aka Box

There is something about audio visual,says the cynic,but the currently unemployed,going through second phase of puberty,dying to scream,approaching 30 cynic in me says life is in audio visual, and guess what, my faith was restored,when I saw this life called Stanley ka Dabba.
So basically on a lazy Saturday with the perfect partner in crime n correct intent I went for the film.
But what followed is sheer joy

If one was carrying the baggage of Taare Zameen Par...nope leave it behind.
Currently I am trying to figure how to draw this out...I mean the story,the performances or what.
Ok lemme go the age old way of starting decoding the title. Stanley as understood is the protagonist of the film. Dabba aka the box is the

Grrrr...Angrryyy

Grrrr
Angry I am feeling now....maybe self pity but whatever....
There are people who whine all the time over a lot of things,why cant someone hear sometimes thats its also their job to fucking hold on to somethings, if you cant handle pressure why is it fucking email and escalate....seriously it suck, its not freaking trickle dwn effect for everything,really man it sucks!

There are people who walk in and out whenever they want to, I also want to do the same,I also want to chill during sometime,atleast when its notice period, I want to do some shanti wala edits etc!
Mereko sunneko milta hai...dude thats nt for u to sunao me....


M damn irritated!

Wishlist

So whts been happening....kickass stuff....something like I am braindead! to the core.
I feel like running to mother and hiding in her stomach
The world amuses me, maybe everything else also does....but I miss the humor, I only get a state-of-art kinda feeling these days and often oblivious to it.

I saw this lil pup the other day,in the morning all dusty and ruffled.
In the evening on my way back he was still there, in aftershower look and playing in the puddle.
But the irony is it wasnt dirtying itself to make something out of it, it was just happy playing in the mud n dirt. Why cant we have lives like that.

Currently my wish list includes -
1. Get the fuck outa hre
2. Backpack to Pondi or Northeast
3. Learn Pottery and Power Yoga
4. Sleep, and Laze
5. Watch Films
6. Write
7. Walk on the beach with Sam
8. Get pampered at Home
9. Procrastinate some life changing events
10. Start on my mixed media project
11. Have a magic wand to read a few peoples mind
12. Stop Whining and feeling the need for it
13. Fall in love with life all over again

A comeback with Just another story

Was looking at old times through the myriad glasses, sometimes it takes forever to realize that life has another meaning if you get to write what you want to write, its like being in love with someone and everything else ceases to exist, its jus a walk in the rains where tears can hide but the clothes are dry and you have the warmth of the sky.

So life has been as usual a fanatic....it took the shape of a shapeless crystal throughout 2010.
Shapeless crystal was my discovery of the decade. But what remained consistent is the thought that no matter what, over time the moments u sit back in despair and think its the pits, something more crazy comes our way....life is actually a live event of 70 MM,where the team is the best in the world, where there is no boundaries of a script, screentime, budget or anything!

How does this happen still remains a question but ya it just does.

2010 ended with a life changing note, but it was bitter, ripped me of my soul, but gave me experiences that brought me closer to my dark sides, and thus took birth of pandoras box of secrets, and they will also maybe find their space through some printed musings.

2011 has just begun and my best friend, life ya, has been on a run, I find it quite difficult to keep pace with it, m growing old that ways,but someone random suggested, its all in the mind, like they say in Rang De Basanti - abhi sanson mein hai dum,abhi chalne de sitam. But the best part of it till now has been in a promo last week I figured my soul is still alive. Tunes still make sense to me....and the little pleasures of life still excite me, like sending the sunshine V day flowers, I did that to someone for the first time. The flowers all over Delhi felt very good.
I got my cam out last evening to capture some random moments, so the instinct tells me my instincts are coming back.
So everything put together, its back on the roads without a map

Just have to keep the spirit going

Have to check in here often now

The insight behind i dun have time.....

As from the last post the idea was to grow but as I can see I have not....
Not travelled or evolved to a level that I do not get mundane but do exciting things.....I dun wana plan,jus go ahead n do stuff.....I want to activate twitter and blogspot on my phone....seriously.Then maybe the thots will not die an untimely death while they have the potential to brightly light my life but eventually get lost since I am @ wrk, or jus too fucking tired to switch on the laptop.Or get caught up with mundane stuff.....the environment is also not conducive but the fear of probing for solutions does kill the way ahead to a large extent.
Pills today fwded me pics of Barrack Obama chilling in the White House,his life looks so contented.And a life accomplished.
What m hating about myself for a while now is the whole bit about...ambitions and aspects getting ruled by the norms laid out. What is wrong? Is it age or m i turning out to be a coward since I dun wanna risk it?

What is it all about?
Answers.....as someone once said is myb in the question itself

Losing the Plot

I seem not to find no time to do some thing that I used to really enjoy - I don't blog, I hardly listen to music, I don't read books at the same pace and definitely without the same excitement levels, and worst of all, I think about work all the time.
Also the not nice things that come with it clutter my brain.... Damn it, I am turning to a nasty workaholic. Stop Stop....I wanna get down....

Thursday,@ 15:00 Hrs,when I am at work....

Angel on the way

Mondays mostly come adorned with a shade of grey.
Thankfully the sun was nice and warm, and as I started towards work, the flash of the
image jus left an impression that still keeps the smile lingering on the lips.
A lil girl, sleepy sitting on a cycle thela between tins and scraps.....
Our eyes met and she took a while to return my smile.
But what she returned was priceless, a smile that keeps one going through all not so nice moments.
Shabby,Sleepy,Lost but sweetheart you are an angel!
And Delhi for the first time since August seemed humane to me.
A nice week awaiting :)

When I was thinking.....

Have been thinking a lot
The patterns of thought have different textures and feel
As much I am getting illusive about human beings,my headspace is getting crammed by them. I dont want to talk or even listen to blabbers.
It sickens me,makes me feel stagnated to the extent I only crib and cry.
Even then it does not feel great,its like waiting for a getaway.

And then it happened.
Finding the dark side of the moon, nooo,not Floyd,jus like that
And then the inability to hide my disjointedness
And then the inability to disassociate
I wonder where will it all take me.....
Maybe to a deserted hill top, find a quaint cottage,and smoke up and read n write
and think not to come up with something,but generally think like that.

This colleague of mine said the other day - our economy is emotional.
Wish he writes on that, there was spark in the phrase!
Till then lemme mull over all the funny things I do for a living.

Romancing on the Silver Screen

I was intending to write on this, and trust myself this is not the Oscars.
The Indian film industry brings back all possible enthusiasm of creating ripples on the silver screen.

Life looks astounding and promises of Ghatak, Adoor, Raj Kapoor, Ray, Hrishikesh Mukherjee, Mrinal Sen is not dead. The sheer joy of cinema in the seventies is coming back for good.

Managed to see Slumdog long before the release and fell in love instantly.
The first love was definitely for Bombay but what I loved most was Dharavi, the thousand stories that bred in the lanes, in the lives of people, the ghettoisation that’s stark yet subtle. But yet there were perspectives that were missed considering at the end of the day it was a white skin with the help of talented bunch of Indian crew was making the film. Therefore the zoomed out frame of Dharavi was captured in the right essence. There were moments of reality which a few of us know considering the work space we have been into. Definitely it gets worse….. and of course one was creating a film and hence there was a need to filmicize it. The music mostly was typical AR Rehman, and honestly not the best of his scores. But it grows on one, it grows with the film. The sound design was honestly great and now it feels wonderful to have it recognized in the International forum.

The entire debate about Oscars and its authenticity! But at the end of the day what then decides your calibre as a film maker or a creator? Commercial success would not mean anything to those one of us who thinks film as a medium plays too many roles. So how else tangibly does one decipher success of a film? Ghatak by our sensibilities today was a director of a cadre that not people have reached. But what did he get when he was alive? In that reference the film Ek Doctor Ki Maut by Tapan Sinha rightly depicts a man hard work ostracized by the society because of convenience. Any day Mira Nair’s Salaam Bombay is a better film maybe if we take this league into consideration. It got a nomination but did not make it. Like if one Dan Boyle wants to win a Filmfare, he will be nominated for a foreign film. That’s something we cannot choose. Why is it so unsettling to accept it? Why does it hurt to accept that somebody from a different region captured some nuances of our walks of life? Things we have turned away from, things we walk pass every other day? If reality is what cinema is, why does it hurt to come in terms of acute poverty that came into the international platform?

Technically the feel of the film thrilled me, right from cinematography to the sheer joy of story telling in its editing. Rest as they say is history!
Gone are the days when Subarnarekha or Ajantrik would remain unnoticed till ages later one discovers the romance of cinema in it. It’s the new age, maybe its yet another neo-liberal trap of the west to capture Indian talent and let it flourish because its cheap labour.

I am happy with the Slumdog Millionaire, its never too late to dream and watch them come true in one lifetime.

Delhi,9th March 2009

Disconnected Journey with Kari

I do not know where you came from
You seemed to be my dying angel
Unreal reality you appear to be
You brought out my fears alive
Kari, do you live in me?

I know you did once upon a time
And then I lost you in the crowd of life
But somewhere deep inside you create the ripples of lonesome delight

My memory of the absentee other is deep embedded
But the images of the same are getting blurred
Tell me Kari, is it really a race towards death where you fight to be the first?
My cityscape had tall buildings, and bunch of bright lights when I lived there last
Since then every time I crawled to go back, I realized I have not reached far.
Home that is, was or will be the place that I will never look for solace,
I love my free fall,
The maximum city has also altered since I left
But its still has my secrets safe inside

Unseen faces, a sip of the poisonous kiss
Unseen eyes, a peek into the barren hearth
Most often there are logical beginnings, ends and consolidations
To my relationships, be with people, spaces, moments or words
But often I wonder what if somebody gave me the constitution without the preamble?
These are not my words, if they discover they will say its yours
But Kari they were hidden in my heart
Till you graphized them on several other minds
In between the smoky, stingy lanes
I played with pretty boys till the other side said, space is not alive
The rains make me happy and sad
They set me free and chain me down
Coherent words loses itself midst the gusty wind
Never knew if there were laws in love
Was it ever love if it was not free? Time and incidents as you say, just comes by…
I am half baked in the half cooked truth
That nobody would ever own me
Since the time I have wrenched my umbilical cord
I loved silence but sometimes homosapiens analyze it
And my over analytical self gets moving into the trespasser forbidden zone
Of Foucault’s psychoanalysis and interpretation of dreams
Where often known souls become strangers, which tells me every morning of the time for which I think I need to prepare.
At twenty one I knew my teen celeb dream was dead
Five years later I see I do not have awards or creations invaluable to my name

I walk up stairs, see glitzy dreams, and churn severe ambitions but nowhere it leads
Me to the a destination where I can smile and fall from a cliff
I want to have an epitaph reading Been There, Done that
But I also want to be the boatman to ferry across those few rats!
Sometimes I feel, other times I know that when people want to kick the bucket
Come and get stuck to me and I forget whose the leach
They think of me like a morbid shit
But Kari you know the death of an urge
To jump into the sea
Can never be as vast as floating in the dark blue sky
Where clouds cover the sun
And life takes yet another turn.
Before I continue walking on the unseen path
Jus wanted to thank you Kari, thank you for our lives crossed.

For Basic love of Things

The year is drawing to an end and I am on a high, about the basic love of things. Originated amongst a few Delhi youngsters, this artform appeals to all four senses, they keep the taste buds out, unless one decides to give into some good addiction for the complete feel. For the experience one must go for a gig before turning to the next signal.

Calling themselves BLOT, honestly the music and the visual medium makes an impact that made me travel through time and the roller coaster ride did not need alcohol or stuff to accompany.

But Basic love of things does not begin or end there. It was all over in December. The winter shivers, the craving for a drink of warmth, the excavation of minds, the fact that letting go becomes easier each day, yet leaves a tinkle of sigh. Life cannot seem to encompass itself in a few words, the textures were varied and dear to heart. Going back to Bombay made me grow up in folds. But the raving battle with the old estranged lover seems to be never ending. So much so that everything else seems to be illusionary. Maybe they still are, maybe they will be but it’s the grey I love. It’s the forever changing colour palette that feels the orchids fresh and right on the skin, tickling old emotions, only making one realize it’s not all dead, it’s still simmering somewhere and that is hope for tomorrow.

Amongst people, its amazing to see different worlds collide and still come together over music and life. Aren’t we all trying to create masterpieces all the time? Aren’t we all striving for excellence that will make us immortal? I therefore like the madness of Henry the viii th . Sometimes respecting nothing and loving everything does hold good. It gives you a feeling a completion thats very personal, very signature.

I maybe invisible as me by the end of the year but I will be someone else. The role reversals with people you meet and get intimate with in most inane ways, over shots, over smoke, over chokerblock traffic or tears and most importantly over the promise that we will walk alone with each other . The quirky sunshine is not hiding behind the clouds. Its somewhere in the sky, as I count days for the days to end, I pin my hope to see and hide in the sunshine forever.

Lofty ambitions, hope of an impossible?
What if it crashes? Speculation has never led us anywhere. So let the Obama effect take shape, let my country wake up to reasons and determine its future and let my imagination run wilder.

Lets live for basic love of things.

Figments of a Sleeping Imagination

The body lay on the bed.
From the window the moonbeam filtered in like the silver stream. It was peaceful for 15 secs and then one something that looked like the body wanted to get out of the body that laid still.

The transparent look alike moved out from the room and reached another one. There was a wheel that moved in rhythm, and had figments of marijuana in it. The more the object wanted to get hold of the green,the faster the wheel swirled.

And then something happened.
The wheel chased the object, and the object tried saving itself from the defeat,there was no way to stop either one of them. At one point it felt losing track of who was trying to over power whom and in the mayhem, the object reached a brightly lit room, it was so bright that it could blind but the swarms of people inside seemed to have some superpower symbolized by that one roll between their fingers, it was smoky and the smell could kill.
And an overdose of something you love never saves the soul. The object was stupefied, not knowing it was love or something that's a fall out of bitter love.

The object did not move and then it suddenly gasped for breathe and called out for the body that was still peacefully sleeping in reality. The body refused to wake up, unperturbed by the room where the object had reached and was dying under the inability to see or hear. All the object knew was that of a feeling that gnawed something that resembles the heart, the object though was not sure if there was something like that. It closed its eyes and wanted to transcend to a world where it could breathe for death of claustrophobia was not something that it ever imagined.

How true it is when they say whatever we want does not happen all the time. As the object desired a life afterlife, all that it could fathom was the light in the room went dim, soothing and the psychedelic phenomenon clouded the vision. It was nearing impossible to get the feet to move into a direction that could let some fresh air in. But the window in the vision had the light of the day that tantalized like a lover does after a series of passionate love making moments that drives the partner for more, even if the epitome of pleasure has defied all definitions. And probably that is why the lovers reunite for the rest of the night even if the pleasure have been sucked beyond obvious.

The black human like objects transformed themselves into choker blocks and would not let the object move beyond two inches in one direction. The phobia was spreading itself and a tarantula crossed through it everytime the object refused to submit to the smoke that led one into the bottomless desire to crawl and lick decayed blood in search of ecstasy.
There was no path to escape, and it was at that moment the body that slept opened it eyes, dashed out of the room in order to find the object, it was an insane search for now there was a body that rummaged through graphic spaces searching for its soul and the objectified soul knew it was not there anymore. It had travelled to a world where breathing spaces where locked in rooms that did not contain holes that would not let air either in or out.

The body refused to give up, it ran with the determination that it had to save the virgin in the whore house but little did it know the man the soul slept beside when in transcended into the airless realism that it was over,the virginity was lost. But the body remembered waking upto screams of despair and helplessness, but it was late. The soul was lost and like millions microcosms do in search of themselves.
And the moment came and went by, little to the body's knowledge but the soul lay there in with eyes wide shut.

The quest to nail the soul down, probably turned it into ashes which does not rise from the phoenix; like everything else trust,truth,love,friendship,absolutes are all illusions of the body.
The soul lives many lives,in many spaces, and mourns over all thats lost and rejoices much more to all that's waiting to be created. Its stoned, its drunk and passes out but its not for the body to understand.

Words do not serve any sentence
Imagination does, Ideas does and sometimes not being there does.

Hail!!!