I stopped making New Years resolutions a rather long time ago. So lets just call the timing for this a mighty coincidence.
Thursday, 31 December 2009
Sunday, 1 November 2009
"What are you dressing as?"
*cackle* *giggle* *squirm* *stare* *realize it wasn't all that funny* *realize you're inebriated* *get more inebriated* *grin*
Halloween is generally the greatest excuse to dabble in a little drag and get enough alcohol in you to clean the floors of Buckingham. For a few others, it's the trigger of contemplation of grim futures and of the endearing cycle of depressive thoughts and self-pity. But then, very soon, the death-fires dance on into the abyss, the colours green, blue and white return to their regularity and you realize it's now the 1st of November. You turn your clocks back an hour and glee in the fact that you have an extra 60 minutes to add to your day. That's enough to make anyone giggle and grin. If not, you need a drink.
Thursday, 10 September 2009
[Another 10 minute poem written in Zurich. This one after a short nap and quick meal (also directly on the computer).]
Here I sit at the edge of Haverford
Watching the younger scuttle by
They brush past, they shrink on.
A wide gale of laughter,
My soft whimper of woe
Some boisterous, others unheard.
A hand whisks above the golden grain
Feeling wisps down below,
A tickling tendril totters up
Gushing giggles guffaw out.
The soil takes me in from the toes
I battle and win, but who’s to show?
They plunge down with sudden force,
The stabbing frost grasps me, clenched.
Such a feeling I have often known
Since the days of graying cold.
Now I court chirping birds
No longer being the one in Haverford.
[I came up with this while reading Beowulf. Go figure...]
In a rush we scuttle and scamper,
Teetering from one end to another
A delicate feel of movement
But not much else.
Here we are, confined,
With no place to go.
It mushrooms within
Regurgitates itself time again.
You wonder at it,
Stare at its
Strange balmy pleasantness.
This is the end, here we go.
A feeble fluttering,
A sweet sensation,
An indication of final presence
Suffuses when surrounded.
Thinking of the inevitable
Just as we go.
Now we meet,
You and I.
After weeks of rumination,
Reflecting the inexorable
A breathless sigh in satisfaction,
Alas! we can go.
Wednesday, 2 September 2009
[Here's a tiny extract from what I've written for the NovelRace. I've hit a colossal writer's block and might just drop out.]
Tuesday, 25 August 2009
[A future classmate complimented my blog by calling it friggin awesome and strangely adorable (I'm quite grateful that the adorable is at least modified with a strangely). This reminded me that I have a blog and so, thought to update.]
Monday, 13 July 2009
The clock showing 3 AM inspired me to write something, anything rather. I tried a new tack, I failed but the rubble is below..
Here I am seated-
In the silent corner,
Atop a minor dent.
Of coloured song
Chances brick walls.
Notes whisk back,
Tousled and turned,
Ephemeral and ebbing.
Foot grazes carpet
With periodic tap.
With tedious plan.
A bead trickles,
Diverging from a mass
Ending desiccated, defeated.
Searching for abyss
Facing banal grey,
Upon lined sheets,
In gradual procession,
Stare in silent pause.
Sunday, 31 May 2009
God takes revenge. Evidence of fact:-
Sunday, 24 May 2009
Tuesday, 5 May 2009
Today, the kindergarten wall took a not so great tumble down to a ghastly pile of crap emerging from my personal Hellmouth set up by IT.
First you brush upon me
In hallowed white
But in the most impious way.
Then you burst upon me a slew of stain
From Satan’s personal palette.
This I can tell for some mortals admired
Except those of sane virtuous way.
But more I grieve as this was not
The end of your profanity.
You soon resolved to
Write upon my trampled skin
The names of books of wicked intent
None prophetic or of sacred verse
But of Irishmen and paedophilic mirth.
Irony struck when you wrote of a catch
For now you are caught in the very same.
Either desert me in this deplorable state
And be mocked by the world for incompetence.
Or amend me to a more agreeable sight
And lose your last penny to effort’s might.
Regardless of stance,
Leave your thoughts not to stand.
A week of nine days you have,
Before you’re caught in either catch.
If I feel masochistic enough sometime, I'll upload some pictures.
Wednesday, 22 April 2009
Penned by Nik at 12:51
Sunday, 22 March 2009
Saw The Curious Case Of Benjamin Button day before. They managed to make a three hour movie out of a 10 page short story by Fitzgerald. And as expected, the story is infinitely superior to the movie. I resorted to chucking pop corn at the screen.
Penned by Nik at 22:01
Saturday, 21 March 2009
Penned by Nik at 12:27
Tuesday, 10 February 2009
I haven't had the time to do much lately but today I did spend a good forty minutes reading up on the Superstring theory. I would have wasted more time but I just didn't understand much.
I wrote down what I did understand and put it up here.
On a tangent, you know how Einstein said you haven't understood something until you explained it to your grandmother? It turns out, I don't understand algebra.
Sunday, 25 January 2009
[We were bored out of our minds and started ad libbing. Surprisingly enough, we kept it clean. And since I have nothing else to do, I am posting it.]
Nik: Can all mothers kill joy?
Bharat: Yes. Its their one common talent.
Nik: I see. I need to get the fuck out of here.
Bharat: Take me with you.
Nik: Where to?
Bharat: We'll get out of the country and go our separate ways.
Bharat: I'm headed to Turkey.
Nik: I'll go to Italy.
Bharat: You could sail from Turkey to Italy. Go to Sicily.
Nik: Yes. I could do that.
When do we leave? The sooner the better.
Bharat: Yes. How 'bout tonight?
Nik: Ok. Lemme get my socks and my towel. That's all I'll be needing.
Bharat: No wait, I think I should inform my girlfriend before I leave the country. It'd be the gallant thing to do, right?￼
Nik: Yes, it would. Go on then. Hurry up. We dont have all night.
Bharat: You know what, she's probably studying right now. I'll call her tomorrow. Let's leave
I got my staff and towel.
Nik: Ok then. We're off.
Bharat: Yes we are.
[off the rocker]
Nik: [that happened ages ago. This is a continuation of the same]
Which path do you reckon we should take?
Bharat: Throw your towel. Let it decide.
Nik: It landed hobbes up.
Bharat: Had it been Calvin I'd have called for a space ship. But Hobbes is the forest.
Nik: Fair enough.
To the forrest!
Bugger, what about food?
Bharat: We'll kill a few animals, all I need to do is tie this knife to my staff and we'll have a hunting spear.
Wait, did you get string?
Nik: Nope. Ivy?
Bharat: Yes, ivy.
Nik: We need hermit names.
Bharat: I'll be Cuchulainn.
You be Rimmugygr.
Nik: Works. Might scare the squirrels.
Nik: Hmm. We need to start a fire.
Bharat: My staff can be a torch too. Tie the towel to it, we'll set it on fire.
Nik: No! The towel is our hope for survival.
Bharat: My towel, it's special, it suffers no fire damage.
Nik: Fascinating staff you have Cuchulainn.
Bharat: Thank you, Rimmugygr.
We need to find you a staff.
Nik: I have socks. Don't require a staff.
Bharat: Chuck some stones and nails into your socks.
Nik: My socks are hardly ordinary. Don't need any rocks to make them hard.
Can be pleasurable.
Bharat: Ohhh, man socks
Nik: Yes, very manly indeed.
Bharat: Let's keep moving, I want to be out of the state by dawn
Nik: Let us eat first.
Bharat: Howbout venison?
Nik: Yes. I'll be back in a moment.￼
*Back with three dead squirrels*
I think I might have overdone it a bit.
Bharat: Nah, its perfect.
Nik: Ok. You need to cook yours?
Bharat: I'll stick it in the torch for a bit
Ah! the fur is smoldering. Just right and succulent.
Nik: I think I'll have it raw though.
Nik: We'd better be off now. As you said, out of the state by morning.
Bharat: [In Paddy Clarke Ha Ha Ha they give a viking funeral to a rat they killed.]￼
Yes, I'm sure my mum has the police looking for me
Nik: [lol. Gotta read that book.]
I'm sure my parents have the entire intelligence force after me.
Nik: Cuchulainn, be wary.
Bharat: Halt and stay silent.
Nik: I think I heard a bee.
Bharat: Thats a tribal warrior.
Nik: Bee warrior it be.
Bharat: These people communicate using bee sounds.
Nik: Ah, we can fool him by doing the same.
Bharat: No, lets kill him. My knife thirsts for blood.
Nik: And my socks for rigor mortis.
*Throws the knife*
￼*Kills the warrior*
*Lets the socks sit on the dead mans chest for a while*
Ok, They're both satisfied and tempered. We can go now.
Dawn approaches. We are close to the state boundary. We'll need a plan to circumvent the police. I'm certain, by now, they know our faces
Bharat: We kill them.
*Extinguishes the fire*
*Ties the knife to the staff with the towel*
*Prepares self with socks in either hand*￼
Bharat: With Gaebolg I will kill them all.
Nik: You take the left flank, I the right.
*Yells the ancient Irish war cry and charges*
*Charges while singing Galway Bay*
Bharat: Ut ut ut ut ut.
No wait, that's Saxon. Meh, who cares.
*Gaebolg slices through the air and kills a dozen soldiers in one go*
*Chokes a few men with her socks*
*Makes a few dozen sniff them*
*Kills the rest with his towel*
*Retrieves towel and kills another dozen*
Nik: All dead.
Bharat: High five!
*Stares at Bharat*
Cuchulainn, you're a friggin hermit.
Bharat: Oh yeah, sorry.
Nik: Let's get moving.
*Dog starts following the duo*
What shall we do with the mutt?
Bharat: Let's domesticate it. Dog meat for when the squirrels die out.
Nik: Yes. Good plan.
It's male. Testicles always taste good.
Bharat: Yes. No need for condiments.
Where in Chewbacca's name are we?￼
Bharat: We entered a portal. We are in Reykjavik.
You know what's considered edible here, right?￼
Nik: I know what's considered edible in Gultimysk. Is it the same?
Bharat: Is it fermented?
Nik: Of course.
Nik: You still wanna head to turkey? We could live here for a while.
Nik: I believe grass is legal too.