The unnatural silence

I had always thought I was a proponent of silence, that in some way or another the unrelenting connectedness provided by email, smart phones, music players, the internet and even 24-hour television programming would not create a desire within me to fill every moment of silence we find with some sort of tech distraction. I however noticed that on this really long car ride today, as rather than stare out the window like I might have in the past, I kept reaching for the blackberry to see if I had missed any news from the online world.

Social networking, web connectivity and cell phones did not necessarily create this desire or problem.

Am the person who keeps his music on every waking minute, just to ensure there is never complete silence in the house. And to me, all that the new connectivity, on-line virtual game options and instant messaging is doing is to make it easier avoiding the awful specter of silent, alone time. Those who hold Blackberries or Facebook responsible for their chronic distraction misplace the blame. These technologies are enablers of our own innate desires that have existed far longer than transistors.

And our ingrained habit of constant connection makes disconnecting more difficult. And potentially more painful.

Where there's a will there's a way, of course. Which is what makes me suspect that at least part of the constant connectivity movement and technology stems from an inherent desire, within many of us, to have that distraction.

We are not, as a species, hard-wired for solitude. We're social animals, made to exist in tribes and packs.

Shaken and slightly stirred

I do not know why I have dreamt about this so many times over, in spite of knowing in the back of my head that I could never actually do it, because this remarkable value of responsibility instilled in me by my parents pulses through me too prominently.

This pulse bugs me.

I have always wanted to be one of those people. One of those that would drop everything for art and love and beauty. One that would take risks in the name of creation. The one that you would find crouched on the floor over scraps of paper, with hair that was long and messy, or maybe short and messy, surrounded by abstract models and word doodles, with my two best friends on either side talking about our next great idea just as dawn gave way to blazing skies.

I emblazoned this image on to the back of my eyelids, labeling it "desire,". But I still couldn't stop with my normal, responsible adult life. But even this credit-worthy side of me can not make me stop wanting it.

And once I want something, that's usually just it. I just don't forget things I desperately want. I don't even think I can.

Nighttime Daydreamer

This is how I have spent my nights.

Stripped of all context. A singular screen with moving images that twist to the whims of my fingers. That is the singular ability true to all video games - Amplification of Input, the translation of a simple input into complex output: I press one button and a whole new range of options become available to me; I pull this trigger and that car explodes. The idea is not to exactly replicate the input required to achieve the desired output; the chain of causality from action to consequence is often long and complicated, one single action rarely leads to a complex output without a myriad other factors.

The base aim of all games is the codification and abstraction of complex life-like ideas and situations into ones over which it’s easier to obtain competence in, and eventually the mastery of.

Through mastery comes insight, understanding, and an appreciation of the complexity of the original situation. In order to achieve this insight, this appreciation, the simplification and abstraction of the original situation must be achieved in such a manner that the simplified version is easier to master but that the lessons learned from this simplified form are still applicable to the original.

The closer games move to complete 1:1 replication of input to output, the smaller this amplification effect becomes until the gap between the skills required for a video game version of Golf and an actual game of Golf start to disappear.

Is this really a problem? Well I did not turn on Burnout Paradise in order to crash my car at 180 mph, I did so in order to play a video game representation of some rash driving.

The appeal of the representation is different to the appeal of the reality. When will everyone get it.

Yyyyeeooowwwwww !

Brom Wilderhart, snarling barbarian of the northern wastelands, clad only in a loincloth lurches forth from a battlefield haphazardly strewn with the corpses of his enemies.

That's just how they strew their enemies in the northern wastes. Haphazardly.

As he wipes the blood and entails of his enemies from his wicked blade, Brom wonders idly about how they do things in other wastes. Frankly, the northern wastes are really cold and Brom's loincloth isn't really doing the trick.

Perhaps, Brom considers, his mighty brow furrowing, there might be some temperate wastes he could relocate to. Or perhaps, even an equatorial waste on a nice island somewhere, with a gentle offshore breeze. And poolside beverage service.

Brom could really strew some corpses in an environment like that.

~ I really shouldn't be left to my own devices...... edgar allen poe i am not.

Having died, and blossomed ... and died, and blossomed ...

I am sorry, mostly to myself.

I have never meant to sound bitter or cold or cruel, but I am, so that's how it turns out. I have turned so cynical, so angry, so caustic, and so inured. Every thing seems too good to be true.

My reaction to every nicety is fast becoming, ‘how could it happen to me? Something must be wrong.’

Why did I become this insipid, cheerless version of myself?

Sitting upon a barren webpage, meting out unjust rules

I like public admission of misdeeds. That’s why I write. And tell personal stuff when I do.

I fancied myself as a Bolshevik. Then I went to business school. I became more analytical, less skilled, abandoned the labor theory of value, lost my commitment, and became someone who no longer identified with either political economy. I can’t say that I’m reformed now. But this morning I was reading "Toward a Rational Society" and began to think along those lines again.

During a recent chat the flatmate said to me, “I think what we need is class warfare.” I can’t say I vehemently disagreed. We have been close to this before.

I've seen loiterers and beggars picked up off the streets of Poes Garden for simply wandering in there. The sweepers do a better job in the newer parts of the city than the old. Roads being laid, people being evicted to create space for a mall, restaurants with separate dining areas for the nannies of little children, traffic tickers being waived for cars with fancy number plates. The oligopoly is definitely in control. If it's not, then it's well on it's way becoming the new normal, not necessarily the greatest good for the greatest number.

Now I’m not saying I am done with my list of places to bring my handy box of matches to (I’d have to through my office pretty early on in the revolution). But I have gotten down to writing about it. And, that's a start.

That’s what the economy has done to me. What’s it done to you?

Why

I feel like this old notepad with a single scribbled page torn out of it.

I remember tearing it out, but I cant seem to figure out why it had to be done.

Mission accomplished I guess.

Close Encounters of the Mundane Kind

I hate cleaning you house.

Why the hell do you get so dirty? And more so, damn you kitchen. I hardly cook in there, I simply store food, thaw food, break the occasional egg. What is that stain on the bottom shelf? Do the little creatures have parties in here when I'm sleeping or something? Nasty little critters. And, for some reason, I feel really, really vulnerable when I'm bent over, scrubbing your gross shelves. Don't know why. So thank you for keeping my beer cold, but damn you for making a mess of it.

Damn you, paying bills. Every god damned month? I barely even watched TV this month, I still gotta shell out all that cash? And, while I'm at it phone companies - damn your pathetic little late fees. They're small enough for me to easily ignore them but they add up over time. So thank you for the electricity, credit and Internet, but fuck you for your constant demands.

Damn you, light bulbs. It's 2009. I was irritated when I wasn't issued my jetpack in 2000 (where's my bloody raygun ?!? ), but I figured by now technology would've at least advanced to the point where I don't have to stand on my wobbly chair and deal with this. Bonus damn yous for scaring the crap out of me when I walk into a darkened room, innocently flick the switch and get momentarily blinded by that huge flash and terrifying pop! Also, for somehow convincing your light bulb brethren to join you, causing a chain reaction that means I'm filled with fear whenever I turn on a light. Smash! Smash! Smash! What, did you all join in a suicide pact? Bastards.

Damn you, washing dishes. Yes, I know, you smell funny, and I know the longer I wait, the slimy stuff is just gonna get weirder as they accumulate on you. That's why I've pretty much switched to just eating off the dishes and eating with my hands. I'm a caveman in an apartment.

Maybe I should just get off trying to work and watch mindless television. Life goes on.

Daughters of Hades

The swampy, marshy southernmost regions of The Ncr are year-round breeding grounds for these damned mosquitoes.

There might be a few weeks of sweet reprieve from the vicious, bloodsucking pests in December or January, when temperatures occasionally dip low enough to kill off the state bird of Uttar Pradesh. Other than that, you've got no choice but to cover up every patch of skin before stepping outside and invest in SC Johnson products by the dozens when you're hosting a gathering at home. Fending off mosquito attacks is a part of daily life.

Office is particularly bad today. Some not-quite-bright support staff must have left a window open. The place is teeming with hordes of vermin. Stepping outside into the muggy air this morning, I lit my cigarette and joined a small group of fellow workers congregating in the designated area. A guy who reminds me of Silvio Berlusconi used his to motion toward a mammoth mosquito hovering near me. That's a big one. A big male. Won't bite you. The males don't bite. That's his statement.

Another guy, one of the young and bright from Solutions, chimed in. But it has a stinger. So it still bites, right? Otherwise, it wouldn't have it. His know-it-all grin drips with rhetoric.

The smoke-wielding Berlusconi again said that only female mosquitoes suck blood, using it to nourish their eggs.

I exhaled, crushed my cigarette out on the filthy bin, and nodded farewell to my smoking buddies.

Age before beauty, isn't that how the saying goes? Berlusconi, even surrounded by his cheap smelling smoke, was right.

From Wiki:

Both male and female mosquitoes are nectar feeders, but the females of many species are also capable of hematophagy (drinking blood). Females do not require blood for their own survival, but they do need supplemental substances such as protein and iron to develop eggs. Mosquitoes are crepuscular (dawn or dusk) feeders. During the heat of the day most mosquitoes rest in a cool place and wait for the evenings. They may still bite if disturbed. Mosquitoes are adept at infiltration and have been known to find their way into residences via deactivated air conditioning units.

And...

Males live for about a week, feeding on nectar and other sources of sugar. Females will also feed on sugar sources for energy but usually require a blood meal for the development of eggs. After obtaining a full blood meal, the female will rest for a few days while the blood is digested and eggs are developed. This process depends on the temperature but usually takes 2–3 days in tropical conditions. Once the eggs are fully developed, the female lays them and resumes host seeking.

Damnation! All those times I was covered from head to toe with the small, misshapen welts from the devil mosquito - Every single one of them was from a female ?

Those bloodsucking, traitorous bitches.

Currently Listening to - Fuel - Hemmorhage (In my hands)

Packing things away, Life should go on - Pt i

Narrator: The man with all the pretty words is Bourbon, known throughout the civilized world for his charm and quick wit. A smile is ready on his lips and lady fortune seems to smile back, along with countless other ladies. In the uncivilized, he is only known for the ladies.

Thankfully we all know that’s not true.

Hopefully by now we also all know that he posts ridiculous things on his blog - because it’s the Internet, and it’s not real. Everything sounds worse on the Internet. Times New Roman has always been a terrible way to communicate.

His blog however seems to have a lot of drafts. His blog is quite a drafty place. Here they are.

September 24, 2008

Here’s what happens when left to my Own Mechanised Devices

The days;

Read all my bookmarked google reader pages

Read all my comics

Watch tv for a bit

Contemplate watching a dvd

Read all my bookmarked google reader pages

Read all my comics

Read the blogs of those comic artists

Surf Wikipedia

Maybe make something to eat

But just maybe (omelette toast sandwich x1, yesterday's roti & subji x1 - if supplies grant it)

Smoke with my mp3 player on

Smoke with my mp3 player off

Do a sniff test

Maybe shower

Go to work

The nights;

Turn the geyser on

Forget that it’s on

Take out my list of things to do

Not be bothered to do anything on the list

Read all my bookmarked google reader pages

Read all my comics

Heat food

Wonder where I spent all my money

Tv surf

Read all my bookmarked google reader pages

Take laptop outside and experiment with music tastes

Smoke the rest (cigarettes 2 and 3 go over the lawn wall)

Try to blog

Maybe

Open notepad and write but get too bored

Watch songs on 9XM. Sometimes just so that I listen to "We are the Beaatle Nuts.... Meaning Paan Supaari"

Contemplate watching one of Roger's dvds

Don’t go to bed until i cant stand to stay awake

Brush teeth

Rinse face

Look in mirror

Read a few pages of a book before becoming bored

Sleep

Dream

Maybe

Sep 11, 2008

Weariness Kills

And cripples and hurts and maims. But mainly it kills. It kills a lot of good people.

It’s worse than alcohol really. Alcohol is not too good, I know, but it’s not as bad as being tired. Atleast being drunk lets you be loud and obnoxious and you do things you wouldn’t usually do, but when you’re tired your mind shuts down. Completely. The biggest regrets I can list in my life are things I’ve said or done when I’m tired.

But let me throw light on this weariness. It isn’t the eyes-burning-sluggish-red weary. It’s a whole different weariness altogether. It’s a weariness that takes hold when you’re about to fall asleep, or when you’ve just fallen asleep, and someone disturbs you. You say and do so many things because you are so bone-tired.

You can’t think. Images blur in lust.

August 30, 2008

Untitled

I have a new bus now. It’s better than the old one, in that it’s ten minutes faster and doesn’t go through those areas that makes me ashamed to be human.

The part I like the most about this new bus route though would be the walk I get when I step off it. My old bus deposited me in the centre of Noida, right beside a little shop that sold my brand and an ATM machine if I was low on change. And a bakery. Man, how I miss the bakeries from the South. That was nice too I guess.

But this new bus deposits me a good five minutes away from my old stop, right next to this quaint little momo shop.

Score.

"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)

The Group Dynamic

Shoebite makes smoking cool

I make drinking cool

Tripod makes long distance romance cool

Sandy makes abstinence look cool

Mandy makes the workplace cool

Haryal makes breakfast cereal seem cool

And Roger makes the rest of us look cool by comparison. Of course one day he will be cooler and richer than all of us, the reward for all the work he could put in (so lets not hear you complain)

My Stomach Hurts

Do you ever have the feeling that everything you do and everything you say and everything you write is pointless?

Been a while

I'm suffering from CBU - Complete Blog Unproductiveness. I also seem to be afflicted with a bad case of procrastination. I've been putting off everything. I used to take such joy in accomplishing tasks as soon as they were presented. Whatever.

I'd love to have something exciting or funny to write about but again CBU. I have moved to a different city. I guess that's exciting. I've not been here before but I'm not as psyched up for the shift as I could be. This is where the procrastination thing comes into play. I have a lot to do to get a house ready to move in. I've got to pick out what I need to get from home. Have I done anything. What do you think?

Meanwhile, I'll leave you with how i've managed to spend a week here....

blankness (reviewing things I've done).
passing (october).
cutting (corners).
hating (sometimes).
choosing (sides).
sitting (car, seat, floor, bed).
screaming (no).
dealing (aces, clubs).
growing (beard. french)
wishing (cry).
loving (most times).
sleeping (hardly).
cussing (myself).
missing (life, fun).
wearing (uniform shirts).
listening (sean paul... why?)
dreaming (future, past).
yelling (i have subordinates now).
cheering (targets).
lying (bed).
smelling (salts).
forbidding (schemes).
worrying (targets).
smiling (mirrors).
thinking (yeah?).
spending (too much).
aching (legs).
waiting (finish, come, when).

drained.

Still a long way off on the non-procrastinating agenda.

Well, atleast I've blogged.
Baby steps.

Leave me alone, I'm busy

I'm SO busy that I decided to see if I could still get to blogger rather than actually do anything productive. Update on my life: sinus infection, sunburns, stock issues, dinner out, staying in room, freaking out over stock issues, sinus infection, television, internet that is just too slow and sleep.

I finally found some shows I like to watch on Thursday nights. That one with that one guy...I can't think of his name, but it's called 30Rock. I was cracking up. Watch it next Thursday if you can.

Second post in two days.... I've outdone myself

Aaaaarghhh!

I just sat here for an hour typing a new update, when firefox crashed and I lost the whole damned thing. I've gotta go play some violent video games for a while or something....I guess I'll try it again later. .... Oh, and did I mention DAMMIT!

Nights of the living dead

Why is it that on any given weeknight, by 11:00 I am dog tired and can easily fall asleep, and I usually wake up around 6:00ish without the help of an alarm. 7:30 if I am lucky. And I usually take a little nap at work in the afternoon too!

But on the weekends I end up not being able to fall asleep before 2.00 am and on Saturday morning I was awake at 5:00am and on sunday I MADE myself stay in bed until 6:00 even though I was awake at FOUR O'CLOCK IN THE MORNING!!!! I have weekend insomnia.

And it really sucks.

Most normal people can sleep in on the weekends. Most normal people can sleep IN when they stay up late. Not me. Even if I stay up until 4:00am I still wake up at six. It is a curse. The few times I have slept in I feel all discombobulated.

Right now I just have a headache. And the coffee machine in office hasnt been refilled so I am having to wait out my morning coffee (even if it tastes like mud flavoured with caffeine, I NEED MY COFFEE). This all makes me quite grouchy.

Hopefully a huge lunch will straighten me out today. We will see.

okay thats weird

i can post, but cant read them

damn the indian gov and their half assed trysts with technology. i spent 10 mins on the last post.