Saturday Morning Breakfast Cereal - Clouds
11 hours ago
Saturday, May 16, 2015
Sunday, July 24, 2011
Chennai
The biggest civilization of mosquitoes on earth. Literally it means "paradise on earth" in mosquitan. The firstborn mosquitoes are long gone, no one remembers how they looked or how they came to chennai. Some say they came from across the sea, some say they came from the seeds of gods, some even claim to have found mosquito fossils in the fallen stars. Their origins might be a mystery but today they are the gods of the city.
Owing largely to favorable living conditions, chennai mosquitoes have perfected their way of hunting, setting an example for mosquitoes all over the world. They wait until nightfall when the land is hot and the air is humid and animals everywhere are sweltering madly, dizzy in the suffocating weather; then they calmly dig their holy suckers in the comatose creature. Come morning the mosquitoes become too heavy to fly and you can see crimson hordes walking calmly back for their beauty sleeps made possible by the highly evolved vertebral column (some newborns are even said to possess opposable thumbs).
But today the nights aren't as hot as they used to be. The prophets claim the end of world in 2012. Today the minority of lower creatures called humans are getting organised under the banner of their commander supreme jayalalitha, said to be created from crossbreeding human and hippo, with skin so thick no mosquito can penetrate. Their tamil gods have given them powerful mass destructive weapons; free televisions, free microwaves, insane idlies, lots of temples, southie remakes featuring ajay devgan, lots of temples and tcs. Today each and every mosquito must fight for his honour to save the paradise. The fate of chennai lies on the wings of the common mosquito.
Owing largely to favorable living conditions, chennai mosquitoes have perfected their way of hunting, setting an example for mosquitoes all over the world. They wait until nightfall when the land is hot and the air is humid and animals everywhere are sweltering madly, dizzy in the suffocating weather; then they calmly dig their holy suckers in the comatose creature. Come morning the mosquitoes become too heavy to fly and you can see crimson hordes walking calmly back for their beauty sleeps made possible by the highly evolved vertebral column (some newborns are even said to possess opposable thumbs).
But today the nights aren't as hot as they used to be. The prophets claim the end of world in 2012. Today the minority of lower creatures called humans are getting organised under the banner of their commander supreme jayalalitha, said to be created from crossbreeding human and hippo, with skin so thick no mosquito can penetrate. Their tamil gods have given them powerful mass destructive weapons; free televisions, free microwaves, insane idlies, lots of temples, southie remakes featuring ajay devgan, lots of temples and tcs. Today each and every mosquito must fight for his honour to save the paradise. The fate of chennai lies on the wings of the common mosquito.
Sunday, June 19, 2011
Rain again
Tough times I say. A guy can't even take a peek. Have seen a lot of those punks lose their heads. Sometimes the whole, most of the times just a big chunk. Jhwoop it goes and then the slippery part starts moving and dangles out and then another Jhwoop. It's easiest to simply throw the whole potato out, saves hell of a time, and space too if you get my drift.
And those goddamn asteroids. Got a nasty one on me once. Was there on me the whole month, whole month I say, before I could get the head replaced. T'was one of those pretty ones. One month all I could see was kaleidoscopes and triangles and colors when I tilted my head to the star. Goddamn personal rainbow I had there.
T'was a bright day that one. Think I saw a tumbleweed roll down the end of the road, you know, like in those old movies. Dust sticking to sweat, eyes unblinking, silence on the street, people staring from their windows, horses afraid and then bang bang. Every once in a while you could hear someone explode, some people just can't handle the heat. The janitors would then have to release the wisps to clean up the mess, made the whole place even more stinkier. And slippery too, people would all be tumbling over each other among the wisps. The best way to move was to hop like a packet and hope not to land over somebody's brains, or your own for that matter.
You could smell the madness in the air. Must have been the white dandelions. You had to breath cautiously lest you catch the madness or the madness catches you. Then there was the risk of bumping into dusk, and he would talk and talk and talk and won't let you go off easily, not even for supper. The blue time was especially to be wary of. The atmo would get thinner then, you had to crawl on your belly to get air. It was then that I had caught the asteroid by my head. All the I's would start pouring down and you had to eat them real fast to prevent them from becoming You. Ah, but I was telling you about the bright day.
I had hopped across the milky way and reached the piano. Had gotten tired of all the hopping so went on a bit of a run to shoo the tiredness away but there wasn't much to run into. As I ran I saw it happen. It happened in a mirror and in a moment so I cannot be too sure. There were lots of toads and the smaller toads were standing on the bigger toads and the bigger toads were standing on the smaller ones, as high as the right eye could see. And they all went on croaking around and around and dancing over each other. Then the king frog came and he ate up all the toads and started croaking and dancing and then he ate himself and then nobody was croaking and dancing.
Sometimes things seem to not make any sense at all.
And those goddamn asteroids. Got a nasty one on me once. Was there on me the whole month, whole month I say, before I could get the head replaced. T'was one of those pretty ones. One month all I could see was kaleidoscopes and triangles and colors when I tilted my head to the star. Goddamn personal rainbow I had there.
T'was a bright day that one. Think I saw a tumbleweed roll down the end of the road, you know, like in those old movies. Dust sticking to sweat, eyes unblinking, silence on the street, people staring from their windows, horses afraid and then bang bang. Every once in a while you could hear someone explode, some people just can't handle the heat. The janitors would then have to release the wisps to clean up the mess, made the whole place even more stinkier. And slippery too, people would all be tumbling over each other among the wisps. The best way to move was to hop like a packet and hope not to land over somebody's brains, or your own for that matter.
You could smell the madness in the air. Must have been the white dandelions. You had to breath cautiously lest you catch the madness or the madness catches you. Then there was the risk of bumping into dusk, and he would talk and talk and talk and won't let you go off easily, not even for supper. The blue time was especially to be wary of. The atmo would get thinner then, you had to crawl on your belly to get air. It was then that I had caught the asteroid by my head. All the I's would start pouring down and you had to eat them real fast to prevent them from becoming You. Ah, but I was telling you about the bright day.
I had hopped across the milky way and reached the piano. Had gotten tired of all the hopping so went on a bit of a run to shoo the tiredness away but there wasn't much to run into. As I ran I saw it happen. It happened in a mirror and in a moment so I cannot be too sure. There were lots of toads and the smaller toads were standing on the bigger toads and the bigger toads were standing on the smaller ones, as high as the right eye could see. And they all went on croaking around and around and dancing over each other. Then the king frog came and he ate up all the toads and started croaking and dancing and then he ate himself and then nobody was croaking and dancing.
Sometimes things seem to not make any sense at all.
Wednesday, March 23, 2011
The blue monster
Rumble rumble rumble.
It's big and its blue. However hard you might wish it to be it is not the Tick, though such a thing would have been totally awesome. Neither is it a genetically engineered blue hulk which smells like an aftershave nor is it a blue orangutan which likes eating bright red strawberries and bingo mad angles (nor kurkure as a matter of fact). It doesn't appear to have come from the loch ness for it is not wet nor carries a wet towel. Krypton? No, doesn't fly. Pacific ocean. Too salty. Parachute. Too oily. Root of a quadratic equation. Too complex. Tick. You already said that. Oh sorry. Too literal.
What is it then?
You see it but you cannot see it wholly. A blur, but more than just a blur. Imagination trying to manifest into reality but there's still a mighty lot of work pending. Sometimes you are aware of its presence but sometimes you aren't. Does it mean that sometimes it is there and sometimes it isn't? Is it's existence a disconnected set in the (space?)time continuum? When it plays badminton does it serve a low serve or does it serve the queen of England for many years? Did it watch the India West Indies match? Did it poop on the moon or did the moon poop on it? Poop. Pop. Peep. What a mystery!
What should we do then? Plop.
I have asked the same question again and again but no use. But again speaks only Tamil and again but no use is a quotient space of the first. Pleep. May be the internet connection in my room is too weak or may be constructivism is a view in philosophy according to which all knowledge is constructed in as much as it is contingent on convention, human perception, and social experience. Who knows? Plush.
If there's something strange, in ya naybo'hood, who you gonna call?
Tandurusti ki raksha karta hai life boy, life boy.
Tan ki shakti man ki shakti bournvita.
Monday, December 27, 2010
2011
Totally innocent guy no. 1 standing on the road:
It's a bird
Totally innocent guy no. 2 standing on the road:
It's a plane
Real smart guy who knows everything about superheroes and who happens to be standing on the road beside the above two:
It's a blog post, man.
Time for some year end bullshittery.
Abstract:
Number of human casualties = 0.
Content:
Q. You know what I eagerly look forward to in the next year?
Ans. The year's first episode of naruto which is going to be about the seven swordsman of the hidden mist.
Q. Is it sad?
Ans. Yes. But who gives a small, brown, fuzzy, not at all cute, nibbling rodent's ass.
Before I open my completely exclusive, totally secret, immensely awesome humor newsletter (yes, it is a paid service) to find out what nothing to write in this post it might be a good idea to take a minute and look back at the glorious year that went past.
60
59
...
2
1
Moving on.
Tuesday, June 1, 2010
Samay ki ret
There is that always nagging guy yelling incoherently at you, again, when you see the empty theatre. And there is that other isomorphic guy, who always gets you into embarrassing situations, nonetheless is always more convincing of the two, who calmly says, "Who watches english movies nowadays?" You beam proudly at the great wisdom your uber smart brain was able to conceive without a hint of contemplation and sit majestically in the best available seat. Rajneeti, "Katrina yay," raavan, "Art film :?" red bull - flying curvaceous girl in red and a bull, "Very intelligent, this ad has totally convinced me to buy red bull, way to go ad-makers." Half asleep. Relishing the mesmerizing ac in the decently comfortable i-move-with-your-ass chair dreaming of katrina and the curvaceous girl in red. Your friend pokes you for the national anthem, "Finally. Take that Holiday, you can’t get me now. I am seeing a movie with my friends. VICTORY!!" Still gloating you read the title on the dull yellow screen, "Hahahaa, Prince of Persia(Hin … -_-' H,i,n,d,i, nahiiiii, maa ki aankh, booking kisne karai thi yaar."
Tuesday, May 25, 2010
The night it all began
The city was cold tonight. It always is nowadays. Cold made the road wet, made everything wet. Moon shone bleakly through the dense smog. Dilapidated buildings loomed ominously over empty streets. Lamps lit silently along the roadside illuminating the roughly edged pavement with its lines and its hexagons, beautiful symmetries lying unappreciated in this ignorant neighborhood. The cold prevented any wasps. Every yard or so a tile had been broken from the pavement, wounds from an angry past, requiring a person to be careful while walking.
My tired breath formed smoke in front of my mouth as if I were a trained smoker. I never smoke, too proud for that. Tilted hat and raised collars tried to hide my face from both the obstinate cold and the onlookers, if any; this wasn’t a friendly neighborhood after all, not now. The ochre overcoat hung limply over my sagging shoulders. Gloved fingers unconsciously wrapped tightly over my work briefcase, it was my only prized possession. The gumboots led my feet through the puddled pavement; the dark pathway wasn’t much visible, not even beneath my feet, except beneath the yellow lamps, so I let them have their way.
Tiny beads of perspiration formed at the roots of my hair even in this cold. The hat stuck tightly. Every night from work to home my heart would beat faster lessening my lifespan. Once inside my four walls I had to take pills for my blood pressure. Every night I feared would be the last night. I would change paths, no path was traversed too frequently, sneak into unlikely boulevards, even run into a nearby basement when fear took the better of me. I thought the fear would subdue eventually, that I would get used to it but the fear of death never weakens.
The neighborhood was not always like this. The city was not always like this. It was a small town, brimming with integrity. For some reason it stayed underdeveloped the way it was while the rest of the country flourished. There was neither oil to be found nor croplands to be tilled. Some inertia prevented it from growing but people were happy in this low lying island of a town. But it made the people hollow. Men cannot live without pride, without winning, without sin. Unblemished happiness does not last long. Men started imitating their neighbors, tall buildings were raised but never completed, inefficient industries polluting the river stole the scenery, laws were compromised and when needed broken, rich people without consciences who would earlier be not even allowed to step in the town were now worshiped. The city lost its soul. People became happy, then irrational, then scared. Started living together in small well-knit colonies. Whole neighborhoods were left to slums and gangs. I saw it all happening.
Why did I live alone then? Why did I not choose the life of compromise, the life of safety that everybody else chose? Why did I choose to live in my childhood home? May be it was childish stubbornness. May be I could not live like them. May I could not let them hurt my childhood memories while I was still alive. May be I cherished them more than my life. My hair was growing grey prematurely, but I would stay here till my heart would allow. Every night I reached home I rejoiced, it was a night I won and they lost. I lived for winning. Life was meaningless without resistance. It gave me reason, it gave me purpose. Or may be I was plain crazy.
I was one turn from my home. I had almost won tonight, just when tires screeched, someone had turned the steering to its full potential. A small car, what it was I could not tell in the darkness, materialized in front of me. Its headlights made my pupils contract to pinpoint and it still hurt. I could see the devil grinning. Today he would win. I heard gunshots, not one or two but many. The devil was celebrating with great cacophony. It hurt my ears but my arms would not budge, my legs became a part of the pavement, my heart pounded heavily against my chest wishing to beat for a more rational being, my soul had left me long ago. I stood still awaiting the end.
Just then something flickered. I heard fluttering of cloth nearby. Someone had been watching us. I felt angry and humiliated at being witnessed by someone in my weakest moment but then another round of gunshots and fear dethroned anger. But something wasn’t right, why wasn’t I shot yet? They hadn’t seen me in the darkness; the gunshots were not for me but for my spectator. Or was I the spectator now? And in the headlights I saw him for a moment before he melted into the darkness again. He had flown, yes flown like a bird in front of the car. He was tall, eight feet, no ten feet tall. He was a giant. He could not be human. It was as if the night had had enough, had condensed itself to take revenge. The bullets could not touch him he was too fast. Fear was afraid of him. And then the car toppled, huge hands not hands but machines pulled the doors apart. Even from the distance I saw the fear in their pale eyes, there were three of them, they had seen the devil. I smiled; the devil had not come for me but for them. He blocked my view again. I saw nothing but unending darkness. Even the night was pale in front of him. And then they all vanished leaving behind the debris of an overturned car. I was afraid he, no it would come for me next but nothing happened.
My legs regained sense and I ran for my place not looking back once. I took double my pills tonight. I had seen the grim, no I had lost my faith in god long ago, it was no grim, it was a human, he was a human, just like me. I was not alone, he was with me. He too could not give up. He too was crazy like me. Together we would fight, shoulder to shoulder. We would fight for the city, we would fight for the people, we would fight for ourselves and we would win each time. I knew that he knew that I was fighting, it made me happy, made me young again. I threw away the pills, I no more needed them, they did not suit a warrior, he would not like it. The fallen angel had arisen and this time he was human. Death itself was with me, I never felt fear again.
My tired breath formed smoke in front of my mouth as if I were a trained smoker. I never smoke, too proud for that. Tilted hat and raised collars tried to hide my face from both the obstinate cold and the onlookers, if any; this wasn’t a friendly neighborhood after all, not now. The ochre overcoat hung limply over my sagging shoulders. Gloved fingers unconsciously wrapped tightly over my work briefcase, it was my only prized possession. The gumboots led my feet through the puddled pavement; the dark pathway wasn’t much visible, not even beneath my feet, except beneath the yellow lamps, so I let them have their way.
Tiny beads of perspiration formed at the roots of my hair even in this cold. The hat stuck tightly. Every night from work to home my heart would beat faster lessening my lifespan. Once inside my four walls I had to take pills for my blood pressure. Every night I feared would be the last night. I would change paths, no path was traversed too frequently, sneak into unlikely boulevards, even run into a nearby basement when fear took the better of me. I thought the fear would subdue eventually, that I would get used to it but the fear of death never weakens.
The neighborhood was not always like this. The city was not always like this. It was a small town, brimming with integrity. For some reason it stayed underdeveloped the way it was while the rest of the country flourished. There was neither oil to be found nor croplands to be tilled. Some inertia prevented it from growing but people were happy in this low lying island of a town. But it made the people hollow. Men cannot live without pride, without winning, without sin. Unblemished happiness does not last long. Men started imitating their neighbors, tall buildings were raised but never completed, inefficient industries polluting the river stole the scenery, laws were compromised and when needed broken, rich people without consciences who would earlier be not even allowed to step in the town were now worshiped. The city lost its soul. People became happy, then irrational, then scared. Started living together in small well-knit colonies. Whole neighborhoods were left to slums and gangs. I saw it all happening.
Why did I live alone then? Why did I not choose the life of compromise, the life of safety that everybody else chose? Why did I choose to live in my childhood home? May be it was childish stubbornness. May be I could not live like them. May I could not let them hurt my childhood memories while I was still alive. May be I cherished them more than my life. My hair was growing grey prematurely, but I would stay here till my heart would allow. Every night I reached home I rejoiced, it was a night I won and they lost. I lived for winning. Life was meaningless without resistance. It gave me reason, it gave me purpose. Or may be I was plain crazy.
I was one turn from my home. I had almost won tonight, just when tires screeched, someone had turned the steering to its full potential. A small car, what it was I could not tell in the darkness, materialized in front of me. Its headlights made my pupils contract to pinpoint and it still hurt. I could see the devil grinning. Today he would win. I heard gunshots, not one or two but many. The devil was celebrating with great cacophony. It hurt my ears but my arms would not budge, my legs became a part of the pavement, my heart pounded heavily against my chest wishing to beat for a more rational being, my soul had left me long ago. I stood still awaiting the end.
Just then something flickered. I heard fluttering of cloth nearby. Someone had been watching us. I felt angry and humiliated at being witnessed by someone in my weakest moment but then another round of gunshots and fear dethroned anger. But something wasn’t right, why wasn’t I shot yet? They hadn’t seen me in the darkness; the gunshots were not for me but for my spectator. Or was I the spectator now? And in the headlights I saw him for a moment before he melted into the darkness again. He had flown, yes flown like a bird in front of the car. He was tall, eight feet, no ten feet tall. He was a giant. He could not be human. It was as if the night had had enough, had condensed itself to take revenge. The bullets could not touch him he was too fast. Fear was afraid of him. And then the car toppled, huge hands not hands but machines pulled the doors apart. Even from the distance I saw the fear in their pale eyes, there were three of them, they had seen the devil. I smiled; the devil had not come for me but for them. He blocked my view again. I saw nothing but unending darkness. Even the night was pale in front of him. And then they all vanished leaving behind the debris of an overturned car. I was afraid he, no it would come for me next but nothing happened.
My legs regained sense and I ran for my place not looking back once. I took double my pills tonight. I had seen the grim, no I had lost my faith in god long ago, it was no grim, it was a human, he was a human, just like me. I was not alone, he was with me. He too could not give up. He too was crazy like me. Together we would fight, shoulder to shoulder. We would fight for the city, we would fight for the people, we would fight for ourselves and we would win each time. I knew that he knew that I was fighting, it made me happy, made me young again. I threw away the pills, I no more needed them, they did not suit a warrior, he would not like it. The fallen angel had arisen and this time he was human. Death itself was with me, I never felt fear again.
Tuesday, April 27, 2010
The Beginning Is The End Is The Beginning
There was once a time when I thought it would never end, I would live this life of righteous orthodox banal servitude till I become of them, till I forgot who I was and became what I was supposed to be. But now I can see the terminal, flimsy though it might be but it is there nonetheless. Goody bye cynicism. Optimism’s the new way of living. As they say, this is the beginning of a new end.
The tracks are old and rusty. The wagon creaks beneath me. As I rush past the old stations the poor graffiti on walls remind me who I was. Light floods now and then through the dirty tinted windows enlightening the faces of my silent fellow passengers. We all know the culmination is near. It has been a long journey. As I sit on the worn out seat looking out the window at the water droplets spilling out from leaking pipes and kissing the window now and then, enjoying their freedom, relishing their evanescent existence, I dream of all the places I had seen on this seemingly interminable journey. The cocoon is breaking, metamorphosis is near ...
The tracks are old and rusty. The wagon creaks beneath me. As I rush past the old stations the poor graffiti on walls remind me who I was. Light floods now and then through the dirty tinted windows enlightening the faces of my silent fellow passengers. We all know the culmination is near. It has been a long journey. As I sit on the worn out seat looking out the window at the water droplets spilling out from leaking pipes and kissing the window now and then, enjoying their freedom, relishing their evanescent existence, I dream of all the places I had seen on this seemingly interminable journey. The cocoon is breaking, metamorphosis is near ...
Tuesday, April 13, 2010
Love thy neighbour, I mean really really love thy neighbour
This is the inferior vena cava speaking. The blood that flows through me goes all in vein. Life is so depressing. All I ever get are dull red blood midgets. And I have a very dumb name. Everybody is always making fun of me. No poems named after me. According to the time 2010 poll I am like the second least romantic organ in the body (first obviously being medulla oblongata, without doubt, unanimous decision, very uncool). And why the heck do I get to be inferior. Blatant apartheid!!
Nah just kidding, this is still the brain. I like making fun of other organs, part time hobby of mine. Sorry for the poor jokes though, can't help it. You should see what it's like up here. Tightly packed inside a nutcase, poor ventilation, bad lighting conditions. It's like living in kanpur but outside iitk. Imagine not getting your back scratched in a hot april afternoon. Sometimes I just ... hey I am speaking bro ... wtf ... hey ...
The subconscious's speaking. Hate that smooth talking rat. Gets on my nerves sometimes. Dude's got control of the whole organism most of the day and hasn't been able to copulate for over a full two decades. Tag and shag bro, how hard can it be? But no, just keeps on pushing more and more desires into me, like I am some kind of an external 1TB hard drive. They should let subconscious's control the masses. Much better place the world would be.
Oh and sea food. Haven't eaten good seafood from aeons. They used to make melt-as-soon-as-you-put-in-the-mouth fish tikka here. Whenever I see pictures of those prawns and oysters and shrimps makes me wanna eat the paper itself. No demarcations though. The mind part here is quite broad by itself. Lambs and pork chops and bacon and french food, especially the deserts and champagnes and vintage wines, italian cuisines ... getting a bit light-headed. When I get hold of that money, there's gonna be a big coup and I am gonna make sure there's no dish in the world I haven't tasted.
But food's not the emergency. There's a whole bunch of organs yet to gain full functionality. Two dimensional images are fun at first but eventually you need to add a new dimension to your perspective. No need of being choosy either. Sometimes when you see all the bouncing and squishing and pressing and tearing and sweating and moaning and shouting and tying up of things and maple syrups and vegetables and telephones and ginormous vagi...
All right, sorry for that, heh heh, think I am back, testing 1,2,3, yep, as I said, its all rickety up here, can happen to anybody, mind wanders sometimes ...umm ...urm ...umm guess I need to go and eat ... sheesh, that was close, need to make sure that doesn't happen again ... bye.
(Evil subconscious laughs a sinister laugh in the background, but is not heard because of a lack of mouth. His imaginary eyes glow green and dude's got an evil looking hairdo. What secrets does the future hold?)
Nah just kidding, this is still the brain. I like making fun of other organs, part time hobby of mine. Sorry for the poor jokes though, can't help it. You should see what it's like up here. Tightly packed inside a nutcase, poor ventilation, bad lighting conditions. It's like living in kanpur but outside iitk. Imagine not getting your back scratched in a hot april afternoon. Sometimes I just ... hey I am speaking bro ... wtf ... hey ...
The subconscious's speaking. Hate that smooth talking rat. Gets on my nerves sometimes. Dude's got control of the whole organism most of the day and hasn't been able to copulate for over a full two decades. Tag and shag bro, how hard can it be? But no, just keeps on pushing more and more desires into me, like I am some kind of an external 1TB hard drive. They should let subconscious's control the masses. Much better place the world would be.
Oh and sea food. Haven't eaten good seafood from aeons. They used to make melt-as-soon-as-you-put-in-the-mouth fish tikka here. Whenever I see pictures of those prawns and oysters and shrimps makes me wanna eat the paper itself. No demarcations though. The mind part here is quite broad by itself. Lambs and pork chops and bacon and french food, especially the deserts and champagnes and vintage wines, italian cuisines ... getting a bit light-headed. When I get hold of that money, there's gonna be a big coup and I am gonna make sure there's no dish in the world I haven't tasted.
But food's not the emergency. There's a whole bunch of organs yet to gain full functionality. Two dimensional images are fun at first but eventually you need to add a new dimension to your perspective. No need of being choosy either. Sometimes when you see all the bouncing and squishing and pressing and tearing and sweating and moaning and shouting and tying up of things and maple syrups and vegetables and telephones and ginormous vagi...
All right, sorry for that, heh heh, think I am back, testing 1,2,3, yep, as I said, its all rickety up here, can happen to anybody, mind wanders sometimes ...umm ...urm ...umm guess I need to go and eat ... sheesh, that was close, need to make sure that doesn't happen again ... bye.
(Evil subconscious laughs a sinister laugh in the background, but is not heard because of a lack of mouth. His imaginary eyes glow green and dude's got an evil looking hairdo. What secrets does the future hold?)
Sunday, January 17, 2010
Gentle now, A tender breeze Blows
Whispers through, A Gran Torino
Whistling another Tired song
Engines humm, Bitter dreams Grow
Heart locked, In a Gran Torino
Beats A lonely rhythm, All night long
Oh how much I wish I could take a car and ride on a long long road, looking at the milestones passing by. And keep going till the nightfall, while the world moves behind me. And when the sun goes beyond, I would park my vehicle outside the road and stare at the stars in a clear crystal sky, see them moving as I stand still.
Stillness. That's how the campus is now. Not a breeze is moving. Outside my third floor balcony a young mango tree stands guarding a football field, holding its breath, waiting for something. Every now and then a leaf or two shivers from the adamant cold.
No classes today. You can walk through the lecture hall complex without seeing a soul. All humans were eliminated miraculously and you are the sole survivor, looking at the empty corridors, sleeping in dew sprinkled lawns, watching the still working fountains. No frogs leap beside you, no flies trouble you. There aren't any left. Just you and the red buildings.
If I could fly I would fly to top of the tallest building or go above the clouds where no planes fly, where howling winds blow. There you can see the sun and the stars together. You can see the clouds forming and dying, like all living beings do. I would stare at the blue rock in the breathtaking universe. I would go farther above, beyond the satellites, beyond the earth's siblings, beyond the galaxies, into the emptiness.
I stand still as time flows against me.
Whistling another Tired song
Engines humm, Bitter dreams Grow
Heart locked, In a Gran Torino
Beats A lonely rhythm, All night long
Oh how much I wish I could take a car and ride on a long long road, looking at the milestones passing by. And keep going till the nightfall, while the world moves behind me. And when the sun goes beyond, I would park my vehicle outside the road and stare at the stars in a clear crystal sky, see them moving as I stand still.
Stillness. That's how the campus is now. Not a breeze is moving. Outside my third floor balcony a young mango tree stands guarding a football field, holding its breath, waiting for something. Every now and then a leaf or two shivers from the adamant cold.
No classes today. You can walk through the lecture hall complex without seeing a soul. All humans were eliminated miraculously and you are the sole survivor, looking at the empty corridors, sleeping in dew sprinkled lawns, watching the still working fountains. No frogs leap beside you, no flies trouble you. There aren't any left. Just you and the red buildings.
If I could fly I would fly to top of the tallest building or go above the clouds where no planes fly, where howling winds blow. There you can see the sun and the stars together. You can see the clouds forming and dying, like all living beings do. I would stare at the blue rock in the breathtaking universe. I would go farther above, beyond the satellites, beyond the earth's siblings, beyond the galaxies, into the emptiness.
I stand still as time flows against me.
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