An hour of silence

It's labour day today. Or rather a day to commemorate by not going to work and opening up those pints of beer that have been languishing in your refrigerator for the past fortnight because you were busy chaffing your ass for that American conglomerate which outsourced its work to that Indian IT company you work for. Hard earned break. Enjoy.

Started looking for some music that complements my life, or rather the abject lack of one. Searched true and hard and lo behold!! - there was mathcore and math rock to the rescue. To the 'average' person (sorry) its just noise. To me, its chaos in a Rubik's Cube. Slit and turn the pieces, decipher the complex break beats in your head, dissect the cryptic lyrics.. It's all about thinking, something I have not indulged in in the last few months. Just staple stalemate it has been. So Dillinger Escape Plan and Battles gave me someting to think about. And 65daysofstatic as well. But thenthey have no lyrics.

Was speaking to a photographer friend today. He claims to be dyslexic. Strangely the swear words never come out wrong from his mouth, nor the names of the chicks he digs. He wanted a little help with an introduction for an online exhibition of his photographs, and the write up that he had written was pretty obese and morbid, summarising the lack of depth in modern India and her denizens. I understood what he meant and noticing a few grammatical errors, corrected them. I helped another person.

Yellow lights on Southern Avenue.
Yellow flowers carpet the footpath
Where she diligently sits with an assortment
Of nicotine based products.
A lamp burns steady against a fleeting
April wind that hardly flutters a feeling.

Fingers entwined she speaks sweet nothings
Into his heavy ear while he gazes at the
Boats cutting through the tepid water of the Lake
Or so he wants her to believe.
The old man in Nike overalls casts a concerned look
Before waltzing away to his own tune.

Taxi on the sidewalk all burnished and pretty
Driver in tow sips his evening tea while
Recounting his dealings from the day's work.
Smart, suave, sassy, black.
A Japanese make, isn't it?
I would look ravishing in it, he ponders.

Walk with an empty mind as I
Buy my filter tipped from the old lady.
It's always the 3.50 rupees madam,
A Gold Flake and a packs of mints.
Then on the 223 from Panchanantala
Drop down at Lord's.

It's always a blur to me.