calm calm late bloomer

As a pal and I were walking up the road and returning there was this bunch of faceless bloody 'local boys' who werent even local to that street (ha!), they couldnt stand I dont know what. I mean they couldnt stand this: That as we walked along, me and my pal were having a nice healthy conversation. In english. and they couldnt understand none if it. Maybe it was a class issue as well joining issue with their other limpdicked issues, because we were especially dressed like fucking beggars. Feed a little more on 'jogi' boys - but we're this side of the battle ok?
So they said 'Yaa Yaa Yaa Yaa' as we passed by, which mildly irritated me cos I knew exactly where they were coming from (to use a cliche doing the rounds). I was mildly irritated enough to want to see their dicks ripped off by the street pet dogs who were walking with us. And then for some reason after a few minutes we had to turn back the other way to get to our destination. We passed by that group again And again:
'Yaa Yaa Yaa Yaa' - Young men speaking only words they think they know in english
'Limpdicks, suck my swinging tits and hand me your dicks so I can slap them in your asses. I WANT TO KILL YOU - FUCKING SEMEN STICKS!' - Me to them, screaming, shaking, fucking rahghing mad and gangraping them to death.
***
I'm really disappointed. Whats this whole city shit about? i'M FUCKING STEAMING ANGRY! So even if I'm goign to see vatal nagaraj with goondas at my door waving his fist about the fucking primacy of kannada or tamil, I'll rape him, man - fucking tear his dick and make him eat it. I'll do it.
*cooling down*
Language is one pretext for division - we should just shelf all the nicely academically recorded languages there are in this freeswinging country, so no one can call them forgotten languages atleast, and just jerking focus on one flipping language. Like English. Thank you rushdie for pointing out the urban malaise and false boasts of dwellers of Indian metros - who "can boast to speaking atleast 3-4 languages - all of them badly, none of them well". And I know a lot of fucking assholes in this city, who only wait to boast that they speak o wait kannada, tamil, telugu, malayalam, hindi, yeeeven urdu, o and english. So how do I say fuck you baby? You'd say it in english tit brains. Ever heard of the dysphemism treadmill? I dont know kannada too well - gothilla godzilla - so you see i'm a disadvantaged, poor fucking lady ripe to be overrun by the marauding half-knowers of a language that retains almost nothing of the original pali-influenced scriptless script. But I'll still kill you. and you'd choke on your blood saying sorry too late.

Fowler and Reddy

Yesterday evening, a terrific trio, which included me, visited the Park to listen to Konarak Reddy and Dylan Fowler. After procuring the tickets which were booked for us but denied until I raised a affected polished hackle or 2, we waited in line for 1 hour. The wait was highly nonsensical but bearable because our tribe laughed a lot with a little inspiration from some members who are in a helpful perpetuial state of delirious euphoria. While everyone else was weighed down by gewgals and decorum, we noted that the receptionist at the far end manning reception, was a devastating hunk. And just as I looked on and probably had the chance to make an impression as he maybe looked up, MY LEFT EYE BEGAN TWITICHING UNCONTROLLABLY. It didnt stop until I lost total interst in making an impression on anyone. Grrr. Why didnt I also go limp in one leg and start belching, and develop a twitch in my right shoulder. I tell you. Anyone we finally rested our bottoms and listened like raptors while the tempos picked up. The most amazing piece I wanted to jump and shout to (but didnt) was Dylans amalgam solo towards the end - can someone help me get the name of that number? - I didnt carry the program. Reddy's solo Sneha was sweet. I really didnt think I could be captured liek that - as I was for a few pieces here and there.

I think henin-hardenne is an asshole and just couldnt face defeat. Was too obvious. What a sick crap woman to take the wind away from mauresmo's victory. She was comprehensively outplayed from the start and had to come up with a sham excuse like stomach ache. my blistery foot! she should be fined. Because what she did is called 'tanking' and demands her suspension from future slams.
A million whoops for Mauresmo!

only because life is better than death

Since I have no image to live up to, i lose nothing by speaking unfashionable, and right now it's about smoking up / toking or other routes for more lethal stuff. Some people cant think of anything greater for their egos than to say - 'that guy cant handle stuff' or 'chumma he puts one'. Like what should the true high pretext be o holy one? The point is: once you've found it's not your trip, it's not your trip - listen to it and stop. It's ok if you're first trip was a sad trip - if that was enough to put you off crap for life, theres no shame in that. You don't have to find the 'right' trip for the pleasure of talking about it like a pro for all time. Though I have to admit, the choice often means being kept out of some delightful company who wont admit you in the same way if youre off it.
I have the greatest respect for people who can handle every growth out of the soil gassed into their lungs and still trip the right rockstar way, but their reality is their reality and yours is yours. And then some absolute truths also stand out. Like what's the next groovy thing? - fixing my mouth round the exhaust pipe of engines for CO? As for myself, it took me a harrowing week of work-ordained motion sickness (from drive to a client in faraway EC), to realise truths. I really can't even take cigarettes and until a month back I always did light up in company for the confrerity of it. But now by no exercise of the will, my body's simply cancelled it out. And without anything to prove because friends still smoke, and so I still smell like it, and last week when I came back, my mom said the smell was too much. i just said - mum, you make me very sleepy. I had nothign to protest because I knew what the sq was.
Thank you/.

dream on a knoll

Before I forget this entirely, my lastnight dream demands to be written down in these few minutes I have stolen at the office space in office time. I dreamt sometime in the early morning that I was lying on the top of a grassy knoll on my belly, chin in my palms. It must have been very high up because the clouds were very close, and just a few feet above I saw this bird coasting, as birds do only when theyre pretty high up. And the bird was coasting in a small area above me, almost at arms distance and i thought it looked very dreamy and it was idyllic. I liked the clouds so close like a roof and the bird coasting at arms length. I tried without much effort to touch the bird as it coasted in the small circle in my view and it looked like I waved while I wondered. I wondered and tried hard to find if I might know which bird this was. It was white and medium sized with grey wingtips. Then the word 'Albatross' came to my head. But this was not an Albatross I knew. I shook my head as I looked up because I knew this was not an Albatross. (It was a very likely a sea-gull, I now realise) but I enjoyed everything as I allowed myself to be mildly bothered by the bird's generic name. My palm was held out as I tried to figure its true name. And as I lulled in the mystery of the perfect moment with my palm held out, something fell thwack in my open palm. It was the the bird's wing torn out. I cried. I asked 'Why?'. Soon the gull's body fell some distance down. I cried. I asked Why.

Ok. This isnt at all important but I forgot something very very important in my list of 8 things: He musnt have sharp/skinny hips.

Mannnn!!!! I wear a sari and fall flat on my face on airport road while tackling a pavement. Right in front of the packed bus stop. I hope some hunk saw my torn underwear.

So, Fingers tagged me. This is the second time in my blogging history that I've been tagged; and i'm a little excited cos its like being invited to a big jumpy party.
I have to write 8 things about what my ideal partner should be like.
Well yes, we're assuming he's a male.
1. Thoughtful and Original
2. At peace with being in public and private
3. Socialist
4. Doesn't have a fetish or secret or overt thrill for firang women (ie. white skinned wombats)
5. Sporty (loves tennis and workouts and loves working out with me)
6. A greedy greedy varied reader
7. Uses the BTS bus service from time to time
8. Counts me as his best friend and bum pal (magic)

Uhh So now I tag Misch, Recho, Ubermensch, and Yas (who hath no blwog)

I'm glad this clever lady's back on the Tour.
And it's clear from the expression on her face that she's got a plan.

My brains forked. I want to jump from a wall and break my nose. But I also want Dravidians to be established as rulers of the world deposing Jews in the Final Battle of the With

w*king when you dont want to is like being raped - something that someone like me just doesnt allow. but i'm letting here and now i'm getting it done to me. i swear i'm going to run with all the testosterone vapour in this fucking air. I hate magalomaniacs even if theyre sometimes impressive and considerate and compassionate. fuck it chuck it i says. i'm not here to accomodate that even if i'm a bacteria-ridden vermin.
i wrest my case all ye dickheads on which my bacteria shall not grow.

What pornography is really about, ultimately, isn't sex but death.
-Susan Sontag
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The only interesting answers are those that destroy the questions.
-Susan Sontag

I guess the real reason is: i've reached a stage where I want to be able to take near total ownership for my work and the business i work for. thats why. that there might be another less masculine way of doing things.

What do you do when youre feeling real horny and youre sitting in the office on a Saturday that isnt even a working Saturday and there isnt anyone else there?
Ans: The day before you should have gone and gotten yourself a flash drive and realised that night your home PC doesnt have a usb port and the next day figure out that you musr stick an adaptor card into the frigging PCI slot. This might entail reinstalling your OS which is great specially if youve lost that pirated CD in the first place. And now we're feeling like this.
***

The nicest things are totally unplanned. Yesterday evening i played balloon handball and football with my totally zany mother. It just started with us hitting the balloon at eachother. then we started kicking it. and then it was side vs side. We had a bawl. over one hour of it. And absolute fun with no strings attached. It was also pretty embarassing because mum didnt break into a sweat and i was wheezing and sweating while posturing fitness. But the fun. what fun. Its great to have a mum as crazy and totally unexpected as you are. The great thing for her is that she looks 25 yars younger than me. hmmm. anyway. i'm also pretty excited about many things.

NIce pic

A mystical disc. Of moon in a dish.

7:08 7:09; cat on the cushy; cat on the line.
I maike up my island, i maike up my mind,
I live for the liquid that pours in a line;
It drips on my toes, it smudges my fuzz,
It splashes on tile, but leave her a vile.
She's growing, she's growing.
Growing inside.

The drum of the dawn, turns eyeballs to look
A singular tabby hook in a brown nook:
A corner that flashes with sparkles and blades,
And switchknives and needles, and pokies and haze.
She turns there her neck and beams at a disc:
A mystical disc of moon in a dish.

Full moon in a round dish of metal like steel,
She considers her equal: her deity pool.
Breathing the vapour of steam on the skim
She casts a close shadow on a circle of skin.
We Worship the aura of actual things
Like the skin on the skim of a mystical thing.

Into Great Silence

(This 3 hour docu on the life of Carthusian monks is selling to packed halls)

Day One

Came back as early as i could last evening, put in more cat food, milk and water about, contemplated on the stars and the mosque on the terrace with frend, the pain of death in the reading room, hard-boiled 4 cat eggs and didnt yet ravage the bookpile. however did go to bed at midnight and had to admit one caterwauling cat to make it stop caterwauling. obviously it was going to share the bed with me tho i thought it was pretty clear it was going to stick to the other side. after fooling noone with its absolutely absorption in ritual licking, i decided to mind my own business, pull up the blanket and settle with a collected t s eliot- pretty cliched this is but i turned to the Book of Practical Cats. i think the pulling up of the blanket seemed to work as some vestigial indication, because with a pop it began stalking to my side of the bed and stuck its head under my derriere for crying out. to the credit of my openmindedness and the eternal shame of the family name (if it turns out there were cameras rolling), i didnt react with instant outrage but considered what he was trying to get at. Turns out I was too tired and really didnt want to be flea ridden that night - so gave it a soft knock to the other side of the bed.
It licked itself a lot.
I said shut-up twice during the night.
I petted and strokd all cats in the morning.
i think this whole cat trip is making me a more affectionate person.

Kiddy Kiddy Kiddy caths

uhhh. Because i've had to vacate the more livable room at home for a guest, ive had to sleep in my own room which is a haystack with lizard parts, books and clothes for walls. Now i've developed health impediments like: fluttering lungs that ache and clutch, and more importantly a dangerous hostility to the guest who happens to be spanish. I'm frankly ashamed of myself, i'm a fucking rotten host, and my mother always warned me ever since i was 4 that i'd grow up to be a famous smelly beggar on the streets with no hope and a repetoire of harrowing facial expressions. If life's about boomerangs, my hits coming and mom's going to be partying in Ibiza very soon. The good news is that first, Ibiza is no longer so popular, and second: i'm going to be staying over at a friends place in ulsoor fom tonight for 3 days, with no one but her cats all 6. the other 6 are taking a break elsewhere. I'm told if i wish to invite the cats to sleep with me at night, i could leave the bedroom door ajar, rush back into bed, and theyll tumble upwards clownishly but elegantly and make themselves felt. During the evening i am also to rub them decorously from time to time (while they take on alarmingly explicit postures which must not move me) after laying out the water and food.
The Delite.

Yay. I'm going to be staying in a house with 6 cats for 3 days.
In my current state, it's just what I need. Thanks Yas.