i can smell a forest fire, the flames are making way into my cavities.
i let what you say envelope my bones.the way you said it, like a dying dancer,
like a god waiting to let it rain, let go of the reigns.the way you said it and i was
in a black room with dying flowers, waiting for something to snap.it was beautiful
and real, like solid grief. maybe it wasnt, maybe it was like a baby without
a heartbeat. maybe you like it that way but how could that be?when i have a house,
i will remember your eyes painting a picture of it back when the touch was tender.

let us buy furniture and burn it, pluck fruits and burn them, let us find birds of prey
and let them feed on our words.let us not fuck. let us not say please like we're
dying of a failing heart.today, while we're still elastic, let us have faith. let us not forget, the
only times we ever truly see each other is when we rip our hearts apart and lay them before
our mind.

( this is about {and from the point of view of} a friend. i hope she's ok)

WHY

do i do this every time? i fall, i embarrass myself, i turn my life a into a huger lump of shit each time but i don't learn. trouble is, i have my fun while i do it. the fun element shouldn't exist, or i'll never stop.somebody do something to the universe to make it recognise my extreme desperation and conspire ALONG with me, and not AGAINST me.

Your name should be Samson.

I was going to write about the other pair of bones, but your name should be Samson.So I'll write about you instead.You are going to be rich and famous. When you look at me next, I'll be better at storing things in. Today you were skipping in a curved path and it was like a tornado in slow motion. You have a lot of potential like the morning sun or a new washing machine.I have stolen from you and it makes me feel poetic and full of pathos. I want to make you realize that a lot of things, like addiction and affection,are somewhat OK.You are a few years worth of solar eclipses strung together outside the history of the galaxy. If you ever come with me to the hill-place, it will just be sad.I want you to learn nothing new about me until its time to say, "I'll slap you!" again.I know what colour mode you are. I know that your shoulder blades shine and i know the back of your hand like the back of my hand.
A part of your being is composed of a huge sack of mutating fireflies.It's a very old jute sack you need to get rid of, and transfer its contents to your ticker.I pretend like i know you because that is enough, so far.
You don't need any more words, you don't care, your dinner isn't going to start tasting any more bland if i stop right now and I'm going to have a very confusing dream about you later in my life, I'm sure of it.Do you know your crown falls like a thick maze of vines over a piece of furniture that's been abandoned in a forest? Who does that? If I had my way, the abandoned piece of furniture would be auctioned. Or brought home with the grime on my sole and the cuts on my arm.
The forest must be deep and full of grief.

If I ever touch your face, I'm going to get a lot more confused.
But you know, your name is quite OK.

pointlass photu post.

 because i wont have random pictures like these on my laptop once i go back to pune, and i do like looking at them sometimes, and they've gone unpublished for quite sometime.

im going back

to the start.

Hometown Glory

This is one slow, slow city. Every ride here has a million stops, and we wait for everyone, don't we?
The mornings are semi opaque, the afternoons we sleep through, and at night, i want to find myself perched right atop a streetlight, humming in key for once.

What i feel is most strikingly different in being here than in Pune is that there, i always feel restless, like there is a constant need of getting to someplace other than where i am, of doing something other than what i am doing at any given moment.While here, there's this perpetual feeling of being home and dry, leading to the laid-back-ness.
I dont know which of them is nicer.

*yawn*

Lets look for a streetlight to climb.Inside our lyad-ridden heads.

because it never stays, and thats ok. isnt it always? and ok is always great. ok is brilliant, ok is what keeps me sailing. ok makes me wanna set the horison on fire.
and this time i can at least pretend you forgot, but it really doesnt matter. none of it.

Optimism

please make it work without the bipolarity kicking in this time? this once?

*bated breath and eyes wide open for a fresh look at herself*

I'm sick and tired of getting no where
Guess it'll all work out

And I don't mind any more

:)

thankyousneha:D

BECAUSE ITS HOME RE BAAP.

the first thing i remember doing after setting foot on the citysoil of kol (today,imbackhomeyes) is reading two words off a hoarding out loud (its something i keep doing when im traveling, read out random shit off anyplace with randomshit splashed across it, so no conscious effort was made) which sounded exactly leik zis:

     'EET HAPENS'

bengali accent acting up out of nowhere and i dont even mind.

doom,re.

roommate thought she heard me bitching about her over the phone. not so good. has dirty lil secrets of mine. very very scary.
plus, parents got yelled at by me ohnose. i should stop PMSing when im not PMSing.
books to read books to read!
jesus, minima lefty makes this place look retarded.

and here this goes into the list of official rantblogs i happen to be using. cant seem to frame non ranty sentences anymore. dhoor.

i probably hate your face and you know it.

some people gloat about the wrong things, and they never realize what comes as a consequence of their actions and what, as a direct result of their godawfully stark shallowness, and thus like to exaggerate situations just so they can feel something occupying their vacuous fucking minds, even if its a hugeass ball of pointlessly stretched strips of facts which otherwise would not make any difference in anybody's life whatsoever. oh but no, they need an issue or no, they need to prove SOMEBODY ELSE has some issue which would make they look like some monumentally coolass punk, because oh, they rule at dealing with the other random issuebag, right? bingo!

oh hey, and that one paragraph typed just turned me into one of those people, damn. but it just came off the top of my head and honestly, i typed it just because some very random thing reminded me of this other random thing which isnt even remotely important, only it just helped me get started with the ranting again, much to your agony im sure, poor reader.
today i had the worst trip ever. it was like time was composed of some widely spaced moments during which i was barely in touch with my consciousness which ONLY ever gave me one sensation- as if i had spun around the whole motherfucking universe and then landed on the floor (which seemed to be resting on the tip of a needle very eager to stab people) after a good million years. then of course, there was somebody in the room, there was the ghost of the red blotches from our lost lives, there was also, the scariest (or perhaps the only scary) powercut i've ever had to survive. and holy mother of Ruffles Lay's, i eat like the craziest chut on planet earth,no kidding.i finished three bigpacks of chips and a pack of biscuits and then ate a heavy dinner and before all this i had downed a snacker, a zinger burger and pepsi and another pack of chips.and my phone died so i wasnt able to call anybody i wanted to call, and that was painful and i felt like panicing but also felt too slow to do so.

well, atleast I wasnt the one tripping on Twilight.
-dies laughing at whoever it concerns-
and i switched on all the lights too, so gimme some credit here. and i FUCKING ROLLED THOSE BOMBS, YES. XD they took me ages and these ones happened to be the suckiest i've ever rolled, really, but i still feel like a fucking star.

ok, so college is off for another 10 days, thanks to my favourite animals in the world. everybody happens to either have gone back home or gone to bombay or something, but im staying, because shayo has come to pune for exactly 10 days herself.today we went to KFC and tomorrow i plan to shoplift, drown in likker, meet lucy and pet her multicoloured babboon. also, imagine me shouting curses at random rickshawalas because they need to go fuck themselves and nobody ever tells them that.yknow, i've stopped wearing the bandage on my injured foot, and i still whine about the pain. im always afraid of people stepping on it and i suddenly seem to have a fixation for imagining people crying apologetically at my funeral after having killed me of the excruciating pain they caused me when they accidentally jumped on my foot. it will be hilarious if i can pull off a screamfulofcurses from up there while they mourn. clearly, i need sleep.and maybe more food. and somebody who'd wash my bandages.

what the fuck.

weird life i have. can mostly be passed off as non existent, yet i seem to have no time for ANYTHING these days. not even sleeping. and i always complain about how bored i am, or how deep in shit i happen to be, but that's all there is to it. i thought i'd finally write a long and descriptive blogpost about everything that's been going on but i feel too goddammed sleepy, so ill pass.oh so this one girl in the hostel has an iball graphic tablet which is what i used to make that image in the beginning of the post oh hell do i suck or what. ok so what else.lets see. i bought two jholas yesterday and busted a lot of money. i've been eating too much and gaining weight. the college canteen seems to be quite alright now. i now own purple eyeliners. two ya.i actually dozed off while typing the last sentence, which, as you mustve noticed, had just two words.

ok so guess what. ill update later.

because you thought you know me.

Off my journal (3)

I have Box windows

in my room, at our house here in Kolkata. They allow me to get locked out enough to be cut out from the rest of the house and still stay conveniently sheltered from the raging unfamiliarity that most of the city has been shoving at my face ever since I came back. It gets a little more stark with every moment i spend here, every second beyond the stretch of time i was to be allowed originally.

There is this person i might have spoken of once, here on the blog. Dadu, an aged neighbour person who loves me and mom and is concerned about us beyond comprehension.In the way old folks often get so attached to random people that it is sort of disconcerting. When he saw me first after i returned, he broke into tears because i had tanned, i couldn't retain my colour nor the supposed 'jella' that my face, or whatever, was once home to. He pitied me. He said i shouldn't go back, i should stay home- that's what's best for me.

Fact is, now no matter which city im in, I somehow only ever find myself somewhere that gives me the feel of being in those hanging box windows, this weirdass, confined territory I've got all for myself.Some place that can never be home but wont even allow me to put myself out there.

Talk about the washerman's bitch.

casinodrims.

everything in my life is not a metaphor. especially, ' im going deaf in one ear', can never be a metaphor this point of my life, mind.
but some things are.


notice the strategically placed King.

and pity my dying creativity.

stock from
sxc.hu

lovely website.

envy,etc.

misery is a bubblegum. i love it.
im back home and this is my first drawingthingydoodlelala in ages.

realisation again

things wont EVER get better. just goes downhill even when you're like in the deepest trench possible.

O BTW

i got published on dogzplot.

check my poem here clickclick

realisation

yknow what the only significant fuckup i've made in my life is?
i've either thought too much, or too little of myself.

and well, its something i keep doing.


but lets stub it out. crack a joke. and fart.
it's gotta be getting better.

WHEN THE SUN DROOLS OVER THE FOREST

THIS IS MY DAD I SWEAR HE'S SO COOL HE HANDED ME MY FIRST JOINT.


BUT OTHERWISE TOO, HE'S PRETTY COOL HE MAKES ME HAPPY AND ALL DETERMINED TO TAKE MORE SHOWERS AT RANDOM HOURS.

HE: DO YOU KNOW SOANDSO?
ME: ER, NO
HE (AFTER A 3456527 SECOND LONG STARE AT ME): DUDE, GET SOME FUCKING CONTACTS MAN.

HALF AN HOUR LATER

HE: SHIP OPEN YOUR FUCKING GLASSES
ME: (IDOESSO) OK?
HE: GET SOME FUCKING CONTACTS MAN, IM TELLING YOU.

this is a pretend poem

for when i get web-toed and i falter. there's a whole field of green eating
at my intestines like gulls. butterflies mutate, so this could be a poem for when i skulk around and hug walls, hoping to find the sacks of nothing on my back evaporating. for when i

dont see it because its gone.for when i still look for 'hello!'s on pink tiles that have been walked over a trillion times since they were touched.this is a pretend poem for the times when the sky spits and i'm yelling at strangers who tell me its ok. its ok to lose hair over a seven day old love.its ok to look at your toes as if they're dying stars, uncouth and unable to keep yourself from tripping.this is a pretend lullaby for my defenses.a pretend serenade for the days when the branches hanging low over the smoke make me phase out.for the times i unfold my lungs and throw them at the wounded feet of the centre. this is an excuse and a trick and it wont stop pretending to cut through your gut. today i'll be pretending like its going to make a difference to somebody's sleep that this is a pretend poem for the times i wish i could tell what i really want it to be about.

dudes watte.
i think you'll understand. when i say that something. i wanna hold your hand.. i waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaannnnnaaaaaaholdyourhaaaand. dudes. eee and oh noez. love ije sad. never nice when unattainable.

LIFE

SHOULD FUCKING EXIST.

Like-

1.
..when you touch your head and try to show that it hurts and you touch your belly with palms like feathers cause you're nursing a bud like when you touch your arms and you're weary, I want to touch your face.


2.
..going over a score of different ways of asking about your heart and never making it beyond the colour of your shirt.
"If you were to make a french omelet out of your ticker, would I be the pan or the beater or the salt or all that the batter is composed of? Or do I just get to eat it?"

"Is it asleep? Is it humming, is it sad about the weather? Does it piss a lot at night?"

"Did I just hear it say.."

Oh did I? "..but that shade sucks, man."

3.
..the way I say 'hello, hello i know you! ,' one drink down.

4.
..the way I skirt around the edges and jump in when I'm hoping you'd fall. If this
were a movie, I'd be the ignored relic in the museum while the professors fell in love and the walls remained white and grey. I'd be the empty photo frame while sadness built up in their eyes like rain. If I were on TV, I'd be the only weather forecast you miss out on.If this weren't real, I'd be my own socks and eat my feet.I'd be something severely poetic and punch your heart right out of your ribcage, but plug up all ellipses.I'd punch your heart right out- but then tiptoe my way to it and put it in a vintage suitcase after you've collapsed.

Like I'd only leave if I could have that one vintage suitcase with suspicious contents that go tick.tick.tick. and they would have to stop me right there.

But I can't, and tomorrow when I'm jet lagged, I'll just be jet lagged. Not lovelorn, not looking for a bottle opener, no bare feet on cold stone burning from a touch.



Like crabs with their shells touching until one topples over and leaves.

Update.

i dont know why i keep doing this.

Pune.
i'm leaving on the 26th. suddenly every one of my acquaintances is moving to Pune and im discovering more and more people i know shifting there. somehow, it unsettles me more than anything. what i'm used to is leaving everything behind every 2/3/4 years, starting afresh whether i like it or not. i'm used to landing in a city where i know not a soul, and nobody cares about my new haircut and none of them are gonna turn at me and go.. OH she's preparing for a change.
well, im not.

anyway, so the last mistake i made in the city was wallrush. i would elaborate but there isnt much to it. its just that it was a bad time and everyone, including me, has been so busy soon after it ended that the stuff hasnt got sorted out yet and its really no body's fault.
the other mistakes im gonna make here are prolly the JU entrances. im not sitting for them. my mom is going berserk over it. but i cant sit for them.

i'm prolly gonna get to meet JD and Falak once i get to Pune. that's the plan, atleast.
one very important thing before i leave is- i HAVE to erase all the internet history shitpoothings because dad might land on my blog AND start reading it on a regular basis when im gone andhell, disastrophe that would be. i may also change the url but that'll take a while.because i cant get creative with urls now.and i dont have much to say in this post because not much has been going on except me feeling suicidal and at the peak of uncreativity. people who have had to get back to me about certain things have failed and i decide to give up already. im just sueing one of the.
then there's shopping that i havnt done and dont care about. then there's the lack of comfort im gonna have to deal with, a few days hence, but with it comes the lack of control so its all good.

im losing my patience with everything suddenly and that's the last thing i need now. what i need is to find the Led Zeppelin discography that has managed to go missing. i have EVERYTHING but led zepp. i mean i'd lost DT and Jethro and some other shit to a dead DVD but i cannot FIND the ledzepp DVD at all.when i ask the cupboards for help, they dont help.

good thing that's happened is that im at better terms with Sam than i've been in the past year and it's nice to have her back and swear at her every time she drinks beer without me. we've never really got drunk together.

that's the only thing i remember. oh, apart from this. last night i had the weirdest dream and P was in it. i cannot believe it because my father drank ALL the vodka P offered me.please psychoanalyze.this woman i know was changing in his room and i have no idea why im talking about this.

i think i might have a thing for abusive romance but im not very sure about anything anymore.

i dont like mosquito nets.

The Finger!

yes, I know this picture has neither the attitude, nor the finger, NOR the idea usually associated with the phrase in the title, but hey. :D This is the real shit, doods.
so this morning i was sleeping as usual and then i WOKE UP (*JAAGO RE JAAGO RE JAGOOOOOOOO REE*) and went to vote. longest queue in the area- ours. very poopy i felt. very irritated with dad acting like a hyperactive, retarded first time voter who's never noticed his daughter's bad posture before and couldn't think of a better time or place to exclaim 'HEY I'M SURE YOU'RE NOT EVEN SURE WHAT YOUR ADDRESS IS,KID!' or to imitate the timid looking family speaking in bangaal bhasha at the TOP of his voice in ALL CAPS ( so now you know why im incapable of behaving myself and am very adept at embarrassing you in public if you're with me,its all in the genes).
so that, and then the long wait of approximately eleventy hours, and finally i'm standing right before the EVM going *OMG WTF ALL NAMES IN BENGALI SJDFJSGDFJ* but taking less than a nanosecond to settle down, set off the beep and jump out of the enclosed area grinning like a 3 year old who's just taken over the chocolate factory.i hung around until both my parents were done, the grin getting wider with the slow drying of the purpleshit on my finger.it used to be a black spot thing they used to put, no? why suddenly switch to blueypurpleyink?

i dont mind, it goes well with the state the other fingernails were/are in xD

met an old couple from our building while we were still at the booth, the woman going OMG SHE TOO?I'VE ALWAYS THOUGHT OF HER AS THE KID WITH THE MOMMY (those exact words in bengali, no exaggeration), andyesthankssomuch, i showed her the finger alright.

the walk back home was long and pleasant and thrilling because i don't know why. i have no idea,OK? i cant even say anything poetic here, so bah. but on the way, i came across this group of kids that grinned at me in a way that spelled- comeletsplay Ring-a Ring-a roses (yes you are welcome to deduce that i suffer from dyslexia and it is manifested not only in my general inability to spell correctly, but also to interpret what spells what) and i, for no reason, pulled an evil face and showed them the finger. *mwahahahaha*
their faces changed to reflect a somewhat unreadable expression and i walked off with a smirk
characteristic of a primary school bully.

And to think i had just exercised any of my rights as an Adult for the first holy time since i turned 18, this isnt too much of a glaring irony now, is it?

EDIT: for people who like making assumptions based on one tiny sentence in a blog post (happened just {and boy, was it funny} , this comes therefore), i CAN read Bengali, and that sentence was only a representation of the ONLY thing that crossed my mind when i went in there.because i was expecting English and because Bengali was my 3rd language in school and i wasn't prepared for it and it takes my brain some time to process it and im slow, ok? im very slow. because i have to type out stupid excuses for no reason because some people just LOOVE to pull unsuspecting people up by the collar and slap them leftandright because their tshirts say stuff in english and not in their mothertongue- i will say FUCK you.

Letters from Bengaluru.

Bits From Letter no. 1:


(EDIT: THESE, MY FRIEND, ARE BITS FROM THE LETTER SHRAVANTHI WROTE TO ME. PLIS FORGIVE THE EARLIER CONFUSION)

originally, this was going to be a wordy post about the only thing in my life so far which really makes me inexplicably happy, and is something i can never, not even for a moment, wish to change anything about- shravanthi's letters.but then i go, ohfuck words, and think of putting up selected snippets from all her letters which wont get me slaughtered for making them public, but then my patience with the scanner fizzles out so now this is just going to be a post which wont do justice to what imbues me with this weird energy which makes my mind get off its ass and do a little HYPER BOOGIE.which is because i am lazy and in general, a bastard.the last letter came in a purple envelope, by the way. that killed me. i was sleeping when it reached the house and if you knew me, you'd know its imPOSSIBLE to wake me up unless you've been wrestling with my corpse for the past hour, but all mom had to do is say SHRAVANTHI MS and i JUMPED out of the bed while im not sure how i could even HEAR her talk, really ( but i'm pretty sure that's all she said, i asked later,yeah).
the only trouble is, after this, im sure no goddamned creature that writes to me, nomatterhowkickass,can ever match up to the standards she's set, as far as overall awesomeness is concerned.i kid you not. if there's anything in the world i can afford to be snooty about, its having the most ridiculously amazing penpalfriendperson.
*insert sufficiently retarded looking hyper-grinny smiley*

p.s.somebody kill me for not replying to blogpostcomments whenever i do manage to get any.
p.p.s.please attend my funeral which will follow my next visit to the dentist which is on wednesday mmmk.

Why you waitin over there let's roll (8)

yes ok dudes, I'm over all the gloominessity (bipolarness, among other things,should've been blamed fo it). i got done with a 10 page long (every corner of each page is scribbled in, btw) letter to shravanthi the day before, and it's been posted. yes I'm sort of a maniac when it comes to letters. these arnt even tiny pages, they're the exact opposite. yes i consider this as BRAGGING about something which doesn't even remotely affect the political situation of the country, neither does it do any good to your neighbour's cat's faulty diet, nor ANYTHING else, actually, but cant be helped.i consider this no mean feat, inflicting 10 pages of epic emo-ness/retardedness /nonsensicallity on a fellow human being,so brag i shall. also, one of the pages had a doodle titled:I wish I was a gayboy with flowers in my hair. it was a portrait of a gayboy which looked marginally like James Franco (AAA x 648) with curly hair (as in Milk, that lovely, lovely movie).I AM sad I didnt upload it, actually, and its not even been scanned. ohwell x(

by the by,i have stopped generalising about cats. yes cats, which i had always hated (apart from the black variety) until i visited ishika's place and *cough* fell in lo.. er, liking with one.it was the definition of ultimate gayness, and it was SUCH a cute poser. it'd stay put for 70 minutes and let us take its pictures from whichever angle we please, without freaking out and charging at us like a retarded dino.

yes i mean, just LOOK at that?! it makes me feel like a good picturetaker also. this doesnt happen often.

DONT POKE MAI NOZE!

look at itz toothz :D moarpictures in my orkut album, i dont wanna be repetitivehere.

yes so now, imma admit something (you might consider embarrassing, because i hate hip-hop/RnB in general usually and this might make me a hypocrite etc etc.) aboutmyself.

I LOVEd(?) BLUE *!*

THE BAND yes. they had been off my mind for over two years, but shayo just helped me revive my love for them, going.. Top floor with no disturbin'.. in the middle of a gtalk convo.

the rest of the lyrics flowed from me. Bubblin is THE ULTIMATE SEX.

AND i used to have the hugest crush on..

LEE RYAN. YES.

what? HE'S CUTE, OK? yes one might advice me to stop if i wish to save my reputation from fluidly running downthedrain, but since ihadnone in the first place, i dont run the risk of defacement. AND i have Westlife on my iPod (uptown girl only). AND the C21 version of One Night In Bangkok. holy carp. fuck me, man.

Got a body like whoa (like whoa)
Why you waitin over there let's roll
Take it all the way to the top floor
And let's get Bubblin' girl, Bubblin' girl

xD

Last time i was drunk

i felt some bathroom hysteria bobble up in my chest.i felt
like a wind turbine with a broken teetering-hub, which stands
facing west. i felt seven daggers and 18 years of chipped
nails creep into my dreams one by one. i felt a lot of
terrible things. i also felt

your hands and your fingers as they grew rocky.Last time i was
drunk i tried writing letters to 3 people in heaven. the first
snorted, the second wouldn't acknowledge my existence. the third was
killing himself again.the third was telling me i need to
shove the words into a mortise.i felt like i needed to
keep a promise, or a secret, but all i have is cavities.i
felt like giving some strong advice.

like- When lachrymose,try weeping on someone's bleeding sweatshirt.
or Never ignore a roadkill, it might come to and eat your genitals.
or Turn into a crow. or a unicorn. or something that can escape
fatuous human faith.or Love your children, please love your children.Last

time i was drunk,i felt like polishing forks and honing my blades, like
it is the most tender act in the universe.i felt like being a handgun
hidden in a shrine,or the love hidden in a whore's crevice.i felt
like writing NEX all over my walls and painting them yellow.
like a gay,violent death in springtime, i wanted to scream and
dismember a heart, for once,not my own.

Face

just when i thought i cannot ever put penciltopaper again.
i dont know what to callit. something for the newyear atleast. so yay. shubho noboborsho, if it means anything.

Places to go.

Ok so here is an update. and the title is misleading.
I'm gonna suck at pretending that i have audience here, so lets just get on with a journal entry im too lazy to put to paper.

• We went for a trip to Puri. Each day there= bad hair day.Bright coloured houses and scooters (fluorescent green,pink,yellow) and nice windows.VERY nice windows.Temples and all that jazz. ONE good private beach. A LOT of eating and even more sleeping. Tanned arms and intact face and my inability to understand such behaviour of my skin.And a fucking spoilt lens which resulted in ZERO decent pictures. the only one that comes close is this: (no editage except a lil crop and a border)

oh and example of brightcolouredwallswithnicewindows:

shittypic taken with dad's phonecamera.

• Went and visited grandma etc. after centuries. slept for 14 hours of the day i was there.




• Did nothing.




• Visited nicelinks like this one.Action poetry.




• Got bipoler-er by the second.




• Yelled fuckyou more than i ever have.




• ..and im stopping the loving getting in- KT tunstall.




• I get a little bored of life.

NOTAGAINAAAA.

indoors,i'm paling bonfires and verbing the nouns and
death is a metaphor.the room sighs with the afternoon
grief,the morning grief, the early summer grief saddling
nightfall. the grains in your coffeejar are a thousand
condensed nightmares imitating mine.the room sighs as

love is just a metaphor.in photographs,the eyes grow closer ,
but lighter with the loss of regard.your hands probing through
my ribs find filthy similes eating at a faint throb.the throb,
the paling bonfire, the room with no doormats, no sky,
just blood and disease- affect lunging into attempts to
hide.inside,warming up for spite, expecting
crisis in the hub,i lay out trump defenses- failing, failing,

falling.

---------------------------------------
SOMETHING after ages, and this bloody awful. i wanna shoot me.
butdoods. ive been outa touch for ages. no no shootmeanyway.

While im waiting to cross over, while im ready to go

i feel like im dead and waiting to cross over to the otherside but im stuck in a void.
i can imitate a wall and suck at that too. i can imitate your clothes and i'll prolly be worse at it than anything else in the world.today somebody told me im boring and being this dull is a turn off and thats nice, they like it. like dude haha. whenever im sitting im either peeling skin off my arms or off my soles. my favorite hobby is to give myself red bleeding lips from all the skin-peeling. when i drop my phone it makes me happy and i look down with a smile but it never breaks. i need to step out of myself.

Prayer before Death(?)

today, with seven new clouds
in the sky of a wednesday,
i look first at the mirror
and then i look your way

i see the skies are stagnant
underneath the heavy weight
of empty grief accumulating
on the wrong side of wind breaks

today, with drooping treetops
today with still no rain,
like everyday- a promise
i must compulsively break

so with my geography book dying
psycho lying in my wait,
i pray - DO ME A FAVOUR GOD
AND HELP ME CONCENTRATE.

-
yes we ALL need somone to blame. agnosticity be damned.
do you see what this does to me? it makes me RHYME. that's something i havnt done in a year and a half.
or something.
BLAH.IN CASE I HAVNT MENTIONED IT, IM BLOODY DOOMED AND AM DOING ABSOLUTELY *NOTHING* TO BETTER THE SITUATION.

(still listening to badonkadonkey. \bornruffians/ INDIE FOREVAR!)

welcome to a new post, goodbye lets never meet again.

this is a very sketchy fiveminutecolour version of something which i've lost the will to work on. its for bab, and im not showing it.i had decided to colour it with traditional media, but not now.

oh. its a gay girraffe that's sick of candies and lollies.and the little girl from anotherworld promises to feed him a real flower but only if he first lets her touch his nose.

p.s. I'm losing followers like THIS *snaps fingers*. wha. there must be brains out for sale somewhere.

Update

I'm halfway through my boards, and the worst bits are yet to hit me.
Psychology,Geography, Eco and Hindi (phbbbt) in the reverse order.
one of the papers killed me entirely last week (no im not alive nor typing this, really), and i dont even wish to name it ever in my life again.
my mother claims to have broken my iPod- my NEW iPodclassic120gb, and to have killed the earphones, since i was caught watching a movie on it at 2:40 a.m. some three days back.that was the last time I'd seen it.have no real idea of what might've become of it, but i DID hear mom make the iPod dart across her room or something. this thrills me.
I've managed to convince another stupidniceperson to buy my prints, she's buying two. this makes me feel good enough to say YAY LETS MAKE A SANDWICH.
i had the most disgusting dream the night before the last and most people have heard an account of it. those who haven't, have NO idea of the degree of weirdness of it.it involves pregnancy, a hole in the upper abdomen and a 19 inch... centipede.

:straightface:

there's no point grossing readers out any further, i have managed to alienate enough readers already :\ so no details.

songs on my playlist now:

Hanging On- People Press Play
Shadowplay - The Killers
Fatalist Palmistry - Why?
(..But your painted pony is fading
Lost like a snakeskin in high grass
and out there thrashing like a pet bird caught in a jet stream; that's me
You count on blessings cause your net worth
oughta be less cream in your best drinks
But God put a song on my palm that you can't read..)

be sure to listen to the first and the third bands.

if you dont want to, cool man, no issues. go fall into a ditch, though.

How to wake up and kill yourself

in the dream this is an essay on your attempts to get off the sofa.in the essay you are saying you'll never be caught dead in the basement. in the basement there are closets with pictures of madonna stuck on the doors. inside a closet which no one looks into, there's a blue box of junk but no one knows about it. in the box, that locked up little forgotten box, lies a blade which is surprisingly very sharp.
get off the sofa and kill yourself.

(this is the best thing i've written in my life so far. i want print it out and stick it on all closet doors of the world. help me in my endeavor, or get off the chair and kill me.)

Ms.Lovline is not a lonely person.

Ms. Lovline just has certain issues.

• The windows are all closed.Always.
• The cat is grey.
• The switch is blown out.
• The clock is retarded and is evaporating.
• The ghost isn't scary.
• The cactus is nearly dead, but not entirely.
• She has no real issues.
• The makeshift sky has a raincloud.
• She cant stop smiling.

I have certain issues:

• my scanner sucks which makes most bits of the picture blurred.
• i cant paint.
• the rain isn't showing.
• my scanner sucks.
• i cant paint.
• i lost my new set of water colours.
• i have a new mole on my right wrist.
• i exaggerate.
• i think i have a tumor in my left ear.
• i cant spell tumor right in one go.
• i cant spit.

who wants to buy my prints? who who?

email:shriparnasarkar@yahoo.com

DOODEL.

ONLY PASTALZ. AND TAXCHAR ADDED. doodelmood.

IN OTHER NEWS, IM DOOMED FOR REAL THIS TIME. THIS IS NO JOKE. AND IN ONE MONTH'S TIME IM GOING TO BE SERIOUSLY SUICIDAL. SAVEMEIFYOUCAN.

or if you wantto.WAHNOBODYWANTSTO.

D:

STUPID STUPID STUPID FLOWER GIRL PERSON FOR SOUMI

BECAUSE SHE WONT BELIEVE ME WHEN I SAY I TEXTED HER AND BECAUSE SHE WONT TAKE A SORRY FOR NOT CALLING AND BECAUSE SHE BASICALLY THINKS IM AN ASSHOLE WHICH ISNT A BAD THING REALLY IT KEEPS PEOPLE'S EXPECTATIONS FROM ME LOW, BUT HERE. THIS IJE BELATED BUDDAY GIFT WHICH MIGHT MAKE ME FLUNK MY ISC MATHS. HAHAHA

BTW IM SORRY AND I HATE THIS DRAWING.IF ANYONE ELSE HATES IT TOO, TELL ME. AND TELL OTHERS AND CONVINCE THEM TO HATE IT TOO. GIVE OUT PAMPHLETS WHICH SAY 'DOWN WITH SHIP'S ROTART!' ROTART. HAAHAHAHAHASHAJHASDHSD

ill do you a favour and say hello

i decided to be useful and update. that's as useful as i can get during my board exams(AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA) , because i am just plain genetically incapable of being useful to MYSELF and studying.

so here. HELLO. my AUDITORY CANAL IS BLOCKED! ITS NOT A BOIL BUT I DONT KNOW WHAT IT IS! IM GOING TO DIE OF A SWOLLEN EAR! THIS IS IT! FINAL GOODBYE! EAT A SANDWICH IN MY MEMORY! ANDLISTEN TO BADONKA DONKEY AND GO CRAZY AND RIP YOUR PILLOWS AND DRAW SPIRALS ON THE WALLS AND DRINK SOME BEER! HURRAH!

MOST IMPORTANTLY LISTEN TO BADONKA DONKEY!
all you indie fans, you know you KNOW YOU KNOW, YES? THE BORN RUFFIANS WILL EAT YOUR BRAIN AND YOUR PELVIS AND YOUR INTESTINES!

a little more useful, i should be, you think? OK !
HERE! CLICK CLICK CLICK! i dug up link so i could be useful. appreciate the effort and drink some wine at my funeral.

ASIMA IS SICK AND SHE WANTS TO EAT YOUR TEDDYBEAR AND THEN PUKE ALL OVER YOUR PERFECT BODYPARTS

ASIMA IS SICK! FOR DETAILS, READ ON. FOR ICE CREAMS, GO ROB A BANK.FOR PICTURE OF THE BIGMONSTER EATING OTHER MONSTER, VISIT LINK BY CLICKING ON CLICKING. ANY OF THE SEVERAL CLICKINGs. FOR LIFE SAVING ADVICE, READ TITLE AND RACK YOUR BRAINS OR HIRE ONE AND THEN RACK IT AND THEN DISPOSE IT OFF AND THEN DRAW A PICTURE OF A FLOWER AND EAT IT.


sometimes what happens to asima is, she gets reminded of perfectly shaped body parts. no asymmetry. no abnormality. the kinda stuff that'd make you go 'HEY, THAT'S A NORMAL HUMAN BEING'S BODY PARTS!' unlike her own. then she gets sorta sick.her eyes turn upwards, her lips thicken and her face bulges on one side.when she gets sick, asima likes to pull paper bags or polythene bags over her head. she likes to think that doing so will suffocate all those thoughts and they'd die and never return to plague her.if in case you catch her in the act, she will immediately hide her hands behind her back so in case you are about to draw a picture of her and put it up one some electronic medium like this one, you cannot reproduce her hands for the life of you. this will make you suspect that she hates her hands but there's no way in hell you can confirm if that's true.so you move on and continue with the rest of the story.



so she gets a little sick and then she gets sicker. this time she was thinking about pretty eyes. so she got sick and then she got sicker. when she gets sicker she feels like she could do with some drowning and then she starts having the drowning feeling and everything around goes yellow and gooey looking.

then she starts feeling like its raining on the inside of her hair. then she starts cursing you and your scanner and your fucking fingers and all that works because your scanner starts malfunctioning and your fingers start feeling like they would really like to wrap themselves around your neck in a way that will strangle you to death. this makes it very difficult for you to type so you have to stop

these things happen and they make me poetic.

im peeling the soles off my feet
but everything is still strange and absent and
imaginary when im walking all over it. these
things happen.my fingers are all blood and
loose cuticles.im telling you, these things
happen and they're are always watching you through
a peephole with the kind of eyeballs
that turn into a doorknob and lock you in before
you know it.this is irrelevant and it
makes me poetic.

*

this morning i was in
the toilet, singing and imagining that im
at a party with all your friends watching me.
none of them was taking pictures of me. no one
told me i remind them of someone famous.i was ugly
with tufts of hair missing and no one was getting me a
drink and they were staring as though im a tortured
polar bear and they're copious amounts
of greenhouse gases. these things happen and

*

they make me a little crazy, a little edgy and suicidal but
all of it it also makes me majorly poetic.like i start seeing
stars appear all over my body and the walls and the bedsheet and i
start trying to lick them off and i dont know what
the hell is going on so i decide to write about it.
but i cant, and it makes me feel like my heart
needs to piss. like i'm walking into a
new city with no wind, no sun, no plants and
nothing to grow into.

*

when you were talking about
edges and love and perfectness and love and flames
and love, i thanked you because you wouldnt have
me talking about it too. you dont care. im a huge big black
box of garbage and eagles swoop down to snip the last of
my words. this makes you happy and you leave.these

*

things happen and then we start
writing about how the world must be a peephole
into something huger,more sinister, with
more of a menstrual sense of humor.about how
large amounts of illegal drugs and some
amount of real death would really help. about how
being alone actually makes us stretch our limbs as far as
they'd go, and not just curl up and die. about how
nothing can be salvaged once we start doing this- we
start touching everything as though we're some dusty old
memory,the athlete's foot, or a shard of broken glass.

you say everything as though you mean it to break something

You do everything as though you are
helping a dying woman through childbirth.You say-
'If you're not the woman, you'll be the child'. You are doing this
to make the child survive a world of raptors on its own, crying,
wiping its face on its ass.'You cannot escape this',you
say. I swear, I dig my nails into you and yell
when I'm really just wishing I could sob and say 'I'm sorry, I'm
sorry, lets be ok.' You do everything as
though


you're doing everyone a favour, everyone
but you. You tell me that if my dead friend's book
gets to my bedroom, I'm going to be possessed by suicide
spirits. I burn the book and feed you the
ashes. You take your forgiving hands
out of the oven and do everything you can to
save the child.You say 'This is your next life, damn you, damn
you', bleed a little, and collapse with your God
stories lying next to you.


You know how it's all played out, you're writing
the script and you're chopping off all branches to punish the
roots. The fruits fall, the flowers fall, the
buds make no sound but weep. You look at me and
say 'You won't escape this, damn you,' trying to sound like a witch,
but failing. You try your exorcisms on yourself and
then on me but we've been exhausted. You take your
forgiving hands, pick me up and tell me that


nobody will love me because
I'm ugly with disfigured breasts that resemble the
withering humanity hanging out loosely from
something facing extinction. I try to kill you but my nails
come off. You take your bruises and compile
them into a catalogue of revolvers as though it could be
your prophesy or your handbook on


survival strategies for me. You call me a whore and
scream curses into the commode. You tell the dying
woman that the child is coming through. The steam doesn't
help her breathe. You talk about your failing
marriage your dying bones your psychopathic
tendencies your life and its lack of oases and the
saddest way to combat collapsing roofs. I say 'you can't escape
this, DAMN YOU!' and weep silently, wondering
if you'll ever notice their missing heartbeats
sticking to your bloody hands.


--
(image from google, manipulated by me)

OM

now yesterday, i got drunk i felt like a yogini i texted half the people i know with the name of the whiskey i'd just had and the namah shivaya chant and i drew this and then i fell asleep feeling like i know all there is to know about the origin of everything and the self and masturbation and isolation and NOTHING'S GONNA CHANGE MY WORLLLLD.

i think. i want to run away to the himalayas.

OH THIS IS THE SCRAP VERSION:
TELL ME WHICH ONE YOU HATE MORE *!*

and repeat repeat repeat:

people still wanting to buy my prints, email me at shriparnasarkar@yahoo.com

(dont let the watermarks scare you)

Big Black Ilaichi.

cardamom!cardamom! youmake my chlormintless-day
cardamom!cardamom! you take badtasteofmilk right away
cardamom!cardamom! i can get so very lame
cardamom!cardamom! you are soo the one to blame.

but
cardamom!cardamom! this one thing is sotrue
that
cardamom!cardamom! i deeeeeeeeeeeeegg youuuuuuuu.
(end song)


-
sudden realisation. i can no more pretend to be hovering anywhere close to the borders of profoundity. at no point did i ever make an effort at the pretence, yknow.i think it came naturally, and now it dont. it just dont, man. im just a plain old bastard with issues and a vehement i-wont-speculate attitude.damn, it gets me knee deep into shit sometimes. emotionally,i guess. or maybe im making all this up because i feel a need to ramble senselessly there's nothing else i can ramble freely about.

also, i make a statement man, i really do.
i let go, i let go like its the most poetic thing in the world and i do it in style.
but always such a goddamned phoney morantic, always.
no dice for the style, though. it just leaves my self esteem at a slightly less-microscopic level, which is OK.

oh and people (HAHAFUCKINGHA) still wanting to buy my prints, email me at shriparnasarkar@yahoo.com

(Y)

Updates

IMPORTANT: save the effort of reading the entire post if you have a life, and go straight to the end and read the other *IMPORTANT* note.

ok.so enough of cryptic, one line, posts in the rantblog(s) about things i dont think should matter (or am going to talk about, because i fail to recall what exactly they might've been, actually :S ), and no more stalling the possibilty of new posts hoping for one more comment on the last posts.im here and i realise that this blog has been dying little by little, much the same way as my newfound immunity against the urge to blabberblabberblabber is, now.

so here i am. pre-boards over. doomsday lurking round the corner and im pretending its still december. i hate the weather and everything that spells out clearly- ITS NOT D-E-C-E-M-B-E-R !!!!!!!!!!!!!1111111111ONEONE well but even in december the weather was anything but it.why cant this city give me ONE week of proper cold weather when i dont have to say oh i wish i could shove my ass into the freezer? and i can almost see the almighty going muahahaha from beyond the palegrey skies saying, well kid, live with it. sucks? pretty much. thanks for the sympathy, empathy and all that jazz.
also, i dont have any YAY ITS 2009 AND HERE IS WHAT I PLAN TO DO, because here is what i actually plan to do: STOP worrying about how i never plan to do anything. stopstopstop itsok thats the kinda bastard you are and you cant change that to save your life.or you just dont make an effort. or you're just not sure where this post is going and so you're stretching it longer with pointless sentences that are not about the boil on your ass.
yeaaaaaaaaaaah, i have aNOTHER boil. if you think something's seriously wrong with me, you'd probably be right.
moving on,this weekend we went for this picnic (dad's office thing, so you get the picture) to someplace in Madhyamgram and there were PEBBLES ALLLLLL OVER THE PLACE!!11111oneone i lugged a good twenty something home, if you can believe it. smallbeeg weirdround all kinds.
that's one good thing.
another good thing is that i finally uploaded a few new pictures on dA and flickr, go see if you're jobless.
bad thing: amay biye peyeche. aar peye i choleche. goddamnit. koi re bhai somebody come and biye me. buy me. whatevers. lets elope. lets OK? PLEASE? sigh.nobody takes me seriously. what the fuck, mens.
also, i cannot for the life of me take decent pics with my SLR. not many decent pics, aleast. and all the cautiousness and nervousness about wasting a shot makes it worse.gah.
also, im broke and in dire need of -cough- money which would help me buy something my parents wont get me because they have other things to get me, and i dont wannabugem because i dont think i deserve it yet anyway. well, i need a graphic tablet badly annnnnnnnnd before the college admission things begin, that too. whhhhhhich brings me to the

end-of-the-post-*IMPORTANT*-note:
-clears throat-

hello. im shriparna sarkar, a bum who is pretty goodfornothing and is -cough- trying to sell her prints. prints of her -cough- work. er, artwork? incase anyone is interested ( notice ship on her knees, full-tu begging pose ), please let me know.
work may be viewed in her dA gallery or Flickr (for photographs,link on the sidebar).

i have 4 people agreeing to buy my shit sofar. isalliwantedtosay. hello this is weird.

count your blasseengs

pathetic time ive been having, really. in general. as always. pathetic new year, birthday my fucking foot, santa claus never really existed anyway, mothers always do (ignore this, really).


BUT.


good thing is, good things dont not happen,yknow.
so i am cranky with everyone i know. im a bastard that way, without meaning to be, but how is that an excuse heh :P and some people take in all the shit i keep throwing in all directions,andstill give me reasons to sing ..

YOUAAAAALWAYSTOOKMEWITTTTHASMILEWHENIIIIIWASDOWNNNNNNNN

(from-on mercury. happymaking song anyway.by RHCP.i want to eat their faces. diggable peoples.)

moving on, the goodstuff. (in order of occurrance)

factor#1(fragrating agent): SD gives me smiley pebble smelling of, as i was told, axe aftershave.listen dood, i havea thing for pebbles. dont laugh at me. i like that pebble and people dont give me pebbles so there. this makes it to the list.

factor#2 (de-pissingoff agent ) : emomail from sneha. i cant handle emo, mens.and since i was sloshedwhen i read it, it was worse. holy crap, it WAS.didnt speak to her for two days straight because i didnt know what to say and i end up not bringing things up later,usually, giving the impression im taking everything for granted. cant help, man. i suck at these things.




..she painted that for me. LALALA ACRYLICS ON RED(WHATEVERITSISCALLED)PAPER.she's a star and im a pile of jonjaal. xD oh but thassok with her, so why complain *!*
factor #3 (WATTOSAY): SHRAVANTHI'S LETTER <3 AAAAAAAAAA AND REACHING ON TIME.
factor #4(cheeringup/comfortingagent):

I'll sit by you near the ruins and make you
a daisychain of smiles and forgetmenots,
so when the astrologer passes by we can
laugh in his face (together) and tell him
you have friends.

shrutiperson.wrotepoemphormeonly.wattosay.:)

factor #5(ridding insecurities): PK agreed to adopt me.holy jizz. i can be their daughter. can you beat that? NO SIR NOT IN A MILLION YEARS. so yeah, when im not being a loosar at trying to make it as a phuchka waali or somesuch, im gonna be at home with mommy and daddy, (leaving them alone mostly, yeah. rest assured, you two) eating out of their refridgerator.

wait.

im going to be a joey. i just KNOW it. she's always going to be like monika too, i have a feeling.

anyway, point is, they cant change their mind after THIS. no effin way.

:dances:

facor #6 (MAJORHAPPYMAKINGGRINGRINGRINSMILESMILESMILEAWWINDUCING agent)

. The Ship by ~Babrus on deviantART

BARBRA DREW ME A PICTUR OF ME. in addition to my dA avatar, even my ID is by him now. blah. xD :dancesmoarandmoar:


ohcool something just pissed me off enough to make me stop typing anymore happythings. LISTEN.forgive me.iloveall, but am pissed off. no elaboration.

lookity

notice how my activity over here, and in the other blogs, increases exponentially during exams? more so during pre-boards ? more-er so before the MATHS exam in which flunkage is inevitable? oh well. I DREW NANANANNAHAJHSDF !1111111111ONEONEONE

SOMETIMES, IM SO MUCH FUN! self portrait click click

some other times, im just an alternating yellow and grey blot in the universe: not self portrait click click.

paint. i love paint. right now.

moving on, pencil, sketchbook, and photoshop. here:

Being glamorous.

being glamorous by ~weevilgirl on deviantART

.. one goof-up and you're the clown

every cocktail party turning upside down ..

must be so hard. haha.

i DONT KNOW WHY THERE'S THAT GLARING MISSPELL IN THE IMAGE, ITS OK ON DA BUT IT SHOWS A WRONG SPELLING HERE. IGNORE. GAH.

OKBYE.

Love Tag.

( tagged by LD )



If your lover betrayed you, what would your reaction be?
I would write and draw about killing people. about all the birds stuffing their bones
with something, anything because light isn't fun anymore, freedom isnt love anymore.it was, but not anymore.returning home isnt an option anymore, there's nowhere to go, nothing to go away from, nobody to return to.i would pretend everything i say is poetic, everything i feel has a rhythm,everytime i sing my heart feels like nothing is missing.
i would pretend to be a clear headed person who plans it all beforehand, like i am doing now.i would pretend a lot, like i do now. only, i would pretend then that i never had a lover, while now i like to pretend that i've always kept secrets.


If you can make a dream come true, what would it be?
To be a person who can look at her own feet and think they're beautiful.

What do you do when your love is unrequited ?
I dream about killing people and then i think about what it would've been like if i had no toenails, nor shoes, nor skin, and im at peace with the amount of roof i can afford. But really, im just pretending.
this is what i've done all my life, and i cannot remember details. i think that's because it just drives me a little crazy each time HAHA.

What would you do if you had a billion dollars?
Buy a gun, hire someone to do the licensing shit for me, or scare them into doing it.
Buy a house and throw a huge party and run around wearing pink and then disappear because no one is looking, nobody cares.
Eat a lot before disappearing.
Buy a platinum and diamond ring and send it to my house anonymously.
Drink a lot.
Return home and be very surprised about an anonymous pakage and die of excessive cardiac activity within a span of 2.13 seconds of opening it.

Would you ever fall in love with your best friend?
Dear tag maker,
I want to be a fortune teller and then inform you that you'll die a most brutal death, being run over by a big black truck after having been released from being hung upside down and beaten to pulp for a week and a half.Or maybe i can do fine pretending to be one and telling you the same.


Which is more blessed, loving someone or being loved by someone?
i want to quote someone here but i dont remember the name, or the quote, because i've forgotten what both feel like.
NO i lied. i just like it when im vague.and whiney. and pretending to be distressed and suicidal.

How long do you intend to wait for someone you really love?
Till someone comes and tells me that my womb is about to turn into a toilet bowl in approximately 75 seconds.

If the person you secretly like is already attached, what would you do?
i would do tags like this to distract myself and i have a feeling it would work perfectly fine.

What captures your heart the quickest?
Distance.
when im allowed to see everything through the wrong end of the binoculars and its pointed out that i can switch but it's my choice really.

What would you be, ten years from now?
A learned person who knows the side effects of being an artist, a poet, a girl covered in more scabs than skin.or a madwoman waiting by the public toilets and the ruins at alternate intervals. or a pro at pretending to be all these and more, all at once.

What do you fear?
everything, to some extent. nothing, to some other extent.

What's the first thing you do when you wake up?
Sit up.keep sitting for a few minutes until i'm convinced that i cannot, for the life of me, recall what i'd dreamt of inbetween the scary bits.

Would you give all in a relationship?
I would give all excluding my kleptomania.so i can steal back everything as and when required.

If you love two people simultaneously, who would you pick?
The person called nose.
i couldnt think of anything lamer to match the question.

Would you forgive and forget, no matter how horrible a thing that special someone has done?
If he's done something like not believing me when i say im dead, or when i say i feel like im dying, or that i mightve died long ago, then no. Else i tend to not forgive but just forget, no matter how much i try against it.

If you get to go back in time and fall in love all over again, would it still be with the same person?
In Danish, the word 'love' rhymes with 'pain'.i dont know why i said that.i dont understand what you want to know.

amare..(Robindro Shongeet illustrated)

amare ke nibi bhai shopite chai aponare..

amar ei mon goliye, kaaj bhuliye, shonge toder niye ja re.. amare..

amare ke nibi bhai shonpite chai aponare..

tora kon ruper haate,cholechish bhober baate

tora kon ruper haate,cholechish bhober baate

pichiye achi ami apon bhaare

toder oi haanshi khushi..

toder oi haanshi khushi dibaa nishi

dekhe mon kemon kore..

amare ke nibi bhai shopite chai aponare

amar ei bandha tute, niye ja lute pute

amar ei bandha tute, niye ja lute pute

pore thaak moner bojha ghorer dware

jemon oi ek nimeshe

jemon oi ek nimeshe bonna eshe

bhashiye ni jaye parabaare..

amare ke nibi bhai shopite chai aponare..

eto je ana-gona, ke ache jana shona?

eto je ana-gona, ke ache jana shona?

ke ache naam dhore mor daakte paare?

jodi she barek eshe

jodi she barek eshe daraye henshe

chinte paari dekhe taare..

amare ke nibi bhai shopite chai aponare...

:)

one of my favourite songs ever, probably THE favouritest Rabindra Sangeet, definitely so at the moment. i started relating to it from the very first time i heard it about 6-7 years back, and its been growing into me ever since. oh love. inspired drawing. i feel sorta nice. fullview here.

OH bytheway. i was doing something similar on paint, asking mom about some random spelling of some random word, and she comes, checks it out, and goes OH besh bhalo. blog kore de eta!blog korbi toh? jani toh korbi. blog kore loke pore jodi keu nite chaye/raaji hoye toke. tai hobe kina shondeho jodiyo.nile abar eshe phele diye jaabe. hahahaAHHAHAHAHJAGSHDF

YES THE LAUGH was hers. heh.

my problem is that i cannot stop talking about what a terrible person i am, or how rotten the rest of the world is.
i have the brain of a vegetable and the life of a non exsitent eggplant, which must also be a vegetable, only i wanted to be specific.i cannot stop whining or complaining or acting exactly like the person i am.
haha that so funny i might grow another nose, the nose of an alcoholic. my favourite poetess has the nose of an alcoholic.