Incomprehensible foreign movies for three plus hours

Am so far away.

~ It isn't the choices we make that haunt us, its the ones we choose not to take.

Grey Wolves, Red Blood, Black Clothes, White Bones

The fever that threatened to ruin me yesterday hit me hard this morning. I am spending my money on comfort food and Halls. But it's raining. It's why I'm shivering, huddled outside the office trying to decide where to go to kill my time. Curious Hedonist is away working at a different office by now and our timetables don't match quite so well now. I have a page of a story that I'd planned to finish yesterday but I doodled characters from One-Piece instead but that's ok. I haven't written much lately. I have quite a few things rolling around my head but no drive to write them. I have been reading instead. Devouring pages of text on my little screen. There are so many books waiting to be read and I don't have enough time or money to get through them all.

My head's been in the clouds lately. I have not been thinking anything through. I think I prefer life that way. I enjoy trundling along and hoping for a surprise. I no longer want to make the first move, don't want to make any decision. I care, don't get me wrong. I always care. It's been a long, long time since I gave up caring and I like to think I've grown up a little. I can deal with things better. I am still floored when people see through me. When they say something, usually offhand, and it niggles away and makes me think far too much. I'm happy to an extent. I know what I'm lacking. I want somebody to curl up sleepy and cosy with and talk about anything and it doesn't matter. I want to fall asleep in somebody's arms and feel safe for once. There's only been a handful of times when I could make that claim.

But whether I want a relationship is debatable. I love being somebody's guy. I love that thrill when you tell somebody you're off to meet your girlfriend. I love the butterflies in my stomach when I walk down the road to meet her and I wonder what the day will be like. But I've been on my own for a while now (which was mostly self-inflicted so I can't complain too much) and sometimes I wonder if I can go through it all again. I need control. Maybe I'm just tired of declaring love. I mean at twenty seven what is love exactly? When you can't stop thinking about her, and she intrudes on all your thoughts and you just have to be near her? When you lie awake at nights and wonder what she's doing and if she's thinking of you and is it too late to call her? Why is that the women who consume me are always the ones I can't have? I try not to dwell on them but they fascinate me more than the girls who insist on interrupting my life.

I feel awful. It's not the alcohol because God knows I didn't drink enough of that even if I was less than steady on my feet. My face aches from the cold that I hope goes away soon. My feet buzz from walking too far around today. I'm rambling again. This is merely an extension of my mind and sometimes I forget this is public and people who know me read it. And when they mention things I've written in conversations I freak. I remember feeling I'd written something profound and insightful but then I always think that until I look at it a week later and laugh at my pretentiousness.

Nevermind. No doubt time will catch up me unawares and deadlines will scream in my ears and I'll be too flustered to give a damn about anything real.

~ You must forgive the title. I hope this makes up for it.

"The unexamined life is not worth living."

I am going to erase some things out of my life. I had so many plans for so many things, but of late I think I have grown wise to the idea that I will not have enough time for many of these things. I am not sure if I have complained about this before, but my life has been completely scheduled. If my life was a restaurant and you came in my maître d’ would tilt his nose into the air and say that I am full.

From one Monday to the next, every week, I am booked. I never used to be this way. I used to have more free time than I deemed necessary. People would call me up out of the blue to invite me for a night out, and I would gladly accept. Now my nights out are planned two, three, sometimes four weeks in advance. I have people consecutively booking me at the same time every week. One of these, my kid brother I look forward to and enjoy immensely. However I loath that he just won’t give me the controller as he sits on my bed and plays Halo wrong.

Whenever I am not stuck at work, I’m being either pushed to the gym or being pulled to play tennis (because my kid sister is getting married and she will not have me at the festivities till I can fit in to that damned kurta she got). Because of this four evenings a week are taken up (the other three being occupied by the Internet and my latest online muse of the week) which means I can’t go to the beach and stare at waves and I can’t get drunk on boys' night out and I can’t go scrounging around for that new really nice, really cheap place to eat.

I have also been travelling, reading and catching up on my sleep. Everything else is taken up by everyone else. So I am going to delete some from my life. Deletion. Simple catharsis. The joys of chopping away at weeds as they strive to enter mainstream essence. But what can I delete?

Friends.
Films.
Reading.
Writing.
Work.
That startup that refuses to budge.
Tennis.
Recent History.
Internet.
Music.
Television.
Useless talents.
Family Drama.
Musical Instrument Learning.

Internet would be a good start, but I don’t actually spend much time on here. I read blogs, read comics, download videos and that’s really it. Occasionally, once in a blue moon, I gorge myself on wikipedia or the entire archives of certain webcomics. This takes up a lot of time but I have an addictive personality. But, it is still the reason I stay up to 3am most days.

The telly is a negligable item; I am too fresh for mainstream programming to a point that I barely watch it and when i do it’s mostly films or the box.

Family Drama can be cut. Easily. When my sister moves to the US, my parents should realise how much easier it is bringing up one kid. Sons! They are the future of everything. Atleast, they ought to be.

I refuse to give up reading and writing things. They are too much fun. Have I told you about Hari Kunzru's Revolutions I am reading? Well, I should.

Work has been cut down, to an extent. I used to work 10 hours a day spread over 6 days a week till about a couple of months ago. But, as of now, I have managed to stave off work to a minimal few hours every day. I still have to stay in office the required 8 hours. If I am able to redirect all the energies to a venture on my own is a different question altogether.

Musical instrument learning has be deleted for now. One day I will learn that precious guitar.

Useless talents? I can name some but I will refreain. Gone.

Music and Movies? I’ll cut down, but never ever will I give them up. No matter what the expense. I love my unpaid escapism.

Delete .

And now I am left an empty shell of someone. Hooray for the brother that won’t give me the controller and won’t play Halo properly.

Roads to Safe Places

"Perhaps the greatest faculty our minds possess is the ability to cope with pain. Classic thinking teaches us of the four doors of the mind, which everyone moves through according to their need.

First is the door of sleep. Sleep offers us a retreat from the world and all its pain. Sleep marks passing time, giving us distance from the things that have hurt us. When a person is wounded they will often fall unconscious. Similarly, someone who hears traumatic news will often swoon or faint. This is the mind's way of protecting itself from pain by stepping through the first door.

Second is the door of forgetting. Some wounds are too deep to heal, or too deep to heal quickly. In addition, many memories are simply painful, and there is no healing to be done. The saying 'time heals all wounds' is false. Time heals most wounds. The rest are hidden behind this door.

Third is the door of madness. There are times when the mind is dealt such a blow it hides itself in insanity. While this may not seem beneficial, it is. There are times when reality is nothing but pain, and to escape that pain the mind must leave reality behind.

Last is the door of death. The final resort. Nothing can hurt us after we are dead, or so we have been told."

— Patrick Rothfuss (The Name of the Wind)

Writing a new Homeland

Why does everyone keep telling me that time heals all wounds. I cannot agree.

The wounds will remain. All the defects and gaps that the mind has are like the bruises on the body. After all imaginable care has been taken, a scar would still be left behind.

In time, the mind protecting its sanity covers them with scar tissue, and the pain lessens.

But it is never gone.

Packing things away, Life should go on - Pt iii

Jan 31,2009

The Acoustics

Sometimes I swear I can hear you, in the wrinkles of clothes, in the hum of radios, in the mold slowly forming on unused t-shirts. I swear it. It’s there in my battered, torn shoes left to dry. It’s in my phone and my computer. It’s in the musty pages of old books and in empty deodorant cans. I hear you most when I climb into an unmade bed and feel the hairs on the sheets.

It’s there when I sort the clothes into the right position and in the soft, sagging folds I can hear “It’s wrong! It’s all wrong!” in that naturally cute voice of distress. It’s in the cigarettes over coffee and in the mirror where your grumpy face lingers in a shadow before realising your feelings and casting aside all maladies in a damp hug against the door.

It’s in the songs on the pod and in the sheets upon sheets of paper folded neatly in their envelopes hidden in my drawers. The chirrup of a phone. The pixels of an image. I hear it everywhere and nowhere. I can hear your voice in all these things but what I want is to hear your voice in my ear as I fall asleep and come home from work and sit hunched over this keyboard with fingers whirring at useless, random thoughts and in my bed telling me that it’s wrong, it’s all wrong until I make it right again and you fall asleep and grind your teeth at dreams to come.

January 17, 2009

The life and adventures of Bourbon

I was in a terrible place for a while. Lets not get into the details on that, lets just say that it was a low point. The past two months have been shaky to say the least, but they’re over. Now I am back. Hello.

I made a conscious decision on Tuesday. It happened when I woke up at six-thirty instead of eight and I had almost two hours to do nothing. I decided that I don’t really want to be doing the same anymore. It’s a good image I’ll admit; sitting in bars with friends having drink after drink and looking all the more haggard because you did the same the night before. And then the night before. But image isn’t everything. Last weekend I had so little sleep and so much alcohol that most of my memories of it are gone. I can pick bits and pieces, but they’re hazy at best. I felt like I was destroying myself a little bit.

Maybe I did, I don’t know, but I decided to stop.

And that’s what Tuesday was about. Tuesday was about setting things right, with everything. And it worked to an extent. Of course not everything was fixed and who knows maybe more problems have arisen, but things felt a hell of a lot better.

Anyway, I thought I’d break with the tradition of my usual veiled entries and just come out and say it; I am alright. I’m not overly ecstatic and I’m not down and out. I’m doing fine. This means that people can leave me alone in a room without showering me with protection, but it doesn’t mean you can abandon me or stifle me with affection. I am OK.

So there we go, lets resume regular programming.

Jan 11, 2009

Mancold Martyr

I’ve been sitting it out far too long at home sick as hell for the past few days so I thought I’d recount some of the titles I’ve watched. And other things.

First up is the much too short Afro Samurai which I will thrust down people throats. The only problem that I’d bring to figure would be the appalling lip-syncing. It’s as if Samuel Jackson looked at his characters and said “Fuck it, there shouldn't be no mother fuckin’ restrictions on my mother fuckin’ lines”. So there’s the occasional weird scene when the anime character is shouting and good old Samuel is whispering something. Other than that everything was seamless. I watched it over two days with the flatmate (God bless his soul for recommending it in the first place) and I really wished I could’ve watched it in one. The animation was seamless, the action perfect. And the teddy bear samurai- I liked him better when he didn’t take off his mask but he was yet brilliant.

Another on the anime list would be the Samurai Champloo series which I’ve laughed at so many times just because it’s slang for orgasm. It’s a classic series, made by the same people and (roughly) at the same time as Cowboy Bebop, and it’s occasionally quite ridiculous. The series is a cross-genre work of media, blending the action and samurai genres with elements of non-slapstick comedy. It is also a period piece, taking place during Japan's Edo period. The series is interwoven with revisionist historical facts and anachronistic elements of mise-en-scene, dialogue and soundtrack. The series' most frequent anachronism is its use of elements of hip hop culture, particularly rap and the music it has influenced, break dancing, turntablism, hip hop slang, and graffiti. The show also contains anachronistic elements from the punk subculture and modernism, but less prominently.

Took another run at Donnie Darko the other day. I forget how much I love that flick. I think it’s not just the amazing cast, but also the overall art nouveau style and noire-ish sentiment with whip cracking dialogue that makes it worthwhile.

January 4, 2009

Untitled

Lets take a second here. Just a second.

I had a good day yesterday (if you take away the sole reason which made it not a good day, but we won’t go into that)

December 30, 2008

A Long December

A long December, and there's reason to believe

Maybe this year will be better than the last

I can't remember the last thing that you said as you were leavin'

Now the days go by so fast

- Counting Crows

Dec 7, 2008

The Dopes of Haphhazzard

I’m gonna pull you in close,

Gonna wrap you up tight,

Gonna play with the tips

that you came in here with tonight.

I’m gonna light your face,

blow circles as things fall back in place.

I can’t remember the last time I got high. I just have this one memory of one fantastic time. I couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe from laughing. I danced and the footage is still doing the rounds. I woke up with cotton mouth and a cut on my forehead.

Dec 6, 2008

Blot out the light and the world drops away

Morning. Slivers of light descry around the edges of the blinds and assault my eyelids. I roll away onto my right, away from the clock on the phone that digitally chips away at my remaining time. Probing fingers count the bruises on my legs, pressing each one gently until I wince. I find three new ones and one new dent where my leg had yielded against the jutting keys in the filing cabinet. Absently I pick the skin off my fingertips and count the hours to work.

I'm safe at three.

"Where are all the Nice Guys?"

You must understand that I have spent the last week with far too many sisters and since then a couple of friends who seem to insist on popping the question with alarming regularity, so I thought I'd take a minute to explain things to the ladies out there that haven't figured it out.

The answer is simple: The likes of you happened to them.

Let me take you back in time, you just might vaguely remember that platonic guy pal who always seemed to want to spend time with you. He'd just stick around you when you went shopping, stop by your place for a movie when you were lonely but didn't feel like going out, or even sit there and hear you out while you sobbed and told him about how horribly the (other) guy that you were with treated you.

All this time, you are quite definitely joking with the girlfriends about how he is such a little puppy dog, always following you around, trying to do things to get you to pay attention to him. Then they most definitely did the entire teasing routine because they know he has this crush on you, and it was their god given right to let the world know. Given that his behavior was, admittedly, a little pathetic, you vehemently denied having any romantic feelings for him, and buttressed your position by claiming that you were "just friends." Besides, what else could he be? He was totally not your type - a little too short, or too bald, or too fat, or too poor, or couldn't retaliate well enough to scathing jokes at his expense or didn't know how to dress himself, or basically be or do any of the things that your tall, good-looking, fit, rich, stylish friends at the time pulled off with such ease.

Eventually, the platonic buddy drifted away, as your relationship with your new set of friend/ friends got more serious and spending time with him was a little chore that you endured. More time passed, and the rich, good looking friend eventually cheated on you, or became boring, or you realized that the things that attracted you to them weren't the kinds of things that made for a good, long-term relationship. So, now, you're single again, and after having tried variations of the same chaps for several testing months and having only encountered players or the ones that start to bore in time, you wonder, "Where are all the nice guys?"

Well, once again..... Let me just pass on this one.

You ignored the nice guy. You used him for emotional intimacy without reciprocating, in kind at least . You laughed at his consideration and resented his devotion. You valued the aloof boyfriend more than the attentive "just-a-" friend. Eventually, he took the hint and moved on with his life. He probably came to realize, one day, that women aren't really attracted to guys who hold doors open; or make dinners just because; or buy you a gift that you mentioned, in passing, that you really wanted five months ago; or listen when you're upset; or hold you when you cry. He came to realize that, if he wanted a woman like you, he'd have to act more like the boyfriend that you had. He probably cleaned up his look, started making some money, and generally acted like more of an asshole than he ever wanted to be.

Fact is, now, he's probably that suave thing you were looking for, and in some way, your ultimate rejection of him is to thank for that. But yeah, change isn't easy and the nice guy tends to shed his nice guy mantle and is out there looking to unleash his cynicism and resentment onto someone just like you.

Formerly The Nice Guy

(but I must say there is also the odd couple with those roles reversed... But then thats a wholly different rant and an actual peek in to my life)