Common patterns, I feel like a doorbell

Its all about the same. We three sat there sighing away and I suddenly said, " I thought i was the cheated one and the dumb one and the ugly one, but all face the same." The form remains the same just the content changes. Lou strikes all. Then you are bored and so you decide to pursue the lou-ly's friends and down the drain it goes. Friends turn foes. Friend's parents turn gestapos. Plus it has usual moping. Daily rant is an understatement. There is no angst here! All there is, evaporation. Hot, lava like steam from brains being fried in cold pale yellow classrooms with teachers with a sadistic will to teach! How ignorant and greedy can you get!? First you pretend that you can teach something and enter. Then you actually attempt to teach! Fool, do you not know that these are only master-pupil hierarchies of Krishnamurthy and I use them for nothing else but to impress younger boys in junior classes?! Write others' assignments and you will know how good it feels to work without being told to. I feel like a doorbell with many thumbprints. Pressed too hard, a bit cracked and squeaky.

Photo saga tears

Pha! you saw new photos! So what? He never was with you and never really belonged to you. You still, like a fool did all and was in some trance. Believe it! Today! It is urgent! Faith is shit and hopeless pleasantries are useless. Cry and get him out! Don't feel inferior. You are ugly, fat, loud, wanting and subservient in belief. Rise up in your own eyes and forget him! Please! Its a hangover of life, squeeze as much lemon fast...

An ellipsis does the trick

I sat thinking what to do about Pali and Rio and Jean Maunier. They just sounded too articulate and confusing. I am still working out the 3500 word novella. I want to put them all in bland Indian colors now. A ginger-turmeric spectacle. If the setting does not work out till the end of month I am screwed. I lose 50 marks. Marks are important to Germans as well. Getranke and gesprache...They write mails in ellipsis! Hi... how are you...I am fine...etc... Almost like a marathon of ellipsis when you art struggling to make your self write volumes and get in a rut of cretin creativity. I am tired like an old woman with intestinal problems who wakes up daily with ramblings and groans. Choristes is ugly and blows are okay. Jules and Jim are just forms. They all in fact are just symbols which depict a commom human pattern. I will talk about the common human pattern of lou later. I am lou-lorn copulation struck awe-ridden guffawing duck billed platypus.

Pathos and Mythos.

When I was in the 12th grade, I read this story in English which spoke of some noble prince in some Indian kingdom who was so noble and good that his ashes turned to gold and flew around his kingdom like glowing gold particles. A lot of Indian tales generate an incomparable grandeur. I saw Yakshagaana today. The pathos, the helplessness and the sorrow conveyed through it was blinding. It may sound like an exaggeration but you have to be there to feel the curving of hands with arms, the music, the history, the larger mythos that surround the same. I suddenly felt like becoming Abhimanyu. A deep anguish marks the character killed by his own uncles and cousins, not by one but by scores of them forsaking all the rules and ethic that an Indian battle is marked by. Especially, such a macabre death dance as of Mahabharata. Balls to Indian legacy and honor. They were men and women. Real ones. Progenies of promiscuous liasions and consequences of guilt, sterility and tons of unfulfilled desire. Swishing the golden and red rod in his hand he conquered it all only to be slain by Karna, the bastard of the glorious Pandava family. War claims many but it is altogether different to fight your own brothers and marry your own sisters. Through these, emerges the lute melody again which generates wriggling faces with millions of wrinkles and unshed tears and a deep existential anguish of not belonging to nothing. It flattens conceptions of peace and beauty.

When you are fated to ill-fate, you blow nose

July 2008,

Blah, a bobo alien who is disguised in the form of a 17 year old girl lives in Bangalore, India (SOUTH india). She meets fathers with poppy eyes and building owners who don't particularly admire her. She loses one phone on an average every year. Generally, she has the flair of doing so when her birthday is near. Blah's room on the fourth floor floods every monsoon, for those who think only villages at ground level face water. She surrounds herself with messy things called humans and tries to inject them all with happy hormone. Eventually they all cry because she forgot to photocopy notes for them. She faces green phlegm which resides in her eye-cavities. It gives her sinusitis. The world thinks she is full of herself, gives a blah about them and that she knows blah but she thinks that she knows blah and that is why she goes blah blah all the time. Apparently she is from NORTH india. She just lost her prized phone and some money. So, she will reduce her flabby body by whining, starving and moping. These characteristics indicate the humanization of blah the bobo. She appears the honest-est when she blows her nose. That is when they finally realise that she is crying.
take care
love,
Blah