Shell

The words are not flowing, and neither is the music. I find myself looking for inspiration, hoping maybe that the air would deliver it to me, sadly without success. Puffs of dust float around my brain, rendering it invisible to the light. Exorcism is on call, but I fear it must be done from within.

Smile

Managed to sneak in some decent shots, despite overcast skies for most of the evening.



That's Venus, the Moon and Jupiter, left to right. This is the closest Venus has gotten to Jupiter in a while, I believe.

Field trip

10 00pm
It's cold. Im soggy and trolleying back home. The oh-so-pleasant sound of the auto-rickshaw's backside complements the high pitch ringing in my ears.

5 00 pm
' It'll rain again man! Come ra, we'll take umbrella.'
'Mad eh?! It wont rain come.'
'Anyway you like to get wet no, gay.'

6 00 pm
'Come, we'll walk ra. Only 2 minutes.'

6 30 pm
'Only ten minutes more.'

AAAAHH!!!

A "2-minute walk" afterward, having braved the weather and terrain through godonlyknowswhere-land, the air told us we were finally there. ( Kind of like the Pandavas and dog story, the elements having depleted our numbers to 4, from the original 11.)

The extremely 'tight' security insisted I kept my soldering iron outside. (Unbelievable, I say!)
Anyway, when I was finally inside, iron and all, I was greeted by a voice that sounded like its owner had caught gangrene and lost hope. The poilcemen (stationed at "strategic" locations) would have probably done him (and the rest of us) a favour putting him down.

The stage was inhabted mostly by a bunch of ape-like creatures, clearly at the tribal stage of their evolution. Their leader,presumably, seemed particularly adept at making jungle noises and movements, sometimes provoking a section of the crowd to mimic.
Bushmen Frenzy!

SHOOT THEM ALL!!

More rain and more tribes prompty led us to the exit.

' It sucked! But tell everyone it was damn good, okay!
Hihikhihikhihikhihi!!! '

' Yea man...Hehehehe... otherwise rape only ra...'

'Hihikhihikhihikhihi!!! But it was fun man.'

10 00 pm
It's cold. Im soggy and trolleying back home. The oh-so-pleasant sound of the auto-rickshaw's backside complements the high pitch ringing in my ears.

'I wonder how long it will be before my extremities start falling off.'

O, Human Karma!

Qweeeeeeee!
Like the call of a nightingale
Only worse
Bleed in the nose
(And the eardrum).

Enters belly
Follows human
Fat-fingered
Abominable snowman
(Sans snow).

Drone
Unfinishing
(Un)like a bee's
A wounded beast
(Pooh at best).

Stubby arms wave
Unfinishing
Powerful
Tension in the air
(And elsewhere).

Enters boredom
Lots of
Drives most to vice
Amidst a sea of slouched backs
(Unfinishing).

Vex

Unsettling,
Not knowing where things are.
Knowing they're not where they're supposed to be.
Worse,
Knowing they're where they're not supposed to be.
Torment.

Conflicting Minds

We have, from time immemorial, been mystified by the unexplained. Dreams have always fascinated me, from my childhood days; some of them deathly frightening, others wonderfully pleasurable.

One of the earliest dreams I can remember having was one where I was a construction worker being devoured by an oversized smelly Shrek-like creature (Not friendly). And as one would expect, I didn't like the idea of being eaten alive, and woke up pretty unnerved. But that was not the last I would see of Sir Reeksalot. He did visit again, a little under half a dozen times between then and now, and what interests me is that every time (after the first), I was able to control the dream and prevent the monster from detaching my head from the rest of me, one way or another.

A dream is the battle between the conscious and the subconscious. This is something I would like to call " The Theory of Conflicting Minds ".
The subconscious is a sick kid and starts it, and throwing up anything it eats. The conscious is a janitor. At some point, it realizes that the floor is too puked up, and decides to clean up. Conflict. Two options lie ahead.

Option 1 : Squeaky clean
C : Wake up! This is weird.
S : [Alt-F4]
C : Oh, that was just a dream.

Option 2 : Perpetual Filth
C : This is a dream! Wake u... No wait, this seems interesting!
(S happily continues dreaming, oblivious to C's presence)
C : This sucks. I'm going in!
(C butts in; overrides S. S quickly regains control. But the damage has already been done.
C continues observing.)

Option 1 is what happens most of the time. Janitor cleans up; sends the kid back home.

Option 2, though, delivers infinite possibilities. Janitor cleans every now and then (or chooses to watch from a distance and not get his hands dirty), kid pukes every now and then. A dream can be controlled in bits and pieces, and although the level of control is minuscule, it makes a world of difference.

Try it, it's an exhilarating rush!
My sympathies to those unfortunates who sleep dreamlessly.

Care for a shave gov'neh?

Barbers are the most powerful people on the planet.
Luckily for you and me, they're merciful.