go to your father, tell him this is painful, you should leave, we should stay in the Mississippi- the fish get tired quicker elsewhere.Write a letter to your first grade teacher, say i lied, i really did
Steal from the girl with two ponies and i'm glad i did and then let you
Teach me about god. Its greater without another syllable but goddammit that was grief,and i respect you for your innocence. Write to your teenage self
Stopbabies ahead but no don't fuck around.When you want to write a poem become a month of harvest instead.Write to yourself for every letterbox you fruitlessly dissected in your teens, for how you reached only bones each time organs missing as blood or bile.become a month
Of overflowing trashcans from the binge eating acne menstrual problems break ups. drink a solution of explosives and apple juice,every Eve learning to explode, buy her own food or eat out of her ovaries. Dont make any make nothing but excuses or someone believe.Write
To yourself your metaphors are too far out.Your life is at the stake with that punctuation left to another's will, you are a bad liar with weak lungs,quit.When they don't get the game, you're a bad player so quit, light a candle, write another shopping list or a travel guide- exit the valley with the toy soldiers,telescopes,the
Moments before each plane crash on your mantle think about each face of the dead that you remember- with
the warts,ones with the skydiving gelidity,
the frequents at the Mountain Bike Forums
With the juts and gashes, write them epitaphs.In
some mention the faces you wish you could
have seen, their brothers,the wet
hair from the last time you remember(ed)
Having seen them,pet your peeves
and apologise for the lack of italics they could do nothing without the lumberjacks.When you want to write a poem learn ride a zebra instead.Hold
Your love affairs and sweet talk, make a speech on the dying breed of rare sheep, their scientific name stuck around the edges of your teeth.Do anything but
This, because nothing is scarier, more pathetic and discarded than the writing of a poem in reverse cause otherwise it would begin in the woods,breathe heavy for a while and then drop
There on the knees with the stopped antique watches buried at different points you would
THAT ALL I WANTED TO DO IS TO REINVENT MYSELF AS A SUNRISE AND I NEEDN'T ESCAPE MY SUNSET AND MY DIRTY LAUNDRY.
SO I'LL BE HERE STILL, NO DELETION.
but I have an exclusive tumblr blog exclusively for those who asked, its going to have my artwork and wilder things that shouldnt roam the streets or maybe thats just a lureeeeeeee BUT IM BACK yes highfive
So most people missed the 24 hour notice and asked me later, so I'm leaving this open for a while. Wont be posting here, and I have a new blog. Leave an address if you want to stay tuned :)
in 24 hours. i will see you somewhere else if you want to see me that is in which case i will leave a
post-it note on your commode so leave me a note here.
Its a party in your heart and I'm not sure if I can stay
While they're dancing all around me I sit wondering what to say
Come tomorrow I'm hungover with all that leftover wine
I'd been drinking out of what I shouldn't have confused as mine.
As an independent individual I am good, otherwise I am not, no matter how good the Otherwise may be.
Wednesday, October 27, 2010
You can really see people when they sing, I can't see no one otherwise Its like I'm soulblind.
Nobody steals this I MADE IT WOOHOOO I CAN USE FLASH NOW yes ok it sucks eh stfu its the first flashthingy i are happay.its suppossed to be faster and IS in the SWF file i dont know how to change speed on gif or if we can at all im techretarded didyounotknowwww.
everything apart from the kaleidoscope images - my own. :P
EDIT- Yes, so i'm learning flash now. excuse the hyperventilation, i've been sleep deprived hence i thought its look-at-able. :/
Well it's a photo and photos suck but what the hell
(and that's me, right there oh yes)
Saturday, September 25, 2010
i think i've put myself in a place where i don't know how to lift myself up and where to get to but the nagging suspicion of this not being where i should be always always lingering man its not pleasant i would do yoga if that could fix it
Leftover rain slinking down the potholes of a repressed subconscious, inhale this city as a new book this morning. A wind-washed fiction, every square inch of concrete a spot on the page. You start to appreciate modern art, strange colours, stubborn lines and stubborn scars from something poetic. That's a start, you think, and your shoes fit perfectly this time.
Exactly when you must stop thinking.Lesson number 9 in
How to Keep Your Marbles and More.
Full Title:What one must read when one wants to write How to Sell Your Book.
Alternate title:WHAT ONE MUST NOT READ IS one's day.
-
I'M TALKING TOO MUCH AND ABOUT TOO MANY THINGS I THINK ITS JUST ABOUT TOO MUCH YEAH.
such a perfect perfect day. even ends with me being handed the exact piece of clothing i need the instant i reach into my whirlpool of a wardrobe. yes, that's more of a miracle than anything preceding it, but thank god for the rest too.
:)
Friday, September 3, 2010
7 in the morning, I go for a walk alone and suddenly BAM. I'm running. Because Running, you see, is apparently the Love of my Life.Such delicate realisations have a way of surfacing at times when you are least expecting an epiphany- in unsuitable clothes, floaters that have made you trip countless number of times during their lifespan, with a phone you JUST CANNOT drop/break/ruin if you had to see the light of another such day, and very aware of the fact that the comfort of the hug you'd been hoping to collapse into at the end of the track is, well, a mirage.
Well at least the phone is sort of alive.
But God, I need to go running more often.
Exactly that, and there's NOTHING I can blame it on except for the lack of the kind of interaction that I'd like with the kind of people that are capable of it, or maybe its just that I haven't done laundry in a while. Everything stinks. I do like just lying on a slanting terrace, its scales rubbing at the back of my being just enough to not let me get complacent,and there's enough sky too, for once. But that's all it becomes, lying down, there is no scope for extrapolating the way I like to, I'm not hunting for flying couches in my head anymore.
In other news,I touched a dog and I liked it.
Also, fixed my guitar with a little help from KC. The stings are rusting but there's music again. If I ever buy a car, it will be big and blue. I'll notice the children on the streets when I drive past, I'll notice the children on the streets.
Sitting at the end of the divider makes me want to sing Irish drinking songs, and- well who could've guessed- drink.
Saturday, August 21, 2010
Im sick of dealing with the spineless, I wonder what they keep shoving up their flaccid assholes to keep themselves upright.Maybe all the pretentious self righteousness, but how do they even muster that?
Why the concept of transparency appears to be so RIDICULOUS to everyone is what I do not understand.
And why is it so difficult to come to terms with the fact that maybe it(whatever it is) is just what its like, and there is no undertone that you're missing.
I'm not doing rantblog anymore, nor facebook, nor girlfriends, and there's no boyfriend to do anyway so lets just make this the dumping ground again.
I've realised that I suck balls at studio shoots (heh, everything I say has a way of sounding wrong). I'm probably just terrible at working in controlled conditions is all because its the same with anything I do, any form of framework given and you can trust me to be a ball of yarn gone loose around it. Spontaneous photography is probably the best I can do, and thats just sad yknow.
(Spontaneously shot when on pot)
Well, not too sad I guess, unless you take the professional aspect into account, but no wait there is no professional aspect to my existence anyway so HURRAY!
Anyway, so I'm whiny about everything now, but suicidal would be a more appropriate state of mind, given the circumstances.If only I was a clearer thinker. I could swear that just about a minute ago I'd thought of some issue I really need to address (could be anything from a shoelace fiasco to major highschool drama thing) but I can't, for the life of me, remember anything within 2450 nautical miles of it because its out in the sea of complete wipe-out. The only good thing to have happened to me in the recent past has been Adobe InDesign, it made me a little less distressed about graphic design and a future I don't really believe exists.Yes, a software.
And i don't have it.
:/
To TOP IT ALL,my Uncle is visiting India for a month, for the first time with all four of his pretty, pretty Portuguese kids and I'm stuck in PUNE and I've never met ANY of them save the eldest boy and its just really awful that the only time I've ever wanted to see anyone thats even close to being related to me, well, I cant.
Well if you feel like sending across a hug, a new phone instead would be nice.
It is as though I've taken up gardening full time. My art gone
out the window, it makes fine manure, works slow but
I give it a go. I sit for days under the window, shooting up
at every wink of the sun. The winds gossip and I join hands with
the hosepipe. Twice a day I dig up bones and appendices, twice a
day new ones must appear, dripping or stale,two days dead. I
miss the culinary activities, I miss my cat during his favourite part of
listlessness.I'm hunting but its still just bones, no organs showing up, no
marrow to build a beat.It is as though next, ill have them growing
out of the sound-hole, use the neck as a plough, fingers firm over
flying strings.We're making music, I tell you, but we still need
the red. You snap the fingers and nothing flows.You're still snapping
fingers, the sound of it calming you more than the birds ever helped,
and what else would we want the trees for anyway. Lets go to bed,
I say, and you're snapping fingers, too tired to dig the dead ones out.
What other kind of sleep-walking do I need to practise, what embellishments do I add to my madness? Which is most appropriate to rub against the other, for my pride is eroding just a little slower each time. Punctuate and crosscheck. Wrap some more rags around the ticker, crosscheck, wash its feet and give it up, give up, put letting go on repeat and you can live without a care in the world.Several excuses have been used, but I'll give you the one that sells, diamond rimmed, pure platinum body, the whitest of baked lies.If only it spun a little smoother, two decades have been passed in these hitches,what are we even saying anymore, its been too long,we've come to far in to create or conquer sense now
Friday, July 16, 2010
this is exactly what i was afraid of.i knew that the moment i realise that my acquaintances from this city read this space too, i would somehow start refraining from posting. still not sure how or why, because its not as if its a personal choice, i just see patterns i wish weren't so marked in my behaviour, its very not cool.speculating on why it might have been, well, maybe because anything i churn out is so unbelievably weird ive got to be trying my BEST to be different, right, and oh long sentences of course and when would you find anything of substance anyway, why then such embellishments.
why anything when merging into,wait what do i call it, Blah, is so convenient, fun, and it works out for everybody so hurrah i guess.
(oh did i miss out how what im calling weird is actually so Boring you want to jump out of your skin and into an ocean or even a gutter would do, and oh when will i get what is really going on lulz)
the day before, a creepy grey eyed middle aged man stopped me in the middle of the road while i was walking back with a collapsing lung or something that felt like it was killing me, and said that he was stalking me and wanted to friend me. who else wants to friend me?
notice how we are more inclined
to settle for lesser and lesser
each time? that's what they want you to
do. settle. like clogs on the craters trying
to make a blown up planet less vacuous
and ugly.
look at it from this point of view. Your points of view.Ok, let us
begin.If I look at it from the 67 degrees north point of view, a range is missing, whatever happens to the Himalayas when we move to the Atlantic? From right there across the street, a firefly is missing.From yours, I lost my 3rd Grade story. And from yours, I lost my FB password. Tragedy is flowing from all points, we are all points under the same water but at varied depths. We're a part of a balloon. Everyone in this balloon has different points of view. My point of view looks at this as a balloon. From my point of view, I see something dying. In all our points of view combined, what is happening again? Where is the heavily dressed woman in her forties, where is that pet animal she stole. And then they flocked her; she played hide and seek on repeat and it was blue evenings, red meat, a fat thump when she moved. Every moment is that moment of what is happening. It is a good what is happening but
gravity is tugging harder as I say this. People say, look at it from my
point of view. Like it's the same thing, you and I have the same
bloodgroup, the same jawline, or the same fear of water on
our feet.Look at it from my point of view, then. Look at it, pulling
at my feet, tentacles of a sea monster and I, the only point it could
grab from down there.
Once upon a time I had good, long hair. And then it reduced to 'once upon a time'.If you look at my face now, you would be looking at the face of the dying. This one time, I had a vision where I was a madman looking for a jutting piece of rock muttering 'am I really that lonely yet?' Rainclouds formed, my hands were covered in glue-skin that was safe to peel. I tried saying, 'Hello, I have a new haircut, and man do I look like a boy, would you let me sit, I think I can leave when I must, oh yes? I must hear you sing then!' I tried saying more but it only came out of my mouth to form a puddle at my feet, inviting me to drown in it. The rainclouds, the puddle, and then the fucking birds. What do you do then, where will you run, they can fly you know. You want to punctuate each sentence with panic, but how do you even do that? How do you grab your towel and how do you reach for the door? Your limbs are lighter already, the updraft under your extended glue-skin has taken you and you're with them now, not one of them, just lighter bones and still an eye out for a jutting piece of rock with a spot of sun.
sometimes, sometimes my mind is too strong
to carry on.
Thursday, June 10, 2010
Birla Mandir, Kolkata.
Looks like i really enjoy doing architectural photography. I was getting the drift of this in Aurangabad earlier, when we were taken for our Socio Cultural Research trip, especially with Amish's camera, the pictures of which i have tried to snag out of his possession on several occasions, but failed.
I just noticed i had misspelt Aurangabad as AurangaBar.
So much for an attempt at seemly posts trying to hide inebriation.
ok so this is copied, mostly, from this artwork from this book of club flyer art, but text and little things changed. done mostly for painting practice because i cannot even paint solid colours into basic shapes, yes im that sloppy with the brush.plus i wanted yellowposterlikething for my room. but i LIKETHIS.
Today i saw Osama's picture and i tell you i hate clean shaven men.
Are you happy with seventy two horses.
are they happy in their bunny suits.
Are these really apples.
tomorrow, lets visit a clinic and buy that shit man.
Some of the days I dont get any dreams and then I try to fill up my sleep with commercials where there's men waking up with grey hair and no pension plans
I resolve to never tell you when I'm not ok
I want to get an ocean around my eyes, lets drink.
We forget to punctuate sometimes.
-
so whatsup. so my boils are deflating.i want to write flash fiction but i cant.
Monday, May 24, 2010
Last time I saw people resting their heads on others' shoulders and elsewhere, saying oh my god its been ages, its been true.The shape your shoulder makes to this other person's head.And you know there's only one other person, holding this horrible spot that hits your boil but you know exactly what you're doing holding them in there, though you don't know what you're doing. Ok bye,you say then.It is love.
So what's up. I have many boils on my body. The mammoth one inside my nostril bled itself out like a lover, and that is the only time it acted like one anyway. I am an angry volcano that Just Cannot Erupt. Incapable of what should be my natural course of action, I fume and boil over and what simmers inside of me possibly finds vents on my slope and then there's little amounts of poison oozing out intermittently but then it just Keeps Happening, Goddammit.
SO WILL YOU
Start wearing Purple, wearing Purple.
Start wearing Purple for me now?
Yellow is the most important, the most pervading, almost like the Blue when you look at Planet Earth from Jupiter, only more thorough at it.Sometimes I wonder what if the Blue were Yellow, and the Earth looked icteric? It would then be easier to imagine the planet as a smiley.There's a purple smiley fixed to the outermost pocket of the backpack,sitting there like a pink bow on a Poodle.They say the hair can twist into cords and continue to grow if the Poodle coat isn't brushed constantly.In order to brush it constantly, the bow ought to be removed from time to time, but Ether never removes the smiley, and that brings to mind an image of an unseemly, tangled, coarsely coated Poodle you don't want to be toting around with your books and make up and food and drumsticks in.Ether doesn't have drumsticks, nor chopsticks, nor dandiya sticks, and the last time she ate cheese sticks, they reminded her of dogfood, even though she's never even smelt any variety of those, ever.Pictures of all her favourite foods give Ether's backpack a much stronger base than yours.Sometimes during her meals when she cant remember how the food looked before she swallowed 3/4th of it in a go, she likes to want to reach into her bag for a reference picture, and then complain about fatigue,following which she'd segue into a little rant about Thinspiration, but all she actually does is finish the food, take the damn backpack and carelessly thud past any other backpacks in sight.The backpack has seen more cities than Ether has, but it tells no stories and cracks no jokes, and you can bet it's never taken any pictures either, so you can never tell how.Ether doesn't know this, but if she did, she wouldn't be sad. Ether's backpack is misunderstood by most people, but i must tell you that it's only trying to spread yellow cheer, much like an epidemic.Ether doesn't know this, but if she did, she wouldn't care.
(words from the lyrics to Suddenly I See- K.T.Tunstall. mixedmedia collage.product of summerrestlessness and extremeboredom.doesnt like daddy.bites mommy sometimes.)
But what I should be, is a Suicide Expert. Should start a Suicide Hotline, give Suicide advise and publish books on The Gruelling Way to Suicide, name myself the SUICIDE GURU and help all you little suicidal bunnies find your smashing ending.
WHY.
Tuesday, May 4, 2010
My life is a pathetic little circus again, and this time there's just dying elephants and accident prone gymnasts. I have in effect turned into a completely obsessive eccentric, and its not all comic anymore.
In other news, I just realised a few things about myself.Like I don't really have preferences for this particular TYPE of ...things. Like, Irish men or dark chocolate (God, I LOVE dark chocolate but will gobble with the same amount of delectation when there's milk chocolates in question).But I am extremely choosy about particular cases all the same.
Also, I dig the idea of killing people so much that I seem to have recurring dreams about it, complete with all the chasing and screaming and murderous facial expressions etc. All that's missing is the concluding spurt of blood, my brain, well what do I say. It's a smart little bugger that knows its limits. But the following mornings have always been wrought with insane urges to really really stuff some knives into some chests and tummies and faces (try stabbing faces with multiple cutting instruments in your dreams, kiddos. epic gore, that) and pull out intestines and wrap them around some bleeding, mutilated faces. This is a morning for such lighthearted foolery, care to join me?
Blog hopping may be fun, but getting carried away and blog HUNTING and reading those which really, really should be made off limits for you (like say your Maths teacher's fantasy blog, which is just an example VERY distant from the cause of my woes at the moment) can make you want to do the things described in the earlier paragraph to yourself. I wish I had something to take my mind off these things but well, I'm at home. I do these things to get away from the oppressive home environment in the first place, and I just happened to be seeking comfort in the wrong places of late.
Plus, there's ulcers in my MOUTH that take the cake. : X
On a slightly cheerier note, I am rediscovering my love for Roald Dahl and Black n White movies and ruining artwork (well at least I do START with something now, and instead of the abandoning, I'm doing the ruining which has got to be a learning experience in some distant world I do not seem to be in myself). I'm growing a little too tired of bitterness flowing to my fingertips so I think I should stop typing immediately, so, so long and thanks for all the intestines.
Last time i did, (facts about another person that were allegedly stated 'unpleasantly'on the blog; about Devika and the whole Kelsey,dA, plagiarism deal, im really not doing this thinking of how to be politically correct right now, so please let me be unrefined and blunt,with names and everything else, this is my personal space for god's sake) it created trouble for people, im told. gave my blog undue publicity too, most of the feeds would show traffic only to that post, and triggered bitter words from anonymous people, sad personal shit and im losing my patience beating about the bush, but yeah, so thing is, im not sorry i wrote that post.
I'm not sorry i brought it to light (whatever it was, intentional or unintentional), for the bad punctuation in the post, for being politically incorrect if i might've been, i was doing what i thought i was ought to, and im sure i wasn't thinking too wrongly, but i have taken off that post.
Why, i could've removed it and kept quiet about it, but i didn't want to, because i wanted to be able to explain this to myself, at least. The reason i did it is because i was told( very straightforwardly, and the lack of a cushion of any amount of hearsay made it come as a major surprise, by the way) that it not only still seriously affects her own, but also her family's peace of mind.The comments lala. Look, i have nothing personal against you. you cheated, i told. I catch anyone at it i tell because im a bigmouth like that. I didnt mean to brew hatred or open a common forum to gather around and bitch, for whatever reason, none of my concern. And THAT seemed to be the only purpose that the blogpost had been serving after the initial 'OMG-REALLY!'s and i didnt think having it around was doing anyone any good, so why not flush out the hate. I did what might do someone less harm, so there, i did what i did.
And with all due respect dudes(themdudes) ,im not taking this one down, not even for the lawyers.
(All in good humour, hohoho? Thank you.)
I'm going to tell you one thing I know for certain about myself- allergic or not, I will always hate vodka. Today is very hot like every other day now but today I had to walk to college and stay there for 2 goddamned hours just to get very worked up about every other person's attitude towards the upcoming jury AND one permission letter. Too hot for people so I asked them to not meet me, this one time that I had any at all. Ho Ho. What is with me and the persistent non existence of my social life. Its too hot even for question marks and right punctuation,and I really dont need your answers.So then I came back to my room, danced to Belly Dancer and imagined to have no self respect at all so I can make myself type this out. Right now I cannot make myself carry on with life with the same conviction as always (conviction you will never find reflected in my attitude, no, its all in my head, its the secret life of Malter Witty) because I cant have my poison, nobody is willing to go score. What does it mean to have a resolution and stick to it man, I will never know.
Besides that, this is good. Tomorrow im going to visit an orphanage, as if the disabled home I keep visiting wasnt fucking with my brain enough. I'm hoping it gets done with without me feeling a strange obligation to go back there, I hope that place is a corporate bitchhole, I hope I come back with something to crib about, ready with words and jabs at whatever i see and not wrapped in thick layers of silence. What i really want to do is be a bitch, go clubbing and break an ankle. But no the whole point of this rant is, vodka sucks, baba chai.
Tuesday, April 13, 2010
i've been a drooling, irritable, sick and difficult 5 year old lately.or like im nursing withdrawal symptoms like a clutz. nautanki, bilkul. if i were to say something to my mom now, i'd prolly say KIMMIN CHAI.kimmin debe,kimmin? ekta duto teente paanchta chota? and i think i'd just scream at everything else. i dont have kimmins, keede kha gaye mere kimmins. kinta paisa waste. kitne kimmins waste. kimmins are kishmishes for the 5yearoldme. kimmins are raisins and i want raisins and mango juice for 7 bucks. or 5. these things disappear exactly when you need them to be around and suddenly, you go from being Clementine to Joel. pulling at memories where you can hide what you needed to let go of a minute back. but im not running fast enough, all this sickness and tiny 5 yearold legs and no raisins what to do kya karoon
Wednesday, April 7, 2010
i just realised that what i want to do/have/feel and what i should do/have/feel had never created a conflict until i started taking my own decisions. what is that, immaturity?
sometimes when i breathe, halfway through letting out a breath, i breathe in sharply again and then let go of it.
smart way to stone, terrible way to live.
be not harsh. written very quickly for a college assignment (which, btw, was to use at least 10 words out of a GIVEN pair of pages off the dictionary and making a story out of it and illustrating it in 12 panels {which, i have not done yet no im doomed indeed}. i just wrote it in verse because i think i was high and wanted to rhyme because i cant generally rhyme.my page had cauliflower, cauldron, causeway, CBI, etc etc. )
I fall asleep earlywith half my stationery around my head, socks on the window sill, grip at the edge of a waking dream. What has this done to me- i wake up with a start at 4:44 AM to look for your words stuck somewhere in the telegraph line, hanging like pigeons dead from the shock of a spark,letters in a puddle hidden from sunlight.When i am in love with you, i am always pulling down my cheeks, i quibble about the way you love, i smell my shoes in my sleep. I'm taking too many showers, im taking too much time to listen to a song, im taking too little into consideration and too much to heart.
When i am in love with you, i want to know that im getting flowers next time.My head sticks out the window and there's nothing coming to kill me.I cry too much and too little, i smile like it's a daydream.
I am a naked heartbeat, let it not be a daydream.
-
thats something i wrote when i was very high and would not have left the depths of my gay purple journal under normal circumstances. i just found it two days back,and i dont have any memory of having written it.but its here because you should know and because i want to fix things.
so there is a love so strong that you mostly tend to love all wrong because its just too much.
Friday, March 19, 2010
is there a love so strong that you'd love all wrong?
overexposed weirdexpression lady from a moving bus
nimbooman outside bibi ka makbara ok i dont know how to spellit.
gagan in the bus
anshul with chai.
axe<3
satpathy with jojo in background.
march?
harixander soopertramp.
shoot! vasundhara, vipin, and vishal under deadtree.
lovekids:)
punit, outside our research cave
(Cave One, Ajanta)
so those were people pictures from the college trip to ajanta and ellora that i probably wont put up elsewhere :D
and in case you were wondering why i dont write anymore, the answer lies in my wordpress blog. garbage isnt very pleasant to step on so i keep it away from the most stepped on site.on an updatey note, first year in college almost over. past few months in the hostel have been brilliant mostly because my roommate decided to unofficially move into her friend's room which leaves me ALONE in the WHOLE BEEG ROOM WITH TWO BEDS, TWO TABLES, TWO CHAIRS and a clean loo.solitude and clean bathroom and complete privacy. sigh. next year is bound to be different, im bound to get new roommate, and bound to begin is a new era of cribbage but ill enjoy this while it lasts.im a little screwed when it comes to work and i feel like im going nowhere in life and i dont draw as much anymore. oh and the amount i drift/have been drifting is unhealthy. gets me into trouble with people but as long as i get by, who gives a fuck.
