Monday, December 27, 2010

One Deadly Poem

Death's become the reason for our
Death's the way to find the cure for
Death's why we are not too sure of
Death's the game by which we score our
Death's the world by which we view our
Death's the plane through which we breed our
Death's the card to propagate a
Death's the mind final treason as
Death is a dreams illusion.
Death is our fears and delusion.
Death is a thorn for solution.
Death is its own condition
to cover the dearth on earth.

Monday, October 18, 2010

You cannot rule out the Possibility!


Mildly Hallucinogenic

Mildly Hallucinogenic

The Janitor

“I take out the skeletons and you fill it with corpses, I am the Janitor and you the Metropolis.”

The air was stale inside the room that he found himself in that fateful evening. A story starts with a familiarity that can only impart the notion of repetitiveness abusing the reader’s sense of decisiveness. Should I read on or shall I be gone? Confusion has been born before the break of dawn.

The windows were the same squared designs letting in the lines of light, which did ignite the colour pigments of his skin. He walked in front of the mirror, the only door, wondering if there was any point in it anymore. The broom in his hand and a task so bland and so bleak that it made him believe it was unnecessary and as he waged his war on the weak. “There would be days when I could feel, the coming of the end of this reel.”

That fateful day however, walked in a man, shaded in the white scalp of age, he did come unwittingly into the cage.

“Do you know what you’re doing here old man?”
“Nor I neither you.”
“What is this, a riddle in a can?”
“I’m here to see you through.”
“You walked in through the door.”
“I could not take it any more.”
“There is a whole world trapped outside the walls”
“Aye, I too do hear its calls”
“Yet now you believe its time to chase your shadow?”
“Nay, Its time to walk out of this hollow…”
“Remember – at one point you too walked under a sky so blue”
“I do, and you?”
“Stop. You don’t understand what its like.
The world out there is full of spite”
“I’m not sure if I should be the memory,
cast aside to reflect upon ever so meekly.”
“When we were young, now too old…”
“However did your confidence get so cold?
I was digging a grave that was meant for me,
But perhaps that is where you should be.”

And for a childish while, the Janitor did smile as the light bore into the darkness – dissolving eternity in its bliss. There were no windows, no doors, and no black bricks; for the man who walked did not know any of these tricks.

Tuesday, October 12, 2010


Screaming Butterfly

There was a congregation of everything inside nothing.

That was just momentary – all just for a moment and a moment so fine that it almost did not exist. The deeper you think about it the smaller was its duration; it was literally, just a point inside a moment within an edge for a blink of a fraction. After this it blew up, and it was such a large blast that it created a very big bang.
Chunks of matter formed and floated spiraling, steering at sterling fast speeds transfiguring and transforming their shapes and forms moving moulding and manipulating themselves and the others all around tethering and teething through teeming masses. They bumped into, out of, within and through each other, through themselves, through rather convincing formations of neither them nor the others, through space and special times past alien rhymes.

They whirled in the winds that they created; they became solids amidst liquids, and fluidly became gases within masses and condensed, vaporized, much of this was just theorized. Soon and slowly they began to burst, to burn and in this chaos some chunks churned and spiraled into orbits little tidbits of the same blitz.

So spherically realizing itself some portions cooled in a settled whirl swimming around a burning circle. The circles spun and span until there was a moment where within one of them this scan did zoom and whom or what did the eyes see; smaller portions of nothingness expanding into everything that could be. They whirled and whirled inside and out from each other in many permutations and combinations of the same criteria forming the first sign of life that we now know as cyan bacteria.

There is a point from which there is no turning back and this point was now ready to attack with hysteria. The cells multiplied the biology we learned implied that from this point onwards replication and bifurcation did arise. Coupling together these built blocks battled against the other bits of blocks through clocks that floated, and rested on many trees melting while ticking dictating the advancement of what was only splitting and splicing.

The cells made fishes and fossils, aquatic puzzles, that came out of water onto land and quickly took off from there into the skies before the very same eyes saw the cooling of this fooling around and an ice age did stop most of the dinosaurs rage. Still through the cold heart of the start some did manage to depart into a warmer realm as little rats that were eaten by cats who were chased by dogs who took care of cows and who knows what else or how.

During all of this there came a monkey – who lived and evolved and learned to walk and talk and then the conversations did not stop. Julius Caesar, Jesus H. Christ, Gautam Buddha and Alexander’s might, all did come about and create a primate’s tale that to this day has not gone stale. The baboons spread, build their jams butter and bread, made books from where all of this could be read, and libraries to continue this story to be fed into more armpit scratching junkies, filling them with hopes, dopes, stories of priests with whom young girls unwillingly eloped – the popes. The buildings arrived, the civilization only then did thrive, and through all of this realization you find yourself on a road amidst this wonderful creation that has made you believe in the time that has put behind you this very heavy cross of duty that so many others endorse.

All about you all you can see, are people following a dream of maybe – one day we could rise and shine like the boys and girls embedded within these lines. Following this sparkling vision was the inevitable confusion for most did omit the fact that much and more of it was simply bullshit.

Religion was a Chinese whisper played by men who could not help but keep their creativity from Her. Their tales were nice and riddled with graced intents, but the morons who heard it thought of the deepness that it could have meant. Then they thought and that’s when they forgot that they were on a road in the middle of a show amidst sky scrapers and dreams that we all know. Spiraled from these visions that were heard came the business of fooling the herd. A foolish monkey told another of the world to be earned and in their foolishness did they churn the banking cartels or the monetary brothels raping and feasting on the lust of their desires and their cravings that simply must be fulfilled for King for Country for Glory and well you know this story.

So on the tar and gravel, with shoes torn from the long travel, where have you reached and what have you achieved? Tell another monkey; Of the prophecy that was preached inside some walls called a University, Of experiences of cheating and deceiving other idiots resulting in you receiving little green slips with fascist faces congratulating you on running in the races. No sir not today, for the only choice we have is to make way for the joy that was always there to employ the energies that we reserve and sooth ours and perhaps another fellows hallucinating nerves.

So the soles of the shoes feel the pressure exerted by the toes. The stiff burst of energy climbs ever so higher into the regions of ankles before you begin to perspire. The calves flex as the thighs bend forward angling the abdomen before reaching the thorax. A gulp of saliva runs down a stretching neck as it crosses another breath exhaling making the fine line between the within and the outside – blurring. The electricity makes the muscles under the tongue stretch out through the teeth eating for all these years and months and days and minutes and seconds. All of creation and eternity congregates and congeals getting ever closer and closer to the tip of that pink flesh stretching further and further into the outside from within and going beyond making the distinction between things slimmer and thinner, the lines get finer as there is no time or space to define this moment of grace.

There was a congregation of everything inside nothing.

Then there was the lemon.

Thursday, October 7, 2010

Various Variable Vertical Vernacular Vortices


The air envelops in itself pouches of water wafting through aimlessly, cooling the dimensions of greater existence. A leaf shaped by its own chaos cups a drop of the morning dew sugar coating the platform for the swords of light to perform their daily dance. A bird chirps louder than the others as it shatters this paragraph of beauty for a prize guised as an earthworm – lying somewhere around the green, under the blue and now into the read.


Another dawn justifies the ineffable calendar.

The Royal family of the land is pregnant with pride. A Prince graces the world with what is only as cold as the steel that cuts the umbilical cord connecting him to her. After an ancestry of layering the development of this fine boy takes the form of a delicate receptacle – individual in the morning sun.

The birds fed by the land take to the skies, floating, singing and dancing to the rhythms of the divine. Underneath eyes of envy scourge around the leftovers, grabbing and pillaging in the Kingdom through ideas that only they could see. The crown sparkles on each side of the metal they use to continue the war – the smoke of which has long since clouded what the skies have to offer.

The King peered through the window of the hospital, reflecting on its glass, the thought of all that might soon come at the doorstep of his palace. He clutched his smiling wife’s hand as he pondered about the future of his progeny. “The blood line must be defended,” he murmured through lips too dry to talk, weakened by the fallibility of all the words that it ushered through the ages, “It must.” The Queen looked upon the man with empathy, and then turned her gaze to the boy. “It must be done,” she agreed. Two deaf ears echo each other’s silence.

The doors swung open and the oscillating stethoscope preceded the beating heart of the Royal physician. His body, frictionless in a known environment, glides through the white corridors caped by two well-endowed members of the opposite sex. The syringes strapped around their various cavities were ready for the operation. There are those who believe in choice and then there are those who know. The family and the doctors knew the boy had no clue.

A short while ago the news of the pregnancy had brought into the marbled courts of the Kingdom a paradoxical bundle of ecstasy and concern. There was an heir for the throne righteously guarded by the much loved and respected family. The King summoned his ministers in order to come to a consensus of what must be done. “The child is mine,” he exclaimed with authority that only he could fathom, “and I would not bear the sight of a tear from his eyes. For this purpose I have summoned you, my advisors, my colleagues and foremost to these, my friends. So speak henceforth if you have any suggestions for the dream I have – to provide a life not as cold and bitter as one that we all have witnessed.” A member of the bureaucracy stepped forward – his vessels pulsating with thoughts of penetrating the King’s heart with the perfect idea.

After the usual exchange of courtesy, your highness may I? lowered eyes and grace, he cleared his throat and unleashed his mind – “What we have seen through our experiences and the teachings of the greats down the ages, I can not help but believe that bliss is the chosen destiny of he who is a flower of your tenderloins.” The words pleased the King, his radiance was nothing short of an obvious clue to the approval of this fantastic conception. The little man started his story;

“When I was a small boy my father always told me that there are two things we should refrain from – doing that which is wrong being the first and foremost – for there is no explanation that could justify the same. Secondly allowing others to take advantage of us, as that would simply be an act of succumbing to the malice that could be entailed within. In the time that I have served your Highness I have always adhered to these rules. They cannot be broken or manipulated, as it would only bring forth plight in the life of the one who does so. I have, ever so sincerely, respected every command that has landed upon my ears without a slight doubt of its fallibility, for you Sir are better read, wiser, and are filled to the brim with the knowledge required to perform your duties – and in that I have faith. I have believed sincerely in all that is done around me and through my life all I have come across is a sense of failure and discontent. My Lord, as far as my eyes can see, the world that we find ourselves in is full of knaves and tricks. I do not believe that you would disagree for we have seen all that is around us – and perhaps more than what we should have. I would not like to speak on your behalf but the experiences we have shared have a common thread. We have both seen the tricks that have been pulled on us and on all that we believe in by our very mother, the Earth. She has scratched, with her hard grounds, the skin that binds us inward, She has hit our bones with her solidity, She has given birth to pain. Then there are the knaves, the protestors and the fellows who are not fit enough to be graced by mention. The elements are all against the order; all that we wish to stand up for and defend with our might, our learning, and our knowledge. This is not a world, if I may be pardoned for saying so, fit for Royalty.

The masters of the temples have summoned from the depths of their explorations words for us to read and incorporate. The sciences that we have so dutifully observed, supported and venerated through our understanding and undeniable generosity have broken barriers that are beyond the comprehension of most. These mingled with our hopes and understanding of that which ought to be compels me to dispel an ideal state that I believe is suited for he who is to bring smiles on our faces.

In a recent gathering of some of the elites in the biophysical realm of science, so my authorities supervising the department inform me, there had been an announcement of the ‘Bliss System’. Please pay close attention, as what I am going to say involves what I sincerely perceive to be the chosen destiny of mankind. The system is the integration of an accumulation of what the sciences have discovered over their entire quest with the findings and teachings of the great saints who have blessed us with their noble truths.

Sir, as the child would be born in this environment he would need protection, not just physical, which would be easy to achieve through our Court of Generals and the Imperial guards, but psychic as well. There are maniacs out there who are practicing, as you are very well aware, the dark arts without much consideration for us. The child’s heritage and culture must be preserved and through these times I would find it ineffable to even consider the possibility of presenting his fragile and receptive persona into the corrupt realm of this world. The system thus prevents this from happening by placing the child in a state of bliss from the moment he enters into our world through birth. There indeed are drawbacks, some of which are glaring. You would, for starters, never be able to talk to him, never be able to communicate with him, for these would only introduce him to the infections of imperfection that have riddled our hearts with miseries. Yet my Lord, I urge you to see beyond your comforts and conditioning, from the eyes of the child. He would exist in a world where he would not have anything to fear, he would not be riddled by the complications that we are engulfed in, he would not be pestered by the concerns that consume us. The Masters have witnessed this realm and through them we have realised our imperfections and the need to break from this world that we so foolishly entered. This, dear Sir, is my proposal for what I see as a method fit only for the finest member of our society.”

The King and the ministers engaged in an invigorating debate about the procedure. “The Royal physician must be contacted to provide the details of the procedure,” continued the bureaucrat, “for he is the head of the BS project.” The King immediately organised a special consul consisting of his wife, the ingenious bureaucrat and the Royal physician. It did not take long for a consensus to be reached by all the members inside the small room. Within closed walls the destiny of a child was decided.

Somewhere in the darkness of the world outside the fortified walls of the Capital, a magician roamed aimlessly, playing with tricks to entertain him while longing for an audience. He then conjured one, gathered applauses from them and then longed for one to see this apparition.

The Royal physician was busy preparing the chamber in which the Royal child was to eternally reside. “I would like you,” the King said walking in and filled with concern, “to tell me exactly what you are doing as you go about doing it. I would not like any harm to be inflicted upon my child, and if there is to be a tear in his eye, or any sign of pain, it is your future that would be in Royal jeopardy.” The physician nodded. His nurses carried the glistening cradle from the Queens suite into the chamber. “Place the boy on the mechanism as per the indications,” ordered the doctor. It was done. The procedure, simple in its appearance, had many complicated facets which the physician calmly explained to the King:

“The Prince would be lying constantly on this couch without any motion. You would be apprehensive about this”, he continued placing the boy on the couch, “as it would raise questions about his physical development but I should assure you,” he said while straightening his back and simultaneously smiling at the child, “that every angle of this procedure has been deeply thought of.” He turned to the King and reassuringly looked him in the eye, “And all necessary experiments have been performed in order to give us impeccable confidence in what we are about to embark on.”

He gestured to his nurses to hand him the conglomerate of tubes, electrodes and sanitized needles looming stealthily in the darkened corners of the chamber. Groping and grabbing at which he continued -

“The nutrition of the child would be taken care of intravenously.” He inserted a needle into the child’s arm. “We have concocted a serum that would take care of all his needs.” Another underneath his leg. “The processing unit” he exclaimed pointing without looking up to a steel box whizzing in technological fantasy, “of the serum is linked to his body’s metabolism centres.” An electrode is then placed swiftly, almost in a rehearsed manner, on his belly and on either side of his ribcage, “thus allowing the system to automatically determine the fine balance of chemicals that is essential for his physical existence.

The development of his bones and muscles would be accomplished through these nanotech strips of vibrators, compressors, and expanders.” The nurses marched forward in a theatrical manner as if obeying theatrical cues in a theatrical scenario carrying a mechanism intended to create a theatre. “They will envelop his entire body, almost as another body itself. It would, over time, provide pressure and exercise, and exert every other type of physical force required for his development again in accord with his need and age; it would even give him massages.” The doctor ranted dressing the newly born from neck downwards akin to practices of funeral houses. “The strips have electro sensitive fluids that flow through them In order to facilitate these procedures in a natural manner.” he continued as his hands robotically prepared the body for the System, all limbs disappearing in and out of perception. “On his eyes,” he continued now moving upwards, “we have luminescent cups that would regularly exercise his pupils.”

He stood up, performed another stretch to relieve muscles only physicians would be aware of, and then held the King by his shoulder as if to confess a private tragedy to a close friend. “His breathing,” he said looking down and emphatically pausing, still continuing in his curiously theatrical manner, “and heart beat are the only processes that would be natural, so to speak, but his mind, and this is the interesting bit your honour,” he exclaimed altering his tone and now looking directly at the King, eyebrows raised complimenting the smile, “would not exist in this realm.”

The nurses carried the helmet and positioned themselves behind the doctor, quite as pins that fell a long time ago in a metaphor.

“This here,” he gestured towards the contraption without turning back, “is the Dreamless Metaphormone Tributary of the Life Saving Device.” Another pause. “This here is the central piece of the puzzle my Lord. Let me introduce you into, and to avoid confusion, start the explanation slowly with initial and what I believe you may presume to be essential bits of information before further venturing into the complicated issues, such as those which are indeed often dealt strictly by qualified and seasoned philosophers who are aged in wisdom. You see Sir, complicated issues are best dealt by thinking of them simply at start, and then reeling into the realm of chaotic explanations with the light of simplicity in mind.”

He lifted up the helmet to show the inside to the King and continued, “You see these colourful strips sir, all between the lines, here are the neurophalic resonance enzymes that would vibrate with the frequencies of his mind while simultaneously seeping inside his skull the essential transmitters and inhibitors that would enable a constant state of no-mind.”

He kissed the boy, got up and turned towards the King. “You can visit anytime you like.”

The King and the Queen stood in solitude, beaming with the notion of the infinite depths of comfort that they had the facility to deliver to their offspring, their very own. He looked so comfortable, he looked so peaceful; he looked so still, born into the world with a destiny of bliss and no experience of pain. He looked so perfect that the magician could not resist himself.


“Where are we?”
“Aha, now that is an interesting Question Prince.”
“I have known you for long enough not to fall for that one again.”
The magician smirked.
“We are everywhere, that contraption,” he said pointing at the glow between the eyes of the Prince, “is a receptacle for everything that goes on in the world. You see a guy like me has a lot of time on his hands, and so much so that I don’t find the need to keep track of it – and over the years we have come to know each other and I think we both have come to a consensus to leave each other be. I have come across people who make bombs from him. Very dangerous stuff – time. You would know all about it but just like me it can trick you into not knowing anything at all – which is not too bad either, your parents can confirm that assertion. Still, do you have a clue what is going on in words. These words that you see now? Yeah you, or the King, which you would soon become inside. For these are just words you know, fragments. You have heard this story before.”

The Doctor glided past the chaos the Kingdom was now in after all these years that time dictated. The weary King had lost the control he commanded by his crown. The Court of Generals were now merely hypothetical bureaucracy and the Imperial guards had dwindled down in numbers existing in appearances as a reminder to the knaves; the only ones who believed in them. Appearances can be deceptive. The magician walked up to the King and explained, in great detail, the real art behind the Bliss System. “Listen closely” he said, crafting echoes, in the domes of the Kings chamber.

“The sciences, the philosophers, the sorcerers, the poets, the artists and every other mould of humanity’s facets, strived to bring forth something that would shape the people alive so drastically that they could never thank them completely. Media had evolved, the words once elaborate had seemed to have dissolved, the change rapidly engulfing most of humanity was seldom doing anything but driving it closer to the realms of insanity. It was within the depths of this prose, that this sentiment once dormant in minds did arose; the lurking shadow of that who everyone knows, the creature behind the mask who is forced to doze. The social spiral weakened under your viral age, the shadow deepened and it built up the rage. The war that we always yearned to wage had shattered and broken the rusted bars of the cage.

So came the dawn of a brand new day, lisping the thoughts we dreamt of yesterday, its stuttering salivating mouth being this way simply because it could not contain the joy from which it was taken away. The veins pulsate, the pupils dilate, the words that they once did dictate, are lying smouldering in some forgotten debate. The child has moved on, the man has grown, it took a long time for the Prince to be born, but there are no roses without a bloody thorn. Yet the red liquid continued to pour, as the voices of your family did soar, (in your illusions you once did roar) but are now reminded of how terrible your dreams were – a mere bore.

O’ hark – the memories of yesterday light another spark: Reminding you of the stupidity upon which shame and humility did embark their constant will to leave a deathly mark. Yet you never learnt, that through these mistakes you would come to yearn for a better goal, a cleaner soul; or perhaps the mystery was just made harder to unfurl by us who thought these revelations would make your blue blood curl. So how did you chance upon this theory once again? Did you stumble upon an old chain? It’s deranged self trying to refrain your mind from accepting the pain.

No dear King, not today. Where are you? The ghosts of sanity are out to get through all that you presumed to be noble and true; does this give you a slight clue? The colourful hue before you turn blue. Not a cancer Sir, don’t shiver, you were dead before you became a liver, this message through your cranium shall deliver, the ability to excuse yourself from all that bullshit claiming to be clever.

And I bet you didn’t know, that it was all going to blow; you were never in the flow, or else you would let go – your Crown, your Victorian noun; Subside Sir, the Kingdom is for everyone here.”

A man walked inside a chamber and woke up a boy from his deep sleep.


The birds returned to their nests, brushing their feathered details across twigs hardened by the days sun – leaving behind a small cycle of oscillation in a small fragment of a small tree connected to a small portion of a small planet in a small universe inside this large world.

So the moral of the story goes like this for there are no foes; This is either a good deed nor a bad read. The circle has to be complete and at the end of which you will see that it is neat.

Human Network

You cannot understand History without accepting Her mystery.

Monday, October 4, 2010

Life 2.0: Inspections of Introspections


Specially Packaged Sugar Cubes
Specially Packaged Sugar Cubes

Left Side of the Bed/The Mirror Conspiracy
Left side of the bed/Mirror Conspiracy

Death at your Doorstep

"Cowards die many times before their deaths;

The valiant never taste of death but once."
Julius Caesar | According to Shakespeare.

How Willie and Julius bonded, I have no clue but apparently they got their act together, in fact, all V of them.

Life 2.0: The Occult Chapter


Pulk/Pull Revolving Doors

Again I go around Again

Inspired by Thom Yorke, Roger Waters and Dhruv Choudhry.

Note: Details dimished in this version courtesy my scanner.

Thursday, September 30, 2010

Painting the bigger Picture

Self Creaturization

The enzymes in us release neurological chemical transmitters that permit the interaction of neurons via electric signals so that these electrochemical messages connect the brain to the rest of the organs permitting vital bodily functions to process through time and assimilate all that is essential in order to continue various circadian tendency through projected images of space and of course also enable Talking

which goes like this;

“Hello, you see if we were told that we were free, then we could possibly notice how I am pulling, and tugging and pushing all of this towards a reader - while roping in and tunneling through a tornado style sucking you within the labyrinth of these words. So while you dream an escape and think you would be released you continue in a desperate bid due to your addiction to a notion of closure. Thus this urge to believe that there is an end to all that begins and love for the beginning is what drives you away from seeing the whole picture as you drift from the notion of it ever coming to an end. Here is denial. None of this is true. What is going on will go on without an end. Though the morbid conception of fear has hampered visions through the tides of time they are all at your disposal right now to view with the subjectivity of all that has been through you and me or what is also referred to as space. That is history and it is all there to be innovated, renovated, analyzed, justified and others to continue this babble, and you are still here, still in the wormland of words, as it is easy to get lost and forget that these are just layers, modes of the same reality, shaping you according to thee. A lego toy looks at himself and smiles – for you are what you feel.”

Wednesday, September 29, 2010

Sunday, September 19, 2010

Sound System

Sound CystOm
Where do you think the term 'Boom Shiva' comes from?

Wednesday, September 15, 2010

The Finger Revolution

I got the title in the naughty spot there.

"A spirit only becomes free at the point where it ceases to be invoked as a support"
- Franz Kafka

There is a pervasive urge in the realm of humanity to divulge responsibility upon an entity perceived to be distinctly separate from an image of self. This small attribute of our attitudes is what beckons the rise of emotions and energies into states of conflict. An example of this is would be the call for revolution that many persons readily indulge in.

There have been numerous calls for the afore mentioned ‘struggle’, ‘revolt’ and ‘uprising’ against ‘the system’,’ the oppressors’, ‘the elites’ time and again. There have been various alternatives that have been taken into consideration and implemented on every conceivable size and scale on this planet.

The notion of supreme equality on the physical realm was implemented in all the communist countries. The idea of everyone having a say in the functioning of a system was implemented in democracy. There have been, aside from these two major blocs, various communities and lifestyles which have operated and persisted on this planet. The diversity of our experiments upon us is the subject of understanding here. The results – none of it works in order to optimally satisfy every individual.

The root of it all, so it seems at this point to the author, is the notion of individuality in itself. There is an image of a body built over time that is referenced as an individual entity. It is true that the physical self appears to be distinct and unique from that which is beyond the confines of its skin but the essential misconception is that this self exists as a unit in itself – and it most certainly does, but not in the traditional sense that it is understood in. The understanding that we have of the world around us is that it is comprised of energy or matter (they are interchangeable anyway), depending on your school of thought, yet this energy is not simply within the confines of your skin, it exists and will continue to do so beyond it as well.

Rerouting back to the subject of the essay; the call for revolution seems to miss this point entirely. A revolution or ‘change’ as perceived by most people is external. “Here, look son, there is some injustice happening there so we should worry about it here and parade outside a sandcastle called the parliament.” Perhaps even burn it down. It is absolutely ludicrous. There is no possible way to fight the so called system as all the pain inflicted by it is caused by the internal self. This calls for elaboration; So I continue to type like an idiot who has contracted a localized form of epilepsy that is limited to the regions of the palms - and sometimes the jaw.

The issue, so I proclaim, is internal as the imbalance that is perceived 'outside' is merely a reflection of the turmoil within. A truly content person would not be bothered by misappropriated portrayals of concocted concepts like 'injustice' or 'tragedy'. They are diegetic forces that are great for weaving exciting stories of Kings and Countries but in reality they are nothing but mere words used to invoke pointless conflicts in and around those who do not know better. On the other hand, it is a simple dismissal of the potential of those who enlist their support for these activities. Instead of actualizing potential and having the courage to accept and readily involve oneself in the process of bettering ones outlook the call for revolution simply provides an illusion of tragedy thereby giving its propagators a sense of upliftment for doing something about it. It is merely a transfer of responsibility that rightfully belongs in the individual into a constructed concept of the 'other' thereby ridding the indulgent from guilt.

So is there an answer at the end of it all? Do we just go on and accept whatever we get and not question it? Do we just accept all the killing the bloodshed and others such without saying a word as it is not 'our' responsibility?

These questions have one answer and that is simple. Yes, they are relevant as we are indeed damaging ourselves and others due to our wrongly assessed priorities but with a change from within a change beyond can be possible and not the other way round. Once the misconceptions of the mind are overcome only then can it be possible to move beyond itself and apply positive changes into the environs. Without this the effects can be damaging for both the individual and the cause.

Don't point fingers at others man, its fuckin' rude.

Monday, September 6, 2010







Ceasar's ghost

Ceasars Ghost
"As a rule, men worry more about what they can't see than about what they can."
Brutus should have listened. Et Tu not paying attention?

Wednesday, September 1, 2010

the Chiller

the Chiller
The Locksmith
free your mind


Once upon a time there was a King. He, however, was the kind who liked to be reminded of his superiority over his subjects. Now, this King, passed a legislation, that all his subjects were to sit at a lower level than him. If the King sat on a chair then his subjects would sit on the ground. This is pretty easy to understand. This went on for a while until the King noticed how content his subjects were. They were chattering and laughing amongst themselves. He then thought that there was something interesting about the ground. He passed another law. All his subjects must sit above him. When he did this, the King realised that they were content sitting on the chairs and he was alone on the ground. It made him wonder. The king then passed a legislation that his people must never remind him of him being their king and the kingdom prospered.

Humans have an inherent tendency to dissect in order to provide an illusion of meaning and thus that of understanding the world around us.

Let me start this rant with a simple example of segregation;

There is a circle. There is nothing complicated about it, it is a small simple circle, elegant in form and complete in its simplicity. Human interference comes about and divides the circle into four different and equal parts. Now, the first part is removed from the circle and is subjected to a few centuries of thought, debate, understanding, equating, and others such. After a point of time the quarter does not garner much of human interest anymore as they see the banality of it.

Ain’t no quarter man, no loose change, the time for credit is here.

Now they are in the quest of finding the whole circle in order to apply the same degree of stupidity upon the other three. Having found them and doing the afore mentioned, they still would not be able to perceive the humble, cimple sircle, as it is. You see, they cannot get past the conditioning inflicted upon them by the so-called understanding of the first part. Partially it is very complex therefore the whole cannot be simple.

The semantics, you see, is where it all disseminates. There is much amped debate about the role of copyright in the age of the internet and others such. “What is right, is remixing an art or is it just stealing somebody else’s hard work” and so on. All these just indicate one thing – we have a hell of a lot of time at our disposal to talk about things that are at their base level, primitive, and then to spiral further down, irrelevant.

A long time ago, and this time that I am referring to is not something that you would ascribe inside a history book, there were intelligent people. The realisation of consciousness and contemplation upon the same brought about a change on this planet. Soon they found that their minds were capable of contemplation beyond the physical yet they were subjected to conviction by the physical. Therefore in order to keep the speculation alive the simplicity of the environment they were present in was not adequate enough to entertain their minds. Enter the rest -

Language, theory, art, expression, communication, religion, even this little bit of illiterature, all of it is part of a process that had been crafted for the sheer purpose of indulgence. This indulgence, and this is the cool part, is not about some berserk sexual fantasy or an expensive French meal. It is merely a satisfaction derived from the completion of an event that was perceived to provide an illusion of achievement, intellectual prowess, self-understanding, or any other such goals. Imagine it to be a big box of lego that was given to an architect who made a hundred foot tall maze with the complexity that puts the pyramids to shame. These are tools of satisfaction.

Alpha beta particles.

We are all products of mind. In this realm that is all we are. The whole notion of freedom, liberty, assessment, intellect and so on are nothing but tools of dissection. I am a free man therefore you are not, I am a citizen and you are not. Me versus you. The earth came as a small sphere but we had to make ludicrous shapes on it and call it maps just for the purpose of understanding. If you met a man then you could assess him by asking him which nation he is from, it helps your mind categorize and archive, then pull out a little bundle of preconceptions that give you an illusion of knowing the other man. What is your job, income, nationality, religion, sexual lenience, political allegiance, school of thought and a bit more babble…What is It?

Dismantle, recreate; Mentalmorphosis.

Monday, August 16, 2010

s-Old New-s

Perhaps the most evident situation that is hovering around our heads today is our innate belief in the news networks. There are those like India TV who hold the beacon of blatant sarcasm right in-your-face yet it takes something more for the message to come across.

I can, for my part, just exclaim: "What the fuck?", take in a deep breath of disbelief, stretch the muscles around my eyes in a manner that would make the most experienced Frankenstein gape in horror and exclaim again- louder: "What the fuck?"

But hey hey, keep in mind the post right before this. Circular tendencies? Rings a bell? Round round round round round.

Wednesday, August 4, 2010

The Written World


It is interesting is it not, that the world we live in and believe is primarily based on a few characters dismantling certain patterns of thought in our minds. Language as we know it has come a long way - from the intricate hieroglyphics of ancient Egypt (keep in mind this is the same civilization that made the pyramids and also inspired classical works of neo-renaissance such as ‘The Mummy’ and ‘The Mummy Returns’) to the short hand twitter-esque stutters dominating the minds of the masses to-day. The Written World

This beautiful art that we have modelled and re-modelled over the years is still, like everything else, susceptible to interpretation. If two people read the same sentence it is not necessary that they will derive the same meaning from it – in fact, the chances of that happening are extremely scarce. We exist in a very presumptuous world, one where it is almost taken for granted that communication exists without barriers. The extraction of meaning from the written word is a process that requires greater imagination than we are made to believe. It is influenced dramatically by classical conditioning and experiences can never ever be replicated to their fullest extent in the form of writing. Perhaps the only difference between a computer command stemming from a binary stream of information and that of language is the potential difference of permutations and combinations between the two.

The neural structures of our brains enable fast firing of electronic signals that aid in the extraction of ‘meaning’ from text in order to make it worthy of interpretation. The information is thus dissembled and decoded yet the exact communication between the author and the reader can never quite be determined as the factual base of it is that the very means of communication are flawed.

Enter cyberspace. In the world today, unlike the one we romanticize and base our expectations on, there really is no guarantee of credibility. Facts are derived from Wikipedia, Google and other such microwaves of information. The quick 1.2353 second answers to all of life’s mysteries. In the academic realm, like the one we are forced to adhere to at institutions such as universities, this quick path to informational nirvana is discredited. It simply gives you an opportunity to personally meet Mr. Lord Sir Dr. VC and friends. Its availability, however, forces you to question the validity of all that ‘is’ credited. A date stamp, a seal from a scientific journal and impeccable referencing techniques are simply more convincing than a Wikipedia article – nothing more. If an informational source that most of the world follows is not credible then the knowledge that is being imparted on most of the world is not credible either. Therefore it begs us to wonder as to what really stands the tides of time in this turbulent space. If something like an article scourged from Google’s database is not a reflection of reality then why must we presume that a journalist from the deathly bowels of Iraq or a balding scientist from a basement in Boston are blessing our begotten souls with the knowledge that we yearn for?

The world that we tread on today, and the cyber world that it is interleaved with, are simply blatant reflections of our ability to blindly believe without thorough questioning and is also a grave reflection of our will to forfeit the validity our personal experiences over ideas ranted and raved on about by others. It is a simple mockery of ourselves that we are witnessing – a theatre assuming its own personality laughing at its creators. This is a written world that we uphold and smile at, the one that we attribute ridiculous concepts such as patriotism and nationality to, it is the world that is pulled over our eyes by ourselves. A prison for the mind.

I like ‘the Matrix’.

Friday, July 30, 2010

Time and Space

"Whats the free-est you can ever be? Follow your philosophy;

Time and Space

Seriously, just imagine: Flashing through thunderstorms of time and space, your eyeverything dissolving - the foufth dimension...."

When Shall I be Free? - Shpongle

Sunday, July 25, 2010


…the wind blows. The debatably heterogeneous mixture of various gases, vapors and particles ad infinitum wedge themselves in the clefts of the sandstone. What was once conceived as a solid union of assorted molecules is now forced to break shards of itself – the tide of time is an executioner of extreme ruthlessness - unbiased in its crusade of change. A grain of sand is born. A short distance away a belt of tiny particles of newly formed rock and dust float on the wind without much of their will or consent.

The desert seems harsh and inhabitable for those who insist a cage is the safest way to complete a journey. Locked like birds with a false sense of assured survival, with the ignorance of the fact that at sometime the sand in the hourglass will run out, they smile. The ochre dunes move like the fluid that they are, floating by from one point to the next, devouring all that comes in its path, all that doesn’t acknowledge it. The sun beats heavily down on this vast creature determining the cyclic rhythms of its inhabitants – sparing some, rearing others and tearing the rest.

It is a fallacy, and a broadly spread one, that the dunes are hostile. I lie amidst the sand, partially buried by it, patiently biding my time. The torrents of heat, riding majestically on its chariot of convection, envelopes the bit of me the sand cared to spare. My skin flakes and cracks as moisture steadily ebbs off it – everything in the desert is like the sand. Understanding the correlation is integral. The rags cloaking me lose much of their definition, not that its much of a problem; its just the situation.

I had seen movies back in the day. A lot can be learnt from movies. The do-gooders discredit them as mere entertainment but my question to them is simple – what isn’t? A lot can be learnt from movies. ‘The man is lost in the desert and in his sheer desperation is hoping for a messiah to come to his rescue. Perhaps an aircraft, lost like him on a different plane but destined to extradite his hapless soul, would take him back to a water bottle and a quaint palace awaiting the return of its prince. As this thought glides across his wandering mind the air does bring a messiah but expectations can be rather deceptive. Splashed across the wavy blues a black blotch appears. The shriek of the vulture having found its prey sends jitters down his brittle spine; the audience sympathizes, and then sip on their cola with much gratitude.’ The messiah does come.

The vulture approaches me cautiously, testing my will with every move it makes, carefully assessing whether there is any left in me at all. A rather large bird of prey, and prey it is for sure, as the creature is not dead. It shrieks again, this time in a more assertive and directed manner. Come closer. Time fine tunes this game of chess. Predator and prey; some need to be reminded of who stands on top of the pyramid, and its overflowing; the line is gray.

The bird leaps towards my skull, its aim certain. The removal or dramatic impairment of vision puts one at a position of loss; fact. The vulture however lacks empathy - I feel the same way too. The sand leaps sideways, like a wave in the ocean, revealing the rest of my white rags. Clenched tightly with my fist I fling the cloth over the bird – caging it in the darkness. Wedged between the sand and fabric it shows signs of desperation. The hero of the movie. Experience in a craft makes it look simple, even seem simple, and as you would know, it does get simpler.

Fluids. They are perhaps the most essential aspect of survival in the desert. A desert is a piece of land without much fluid, a commodity becomes integral if its availability is scarce. Simple economics. The bird’s heart must be beating. From under the cloth I break its legs and wings, communication breaks down. The factory of stealth built over years of adaptation, trial and error is now consumed by natural imperialism. The heart must beat. Under the cloth lies my meal, a banquet served on natures very own platter.

The right hand clenches its beak, the left its body. The last bit of life tries to struggle out of sheer instinct. There is a clear line between hope and instinct. We both know that. I raise its body closer to my head and kiss its throbbing jugular with my teeth. Life syncs into one and out of another. Fluid is essential. The flesh is secondary. The sun watches on. Predator and prey; the line is grey.

In my time I have heard sermons on the violence, the dos and don’ts, ascertained by those confined by one value – scale. The blood flows and there is no morality in it. The big fish consume the little ones. Vegetarians take antibiotics. The body rips apart carefully integrated proteins, carbohydrates, sugars and burns and mutilates them just for its own convenience. Our actions are not confined just to what we can see or sense. Sensitivity is infinite; morality draws lines on its plane – making spectrums and divisions. Universes are consumed within a breath and as I exhale ….

... the wind blows. A spot afar the eternal spark of the sun tries to paint the fading evening sky with hues of the most fantastic shades of orange and yellow. The fire still tries to burn the darkness. I watch the two in their endless dance on this evening. The horizon seems to stretch with attention, time slows down and the colours intensify. My hands are outstretched and they try to grab all that they can’t touch – the funny part is that I know it. I can taste the beauty of it on my tongue, I can smell the fragrance that this whirlpool of alteration causes.

A perfect world must be a moment, the one moment when everything and everyone is content. There is a comforting silence that everyone and every being shares – living or not. I have heard of people who harbor this dream throughout their lives but fail to see the point that this moment is eternal and its always with us. The noise, the change, the movement of particles and colours is what adds the flavour to it. The notion of peace is relative. There is peace when there is violence. If there is no violence there can be no notion of peace. Yet people look at the violence with such disgust and horror. You’re not Atlas, not at the least. Violence on the other end is not very different from anything – it comes in all shapes and sizes – what would you want to disturb you?

I am not propagating hate, but I am trying to make myself understand the reasons why people want to propagate sympathy. I look outside my apartment window and on the threshold there’s a dead vulture. Welcome to the Urban jungle: Ver 2.1.0. Survival is never easy but there is no need to make it seem more difficult than it is. The trick is that once it doesn’t seem difficult it stops being so as well. The child smiles – its chocolates and festive seasons all year round. Death however, makes people stop. I never quite grasped the concept until recently.

The human brain is such a powerful instrument that it is often out of the control of many people. Butterfly. That one word would have sent your mind on such a tangent, it would have given an imagery of fantastic colours, perhaps a sense of serenity, an illusion of pristine natural surroundings. Or perhaps it triggered a mathematical phenomenon in your head – a small change here can cause a great change elsewhere and so on. All of this materializes before your eyes glided past a few inches. An entire universe – complete in every conformed dimension, is created in a moment. The interesting part about the brain is that we are born with it and its working since its inception.

A child is born and interpretations of his surroundings start – a biological robot surveying every aspect of his immediate environment. As the child grows the environment shapes it to suit its immediate needs and requirements and vice versa. The fire fights the darkness. Slowly but with certainty, the brain understands and involves itself into the environment. Memory begins to function. Slowly it gets to a point where this life, viewed through the five senses, is all that the child knows. Enter death. Don’t jump, you might die, don’t run, you might die, don’t think – it’s probably a lie. Death begins to play its aces. “Remember remember sweet child, this is all that you know and that knowledge is asserted upon you every day. There is nothing else for you lack the instruments to perceive beyond this and it is comfortable. Comfort is the satisfaction of projection. The brain has learnt so and therefore it must be.

Death is the end of all these perceptions, and what might that lead us into? A realm of the unknown; something that we have not experienced before. If it is something that we have no clue about then there can be no possibility of knowing what the experience might be like. This is all we know. A caged animal dies comfortably. How can you experience something that you do not know? How can you leave all of this behind, all that has made this life for you? Remember how comfortable it is. Ace of fucking spades.

The so called thirst for knowledge is a façade, it is the thirst is for improved mechanisms. Bigger, faster, stronger. The scales shift. Yet I wonder what makes people so afraid. These things that gratify us and satisfy us have all been learnt. The fear is what keeps people blind – fear of knowing what lies beyond for there is no way to see the steps before you take them – conventionally speaking.

It’s a lottery with a hidden prize and everyone has a ticket. Life is a dream and death a lie; for only in a dream can you be constrained by ideas. What you see is what you wish to, an experience. The line begins to get grey. Human Beings not Human Been. This is just momentary – a learning experience. We are all in school – everyone enrolled, the world is bliss and the doors to it are for graduates. Children are playing their little games in the garden waiting for a day to grow up, for the sun to shine, for the doors to open. The dream is shared and by it some get scared. Shivering, wishing for new – dancing to the drumbeat and His little red book. I sit down, straighten my back and return to silence as I inhale…

Sunday, January 10, 2010

The Knife versus The Coins

"In a classical paradigm presented before you your honour, I beg of you to justify -

The Knife versus The Coins

The means have no ends: One controls the other but without any there would be neither.

Take the blindfold off sir, yes you, wake the fuck up."