Its all about giving love

People will read you if they love you.

Yes...even checking someone else's blog, reading it,posting comments about (good or bad), is the modern version of love...its about giving love.

This is not  familial or spousal love...or the love that you give to someone you actively take care off.

This love is more like the 2 dollars you spend on some trinket in hopes that some hungry kid in africa is fed if you buy it as advertised.

There is physical distance,a lack of attachment,and yet a sense of comradeship, a sense that we belong somewhere, even though the relationship is amorphous and undefined.

Yes, if nobody reads your blog , it means nobody loves you and you're gonna die all alone. Bwahahaha!

No I'm just joking.

This connectedness we have...It makes us feel like we are global citizens,It expands our vision,and by having a glimpse of different veiwpoints makes us larger than our environment, and what our pasts have made us.

Yes.

We are Global Citizens.

We belong to each other.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

(So much to read, so little time to comment!

I've read all your recent posts...

I would have posted comments if my internet connection was somewhat better...

In fact I did...

Ms J...I partially solved Becky's mystery.

It's a feeling of unworthiness that most men feel when they are in the presence of a superhottie.

You'll never hear a normal dude say that he wants to be in a relationship with a hot girl...He'd rather f$^k her and be done with it.

A relationship is too much for him to even think about.

Which is why , if a woman is a superhottie, most men will leave her alone, or devise elaborate and indirect approach methods that usually fail.

That's one reason men never approached Becky.

Raknax...I'm trying to model my writing after yours...especially the wonderful yet weird visual imagery you so easily throw in.

Mr.Teh, sorry for not writing a single reply...my connection sucks.

I'll not be posting for another 2 months,because all the ports I go to from now on

 will be Hicksville Ports with no civilization around for miles.

But , I still have more to write...and more to read )

Ugly (Duckling) Truths

In reality, the ugly ducklings always remain ugly.

They never turn into a beautiful swans...

But watch out for the mediocre ducklings...

the ones that you ignore

they always slip under all radars to surprise you.

They become swans,eagles and phoenixes.

Angels and Demons

Angels & Demons

Call it fate,destiny or sheer consternation made me want to believe in God again, for what lay ahead seemed insurmountable for a mere mortal such as me.but being on this ship did seem to put the fear of god in me.

The ship had many problems, the first and foremost being that the ship was an old lady who at the age of 27 years had not aged gracefully.

Things were falling apart wherever you looked.

Decay and disintegration was evident at every nook and cranny.

Angels

------

One morning when the chief officer inspected a photograph of the rising sun that he had taken a while ago,he discovered that the altostratus clouds that was right above the ship resembled an angel with wings looking at the ship.

A picture taken showed two angels looking at the ship(if you had oodles of imagination, a squinty pair of eyes and a shot of vodka)

The angel wore a bowler hat and resembled Charlie Chaplin (only in a way clouds can ever resemble people)

Promptly the news was spread around the ship that we had a new patron saint that looked upon us at all times and  he had now chosen to reveal himself.

People were elated for many days to come,and in a few more days they forgot all about it.

But the photograph still hangs in the altar, next Holy Mary and Big J.C and Sai Baba.

Now let's talk about death angels.

(lets not)

Ok , let's not.

Demons

------

24 coconuts were offered at various parts of the ship to release all the negative energy.

A Bounty chocolate bar (now expired for more than 2 years) and a sealed bottle of traditional japanese saki were kept in the altar in an attempt to appease the gods and get rid of the demons on board.

The bottle was sealed so as to keep the saki out of reach of mortals.

Everyone else was free to have as much as they liked.

The altar was a traditional japanese altar which now housed multidenominational gods -Holy Mary,sai Baba, Holy Ganesha, & esus H Christ (perhaps crucifixion with nails was not enough, so in this altar, he  was taped to his cross with duct tape)

We also had Plastic flowers in the altar...just in case.

One can never know what satisfies the Gods (or for that matter us mortals either)

Lucky charms hung from every door of every cabin.

Smiling Buddhas and coins with holes were scattered throughout the ship for good luck.

Instead of pin ups and centrefolds, posters of Jesus,Mary and other gods adorned the bulkheads of most cabins.

People no longer believed entirely in their own abilities and capabilities.They wanted something more, a supernatural force  to guide them, give them strength and courage when they needed it, and when they no longer had  them in sufficient quantities.

Strangely my cabin had pictures of horses...Big strong muscular horses frozen in prancing poses, looking majestic and awe inspiring.

I think the last guy who lived in my cabin had a horse fetish.

Eww!

And a few Ghosts

---------------

The ship also seems to have its fair share of ghosts.

Oilers would simply refuse to keep engine room watches alone.They were afraid of the japanese.

            Six japanese technicians had died many years ago in the engine room.The oilers as well as most of the ship believed that these spirits roamed around the ship.Sometimes one could hear them trying to talk to you in the midst of the surrounding din of the machinery.Sometimes you saw people walking where no one was supposed to be working.Sometimes you heard footsteps when you thought you were all alone.Doors opened on their own.Chairs tipped over at night.The phone would ring sometimes and no one would answer.

Then there is a boatswain who died of a painful heart attack before medical help arrived.

Then there are those blood curdling wails and low rasping groans that one can hear if he dared to venture out on deck at night.

Then there are the ghosts in the machine - machinery suddenly going berserk or refusing to work.

Once on the bridge, a photograph taken by a seaman revealed a spectre wearing a white boiler suit standing next to the gyro compass.The face was blurred...almost melting into the background.

A technician who had gone to the cargo hold to check some equipment returned unhinged ,said that he heard whispers and groans and soft whooshing sounds of unseen things flying past by him.We had to reassure him and send a bodyguard with him only to discover that all sounds mysteriously disappeared.

It is said that most of us cannot see ghosts.We don't have the sensory acuity required to detect the presence.

But then there are others, far more unfortunate, cursed with the sensitivity of being able to sense these revenants.

But here are a few things to know about seeing ghosts.

You'll never see a ghost in front of you...from what I've gathered, ghosts are mostly felt not seen.And sometimes they are seen from the corner of the eye,only for a brief moment, just enough to catch a fleeting glimpse of a blur moving out of your field of vision.Usually ghostly activities are preceded by a sharp drop in temperature...it goes cold around you.Then there is the tingling at the back of your neck - a dull but unmistakable foreboding of danger...and when you start having all these symptoms together, then be sure - a ghost is somewhere near you, probably next to you, reading this very line , along with you.

BOO!

Thus he told the story , as he had, many times before to scare a new hand simply shitless.

To which the newcomer said, somewhat melodramatically...

I fear no ghost mon frere!

Forsooth there is none a bigger ghost than us- at sea!

We are the living dead - torn apart - mind,body and soul across the foamy shores and across the frothy seas.

Our minds and bodies belong to the depths of sea, where we toil and eke out our meagre existence, while our hearts and souls, are at the mercy of our loved ones.

We struggle - neither here nor there never whole in  mind or body.

Is that not what a ghost is ...a soul without a body?

Is that not what the living dead are...a body without a soul?

My brother,my friend - we, the living ghosts are far more dangerous than dead ones.

So I fear no ghost mon frere,for I am nothing but one.

(Apparently , he had taken Drama class in college)

If this was your last day...

'Knowing' was such a gloomy pessimistic movie that I was surprised
that it was a hit.

One can watch hollywood movies happily knowing that, no matter
what-aliens,russians,terrorists,calamities,monsters,evil super
villains or anything insurmountable...at the end of the day , the
americans will save the world. (like they've been doing so far ?)

Remember Independence Day? (the movie, you %#^^@!)

July 4th no longer was the independence day of US of A,
but it became the day of liberation rest of the world ,because a geek
jew and a swashbuckling black dude single handedly (how 2 people be
single handed?) infected the alien computers, and liberated us from
Alien invasion. (were the aliens using windows 95 ?They are so easy to
hack... The aliens would have won if they'd used a Mac !)

God Bless America ! (the hollywood version of it)

Buddy comedies have always relied on clashing
personalities being brought together...black/white,
black/asian,black/jew,Indian/korean,nerd/stud,homo/hetero...but sooner
or later your'e going to run out of the usual combinations and try to
come up with exotic ones like...Black Albino/ Racist who thinks he's
with a white guy or abominable snowman/frigid woman.



That's why 'Knowing' was such a pessimistic movie.
First of all, it shows that advanced aliens are no better than plain
old garden variety humans.
These aliens show bias by chosing only those people who can recieve
their incomprehensible language.
And why only children?
Did you notice that one of the aliens looked like dearly departed
Michael Jackson? (enough with the MJ jokes...let him moon walk in his
grave peacefully)


And if they knew everything fifty years ago (or maybe more), then why
only torment young kids who can receieve but cannot comprehend these
messages?
It would be much more logical to stream these messages directly the
the Nicolas Cage Astrophysicist character than to his hearing impaired
kid.

It forced me to draw a conclusion...

Hey! Aliens are humans too!

Finally I didn't like the movie, because even the hollywood version of
USA was powerless against the climax.(I was retching at the utterly
optimistic and ambiguous anticlimax of the two kids in an alien
planet...it seemed like 'Knowing Pt 2' would be a rehash of the Blue
Lagoon...but in a different planet)

BUt the climax made me think...What would I do if it was my last day,
or everybody's last day on earth?

After five minutes of deep thinking (that's deep enough for any
hypothetical situation),
I've made a list of things to do.

Sleep with a hot girl.(pardon the euphemisms, but there wouldn't be
any r.e.m involved)
Tell that other girl how I've been in love with her for so long,
but some how sleeping with her feels icky.
Go back home - sit with parents,catch hold of my guitar and sing and
talk to them

and

die.


Yup.
That's how shallow I am.



--
<

A Sailor's Story

A Sailor’s Story
Round and Round

One on the top, one on the ground ,
The sailor’s story goes round and round.

He stands, on the Gangway top,
Bags in hand,
Filled with shopping from world around,
Farewell shipmates,
Santa Clause is going Home,
Heart filled with joy, and Happiness.

The long awaited crushing hug,
Of little arms around the neck,
World’s sweetest kiss on the cheek.

Thirsty eyes of a mother
waiting for her son,
who could do no wrong
and harm no one.

The proud smile
On a father's face,
To see a son,
So well raised.

The torrent of passion held in check,
Waiting to be released,
With the beloved in arms,
followed by tears
Of longing and joy.

The Sun rises and the sun sets,
The days come and days fly,
It's time now to hear
the telephone ring , and
The unavoidable
Rustle of dollar green.

The bags are filled,
Shorn of the shopping,
Uniforms and Casuals,
The shaving kit and
The peripherals.

Once again a hug saying
Please don't go,
A stolen kiss,
With a promise,
Of wait for one more round.

He stands on the ground
At the bottom of the Gangway,
Approaching the job,
Memories of home
Kept out of the way,

No more emotions now,
It's time to send allotment
How much,when and how.

Eta's and Etd's,
Cold fronts and warm
Calm seas and rough seas,
Sunshine and storm.

Monthly reports, accounts,
Overhauls schedules,
Surveys and inspections
Maintenance and repairs.

A peg before dinner,
In the evening a movie
BBC news, world affairs,
Tales of the past ships
All the charade to make
Loneliness a bliss.

The weekly phone-calls.
Moments of laughter,
Moments of worry,
Can't do much from here,
I am sorry my Dear.

He waits again,
And how he waits,
To stand on top
Waiting for one
Who will stand on the ground,

One on top, one on the ground,
The sailors story goes round and round.



Captain Atul P Kale
M.V. Pytchley

(reproduced by kind permission from Capt Kale)
--
<

Laugh at Yourself !

People say, "Someday I'll look back and laugh at all this "

Why wait?

Who's stopping you from doing it right now?

I see you smiling...

Now

Laugh!

--
<

Quid Pro Quo

I've never believed that life can be run purely on the principle of
quid pro quo.
We are never the givers and the takers in equal proportions.
The ratio is usually skewed in either direction...some people take
more than they give, and vice versa.

I'm a giver...something I've inherited from dad.He's the most generous
giver I've ever seen.

That's when I realised that we all have our counterparts.

That was what she was.
My counterpart...

The Smith Virus to Neo.(Matrix fans might get this analogy)

She took, took and took.

I realised that she wasn't selfish...but for every morsel that she
gave, she bit huge chunks out.

When I stopped giving (because I was tired and depleted), she demanded more.

I refused.

Turns out she's been losing other friends as well...she's becoming
lonely.She whines that they have now shown their true colours...

Actually they were hoping you'd stop being a human-leech someday when
you grew up.
It didn't happen.

They too got tired.

No...they weren't showing their true colours...

They had brought out the worst in them , hoping that you'd be
repulsed, and hopefully they'd never have to give in to you.

Quid Pro Quo is an ideal situation, best suited for an ideal world.

But the world we live is this one...far from ideal...filled with
lopsided givers and takers.

--
<

Stroke Victims

I can keep calling you beautiful
and you can keep calling me smart
and We can continue to stroke
each other's egos as long as we can.

And for as long as we can,
keep up the mutual
mental masturbation

but understand this,
as in anything mental,
there is no release...

You jerk me off and I jerk you off
but there is no happy ending,
the money shot is not forthcoming,
in fact no one will ever be coming!

just stroking stroking and more stroking

In the end,
we'll just be two stroke victims
with no climax in sight
--
<

Katana

Katana
--------

This is not a poetry session
but pure unmitigated passion,
where rhyme is secondary
to the underlying rhythm

A philistine commented
that I don't write poetry
that I write rap.

I agreed.

A gun enthusiast, a gun nut (I say po-tah-toe, you say po-tay-toe)
shotguns,pistols and rifles
recoil,headshots and bullet calibre
were all he could talk about

I said,mon frere
death by a bullet
a slow bleeding gullet,
is far less romantic
than cold slicing steel
of a katana forged with
a dead warrior's spirit

and far more common
than sprays of hot lead,
is a nick of steel blade
the gushing torrent of blood
the screaming pain
the welling heat

a mere cut finger
a mere kitchen knife
and such exquisite agony !
the purpling of the gash
the etching of a line
the birth of a scar

It's true,
I don't write poetry,
It comes out,
oozes,drips and dribbles
soaking wet the bandage of sanity

I don't write rap,
perhaps,
you just discovered
the rat-tat-tat
rhythm of my fighting words


--
<

Womanthropologist

Women are my favourite creatures of the wild.
They used to be my second favourite creatures , but then my dog died.

I love observing them,watching them,trying to understand them.
In wild,in captivity,when captivating,when captivated.

No...I don't want to domesticate them.I don't think it is manly
possibly.(It might be humanly possible but not manly possible i.e not
possible by men)

I want to be the Jane Goodall of all womankind.(which does not involve
any sex change operation)

Ok,Ok I want to be the Tarzan Goodall of all womankind.(Me
Tarzan...you Jane ooh! ooh! ah! ah!)

A womanthropologist par excellence.


I know it's a bloody full time job!

--
<

Dream Lucidly

Dreams are metaphors they say.
So why is it that I keep seeing you?
What are you a metaphor for?

In my dreams , I came to you, as always.

(I could not help noticing that even in reality It was I who came to
you , but you never came to me.The inequity of this equation always
bothered me...bothered me so much that I wanted to end everything
between us)

Ok no more hiding behind abstractions...I don't need the safety net of
ambiguities that I so always so carefully weave.

I came with a broken tv set to ask you to help me.(Don't ask me why
and what model)

Was the tv the real problem?

No I think I just came to see you.

Can you remember all those books I gave you with a promise that you'll
one day return them back to me?
I think you still have a few left with you.
I realized lately that it was a trick my unconscious employed to keep
in touch with people that meant something to me.
Let me explain...
I value all my books dearly,so I never lend my
books under normal circumstances.
But when I do lend a book, I extract an iron clad promise that the
book will be returned in good condition.

I realize that in all the cases the book was not important.

No , to the conscious mind , the book was important, and it was a
driving force to the real reason...
To the unconscious ,seeing the person again,whom I deeemed worthy of
lending my books (I make it sound like the book was literally
precious, but that is not the case).

The book solely existed as a reason...for us to meet in near future.
It gave you a reason because you knew how much I loved books and if
you did not return them it woul break my heart.(it really would break
my heart)

It was also a legitimate pretext...if you ever had second thoughts
about seeing me again, you could say 'I'm just gonna meet him to
return his books.Nothing more.Nothing less'

Ah , but pretext or no pretext, we met !

That's what my unconscious mind wanted.

Back in my dream, I climbed the stairs , and came to your house.

We sat next to the window, talking.
Your sister came and went.
She often feels that she ought to protect you from the likes of me.And
that I'm not to be so easily trusted.
She thinks you trust people too easily and that is one of your biggest
weaknesses.
She is wrong.

She didn't like it that I ignored her over you.To tell you the truth I
feel guilty sometimes that I don't pay her the same quality of
attention.

It was late night, and she finally left us alone, bored of being ignored

And we sat there,close to each other, and we talked.
What did we talk about? That too for such a long time?- I can never
remember, but I do remember us laughing and smiling all the time.
All the time.
Which is why I was convinced this was not a dream.

Suddenly I realised that we were no longer at your house.The
wooden bench that we sat upon, facing each other, our legs touching,
our hands casually brushing, was transported to outdoors.It was a dark
night,the sky dark purple and cloudy.We were in a well lit garden,
perhaps a park, still sitting on that wooden bench.
The wooden bench made more sense in the park than in your house.

It was late and I was concerned...Don't you have college tomorrow?

No, you said, 'I don't have the time'

I pondered over that cryptic answer for a while...but was startled by
a bullock cart that went past.The cart carried a white horse,injured
and bleeding,barely standing.It had a deep gash at its legs.

I turned back to you and you asked me 'I've become fat,haven't I?'

I focused my eyes on you, and realised that it was true.Your cheeks
had swollen and become red,like apples.You resembled your cousin when
she was pregnant.

Were you...?
was that the reason you had no time...?

I said,'I cannot lie, a little bit chubby maybe...'

I always liked your cheeks...they always looked so luscious,I could
just bite them..

(ok this is the part of the dream that goes really weird)

I said,'I cannot lie, a little bit chubby maybe...'

As I said that I saw a white cow, again bloodied and walking in a daze.

We went further up the park where I saw a white kangaroo (maybe it was
caucasian, or maybe it has Michael Jackson's disease)
As it was climbing a hillock, it went to close to a porcupine lying
nearby.The porcupine shot a single quill to the leg of the kangaroo.

Stung by this attack,
the kangaroo hopped a few feet and fell down writhing,
with a bleeding leg and the quill stuck to it.

A cat, which looked like Mala, who was nearby , came stealthily
towards the writhing kangaroo and pulled out the quill, ran away to a
safe distance, and began eating it.

This is where I woke up.

I'm learning to be a lucid dreamer(which I sometimes can do , and
sometimes cannot), and it was suggested to keep a dream journal.

Dreams are metaphors,
they say,
for life.
But I'm afraid that one day
I will discover that
life is a metaphor for
something else.

--
<

Mutant

Some people have rapid healing, others have laser beams shooting out
of their eyes...what do I have?

Nothing useful really.

Well,
I never wanted to be a rockstar-superstar-superhero
that saves the world and flies off with a damsel in his arms
while his arch nemesis swears revenge once again.

I didn't want to save the world,
fight oppression,untruth and injustice,
fight for the weak,malnourished and meek

or

destroy the universe for it's own good or
alter the fabric of space,time and reality.

Some people have rapid healing,others have laser beams shooting out of
their eyes...what did I have?

I could fall in love with anyone rapidly.

That was my ability,my so called superpower.

In fact I was the fastest amongst all of us.
12 fuckin' picoseconds...quicker than you can say Draw! (or
paint,sketch or stencil...Long live Banksy)

It was also the second most useless power to have, right after the guy
with the chicken head and chicken feathers and air filled bones
(pneumatic pbones with 2 silent P's).

Apart from that, I was totally and pathetically normal...no
retractable claws,no telekinesis and no fuckin' shapeshifting
abilities.

In other words; Bo-oo-oring!

Then there was that girl.

Isn't there always one?

For the first time in life I fought against my own powers.
She was so pure and lofty,
so goddesslike,
so angelic...
that I didn't deserve to love her,
or so I thought.

I fought hard.
It lasted exactly 13 fuckin' picoseconds...quicker than you can say
Draw! (or sketch,shade or color)

Later I found out that she was one of us too.

Her power was that she could know about anyone who was in love with her.
She called it

(albeit somewhat naively)

'Woman's Intuition'

She confronted me.
Demanded an explanation...she wanted to " talk about it" (Don't they
all? picture me ,in your minds eye,raising two quotation marks with my
hands while I emphasize 'talk About It')

I told her the truth that I didn't deserve someone like her.

(truth is subjective...everything is relative,everything is
subjective...isn't relative and subjective the same thing?)

She agreed.
She didn't think I deserved to love her either.

I felt miserable for not being able to stop loving her.
Maybe if I stopped loving her,it would make her happy.

Anyways...I tried.

I tried hard.

She never asked me to stop either,
but made it clear that she'd never love me.
She confessed that she had never learnt
what the word 'Love' meant.

Someday,with the right person,
she claimed she would learn 'love'
in all its glory.

Until then she'd have to be be content
with chopping off heads,
and crushing hearts.

I felt miserable,unloved and all alone.

This was the first time in many years that I felt completely normal.

And then you come along,crashing uninvited into my life.

1 picosecond,2 picoseconds,3 pico...Dammit!


Goddamit! I hate being me!


--
<

Luscious

Luscious
--------

Her plump reddening cheeks
invite you,
tempt you,
taunt you...

to squeeze them ripe,
to taste them,
to bite them soft,
and then harder,
and harder,

and harder
to feel alive
to see the pain in her eyes,
brimming tears,a quivering lip
is all you are left with

A warm kiss,you suppose,
to take away the pain
that you gave her
does nothing to cheer
her sullen eyes

A solitary rolling tear
caught as it falls forgotten
a promise made,
but soon,
it too will be forgotten

and all this alas!
fails to bring a smile
on her

The truth, you tell her
is old as the original sin

being luscious, is her fault...
not yours

apples are meant to be tasted
even when on cheeks
and she smiles,
for you are forgiven

hallelujah!
the truth shall set you free

--
<

Bird's Eye View

The bird's-eye view
can decieve you
but Caution! Objects in the mirror
Are closer than they appear.

--
<

Did He Just Say That? : Stache

"Ah...I see you haven't shaved your stache for weeks...Looks cute
though...for a girl!(snicker)"


"You bastard!...


"It's ok , I haven't shaved my stache either...

See!

(I'm cleanly shaven)

I'm thinking of a goatee next week...I think we should trade styles"



You dog!...you sonofabitch!"

(Skip a beat)

(in silent resignation)
"Yeah...it's been a while, you bastard"



"Yeah babe! I like it when you talk dirrrrrrty"



(half shocked half surprised,smiling)

"Asshole!"



"Yeah...I love you too babe"

(Works like a charm,each time,every time.)

--
<

Did He Just Say That? : Chicks

Do women feel like poultry sometimes?

We choose both based on the same criteria,don't we?

"Hey Bob,can I get some chicken?
something not too big,not too small...should be young and have tender
succulent breasts and nice legs...yeah deboned and and skinned as
well...I don't want the fat either and who wants the head anyway?

Hey Bob,check out the tits on those chicks man..."

(of course...these days you get a prepackaged chicken in the aisles of
any supermarket...try reading the adverts on the packages
-tender,juicy breasts and legs...young,wholesome &
fresh...deboned...seems like they aren't even talking about dead
chicken body parts here)
--
<

The Vegetarian Joke

People ask me why I'm a vegetarian.

I have the same answer every time 'I don't eat dead animals'

That's a joke.

Some people get it.
Some don't.
The ones that don't usually take grave offense.
Or pretend to.

The ones that do get the joke, try to top it...

After pondering a while,
they say
'...So do you eat living animals?'

What a brilliantly unoriginal comeback!

I stifle my yawn and say....

'Only the ones that ask too many questions'

Some people get it.
Some don't.

--
<

Did He Just Say That? : Men are Boobs

Women take note.

Men love boobs.(not the stupid kind)

Men love tits.(Again...not the flying kind)

Your boyfriend,lover or husband ,at times wil act like he owns them
even though they are attached to you.

Learn to live with it.


--
<

Hey Betty!

Hey Betty!
You know what...

Ah! Chuck it...

Come to think of it,
you are not really a Betty,
even if you think so.

Betty loved Archie,
obsessed over him...

Where is your Archie?

Can you honestly(to yourself and not anyone else)
name one Archie in your life,
for whom you were Betty?

Don't be petty,
Betty was defined by a longing for Archie,
and in all ways you are defined
by his utter lack.

You are not even the girl next door...
who has her feet planted firmly on the ground
and her heads out of the clouds
The girl next door is easy to be around.

Besides,
its dangerous to identify
with Betty,Veronica,Archie,Jughead

or

Monica,Chandler,Ross or Rachel for that matter.

They are characters whose strengths and weaknessess are penned by a
bunch of writers who are out to milk the maximum emotions out the
audience...They are characters with no real control over their
destiny.

The story of your life is written by you (I hope ).
You have more control over your destiny than comic book and sitcom
characters.(I hope)
You have the power to free yourself from your limitations.(I pray)

You have a choice not to be Betty
(or for that matter,to continue whining that
you are Betty)

You have a choice to be yourself.
Your best self.

(Think About it:Being yourself is neither a Multiple Choice Question
nor is it a true/false question.The only choice you have is to be
yourself,so why not be your best self?)

Add.

In my mind Archie would marry Betty,Reggie would marry
Veronica,have affairs with each others spouses and be miserable the
rest of their lives.Jughead would eventually come out of the
closet-declaring his eternal & undying love for Archie, and later
commit suicide by cruising in the public restroom and being beaten to
death by a homophobic undercover cop.Ethel would become a
supermodel-because now...ugly is the new beautiful,and ethel fits the
bill.Dilton would hatch an ambitious plan to overthrow and end the
global tyranny of Google,only to be hunted and killed by
Gooborg-3000(a Google Cyborg that looks like Pamela Anderson
Lee).Dilton dies with a smile on his face as he is crushed between the
breasts of Gooborg-3000(now available in lavender and fuchsia,and
powered by Android).
Moose gets Midge pregnant on senior prom night and they drop their
college plans to take care of the baby...dashing all hopes of a
bright(?) future.Moose joins a construction company-gets laid of in
the recession and comes home everyday drunk and beats his wife.Midge
contemplates having an affair with Reggie to hurt Moose.
Everyone of the Riverdale High faculty dies a lonely death at their
retirement homes where they lie forgotten by the world.

Yeah...I like to spread the happiness.

If you don't like that one...I have one more...Archie marries
Veronica,who dies following complications of childbirth.The child
grows up to be ten,and then reads old letters written by her mom about
a girl named betty,who once was in love with Archie.The ten year old
then hatches an elaborate and complicated plan to bring back Archie
and Betty, and restore their happiness.
Oh...In between everybody sings and dances a lot,and there will be a
lot of rain and a cute kid that likes to count stars.
Be rest assured,Archie marries Betty,they quickly have kids of their
own and Veronica's daughter is ignored into ignominy and treated badly
by her step mother and step sisters who like to constantly step on her
like she was a foot mat outside a bus station.She waits for a prince
charming to rescue her and dies an old maid.
Moral of the story :Everybody dies eventually.

Oh How I love happy endings!

(Karan Johar and SRK are outside with crowbars and hockey
sticks...apparently they didn't like my version of The Archies)

--
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Distraction

Maybe I shouldn't look at you when we're dancing.I keep forgetting my
steps.Your so cute that its distracting.

She giggled.

She said she's never heard that one before.

That's because it's not a line,I said.

She giggled again.Maybe she blushed,but I didn't notice.

I was wondering that Maybe it should be a line.


--
<

Did He Just Say That? :Tame Cat

Tame Cat
---------

It rests me to be among beautiful women
Why should one always lie about such matters?
I repeat:
It rests me to converse with beautiful women
Even though we talk nothing but nonsense
but the purring of the invisible antennae
Is both stimulating and delightful


-Ezra Pound!

Definition

I cannot define 'Me'
A definition is constant,
which I am anything but

In online profiles of people
in the things written about themselves
one can usually find song snippets,
witticisms or long rambling prose of self indulgence.

I tried doing all those.

After a while I realized that it wasn't me anymore.

The song snippet lost it's special meaning.
The witticisms seemed tired after a while.
The long rambling prose seemed to be an immature rant.

I was no longer what I was before.
I had become more.

I was anything but constant.

I am anything but constant.

I am more than what I was before.
And there is more to come.




--
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Cliche

If you disagree that a cliche is a literary device, then think again.

Cliche is the strongest ally of a mediocre (such as
yours truly), who when in a quicksand plot uses the nearest cliche
available to haul himself out, or the gutless who is afraid to defy
norms and conventions, or the one who lacks sensitivity or subtelity,
so all he can do is rehash cliches that he has seen done before, or
someone who has very low regards to the intelligence of his audience
and does not trust them to understand his work or him through his
work, or finally it is someone who lacks self confidence in his
ability to convey understated nuances.

The mark of a genius is that his work is always far more intelligent than him.
The art is smarter than the artist.
It says more than what the artist meant to say.

We know this intuitively, but achieving unintentional
briliance is often impossible and out of reach of the mediocre.

Unintentional brilliance sometimes creeps upon a mediocre
writer only to frustrate him for the rest of his life by being
maddeningly elusive.

Mark of a genius is in the repeat performances,the second
winds and new beginnings into unexplored vistas.(Wow , I've already
slipped in a lot of trite cliches in such a short passage...VISTA is
dead,long live LONGHORN)

But there is that profound dissatisfaction, a feeling that it could be
be done better...

No artist is pleased. . . . [There is no] satisfaction whatever at any
time. There is only a queer, divine dissatisfaction, a blessed unrest
that keeps us marching and makes us more alive than the others."

—Martha Graham to Agnes de Mille, Martha: The Life and Work of Martha Graham

I agree , I feel more alive (I don't know about the others),I feel
more alive than I was before.

Here's a paradox to ponder upon:Your history keeps changing all the
time,while your future never does.

In the end , I'm not as worried of what I've not seen than what I've
already forgotten.

Turn back now and see with eyes wide open.
yes...Now!

A second look at life with a brand new pair of eyes and a fresh perspective
(or a fresh pair of eyes and a brand new perspective) - that's where
cliches die and genius is born.

(Hah! And you thought I could not tie the ends neatly...well not as
neatly as I hoped,but whatever works ...works for me)


--
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