haha. finally its may be, nice to write again tenatively. haha doesnt always mean haha u see.. i like auto biographies. not the ones u read here n there. the real ones i mean. my interest in freud is increasing again. as if it was the same all while.. rainy days, you see.. rain comes and goes. its all funny. the rain. the same moment the whole thing rains. not just ouside your heart.. haha! how poetic, would that what i'd say? how pathetic fallacy, is the literary nature of it may be. how can i waste time like this? hehe.. dont you? thats sad.. i ll not tell what it is that is sad. lights go and come inthe litten sg palya. like they go and come anywhere else in the world, except in america: a place where there's no darkness.. how allusive?! haha. not at all.. what a dialogue you!?! i should probably remind myself of that face book scrap and get flattered about how my blog is nice and all.. thats human nature you see, gentlemen.. :P. the reminiscences of dostyovisky havent yet left me all..
that was a nice movie.. babies day out n all.. thats not at all bad, and kid was also not real it seems.. some one told me in atp. that was a nice movie then.. but now i ve not seen it recently..
you see, i act as if i am bringing out some philosophical truth thru a dubious monologue... haha.. i know so many words in english..bye me
Saturday, June 28, 2008
Tuesday, June 10, 2008
spacetime change
took off a bus quiet unwillingly, till i reached here. my unwillingness accompanied no terrific reason, except that i wanted a spacetime change. this very thought of breaking one's own inertia is at times intimidating, for me atleast. the bus too, quiet unwilling, as it was, was struggling to keep itself unaffected by those roads, with not so many humps, first the passengers doubted the roads, then the driver's abilities and finally the bus itself, whose seats almost were moving in accordance with their busser self.
And the nights auto driver who demanded for 30 and got it paid started to gossip about his brother's habitual drinking that ruined him. and so he was taking care of his brother, who went down to get something from the auto i was going in, and who had previously scared his brother's passengers like he scared me, by repeatedly demanding 50 rs.. his brother all-sad was genuinely looking for a sort of telling-it-off to someone. so was i there.
and just now it was, as it sometimes does, tried to rain. and thats the only reason why i came out in search of rain.. with its disappointment, since it didnot rain, i am here. here waiting for all sorts of godots.. and the secret remains undisturbed like all nice secrets of the world, and the secret is.. haha its a secret and you'd know if i ve ever told you, like i did..
And the nights auto driver who demanded for 30 and got it paid started to gossip about his brother's habitual drinking that ruined him. and so he was taking care of his brother, who went down to get something from the auto i was going in, and who had previously scared his brother's passengers like he scared me, by repeatedly demanding 50 rs.. his brother all-sad was genuinely looking for a sort of telling-it-off to someone. so was i there.
and just now it was, as it sometimes does, tried to rain. and thats the only reason why i came out in search of rain.. with its disappointment, since it didnot rain, i am here. here waiting for all sorts of godots.. and the secret remains undisturbed like all nice secrets of the world, and the secret is.. haha its a secret and you'd know if i ve ever told you, like i did..
Sunday, June 8, 2008
crazymess
A day of lone homeness, with that old servant lady. Cant help remembering all the days, which accompanied all the hummable songs, that never went out of my mouth in solitude. All those hummable classical noises. I might have to run to home or something, out of all the pressure, that comes from all sides, to pop me out of this place, like the blood that comes out of that bigant's head when you poke it with a pin. How i love and loved, those songs, and all those whoever associated with those little noises..!
It all seems like a huge dream that's there always. here and there. now and then. all those rememberable poems that went along with the faces that looked like the manifestations of those poems, seemed to empty their colours of faces with the running of watches they wore. they all will still run, into red, blue and green. an year will go. so will ten years. then.? then i am here typing all this, about ten years back. ten years back, thats when i might have been thought of writing this all.. but what was i, then? probably a 5 th class boy. lrg school. first time to that school. those horrific days of tuitions studies marks and little things that would make you happy forever. like thinking about the day, when you would go from all that which pained you. haha.. images of those dreams, like those of thoughts mixed with pictures and small sounds. and finally get up to only find it all waiting for you somewhere there. here... and as it runs ten more years.. those watches, what would i write. i would write about today, about those dreams that almost teared me today. like all those daymares. about all the inertia of time that had finally reached a threshold level. about those hummable classical things, like all those tunes and all that including poems that are good to think of. about the place i would be in, about the place i would in, then, a hill. green colours around, here and there. that wouldnt matter much to me, then. yeah.. that rain, then infinite rain with death like cold, those i'd be with, at that point, all those of those distant times, says to me, 'type this all..' so that you can read it again then, read it again, thinking about the fortune doers, we have been. thinking about the day we thought for, that we would be in. thinking about all those vision and mission like sentences uttered in times of intensified miseries, mysteries and thoughtalks. and all those that i would tell you then.. then i would go there, near that computer.. then say, 'look what i knew'
It all seems like a huge dream that's there always. here and there. now and then. all those rememberable poems that went along with the faces that looked like the manifestations of those poems, seemed to empty their colours of faces with the running of watches they wore. they all will still run, into red, blue and green. an year will go. so will ten years. then.? then i am here typing all this, about ten years back. ten years back, thats when i might have been thought of writing this all.. but what was i, then? probably a 5 th class boy. lrg school. first time to that school. those horrific days of tuitions studies marks and little things that would make you happy forever. like thinking about the day, when you would go from all that which pained you. haha.. images of those dreams, like those of thoughts mixed with pictures and small sounds. and finally get up to only find it all waiting for you somewhere there. here... and as it runs ten more years.. those watches, what would i write. i would write about today, about those dreams that almost teared me today. like all those daymares. about all the inertia of time that had finally reached a threshold level. about those hummable classical things, like all those tunes and all that including poems that are good to think of. about the place i would be in, about the place i would in, then, a hill. green colours around, here and there. that wouldnt matter much to me, then. yeah.. that rain, then infinite rain with death like cold, those i'd be with, at that point, all those of those distant times, says to me, 'type this all..' so that you can read it again then, read it again, thinking about the fortune doers, we have been. thinking about the day we thought for, that we would be in. thinking about all those vision and mission like sentences uttered in times of intensified miseries, mysteries and thoughtalks. and all those that i would tell you then.. then i would go there, near that computer.. then say, 'look what i knew'
Wednesday, June 4, 2008
daypression
today. had to get up by seven thirty(though i only lifted myself into the air against the gravity, inertia and all that only by 8.20). Got up then. Had to search around for the book to go through. history. puys place closed. so pointlessly walked all the way thinking of all that that sg palya can make you do, only to call her when i was almost there and turn my back with bookless hope. sad start as you see, gentlemen! but my spirits were all still trying to be so high in midst of bathless dirt which i hate during mornings, that i was in. So out of pure narcissistic impulses i went on enjoying the terrible taste that i get when bathing is not there. thus the exam hall i went along with those two, j. and ch. was also not a terrific expedition for the day which awaited me with some more bitter chocolates that would make me wet my eyes in the next last half of the day. night, may be. As one sees, everything is almost connected, except that the connecting factor seems like an absurd improbability at times. I wonder why i wet my eyes. Out of narcissistic impulses may be. its hard to live with this disorder you see, NPD. with mild attacks of hypochondriacal schizophrenia. and delusions, accompanied with no real
hypochondria. That was the day, almost like. in the fumes of all that shit-like-smelling things. After I go there. the exam. write it not so badly, atleast not as good as my psych shit. Out of all old traumatic events, whose smells were still very much felt, i should have guessed it all in the morning, that dint let my Nietzschean inertia, choose me sleep. As this very failure of inertia of sleep makes me now, type all this. type it all with so much dedication and all that, as if its my head dictating all these to my fingers, as if my brain is pouring it all here. this stinks,you see.. Finally, in the evening i had to take this bath, to atleast sleep in damp for an hr or so.. after spending it all there in warm solitude, then, ahh.. then i wanted to sleep. which i partially did and partially couldn't out of all thoughts, impressions, interpretations of my own absurd self thats making me type all this shit..
And head aches in the middle of all that, me out for my personal doctor. personal hospital thats the best headache curer. hospital: not so short walk in that long road looking at all those colourful faces, where i see this real nice looking girl and near my personal medicine, that i eat as days like these, the pani puri gampa. then i have it there looking at the dog thats there in that girl's purse. it was nice. hehe.. so i told hehe. then ate pani puri to go back home in search of the second slapping event of the day, that triggered off the grand wet in my eyes.. and the kid sleeping next to this tchch tchch sounds like a eye-closed-cat making shhh shhhh sounds in midst her even more depressive day trys sleeping to calm her first dep.
hypochondria. That was the day, almost like. in the fumes of all that shit-like-smelling things. After I go there. the exam. write it not so badly, atleast not as good as my psych shit. Out of all old traumatic events, whose smells were still very much felt, i should have guessed it all in the morning, that dint let my Nietzschean inertia, choose me sleep. As this very failure of inertia of sleep makes me now, type all this. type it all with so much dedication and all that, as if its my head dictating all these to my fingers, as if my brain is pouring it all here. this stinks,you see.. Finally, in the evening i had to take this bath, to atleast sleep in damp for an hr or so.. after spending it all there in warm solitude, then, ahh.. then i wanted to sleep. which i partially did and partially couldn't out of all thoughts, impressions, interpretations of my own absurd self thats making me type all this shit..
And head aches in the middle of all that, me out for my personal doctor. personal hospital thats the best headache curer. hospital: not so short walk in that long road looking at all those colourful faces, where i see this real nice looking girl and near my personal medicine, that i eat as days like these, the pani puri gampa. then i have it there looking at the dog thats there in that girl's purse. it was nice. hehe.. so i told hehe. then ate pani puri to go back home in search of the second slapping event of the day, that triggered off the grand wet in my eyes.. and the kid sleeping next to this tchch tchch sounds like a eye-closed-cat making shhh shhhh sounds in midst her even more depressive day trys sleeping to calm her first dep.
Monday, June 2, 2008
day?
day it is? is it a day, not in us, in here, where the light is just absolutely almost unpresent.? no. its not. its night. with the sjoo sjoo sounding, sleep breaths kids make when a sleep, in a wghoo wghoo fanned room, where ktchk ktchk sounds are often orgasmated between the keyboard's keys and my finger's tips.
what to do to go to sleep? one of my relatives, or may be my aunt, -another one- used to say you read means you will get sleep. and the same one, or may be someone else, used to say one time writing equals to twenty times reading. To accelerate the intensity of the sleep that would sleep me tonight, i shall probably have to write, to make the sleep come, twenty times faster than read-to-sleep technique, Zavaedasthura at times, propagate.
what all you night, you have to day, first. And versa vice.
sleepy.
delirious.
not-so-sleepy.
sleeplessly,
nocturnal Homo sapian.
what to do to go to sleep? one of my relatives, or may be my aunt, -another one- used to say you read means you will get sleep. and the same one, or may be someone else, used to say one time writing equals to twenty times reading. To accelerate the intensity of the sleep that would sleep me tonight, i shall probably have to write, to make the sleep come, twenty times faster than read-to-sleep technique, Zavaedasthura at times, propagate.
what all you night, you have to day, first. And versa vice.
sleepy.
delirious.
not-so-sleepy.
sleeplessly,
nocturnal Homo sapian.
junenoon
june is the day. its a month but, the month where you waanna pee so badly and all. thats why one should always look for trees properly.. but thats a terriffic thing, to keep looking for trees into treelessness.
I seems to sound pleasanter now.
wish i had a gun..
I seems to sound pleasanter now.
wish i had a gun..
Sunday, June 1, 2008
new blog
:) defining newness seems too absurd now, with me, flirtatiously typing in, these words here and there, now and then.
This is just an effort to start off, start off, triggering some shots in head.
How much i have tried to do this, in last few days, to sit here like this and type.. How much i still don't want to type all this..
flights screaming in the distances, all the last screams, they can, into my ear, before they cease to produce such a reverberation in my ear's drum.
can we drum our dreams? what weird dreams are those?!
Breaking the same broken thing again and again in dreams,and serving the similar intensity of effect, as it happens, when it really breaks. my phone and sole.
in the shadows of light that go of and off, ting and ting, as they go on and on.. like they do, at times when you make a poetic effort to notice them..a conscious poetic effort to effect the soul in so-and-so patterns.
i cant still believe i am writing this all, killing the time, skilfully, romantically and literally.
Lilly? she is dead and gone now. even her memories almost fading there, like, you don't feel the same shock all the time, except that it increases at times, uncontrollably, unlike this time. and that's a real good thing. the way the shock decreases as the time and proximity approximates, and deproximates, like the uncertainty that positively ascertains itself, when you look into the distance thinking about the lost girl.
How it feels to loose? like me, writing, now? like me, killing it all now? like you too, killing it all now?
what are we killing?
nothing.
This is just an effort to start off, start off, triggering some shots in head.
How much i have tried to do this, in last few days, to sit here like this and type.. How much i still don't want to type all this..
flights screaming in the distances, all the last screams, they can, into my ear, before they cease to produce such a reverberation in my ear's drum.
can we drum our dreams? what weird dreams are those?!
Breaking the same broken thing again and again in dreams,and serving the similar intensity of effect, as it happens, when it really breaks. my phone and sole.
in the shadows of light that go of and off, ting and ting, as they go on and on.. like they do, at times when you make a poetic effort to notice them..a conscious poetic effort to effect the soul in so-and-so patterns.
i cant still believe i am writing this all, killing the time, skilfully, romantically and literally.
Lilly? she is dead and gone now. even her memories almost fading there, like, you don't feel the same shock all the time, except that it increases at times, uncontrollably, unlike this time. and that's a real good thing. the way the shock decreases as the time and proximity approximates, and deproximates, like the uncertainty that positively ascertains itself, when you look into the distance thinking about the lost girl.
How it feels to loose? like me, writing, now? like me, killing it all now? like you too, killing it all now?
what are we killing?
nothing.
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