Nov 19, 2012

The Fugu, and the Dog.

“God knows I tried my best to learn the ways of this world, even had inklings we could be glorious; but after all that's happened, the inkles ain't easy anymore. I mean - what kind of fucken life is this?” 
                                                                                           ― D.B.C. Pierre, Vernon God Little

The dog was found dead at 11 last night. Jesus Christ, you should have seen his soul, blown to pieces. The dog had the shape of an eagle, and spoke like a man. ‘No’, it said, when asked if it wanted a hug. The air was wet, and the creak of bare branches made the scene more emotional than it deserved to be. Black notes on a Piano solemnly played, with devils playing B-flat. He was warm in his bed, recalling the long dead. Police said it ate a Fugu without slicing it properly. They found a note next to the body – ‘Sashimi/Chirinabe. Liver preferred”; concluded its Fugu. I knew the truth. She knew it too.

A mail stretched through rows of heavy archways, bowing and curving across mirrors of eternity, before showing up as +1 in his life. Borlotti beans. Panda Paws. Needed a Hug - Long, tight. Waist.

His dad told him -  ‘Vacuous head leads to murder of ethics. And when your ethical model doesn’t lead you to the right, you’re murdered.’

And tonight, Fugu killed him. Or so, they thought. Everyone did.  I knew the truth. She knew it too.

The dog wondered why things stayed blur. He dropped out of school, because of his illness. He started painting and writing, and that, with time, flowed into a moonlit career. He was famous, and had a lot of friends, and enemies. But he loved everyone. And everyone loved him. So he thought.
I knew the truth. She knew it too.

The last I met him, he told me he wanted someone to trust him. Trust him that he didn’t kill the light. There was dark there, and I knew light had been killed. She knew it too. But I trusted him. She did not. The dog said – ‘Things, this way, are just perfect. We meet alone, in the end’.

I was back to the spot, staring at the dead dog. For a moment I saw him write Sorry with his tail. Wagging it swiftly for a pulse, cutting the thin air silently, barking to the black, waiting for the light, moving slightly to his right to adjust his right rib against the stone which I had kicked while stubbing the last cigarette I had on me. I knew he wanted to smoke – ‘Puff’. She knew it too. Puff.

It was dark by the time they took his body to his father’s grave. There was no grave I knew of. But they said there was. The ambulance started; so did the rain. The warm, misty petrichor reminded me of the day I first met the dog.

 It was raining, and there was light. A mail stretched through rows of heavy archways, bowing and curving across mirrors of eternity, before showing up as +1 in my life. I was alone, staring at the screen, when I saw the darkness strike. It was comforting, is all I remember. All I want to. Borlotti beans were on the plate, with sauce dripping from the brim. Julius Caesar saw the ‘J go off when the sauce struck the paper. I took my hands off the keyboard to wipe the speck. But the spot remained. I was annoyed. Needed a hug- Long, tight. And that was when I saw the dog - Crawling through the mud, playing with the snail between his teeth. He had Panda Paws, and could talk. ‘No’, it said, when I asked if it wanted a hug.  I knew he wanted one. She knew it too.

The Police guy tried to speak sense – ‘The poison, a sodium channel blocker, paralyzes the muscles while the victim stays fully conscious. The victim is unable to breathe, and eventually dies from asphyxiation. There is no known antidote. The standard treatment is to support the respiratory and a circulatory system until the poison is metabolized and excreted by the victim's body’ - Showoff.

The dog spoke that day – ‘The unexpected threads in your life join one day, and it no more remains a thread. It becomes a mystery of Beatles, and Rupert Murdoch. It brings us all together, in silence. Do not ask me of what is ethical, and what is not. I do not speak of today, or of the life I have around me. I do what suits me, and then one day, it all joins as one, and everything I do suits me. I am comforted with my mother, and with the father who does not own a grave. I die when I reel on my feet. And I am alive when I see what I want. The only way I’ll sleep forever is when I don’t see the black – Not see what I want, or if I eat Fugu’.

No one knew he existed. But he had a lot of friends, and enemies. Debauch - di-‘bȯch, -‘bäch. He had the mind of a wanderer, and the soul of a static. I was with the airs of a dangerous dog; he was with a boy of filthy and knowing innocence. We were good together until we realized that we weren’t together.

There was a stench of Vaporub when I woke up. I was lying down in an alley which led onto a back street. She was hanging upside down – the mocha of amazon. Smelled like musk. I took a broken glass, dripping as it was, and peered through it, to a handful of women who had huddled around the string that tied her to the sky. I knew I had seen them before. She knew it too. A greasy café’ festered in what could once have been a library. Books, I loved. She loved it too. Or, so she said. I cut the string, and filled her in the glass. Dripping as it was, she fell on me; scattered like a sack full of wooden crumbs after a tantrum. ‘Can you believe your face’?  - She asked me. ‘Have we died, or is it that light has come in your life, ‘cuz the dog said we would be together if he dies, or if we die’. ‘How do you know about the dog’, I asked. ‘I don’t know about you, but he showed himself to me one day. Fixed up like a Mantis, but with a head, and legs. Looked like an eagle. Deja-vu  has struck because I have seen this before. And these women. And you. And us. But this is not all that I saw. Or, at all what I saw. Saw us in light, under a roofless limbo, where love sounded clear like coins dropped in cathedral’.  I just stood quiet, nose up to the breeze, listening to the melody of surprise that the dog lied about not showing himself to anyone else, but me.

 ‘Calm, and ethical – He asked me to tell you to be’, she said.

As lion and tigers stir on the shore waiting for the sun to go low, I lay there waiting to be woken up -Calm, and ethical.

And while she was scattered around the glass, the dog came - moving like a float, but with more resistance. I think it was the stench of him that made her weak. And, it was the light that caused his Panda paws. But he was coming, and was close. ‘I cannot stop seeing the bad, or what I shall not see.  But the world here is so fucken’ beautiful. If you ain’t here already, you should come. Feel free to skip light, that’s all. My home is a peeling wood dwelling, but there is leisure abound. Debauch, they call me.’ I took the broken glass, dripping as it was, and slit his throat. The last Aztec journey of the dog was started – Of magic, and sorcery. I took a paper and wrote with his blood – ‘Sashimi/Chirinabe. Liver preferred’

“I die when I reel on my feet. And I am alive when I see what I want. The only way I’ll sleep forever is when I don’t see the black – Not see what I want, or if I eat Fugu”.

We'll wish this never ends.

We can live like Jack and Sally if we want
Where you can always find me
And we'll have Halloween on Christmas
And in the night we'll wish this never ends
We'll wish this never ends. - B182


Jan 15, 2012

Today I am 23; He is Dead.

I have a kid inside me, everyone has. The one inside me is one-legged. He lost his leg when I was 17, and he was 8.. That kid got up this morning, and said to me, “I think I am no more a kid. I feel my life is over, ‘cuz I was meant to be a kid, and I don’t feel so anymore. I feel like giving up, because I stumble every day, over everything”. I told him 2 things: 1) One-legged can’t stumble, and 2) There is always a little more toothpaste in the tube. Think about it. He hugged me, smiled, and slept off. Today I am 23; He still, is 8.

I have a kid inside me, everyone has. The one inside me is one-legged. He lost his leg when I was 17, and he was 8. Day before yesterday, after I saw my Verbal score being massacred, totally uncorrelated to my overall score, thereby yielding to an entire new era of guilt and hopelessness, I thought of waking up the Kid. I nudged his head with my elbow, to which he did not respond. So I turned on ‘Sweet Child o’ Mine’ on maximum volume. He got up with a scream, with his left hand twisted around his elbow, his palm of the same hand curled up to the inside, as if holding the Guitar hook, making it look as if he was holding a Guitar, the way Slash did while playing with Duff McKagan and Matt Sorum for a Randy Castillo tribute concert, in 2002. We both went to the Biere Club, grabbed a few Pints, and discussed where do babies come from? He said, “Don't bother asking adults. They lie like whores. However, diligent independent research and hours of playground consultation have yielded fruitful, if tentative, results. There are several theories. Near as we can figure out, it has something to do with acting ridiculous in the dark. We believe it is similar to dogs when they act peculiar and ride each other. This is called "making love". Apparently it makes grown-ups insipid and insane. Some graffiti was once observed on a Chick’s t-Shirt, that said "sex is good." All available evidence, however, points to the contrary. So in spite of the pleasures involved in it, and the zero moral dilemma, and the Nietzsche like curiosity surrounding the word, I’d rather recommend you to waste your energy on Beer, and Head banging.” We sat in 335E and came back home. Today I am 23; He still, is 8.

I have a kid inside me, everyone has. The one inside me is one-legged. He lost his leg when I was 17, and he was 8. I took the kid to St. Patrick’s Church, near Brigade Road, on last Christmas Eve. We sang Carols, and hugged random girls. Girls who looked good. And were drunk. And were not with their boyfriends. While returning, with a smile on our faces, hope in mind, Coffee in hand, a pack of Dunhill in pockets, and a thought that we can know everything about happiness, and the world, we saw a board outside the Church that read ‘CHRIST IS THE ANSWER’. Confused, I asked the Kid,” But what is the question”, to which he replied, “When I purchase a food item at the Nilgiris, or MORE, or some other Supermarket, I can be confident that the label will state how much riboflavin is in it. The Indian government requires this, and for a good reason, which is: I have no idea. I don't even know what riboflavin is. Though, I do know I eat a lot of it. For example, I often start the day with a hearty Kellogg's strawberry Flakes, which has, according to the label, a riboflavin rating of 10 percent. I assume this means that 10 percent of the Flakes is riboflavin. Maybe it's the red stuff in the middle. Anyway, I'm hoping riboflavin is a good thing; if it turns out that it's a bad thing, like ‘Riboflavin’ is the Latin word for ‘Cockroach pus’, then I am definitely in trouble. So the question actually is, who can tell me what Riboflavin is, and thence my friend, CHRIST IS THE ANSWER”. We sat in the car, came back home, had a little Red wine, which we had got a day before from 4 Seasons, and sang noels’ from The Sheffield Carols. Today I am 23; He still, is 8.

I have a kid inside me, everyone has. The one inside me is one-legged. He lost his leg when I was 17, and he was 8. Today I am feeling sad, and lonely, and hopeless. It was still only nine o'clock when the kid set off on the last leg of his journey, feeling old and dirty and incapable. You probably know the feeling if you are over eight. The kid never made eye contact. A cat does, but cat’s eyes don’t even look entirely warm-blooded to me, whereas the kid’s eyes looked human except less guarded. He used to look at me as if to say, “What do you want me to do for you? I’ll do anything for you.” Whether the kid would have in fact, done anything for me, is another matter. The kid was at least, always willing. The kid taught me a lot about life, and love. He said “Women love men because chocolate can't mow the lawn. Men love women because they are the loveliest things on God's earth. Some women prefer to love other women. Equally, and without any biasing in place, some men prefer to love other men. There is a word to describe this kind of behavior, Love.” Today I am 23; He is dead.

Aug 15, 2009

define:Inglorious Bastard

"Clinton lied. A man might forget where he parks or where he lives, but he never forgets a Blowjob, no matter how bad it is."
-Barbara Bush,Former US First Lady(And you thought Barbara didn't have a sense of humor)

On my long, bone shaking journey of life, which has been like a school bus, with three adults squished into a bench seat originally designed for two schoolchildren, my solace has been listening to music and audio books on my i Pod. I have the tracks on random shuffle, so I have no idea which of the 4000 songs or chapters will come on, and I always run a personal contest for the most bizarre combination of audio and visual sensations this throws up. Tied at the tip of the charts is a chapter of 'The History of Womanhood' concerning the 7th century arguments between monks from Iona and the followers of Augustine about the shape of their tonsures, which I have heard a million times while driving through the Cafe7 on GM Road and Groove Armada's 'Shaking That Ass' on an unmade track through Prado's east side showroom in Noida. By the way as I have mentioned 'The history of womanhood' let me tell you something I have inferred from my million listenings of a particular stanza. The whole idea of men creating perfect robot women for their own pleasure,it happens every day.The most beautiful women you see in public,none of them are for real.They're just men perpetuating their perverted stereotypes of women.Just the oldest story in the world.There's a penis on every page of Cosmopolitan magazine if you know where to look.Another inference from some unknown source is that people fail to,in fact they don't want to accept they are dumb fucks.I know some people personally who think they are the greatest philosophers since Adam died and they speak shit like "There's a fine line between genius and insanity". ut ask me,I don't think there's a fine line,I actually think there's a yawning gulf.You see some poor bugger scuffling up the road with balloons tied to his ears, he's not going home to invent a rocket, is he?

Anyway one o' my friends recommended I should watch some new crime related TV show.He said it helps keep your Grey cells ticking even when you want them to be still.I was overwhelmed by his suggestion, went home and downloaded the fucking entire series of CSI. And trust me I think CSI: Miami is the worst fucking thing that's ever happened to the planet earth.I think it's worse than the AIDS epidemic of the early 90's.More weirdly I was just surfing around on NY Times when I read this unusual stuff that a few American Asshole brains were thinking of putting microchips inside babies so that if they ever get kidnapped, you can track them on Google.But what if that technology fails? Well here is my solution:next to the microchip, put a fucking detonator.Listen, if I can't have my baby, nobody can.By the way I have a lot of friends.Not exactly friends-friends, but yeah people who I think are kind-of friends.Some of them are just like me.Others, married.Lots of my friends have babies,but I don't have any babies, but I have lots of friends - babies don't have any friends.They all have those baby-monitors so they can hear the baby from the other room, which I consider a form of wire-tapping.One day there's gonna be a really smart baby who makes a fake recording of some fake baby noises, gonna crawl out of the window and go to have Beer. I need one of those baby-monitors for my subconscious to my consciousness so I can know what the hell I'm really thinking about.Sometimes I talk to myself fluently in languages I'm unfamiliar with.Just to screw with my subconscious.It's a good thing a lot of people speak foreign languages, otherwise those people would have no-one to talk to.

I remember going to a park near the city hall around the corner near HCL head office,where two dogs were humping that looked very different from each other.One was brown and white and kind of big with long hair and the other was a little tiny black dog.It made me wonder if these fucking dogs have so much of understanding why people can’t be more accepting of each other.So what if I like to go to the park and watch dogs fuck.People should be willing to accept me as an awesome observer.People hate to accept me.More appropriately they fail to accept me.I agree and I hate this fact that I am a very immature guy and add to it,my atheism.Being an atheist is tough.It makes it really hard to be polite, especially after someone next to you sneezes.All right that's something I can't help but being immature at 21?? Come on, at what age will I finally be mature enough to keep a straight face when someone says,"Hi,how ya doin'? My name is Dick." Then there are people who try to fascinate me with new facts.Most of those facts are weird ones,and highly paradoxical.Like they always try to convince me to save the Apes by telling me we are so much like them that we share 99.9% of the same DNA.That’s true, but, we also share 60% of the same DNA as many fruits and vegetables. That worries me.Who is going to save us when those monkeys find out we are almost 60% banana.I don’t really like the idea of being peeled by an orangutan.

I love MySpace,and nowadays Facebook is superclose to taking that favorites title in my list.And all credit for it goes to my brother,he got me on Facebook because I was on MySpace:"No, no, no.You don't want to be on MySpace, you want to be on Facebook!" So I joined both.But I keep muddling them up, so I keep asking people to come on MyFace.The best thing, still more than 300 friends.Most of them weird though.But they ain't the ones to be blamed.People in general are weird.Fucking retards.I saw this on CNN a few days ago.In Florida these cops freaked out. They shot at this guy 11 times 'cause they thought he was holding a grenade.HE WAS EATING A PEAR.How do you fuck that up?Unless he was eating it like "AHHHHHH!" *throws pear* "THAT'S A DELICIOUS PEAR".

P.S-Even though I am a hardcore Atheist.(I was an agnostic an year and a half back), I say 'God bless you' when someone sneezes.I never say 'bless you'. Do you want to know why? Because I'm not the Lord!I can't do that.I'm just a messenger for the big guns up stairs.And I never say gesundheit, who even says that? GESUNDHEIT! I felt like I'm honoring Hitler or something, Like I'll end up on the History Channel because someone sneezed.

Jun 16, 2009

That woman was God.Or,was it Devil?

I had a very weird dream last night.It was very vague and highly unpolitical and unsocial and immoral and shitfull but yeah it was an awesome weird dream.I saw that I was sniffing coke somewhere in Los Angeles with Shyla Stylez on my left and Jenna Jameson on my right playfully messing with my hair.A minute later Kanye West lands down from his helicopter and shoots me down for stealing his coke.I went to heaven and I see a woman standing with a placard outside.Did you ever think God's a woman?.She says,"Hey, welcome to fuckin' heaven."I'm like,"What did you say?" "Welcome to fuckin' heaven." "I didn't know you could swear." "Fuck, yeah" "Well, I was raised as a child never to swear." "Where does it say in the Bible that you can't fuckin' swear?" "No fucking where!" "All right,now you are getting the hang of it.Oh,yeah,I saw some slutty bitches outside the pearly gates?You wanna tap that?They ain't gettin' in!" "What?" "No, just kidding.You aren't in heaven,you're in hell.HuHaHaHa.You've been punk'd.Booooom."The devil shoots me with a laser gun.

Moral:I am gonna be a Douchebag even after I am dead.

I am America.A compulsive obsession.

Just when you think there's nothing to write about, Nixon says, "I am not a crook." Jimmy Carter says, "I have lusted after women in my heart." President Reagan says, "I have just taken a urinalysis test, and I am not on dope."
-TIME Magazine,September of '86

I love lying.I love it even when I don't need to lie.I lie even when I don't want to.It has become some kind of Obsessive-Compulsive-Habit.My mom says lying is bad, but,I am helpless.The world is a small place to live.Smaller to lie.You end up getting caught somehow,someday.But I personally feel that lying makes you sharper,keeps your grey cells stimulated 24x7 and makes sure you are always on your toes.Deceiving is an art and I respect people who seem to have mastered it.One of them is The great Osama Bin Laden.In eight years,we couldn't find Osama bin Laden,but in those years we nailed Martha Stewart and Barry Bonds' ass to the wall.The world's worst terrorist is still dragging his dialysis machine through a Pakistani strip mall,but the doily broad and the slugger prick won't bother us again.He is an awesome fuckup and I respect him for all he did to hold Bush's balls for so many years.US needs to think of something else,something innovative,something unconventional to hold Osama's balls now.Next time a country wants to take USA on,instead of sending bombs,they should try this:send everyone in the country a color television and a satellite dish.And give them the basic package,not HBO — screw those people.And before the war starts,make them all sit down."Okay,we'll go to war with you.You want a piece of us,fine,fine.Before we go,I want you guys to understand us a little better,and so for that you have to sit down and watch ESPN for 12 hours and Discovery-US special edition for next 12 hours.'Cause you watch ESPN for a full day,you're gonna understand America a lot better.'Hi,we're America! We build monster trucks for fun!We developed the top fuel dragster-zero to three hundred thirty miles an hour in under five seconds,cause,pfft,we were bored.Piss us off,heh,and see what we build!And we may feel bad about it later!Ask Japan.But before we feel bad...we're gonna jack you up!And then we're gonna send you FOOD! 'Cause we're America; we're schizophrenic.Don't mess with a nation that needs medication!'"

Jun 4, 2009

George bush/Kill that bitch/Teach a man fishing.

"Give a man a fish,tomorrow he's gonna want another fish.Teach a man to fish, tomorrow,he's standin' next to you on the dock catchin' your fish.Kill the man.Chop him to bits.Tomorrow,you got bait.Don't make a friend.Make him your chum."

- Peeing on Stonehenge


1.George Bush:

George Bush has fucked up so bad,he made it hard for a white man to run for president.People are like "give me a black man,a white woman,a giraffe,a zebra...anything but another white man.That last one fucked up my roof!".Even though Obama might be in,but George Bush is still in charge.And nobody gives less of a fuck than George Bush.You think you don't give a fuck?George Bush doesn't give a fuck either.Nobody gives less of a fuck than George Bush.If you were hanging from a cliff,getting ready to fall to your death--that's right--and Bush was at the top of the cliff,and all you needed was a fuck to save your life,and Bush had a pocket full of fucks...he wouldn't give you one."Hey, Bush,I need a fuck!" "Oh,you know I don't give a fuck.Here's a fuck...psych!"I think Bush sent that girl to Kobe's room.Trust me,Bush sent that girl to Kobe's room,Bush sent that little boy to Michael Jackson's house. Bush killed Laci Peterson.Bush was fucking Paris Hilton in that video.All to get your mind off the war.Bush lied to me,they all lied to me:"We gotta go to Iraq because they're the most dangerous country on Earth.They're the most dangerous regime in the world."If they're so dangerous,how come it only took two weeks to take over the whole fucking country? Shit.Man,you couldn't take over Baltimore in two weeks.Anyway I respect this man.I respect him for fucking up the entire USA without any trace.Also for fucking WTC,a 110 floor,417 metres buliding.You gotta respect someone with so much balls.And Sorry,I forgot the Iraq part,for that as well.


According to a new survey, women say they feel more comfortable undressing in front of men than they do undressing in front of other women.They say that women are too judgmental,where,of course,men are just grateful.I wonder why don't we have people with such mentality in here.Anyway there ain't any point pondering over women.I have spent fucking 21 years of my life to sort out what women want.All in vain,though.And trust me,if I were to write a thesis on 'What Women Want',I wouldn't make it to more than 100 words.A bunch of girls say,"You don't need no man to help you raise no child"…shut the fuck up with the bullshit.Yeah,you could do it without a man,but that doesn't mean it's to be done.Shit,you can drive a car with your feet if you want to,but that doesn't make it a good fucking idea.Also,very importantly,Women hate women.You get any two girlfriends in this room,been girlfriends for twenty five years,you put a man in between them…"fuck that bitch", "fuck that bitch."Guys are not like that.Guys actually think that there are other fish in the sea,and if a guy introduces his boy to his new girlfriend,and when they walk away,this boy goes, "Oh man, she's nice,I gotta get me a girl like that."If a woman introduces her new man to her girlfriend,and they walk away,her girlfriend goes,"I gotta get him, and I will slit that bitch's throat to do it."Every girl in here got a girlfriend they don't trust around their man.Ask any girl what she'd rather be than beautiful,and she'll say more beautiful.Women will be women.No denying the fact.But I really respect women for whatever they are.I respect it when they say they love my blog and also when they call me at their house-warming parties.I also respect some of them for the fact that they do my assignments,especially when I have to watch some new episode of LOST or Boston Legal(They don't know it about though :P)

May 29, 2009


X asked him “What is 43x16?” and started counting,”1,2,3..”. ”688” came a spooky reply even before X could say 4.X took a deep breath and said “And 37x34?”.And he counted again,”1,2,3..”.”1258”,it came out again.X just stood there for a minute staring blankly at the boy,as if he was expecting the boy to say something,but the boy was still calculating things in his head.X went home and spent an year with numbers.An year alone with Numbers.Speaking with them,eating with them,and even sleeping with them.An year later he went to the boy and said “Ask me anything”.The boy said “What is 67x23?”.The boy started the count,”1,2..”.”1541”,X replied.X looked at the boy’s mouth ,which was bent in way as if the boy wanted to say Three but couldn't.X smiled.He then said,”I beat you by a second”.The boy said “Ask me something now”.X said,”What is 43x27”.It was X’s time to count and he said,”1,..”.”1161”,he said,in just under 2 seconds, “I beat you by something which will never let you win against me.Are you sad?”.”I was”,X replied and went to sleep.With numbers.

May 10, 2009

Forest Gump/The train accident/I wish.

Jenny Curran: Have you ever been with a girl, Forrest?
Forrest Gump: I sit next to them in my Home Economics class all the time.

-Forest Gump.

Had Jenny Curran asked me if I have ever been with a girl,I would have said"What do ya' mean by 'have been with a girl'??Like going out with her?Eating Ice-creams with dirty flavors which I would never have eaten had I not wanted to go out?Going to beaches with different names and see the same sun go down under the ocean?Buying wall painting with setting sun and village girls filling water?Gifting her things I would never have bought had I not wanted a midnight kiss?Finding puppies super-cute?feeding a cat just 'cause it gives you blank hungry stares?Or do ya' mean,been around with loads of girls?As in went to watch movies in groups of 10 guys and 10 girls?having coffee in CCD with them without anything going on in head?or,as in studied with them just before the exams?".Jenny would have called me a Dumbfuck,slapped me and left by then.But its better to sort out the confusion than speaking bullshit.So look,even though I got a slap,I am smarter than Forest Gump,the guy,who had been a football star,and a war hero,and a national celebrity,and a shrimpin' boat captain,and a college graduate.A movie star too.

I was reading an article on The Hindu,in which a guy came under a fast moving train in some district of Kerala.Now Kerala has got the highest literacy rate,and even if it had the lowest literacy rate,how the-how the heck do you get hit by a train!I mean it's not like it'll jump up and attack you at the last minute or something. There's like a railroad there to give you,you know,a HEADS UP SIGN.I tell you,if you ever gonna get hit by a train,do this:Keep your eyes open and take 5 steps forward.Then look at some guy standing at the door of the train and say "Hey boy,look I just saved my ass".Simple,ain't it?.

Anyway my Lab exams are over and for a change,they went awesome.Ok,I know I sound a little retarded and very dumb on my blog but I used to be a nerd once upon a time.And moreover I still can be a nerd,but I don't see any point slogging for hours and burning midnight oil for just a few extra marks.I see these people studying one month before the exams and managing 95 in all subjects.But then I convince myself that I study for 2 days and manage a 75,so if I study for a month I will break all the fucking GPA records(Simple Ratio-Proportion funda),will become a gold medalist in my college,get a scholarship from Illinois and will move onto become the next Bill Gates and then open up some trust for poor guys qround the world,and when I am about to die I will marry some Playboy chick.Don't pity at my jerk-ness.I told you I sound a little retarded on my blog but I am smarter than Forest Gump.Only if everyone understood me,the world would be a better place to live.Awesome place,infact.

Apr 25, 2009

Welcome to my world,Bitch.

"What do we leave behind when we cross each frontier? Each moment seems split in two; melancholy for what was left behind and the excitement of entering a new land"
- Ernesto 'Ché' Guevara

I know only 4 things about the day I was born.First,it was 7th september 1987.Second,I was born inside Room no.17,Extensive Maternal Wards in a hospital on the Guwahati airport,where my parents were supposed to catch a flight from.Third,I was born 18 days pre-maturely.And last,I wasn't supposed to be born so soon.I hate being born 18 days earlier than I was supposed too.My sunsign would have been Libra,if I were born at the time I was supposed too.I would have been more balanced than I am now.My ruling planet would have been Venus,the planet which screws me up most nowadays.And moreover my birthdate would have been 25th september.A date I would have shared with my 6 friends,that includes my first crush Ankita Jaiswal,who is currently pursuing Honours in Economics from some awesome college in London.I would have also shared the date with Chris Owen,Catherine Zeta Jones and Will Smith.My sunsign doped me with many things I hate in me,now.Like,I hate going to places.I find it highly discomforting to get my bum off my chair,pack clothes and doing other formalities.I feel there are many ways of seeing the world.You can hang upside down from a meteor,volunteer to be the fourth stage of a three-stage rocket,or simply get in a balloon and keep going.But if it's sheer,unadulterated discomfort you're looking for,just stay on land.Even more,people I usually encounter in my life are very witty,speak equivocally and very ambiguously.For example,Take Rusty Kohli.This guy is one of my awesomest friends but also one of the jerkiest.He loves talking shit.Pure-awesome shit.Last time I went home,he told me I was like the first breath of spring.Well,he didn't exactly put it that way.He said I looked like the end of a long,hard winter.Now guys like him are "ass"-ets in your life.These guys come in the category of bong-smoking,American accent-bashing,flag-burning,yoga-posing,incense-burning,dolphin-saving,salmon-eating hypocrites.These are the sensitive,liberal people who are always yelling about people's freedom of speech and expression,unless you happen to say something that pisses them off.He does drugs,and infact,32% of people I know,do too.I ask them "Tell me,what is it about cocaine that makes it so wonderful?",they say,"Well, it intensifies your personality."I say,"Yes, but what if you're an asshole?".They don't talk to me for a week after that.But when you have to deal with it,you deal with it.

I hate statistics.Infact,I hate everything that has graphs and bars in it.Even,percentages and ratios.I am not interested in statistics that tell me things are not as bad as they seem.Things are horrible.I have met people crying about what is happening,but there is no solution yet.Everyone is trying to say something but there ain't anyone to listen.I hate statistics,absolutely.God once had Bach and Michelangelo on his side,he had Mozart,and now who does he have?People with ginger whiskers and tinted spectacles who reduce the glories of theology to a kind of sharing,but God is fine with it and expects us to be fine too.

By the way,I have decided that when I grow old,very old I will write a letter to my dad:"I want a young,21 years old chick,Dad.I want somebody to love me. I wanna to be free again.I wanna walk in the backyard on the grass.I wanna put my bare feet in the ocean.I wanna run along the sand and feel it on my feet.I wanna stand up in the shower with the hot water streaming down my legs,in the morning... I wanna explode, Dad.I wanna get out of this fucking body I'm in.I wanna be a man again...I just wanna be a man again.".Anyway I have got a treat today.Weekend-treats are awesome.Especially,if the menu includes Sizzlers and Budweiser.Chalo then Catch ya'll later after my alcoholic-session.Muaaah.