Natural Anthem

I take a breath,

And pull the air in until there's nothing left.

I'm feeling green, almost happy

Like teenage lovers between their sheets.

Knuckles clenched to white as

the landing gear retract for flight.

My head's a balloon inflating with the altitude.

Blowing smoke rings into the insipid atmosphere.

I watch the patchwork farms' slow fade

Into the ocean's arms

And from here they can't see me stare.

As I experience the stale taste of recycled air.

Calm down now, I say,

Release them cares.

Into the stale taste of recycled air,

So that I may live with my sins,

In perfect harmonious neglect.

The sea breeze enacts a chaffing effect

On the looking glass as

The light bends at the cracks,

Creating silhouettes on peeling walls.

Bold static harks loud from across the mantlepiece

Where I rest my radio.

It lures me into the mesmerising nothingness

Incarcerated by 5 brick walls and a wooden floor.

This place is not a prison.

These vestiges are not my friends.

Inhaling thrills trough rolled up bills,

Emptying crystal tumblers only to be filled again.

And again.

There are liveried guards at the entrance.

They smile as I enter, but do not permit me to leave.

There is a tangible world outside this 6 sided box,

Different from the one the soot from the candles creates on the walls.

Sometimes it's too bright to see.

But the phenomenon does not cease any night.

I clear my eyes and stare at the candelabra,

Suture my mind shut,

Empty the crystal tumbler

And inhale the stale recycled air.

I have been travelling too long, too far, too wide. I need closure, I want closure... I wish.

Newsflash in 10 parts

(a)

Four.

Insane.

Gunspark.

Crimson greeting.

(b)

Bipolar.

Art.

White.

Sniff/snort.

(c)

Pencil heel.

Suffused hips.

Holiday.

In Normandy.

(d)

Blending.

Amber pride.

Particulate.

Obsolete.

(e)

Binary.

Cheat.

Kleptomaniac.

Outcast.

(f)

Smoke.

Trance.

Epiphany.

Cloudburst.

(g)

Zephyr.

Draft.

Gust.

Politik.

(h)

Dogstar.

Sirius.

Grave.

Epitaph.

(i)

Trot.

Heave.

Swallow.

Smile.

(j)

Tyre.

Tire.

Tie her.

Re-tire.

C for a Cause

Season 9 of Southpark. I was happily lounging off on my bed and smiling unconsciously to myself because I anticipated a flurry of humor to wash me away. I was watching Southpark, unhindered, after about a gap of 2 years. I remember seeing till season 7 while I was in college. But that's the story for another day.

The second episode of that season's called 'Die Hippie, Die'. It starts off with Cartman dresed up as a pest controller who speacialises in eradicating hippies, because 'all they do is smoke pot and smell bad'. Cartman had earlier encountered these 'vile' creatures and plans to rid the town clean of these abominations, as he fears Southpark will soon be infested by them hippies, who, as is their credo, start a jam band festival whenever they grow in numbers at a particular place. So much is the resolve of Cartman in the face of adversity, that he single handedly imprisons 63 hippies in his basement, keeping them satisfied with a regular tdose of joints, brownies and guitars.

Meanwhile, Kyle, Stan and Kenny encounter a group of 1st year students from the University of Colorado at Boulder, who tell them that they are being slaves to the corporations while they mooch off the hard labor of the common man for a pittance. Kyle, Stan and Kenny realize their folly and join the hippies, who, now having grown into a sizeable number, agree to start a jam band festival in Southpark to fight the corporations. Their reason: "We will show the corporations that we do not need them. We can live off ourselves". But somewhere down the line, the festival continues for 9 days and the young boys, previously disillusioned by the corporate mumbo-jumbo, come to the conclusion that they have achieved nothing in the past week but "got high and smoked crappy weed all the time". Subtle, but ironic.

Somehow, we've all been there. We've all believed in a cause, stood up for it, tried to make converts out of people who did not give a rat's ass about it anyway. We resolved not to give in to the shenanigans that dictated the life of the 'common man' as he was too influenced by the dictates of society. We wanted to be the social factors that altered community/human behavior as we considered ourselves a notch above our neighbors. All this while smoking pot oursleves, getting hammered out of what was left of our senses, and glorifying Pink Floyd as if they were the only British progresive band that ever walked the earth. We wanted to be above the ordinary, and then somehow we lost it all.

This is usually what humans do. And by humans, I mean myself too. I have done the very same things mentioned in the above paragraph. We join a moving wave, hoping to alter its course, but get carried away by the flow, land on an obscure beach somewhere in the middle of nowhere, and choose to stay there as its calm, serene, peaceful and away from the 'drags of life'. Unfortunately, these 'drags of life' are what give character to our existence. To try to change them is human intuition. Its also called evolution, to try to move on to something better. But when the 'moving on' becomes 'moving in a tangent', things go awry. And then we just don't care. It applies to hippies as much as it does to mothers who leave their children unattended to fend for themselves at 2 am at night. It applies as much to a politician trying to make things right as it does to the anarchist trying to rebel against that very same politician. It applies as much to the aspiring MBA candidate trying his heart out to get into a good B-School as it does to the NGO worker who teaches slum kids the basic alphabets.

It great to have a goal. It's even better to progress towards it. It'll be absolutely smashing if we actually make it to half of the way towards converting that dream into reality. We gotta try.

The cause never dies. Neither does the mind that carries and nurtures it. The latter just chooses to ignore it till it is beneficial for the host to take up the cause again. It's also called being an oppotunist bastard.

Dare

Ripping this idea off from a friend's blog post. One of the better fifteen minutes I've spent in the last few days.. and strangely enough, makes coincidental sense.
Here are the 'How-to's...

1. Put your MP3 player/Media player on shuffle
2. For each question, press the 'next' button to get your answer.
3. You must write the name of the song no matter what.

a.IF SOMEONE SAYS “IS THIS OKAY?” YOU SAY? Stop me: Mark Ronson (n.a)
b.WHAT WOULD BEST DESCRIBE YOUR PERSONALITY? Too long / Steam Machine - Daft Punk (Yea baby!)
c.WHAT DO YOU LIKE IN A GIRL? Twilight is my Robe - Opeth (run for covr people)
d.HOW DO YOU FEEL TODAY? Chosen ones - Megadeth ( Don't mess with moi)
e.WHAT IS YOUR LIFE’S PURPOSE? Breathe - Pink Floyd (See, Papa never lies)
f.WHAT IS YOUR MOTTO? From here to eternity - Iron Maiden (Eddie, you the man!!)
g.WHAT DO YOUR FRIENDS THINK OF YOU? Great day for freedom - Pink Floyd (Aww, thanks guys)
h.WHAT DO YOU THINK OF YOUR PARENTS? Underneath it All - No Doubt ( dyamn!!)
i.WHAT DO YOU THINK ABOUT VERY OFTEN? Strangelove - Depeche Mode ( this IS eerie)
j.WHAT IS 2+2? Rust in Peace - Megadeth(n.a)
k.WHAT DO YOU THINK OF YOUR BEST FRIEND? But, Honestly - Foo Fighters
l.WHAT DO YOU THINK OF THE PERSON YOU LIKE? FFF - Megadeth (now this is a Mustaine overdose issue)
m.WHAT IS YOUR LIFE STORY? Probably couldn't see for the lights but you were looking straight at me - Arctic Monkeys (Story of my life. Big deal)
n.WHAT DO YOU WANT TO BE WHEN YOU GROW UP? Just - Radiohead( I love ye Yorkie! Ye said it mate!)
o.WHAT DO YOU THINK WHEN YOU SEE THE PERSON YOU LIKE? Message from a self-destructing turnip - Porcupine Tree (Couldn't put this in a more sardonic manner)
p.WHAT DO YOUR PARENTS THINK OF YOU? What if I do? - Foo Fighters (Probably what the think the whole time)
q.WHAT WILL YOU DANCE TO AT YOUR WEDDING? Metanoia pt 2 - Porcupine Tree (Kill me somebody)
r.WHAT WILL THEY PLAY AT YOUR FUNERAL? Knot comes loose - My Morning Jacket ( I can see the relief on the faces of the gathered milieu!)
s.WHAT IS YOUR HOBBY/INTEREST? All my life - Foo Fighters (Ummmm, yeah, kinda)
t.WHAT IS YOUR BIGGEST SECRET? Brain Damage - Pink Floyd (Bow minions!! Papa has done it again!)
u.WHAT DO YOU THINK OF YOUR FRIENDS? She looks to me - RHCP (n.a)
v.WHAT SHOULD YOU POST THIS AS? Dare - Gorillaz (Yeah??!!! I dared to post this soddy experience.. so here goes nothing)

As you can see, age is no hindrance when it comes to wasting time through redundant and obtuse methods.. But that's the joy of life. It's shit. So help yourself.

Peace

Savant

Periscope extends the lens.
Concave and clean.
Peer through. Peer through to the side.
It asks nothing, yet regales with morbid fecundity.
Laugh. Would you like another body?
We have plenty more.
Light another smoke master.
The strobes have only focused yet.

Surreptitiously you lick those lips master?
Do not be afraid, mesays.
They are but forlorn remnants of a larger prey.
Vanquish. Dominate. Subjugate.
They are yours for the making.
Firm, but they can talk. They whisper
Your name if asked.
Don’t you fancy that master?

Feel it against your veins sire.
Velveteen rabbits come for way more. Yes.
And you will be venerated. Parched soul.
It shall help you revel under the pink moon
And orange stars.
Your fingers come clean, don’t they?
No one shall judge you.
The mind is the slave.

Cut a hole, yes, cut that hole.
Inhale that aroma.
Almost reminiscent of the package Mamma gathered
For that early spring morning
She called birthday.
Explore the gift sire.
Cut a hole. Yes.
Cut loose.

You are sweating master.
Which part races?
Against time and against grain?
Dig harder I pray. The cornucopia lies almost
Within reach. Move them.
Strap your head up sire.
Glance at those pale green eyes.
Do you feel them at the base of your spine?


Feel them under your skin?
Tormenting the mitochondrial detail
To hark out in agonizing pain.
Feel them over your palms?
The amber nectar oozing out of your grasp
You held so rigidly, slipping away.
Feel them around you neck sire?
Asphyxiating almost. Begging questions
That require subtle replies.
Feel them on the mirror master?
Stripped clean, as naked as the wind on these desolate shores.
As naked as you and I shall ever be.

Come again sire. Come to me.
I shall not judge.
Cut the hole again master,
Shall we?

The painting is an impression by Jordanian cubist and visual artist Muhanna Al-Dura

Crane of thought

I'd rather it rained today.
The streets are flushed dry.
The rickshaws tyres are deflated due to the tepid heat.
The fruit seller has a busy time selling juicy cucumbers laced with rock salt.
I'd rather it rained today.

I'd rather not board the bus today.
So many people. So little time.
So little space. So many tales.
I'll try walking. And observe.
I'd rather not board the bus today.

I'd rather not work today,
And revel in my subjugation.
Surrounded by peering eyes behind thick ocular paraphernalia,
Made thicker by conformity and CRT radiation.
I'd rather not work today.

I'd rather not gorge on the same lunch today,
As I did the whole of last week.
Kanaida's noodles appeals to the tagged generation walking out of the flamboyant edifice.
Guess I'll be having baked flour marinated with soy and dressed with chicken.
I'd rather not gorge on the same lunch today.

I'd rather not stop by the pub tonight.
They stopped stocking Kingfisher Premium. Now it's all Dansberg and Budweiser.
I'll buy a few pints off Khokhon, sit in my compressed verandah
Under the sodium lights and crease my innards with the tar from the Regulars.
I'd rather not stop by the pub tonight.

I'd rather not watch the news tonight.
He says, she says, then he says again. She foulmouths him.
Someone fires an explosive rocket , claiming peace.
Another gets hanged for hanging others.
I'd rather not watch the news tonight.

I'd rather not listen to Meshuggah tonight.
I feel like Frusciante though.
Niandra Lades & Inside of Emptiness.
Free flowing, gut wrenchingly smooth, clear guitar work with subjective lyrics.
I'd rather not listen to Meshuggah tonight.

I'd rather not sleep tonight.
Tomorrow shall not ponder over my rancid needs.
I wish to see the fire rise at daybreak,
And provide impetus to the ebbing tide.
I'd rather not sleep tonight.

I'd rather we changed everyday,
Just a bit.
Add a little spark to an other wise predictable chain of thought.
I'd rather we altered ourselves everyday, just a bit,
To elicit a smile on the opposite face.