No Wizard Here

Chicago was meant to be hit by the worst storm in 70 years yesterday. I was psyched, I missed Delhi’s massive monsoon and a nice storm would have been splendid. But then, hopes were dashed and instead of a rave up in the clouds, we got the two step.
All I ever wanted was to be like Dorothy and Toto.

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Hello World.

As I was in the shower, singing to the mouldy curtains, I realized I felt like blogging again. I also made a promise, but a smart little elf once told me to never tell others my endeavours. Smart little elf, he was. Kill Elrond, he did. Become Santa Claus, he did.

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Special Meals

There are always those few people who order special meals on aeroplanes. When you see those meals coming you wonder at what makes the meals special? And figure that it can’t be much better than yours since it’s still on an aeroplane. Then you see the strawberries. They look good. You’re certain you won’t have any strawberries. Looking at someone else’s early arriving meal with all its succulent canned fruit makes you hungry. You also want your meal right then. You decide to order yourself a special meal next time.

If you don’t get one next time, maybe it’s an indication that you’re a Commi.


Yes, I only ever blog when I’m moving at speeds greater than 500 km/h. Go figure.

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Crumbling Cookie

[Let's just say I'm experimenting.]

A slice

A murmur

A banal drop.

That's not how the cookie falls.

A knot

A tug

A banal fall.

That's not how the cookie drops.

A twist

A tumble

A banal toast.

That's not how the cookie scuttles.

A stance

A totter

A banal scuttle.

That wasn't the cookie's toast.

A sigh

A half-smile

A simple melody.

That's the way the cookie burns.

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Welcoming Back Blue Raincoats

I needed to write today. Having done that, I thought I'd stick by my old decision to be my capricious self and decided to post on this purportedly closed blog.

I make no promises concerning future posts. If you hold your breath, please take it the entire mile and emulate a five year old in a mall who really really wants another gummy bear head. Then, tell me if it was watermelon or strawberry.

It's short and possibly incomplete. But it does have a title-

Blue Raincoats

Heaven sent at heaven's end.

A sweet man's abode

Converts to a widow's chest

To reveal the crinkling edges of homesickness.

A glossy finish by a rough edged sword,

Finality by an indefinite wink.

Chapters flip with the summer breeze,

Accursed.

Sweet similes end

And children's chests heave.

Swords wink in the summer Sun

To close curses at heaven's brink.

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That'll Be All

Hello young ones,

I have final notice, I'm shutting down my blog. It's been long in the coming and I see no incentive to keep it up, particularly since I've lost all my readers.

Lead unhealthy lives and disturb your twisted minds.

That'll be all.

Nikita.

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Chalk Faces

Words you can use to describe the following- purple, verbose, forced and downright banal.

Reasons apathy is my only response to your wailing- My plan for fluff blogging didn't work out and I haven't much else to put up here for your amusement and/or agonizing dragging death. Also, I haven't indulged my sadism in a long while.

Enjoy.

Downward curls and upward angles

A facile face, commonly discernible.

With a slight twitch and a wayward glance

The mighty sight moves off to perchance.

A glint and sigh with a bashful grin

Another simple one, identified without hint.

Toss a sneer and a muddle wave

You’ll have a splendidly confused daze.

Stoic stare, murmured immutability

Uncertainty unsure in perpetuity.

Off cadence breath or wavering peek

Works of comprehension clearly you seek.

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Gods and Grand Games

According to this highly reliable website, tomorrow is Play God Day.

I shall be taking on the role in full responsibility and engaging in all the barbarically holy crimes I am obligated to. So as to be a secular God, I have carefully analyzed all the possible deeds I could accomplish in a day and concluded on the following which I hope will satisfy believers of all faiths.

"If I could be God for a day, I would..." (commanding thee to imagine an innocent childlike voice of such high pitch, that you will be eager to claw your eyeballs out), "commit a few genocides, a couple of sexist acts, some good ol’ confusing reincarnations in the form of my son and myself and not to forget, just some frightful yelling that makes cows and chickens swap personalities just so they can each be severely disappointed. Also, like the original one, I’ll be demanding the first borns of every living being on earth. I likes me some infant toenails."

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Unwittingly on New Year's Day

I stopped making New Years resolutions a rather long time ago. So lets just call the timing for this a mighty coincidence.

The decision is to use this blog for flaunting my peerless wit rather than my writings which are scarce, often depressing and generally atrocious. And just for giggles, we shall assume that I am, in fact, right about my nonpareil wit.

Happy New Year and New Decade, who can tell me why we have a such an enduring obsession with capitalizations? ee cummings being discounted.

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Pumpkin Pies

"What are you dressing as?"

"The Lazy."

*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.

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Haverford

[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...]

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Undersaturated Overtones

[It’s been a while since I wrote something in under 10 minutes, sleep deprivation was the cure to that. Here’s a poem I wrote at the Zurich airport after the first leg of the journey to Chicago. (This is one of the few things I’ve ever written directly onto the computer).]

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.

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NovelRace

[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.]

It's a stale, permeating taste. Sucks you dry of all senses besides the light buoyancy of your stomach and the levitating tendency of your chronically lightened head. Wait fourteen hours for you next meal and you'll know the banal rotting feel of your tongue with its gossamer like dry surface. A certain peevishness seeps out from your choleric palate to everything around. Your eyes remain utterly focused, and your brows furrowed until the final sigh.

After removing myself from that familiar cesspool, I headed to yet another so as to play away my senses. A well-lit, unobtrusive corner in a large, labyrinth of a room is ideal for draining sensation. For company, a small cup with its inadequate handle, holding a strong brew and light froth arrived on a tiny saucer. A single sip diffused across the appeased muscle, delicately spreading its wily harshness to the extremities of taste.

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Grimly Fluff

[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.]

Vasudha recently wrote about her unfortunate but delayed realization that everyone is dead. Whether it be Feynman, Dirac and Fermi or Wilde, Hemingway and Buchwald or just your good ol' crazies like Vincent and Dali.

Doughlas Admas died. As did George Carlin. Michael Jackson died and discovered normality. While Brunetto Latini died and met a Minotaur in a fiery desert. My grandfather died at the wheel. My great-grandfather, in his sleep. All passed away, passed on, expired, departed, gone, no more, late, lost, perished, deceased, with God, asleep, slain, slaughtered, murdered, killed. In addition, this past fortnight saw the death of Eunice Kennedy and Edward Kennedy. Les Paul's dead as well.

I'm not really going anywhere with this since death is not much of a topic for debate. Nothing unexpected, just quite wretched. This was just a handy excuse, if ever you need one, to get the blues.

An explanation- the reason this is yet another fluff post about the on goings of life (or death, as it may be) rather than progresses in writing, is because I haven't written a damn thing of interest in a long while. Though, three weeks ago, I did join the NovelRace! But, in following the visible trend of disappointment, I haven't added a single word to the "novel" in a week. Instead, I picked up a different genre, mystery. Vicariously living fantasies of gruesome torture and butchery through writing may sound disturbing to some, but I found it cathartic. That too, should sound disturbing.

That's all for now.

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Careful

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.

Soughing breath,

Fitful hands,

Restive lids.

Careful, though.

Melancholy music

Of coloured song

Shuffles through,

Chances brick walls.

Notes whisk back,

Tousled and turned,

Ephemeral and ebbing.

Foot grazes carpet

With periodic tap.

Fingers itch

With tedious plan.

A bead trickles,

Diverging from a mass

Ending desiccated, defeated.

Darkness impregnates:

Crescent unseen.

Searching for abyss

Facing banal grey,

Philosophy forsaken.

Focus closer

Upon lined sheets,

Imagination mislaid.

Three assemble

In gradual procession,

Stare in silent pause.

Song fades,

Foot follows,

Eyes sigh.

Careful, though.

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Vengeance

God takes revenge. Evidence of fact:-

My IP address has been blocked from his site.

A few days ago, I wrote the first draft of a story on my laptop (up until now, I always wrote first drafts on paper). Before I could save it, my Mac decided to have its own first by crashing.

A day later, my Twitter account was hacked into and now it's been suspended.

The very next day, I was savoring the flavour of bile the entire night.

And today, my iPod died on me taking with it 20 gigs of my music and some great lectures, none of which I had backed up.

Here's some sage advice for you lot, never piss off old, bearded, sadomasochistic, egomaniacal men who only worked for 6 days in all of eternity. It could come back to bite you in the ass.

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Which one's the 4th?

Here's something I thought the world should know, I managed to piss off God. This is how. (In case you're a bit dim and it isn't clear, I'm Nik.)

We're having regular storms here, I expect to be smote soon.

UPDATE: Pitiably I can no longer access the site, I'm told my IP address is blocked. Well, at least I did a good job of pissing Him off.

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Brushstroke

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.

The wall mocks me in verse.

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.

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Scapegoat

Here's one of the reasons I haven't posted anything for a while..

Using webcam. The purple goat ate my camera.

And yeah, I'm a lazy ass.

I was going for an old age map and ended up with a kindergarten wall. I'm nearly done, I plan on writing on it.

Oh and yes, I'm going to UChicago come September. GO TEVATRON!

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Plenteous Movies

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.

Aloo Chaat yesterday. Walked out after 40 minutes. Felt a little brain dead.

Monty Python And The Holy Grail yesterday. I want coconuts.

The Reader today. Haven't seen it yet, but I anticipate it'll be good.

Update- Got back from the movie. Kate Winslet was quite remarkable. Maybe I should read the book.

I'm off to watch The Full Monty now. Impotent men stripping, what could be better?

These posts have no purpose. I just need something to do in between doing nothing.

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