Yeah, I know...I was never at home whenever we had elections.
Voting was held in SDM Law College, five minutes from our home.As I was parking my scooter, an aunty smiled at me.I couldn't recognise her.So my smile was hesitant and half-formed by the time she moved ahead.
Once inside, I found out that the entire college had a placid atmosphere. Only a handful voters had turned up at twelve in the noon.The rest were smiling and courteous electoral officers and other officials.The sight of Government officials smiling and courteous and helpful was inapposite but certainly welcome.
I gave them my entry chit and stood in the line with about ten people in it.They checked my card, announced my number (816) and another official ticked me off on her list.I went further up the line, where I had to show my Voter ID card and sign an attendance register.Further ahead a gentleman asked me to extend my hand.I extended my right hand, to which he asked my left .He marked my index finger with indelible ink that was produced in Mysore.The ink left and ugly dark line on my finger that would not wash off for months.The gentleman next to him reset the EVM (Electronic Voting Machine) so that I could vote.The EVM itself was a few feet awayon a wooden desk, and covered by a cardboard enclosure.
Voting itself was an easy task.
The EVM is a simple white plastic box which displays the list of candidates and their symbols(for the illiterate)There was a red light and a blue button. I had to press the blue button against the candidate of the choice and a red light appeared on the pressing of blue button and there was a sound like whistle which indicated that the ballot was cast.
That was it.This was what voting was , for those who cared to vote.
'Pressing a Button and making things go Beep'
This was supposed to be exercising my right.This was my part in deciding the future of my country.This was my role in bringing about a change in things that I don't like about now.'Pressing a button, and making things go Beep'
Felt like what I did was trivial,insignificant.It felt ridiculous.
Most of all, It felt like I should do more.
More than just 'Pressing a button and making things go Beep'
Some stories have to be told many a times to others before you finally tell them to yourselves. This is one of those.
Male bonding is funny..We guys do some really girly stuff when we think no one is watching.
In one ship,my friend and I used to bond in ways we wouldn't acknowledge publicly.
Yes I'm ashamed to admit it, but we watched Rom-coms and chick flicks together.
(They are easy on the brain and it doesn't matter if you follow the plot or storyline and as such are excellent at the end of a tiring day)
One of our favourite movies was 'Shall We Dance', starring Richard Gere and Jennifer Lo-Pants(Lopez) and the ever beautiful Susan Sarandon.(I'm not overlooking very memorable performances by Stanley Tucci and Bobby Cannavale, whose histrionics were more entertaining than that of the rest of the cast)
Much as I hate to admit it, it was my fantasy to actually go through the same experiences, to stumble and learn how to dance,and magically undergo a life altering transformation and become a Dancing God! (I'm stumbling a lot)
I'm told Men who dance well are considered sexy, desirable or gay. Hey I'd like to be sexy and desirable and happy too ! (just not gay)
But there was a problem...my own past. Once as a kid, I took dancing lessons...but just one class.
My body did not listen to me.I couldn't do a single step my instructor taught me.The longer I was in the class, the more ashamed I felt about myself .
Humiliated and Disgusted at myself, I quit, never to return.
Years later,when I took Public Speaking lessons ,one of my shortcomings that everyone pointed out was my stiff and mechanical body .My nickname was 'The Soldier !
Attention !
Stand Hut!
The solution offered by my teacher was ...yes you guessed right...Dance Lessons!
It was Nietzsche who said "What I am not,that for me is God and virtue'
I surround myself with friends who are better than me (yes you too!), for you have something in you that I admire and aspire to be.
Similarly I have a cousin who is gifted with the ability to dance...I'm fond of her,and admire her for what she could and I lacked.I used to listen to her talk about dancing and her love for the art with rapt attention.(I must confess;I couldn't understand much of what she said, but was endlessly fascinated)
In my mind, my biggest weakness was my inability to coordinate my body in a graceful manner.
So when I found that my friend had joined a dance class,I decided to join myself...after all misery loves company.(my friend professed to be equally bad at dancing)
But what if I was a miserable failure like before?
What if I disgusted myself once again?
What if I make a fool of myself?
"Fools rush in where angels fear to tread"
As always, I go by the following adage...and I wouldn't want to rush in like a fool without actually knowing what I was getting into.
Thanks to the internet, I found a few videos and tutorials that supposedly would aid me in some way.
Here is my favourite one...
and another...
Boy,Was I wrong!
Videos cannot substitute real live tutors and active feedback...also, the dancers in the video were too good and their natural ease and comfort made me depressed about my own lack of grace and coordination.
But guess what...I was not the same old boy anymore,I had changed.
We had joined for a crash course in salsa and jive.
The term crash course has omnious connotations but I had made up my mind to succeed where once I had failed.
In my research, I came to know that Salsa is a very popular dance form in Latin America, U.S and Europe. The word is the same as the salsa meaning sauce, metaphorically referring the music and dance being "saucy","Spicy" and "tasty".
Yumm!
There are different styles that developed in different regions: New York style salsa, Puerto Rican salsa, Cuban style, California style.(I seem to be learning the Manglorean Salsa with a healthy helping of fish curry )
Normally Salsa is a partner dance, danced in a handhold.In partner dancing, the two partners are labelled as the lead and the follow, or leader and follower. Traditionally, the male partner leads and the female partner follows.
Now read this carefully...A lead controls the way the dance will go. He decides which moves or figures will be danced, and how to move the follow. The follow does what the name implies, and follows the lead. For the lead and follow to interact with each other, a connection must be established.
One goal of partner dancing is to move in ways that one dancer alone cannot.
I took up dance to unlearn stiffness and rigidity and to learn the art of gracefulness.However grace seems to be innate or maybe it is inherited -an elusive quality embedded in the chromosomes-passed on from generation to generation onto select offspring by divine providence.
I say that because when I look at myself dance in the mirror, I see a boxer looking for a street fight, a MMA fighter getting ready for a sparring session, a bull charging in a china shop...I don't like to look when I dance.Period.
But here was the crucial difference.
Once upon a time, I had gone to learn a solo style of dance.The entire emphasis was on me and also the pressure to perform.
I hated it.
This time it was a partner dance.I genuinly felt I could learn more than just dancing from this endeavor.
A popular joke goes something like this...Dancing is a wonderful training for girls;its the first way to learn to guess what a man is going to do before he does it.
It's not entirely true...The partner that follows and the one that leads both have to possess an inner drive to follow the soul of the dance and rhythm.
It's true that the lead controls the way the dance will go. He decides which moves or figures will be danced, and how to move the follow. The follow does what the name implies, and follows the lead.
Beginning leads try to control 99% of the dance. Advanced leads try to control 51% of the dance. The follow styles her own moves as she likes within the parameters communicated by the lead.
Learning to lead or to follow forces upon you a sensitivity and receptivity to subtle signals.
I'm an ogre by all standards, lacking sensitivity but now I'm forced to gently lead my partner with pushes,pulls and gentle nudges.Dance teaches you the subtle art of non-verbal communication...to talk without words.
You learn to deal with diferent partners with different personalities:the stiff, the tender,the soft,the nervous,the light,the innocent and the unyielding.
I'm afraid to extend the metphor of dance to life,even though many claim that it is so.One word -"Feminists" and then two more words-"Political Correctness"make me queasy and uneasy.
If I say Dance is Life...that the world is a ballroom and we are the dancers...just as once Shakespeare did with the stage ,then the issue of man taking a lead and the female following might seem offensive and regressive and politically incorrect to many feminists and pseudo-feminists(I'm looking at you guys who act like broad minded feminists to impress women.You are truly snakes in the grass)
Dance is an art form,where the art should be highlighted above the artists.It is a form of expression and it should transcend gender politics.
(wikipedia tells me that promenade-style dancing has no lead or follow, and that homosexuals in various parts of the world dance in exclusive venues making the gender politics partly redundant)
It is true though...Some women don't like to be led.They simply cannot follow.Maybe they are not accustomed to it.So they march to the beat of their own drummer,much to everyones chagrin.
"If the leader cannot lead, or if the follower cannot follow, it no longer remains a dance;it becomes a wrestling match" says my teacher .
Dentists must get the funniest patients.Their patients are always lying prone in weird facial postures, and they always start the babbling-baby talk after the anaesthetic...
WhooHoo! A barrel full of monkeys!
The only other doctors who can possibly have more fun than dentists are Gay Proctologists and Foot Fethisist-Podiatrists.I bet these guys are permanently stationed on the seventh heaven!
Of course, psychiatrists get their fair share of crazy-funny -loonies, but we've all seen 'Sixth Sense' to know that it ain't always a barrel full of monkeys.
My dentist is a nice guy, but not really known for his gentleness.I mean, he made me wear these ridiculously bright white temporary crowns for a week.These crowns were so white , so humongous, that it looked like piano keys instead of teeth.And worst of it all, I was required to go in the public, and make a few speeches to students!
The busiest social week in my life with piano keys stuck in my mouth! Talk about social awkwardness! Now don't ask me why I don't flirt these days!
But that wasn't really it either.It was the way he removed those temporary crowns that revealed his lack of gentleness.He used a hammer and a drill! My mouth felt like a kitchen sink being repaired by a plumber!
But that was not it either.Whenever he drilled in my mouth, he would pry my jaws open(even though I could keep them open myself)...and also place his palm squarely on my nose.I couldn't breathe.Ha Ha...I had to stop him many times in between so that I could breathe.
But the results were excellent.He matched the shades of the fake to the natural teeth precisely.My slight overbite is gone, and my smile has improved.Today, after the restorationI just saw a girl swoon after I smiled at her! I'm Baaaaack ! He he he!
I am no longer a Gap Toothed Idiot.Alfred E Neuman can take his rightful place at any time.I humbly relinquish my throne to its rightful heir.
As I was nearing the end of my Dental-Restoration saga, a sense of foreboding overcame me.
I would soon be normal again.
No more excuses.No more privileged treatment.No more sense of entitlement.
I'd have to own up to my actions.
And tomorrow, I have another speech to give...to nearly 300 students, and I'm not a bit prepared!
(Rejected Title:Blood,Pain and Random thoughts on a dentist's chair)
Pain is good.It reassures you that you are alive.
I'm not afraid of pain.I've inherited the thick-buffalo-skinned high pain threshold gene from my dad's side.Me and my dad are often unfazed after a session of bumping and banging into things.As a kid, I used to poke needles into my skin just to show off!
Whirrrr! The dental drill drones menacingly.
The masked dentist stops and tells" I'll have to go deeper into your gums.This might pain a little.Do you want an anaesthetic?"
"Not necessary Doc! " I reply
But you could've told this to me earlier when you were actually drilling into my tender and sensitive gums!
"Nope! I can bear it"
Whirrrrrr! He continues.
This is the final stage of my dental restoration saga.Going against my friend's advice, I chose to have a Dental Bridge instead of a Dental Implant.Reason? Time Constraints.I simply could not wait for another two months.
Also, another friend had told me that the upper jaw has more porous bone structure than the lower jaw making it an un-viable and unreliable site for an implant.
Whirrrrrr! The drill drones.
My dentist is supposed to reduce my teeth by a millimeter...Now that doesn't seem like much, but believe me, the end result was that my pearly whites were reduced to mere stubs!
What you don't know cannot hurt you.
While sitting on the chair, I just realized that I had disproved the above saying.
While the dentist was cutting into my gums without informing me, it hurt a lot.
He then asked me to choose between numbness and pain, between feeling and un-feeling.The choice was obvious.Numbness would lose again.I'd always choose to feel.
But the pain was not as intense when I knew it would hurt.My mouth was open and a steady stream of blood,saliva & water dribbled on the apron, and all I could think was that the anticipation of pain had somehow numbed it down.
In life, it was only the pain that came out of nowhere and blindsided you that hurt you the most.For everything else,the coping mechanisms inside your head had ways of making you 'Comfortably Numb"
(The included picture is for humorous purposes only and does not intend to undermine my dentist's expertise or professionalism.BTW, my dentist's drill is much smaller, but equally effective in inflicting pain! Ha ha)
Me and my friends had made plans to go out, and it got cancelled the last minute.
(that's another post in itself)
As soon as it was cancelled I was forced to attend a Threading Ceremony(Brahmopadesham) of a distant cousin.
I don't like family get togethers.You have to meet a bunch of people you don't know and then renew acquaintances with them.
Son, I'd like you to meet Mr.Chandrashekar...He is your aunt's second cousin and that his long lost step sister found in the Kumbh Mela.
Hello Uncle! (In India everyone is an uncle or an aunty to someone)
Son, this is Saroja...we are related to her in a slightly more complicated manner.Let me get out the Venn Diagrams and the scientific calculator to explain it to you.
Hello Aunty!
This is Veena,Damodar,Prabhakar and Lalitha...Remember Anu's wedding? Well they are all Anu's relatives.This will require more than just a venn diagram, a family tree chart and a logarithm table.By the way, do you still remember fundamental quantum physics?
Sure Mom, introduce them all...Five minutes later I'll have forgotten most of it!
Ah! The joys of a family get together!
On top of it, these get-togethers have a hidden agenda.People come there with ulterior motives.Match-Making is one of them.The sea of relatives have hidden in them Match-makers and other sharks and killer whales.
Have you noticed that when you have some self-perceived flaw you tend to notice other people with the same flaw?
I mean, a bald guy in a group will always know the follicular status of every other person, like hairlines(receding or not),follicular density,scalp condition etc.
I see dead people.
Ever since I'm wearing dentures , I've acquired a sixth sense about other people wearing dentures.I can spot these people a mile away.
Ok...I see a sign...I see the light...I see that your first 4 teeth are fake!
It is scary, but I see people with dentures everywhere.
Now, since I've kept it a secret that I had an accident and lost my teeth, I'm worried that other denture wearing people have the same psychic powers and can see through my fake removable teeth.
Coming back to the subject of family get-togethers and match-making...a shark approaches my mom and tells her 'Hey! Your son is ready to get married isn't he?...Why else would you bring him to family-get-togethers?'
'No! He can't get married! He's too young...He's just a baby!'
'Mom! I'm not a baby!'
'So, does that mean you want to get married?'
'No! That's not what I meant...I don't want to get married either...I'm too young!'
'You are just a baby!'
'No I'm not! No I'm not! No I'm not! ...Now If you'll excuse me ...I seem to be missing my pacifier'
It's true...Mom is trying to find a girl for me.
Me? Why?
But she didn't think anyone in that group was suitable for me.
'Mom! Why didn't you tell me about this before?'
'Then you wouldn't have come'
I explain to mom that I'm not on the market.I have zero market value...
Now someone like my friend KCG will have a huge market value.
One word.
IIM Graduate.(ok... make that two words)
IIM Grad sums it all.
Smart (make that frighteningly smart...he'll literally blow you away),
handsome (not all IIM grads are handsome, but believe me...this dude is),
funny (hey! He is funnier than me...nuff said),
all round good boy( we were bonafide good boys in our childhood...we would self-censor all expletives by adding a bleep to it...we thought it was funny...we'd say you bleeping bleep...bleep off!)
In short, a good catch.I'm sure his parents have been approached a million times by match makers and other sharks and dangerous creatures.
I imagine girls throwing themselves on him everywhere he goes.( I have a wild imagination, sorry dude)
Of course...I've had a few crushes to contend with too.
As soon as I entered the get-together, I noticed a few stares.Mostly from parents and a few match makers and a few sharks.
There was an orbiter too.She was too shy to actually come up to me, so she wound up showing up conspicuously wherever I went.It was kinda cute!
She was in seventh grade.
I didn't have to do the math to know that she was jail-bait.
Of course, I wanted to have nothing to do with it, so I pulled out my iPod Touch and started playing games in it.This creted its own unique problems.A group of young boys became my orbiters because no one else had an iPod touch.
To be a part of it , you have to be mad as well.We all live in our own reality bubbles.We all suffer from tunnel vision where we see the closest approximation of our own realities.It is not the eyes that see lies but the mind's eye that conjures fantasies.
Its a mad mad world out there.
To function, you have to be insane to a degree as well.
I don't agree with the 'Fake it till you make it' dogma.This new age philosotainment is nothing but wishful thinking...where we are willingly hallucinating .Suppose you are a soldier stationed in Iraq (pronounced Eye-rack by yankees worldwide), and you have a deep gash across your chest thanks to an exploding shell, then thinking that you have no gash will not stop you from dying.Miracle stories abound everywhere tell you otherwise...but somewhere down the line you know that they are lying, that they have lied by omission or distortion.
Everything in this world is distorted by our perceptions.
Its a mad mad world out there and Its a crime not be mad as well.
(To all loners.)
You see the madness as it is.Which is why you choose to distance yourself.But that is madness too.Sometimes you don't understand it.The madness and the general blindness and the conspiratorial complicity bewilder you.
Here is a possible solution.
Immerse yourslef in the madness, if for no other reason but to simply understand it.Don't worry.You will retain your objectivity,You will retain your unfiltered vision.You will retain your loathing for the smoke and mirrors,all the bells and whistles.You will not be swept away by the madness.
I just want to clarify to my readers that I'm not writing about them...I've decided to keep what I write separate from my readers to whatever extent it is possible.
Although the themes and events might seem to echo with recent events in your life,my blog is not about you.
Let me confess...I'm not a fan of Priyadarshan's movies.So this review will be biased. But tell me what isn't? Billu Barber...Oh Wait! I might have upset a few hairstylists who charge ridiculous amount of moolah to snip at the hair tips. Political Correctness has risen to the level of absurdity. Billu can no longer be called a barber.It is derogatory...Hence the movie is rechristened 'Billu ke bak bak' or in many places simply 'Billu'
Show me the funny Mr.Priyadarshan.I expected a comedy.What I got was a bland movie with pointless sequences.
Yes! I agree.Sharuck Khan/Sahir Khan is a superstar. He is perfect for the role, But Mr.Priyadarshan, why do you have to hammer the point so repeatedly that I now suffer from blunt force trauma? The helicopter sequence,the 3 pointless item songs, the in-your-face-unsubtle-loudness...why oh why do you have to shove sahir khan 's superstardom in our faces so often?I know Bollywood can afford to waste more money, but was that stupid space-man fight sequence really needed?
Billu is a story that is as old as Mahabharat itself , I'm told. The story of Kuchela and Krishna, two friends -one rich and one poor, both who had the same humble beginnings and a rock solid friendship is being revisited by Billu and Sahir Khan.
Fortuity has no logic.When it shines, it does not decide.Such is movie (il)logic
In the story,Sahir Khan decides on a whim that they will shoot their movie in the sleepy village of Budbuda (U.P), where somehow Billu , his old friend lives now as an impoverished barber too proud (or too smart) for handouts. Chaos ensues as people find out about the friendship between the humble Hair Artist and the super-duper-mega-star. And that is the story,my friends.
Show me the funny , Mr.Priyadarshan.I was eagerly waiting for the funnies to roll in, for laughter to flow ...and I waited...
and I waited...
and I waited...
Arrgh!
This is getting frustrating!
The funniest sequence in this sad movie is when the inspector messes up his lines in all permutations and combinations.In all other places one is forced to laugh at people getting slapped in the head or billu's misfortune or billu getting insulted. Rajpal yadav was nauseating as usual.Om puri was sleepwalking throughout, asrani needs to go back to his Angrezon-ki-zamane-ka-jailer act-Aha! Lara Dutta is ok..Sharuck Khan and Irrfan Khan are good,especially in the very contrived tear-jerker climax...but the movie itself is so dull and dreary that you wish to run away from it. Frankly speaking, a few gags and a bit of toilet humour would have done the movie some good.Even the classic all-out- Helter-Skelter Priyadarshan climax with all his cast embroiled in a huge mess is sorely missed.
The movie has no entertainment value and you should not waste your time watching it.(Go Ahead, watch it...Don't trust me!)
Its downright humiliating when you are being taught lessons about Manhood by a woman.
Apparently apart from cockroaches I'm petrified of dead animals.
Strangely enough,dead people don't faze me.I have a morbid fascination with death in human beings.In fact I experience cognitive dissociation and dispassion.When I see a dead body My mind is immediately off the dead body and upon imponderables pertaining to the soul,karma and other heavenly concepts.
Overfed cats pose a significant problem in urban areas.
A cat is a cat is a cat.
And that is that. (sorry I have a compulsion to make words rhyme, often for no reason)
No one or nothing can change their feline nature.Their keenly honed senses and instincts cannot be denied.Their feral nature cannot be denied.Even when fed, they have to hunt simply for the thrill of the hunt itself.
Our cats usually bring in dead mice and rats and on one occasion a dead bat!
What I mean to say is, all cats are sadistic in nature.Believe me, I've had 8 cats so far.
My cats usually bring a mouse half-dead and then toy with it till death.Chubby, one of my cats,is usually the one with the brightest disposition amongst all,but when she catches something, then she gets transformed into a bloodthirsty monster!
The torture has to be made into a spectacle.She will wait with the half dead victim until we arrive and then she will lead us towards it.What happens next is a very grim danse macabre.She will repeatedly toy around with the captive and inflict just enough pain to keep it alive, and then finally when bored, simply eat its head(so that its really dead?), crunching and munching all the way leaving the rest of the body to us.
You should witness the twinkle in her eyes when she has caught something.She is proud, and she wants to show it.She usually stashes her victim in some prominent part of the house where it is easy to be found and then she'll lead us there.She has left dead mice on my bed,the kitchen table,the living room sofa and on every carpet of the house.
Of course, I cry for Mommy every time,
I'm scared of the mangled bodies, the headless corpses of rats and mice and other dead creatures.Stephen King's 'Pet Sematary' comes to mind. What if the apparently dead mouse springs back alive for one last hurrah with yours truly?
Brrr!
Today, I found another dead mouse...but Mommy wouldn't help.She said that it was time I became a man.
I tried to explain genetics...Mom...an 'x' chromosome and a 'y' chromosome combines and results in a man...and then cultural and gender stereotypes are imposed unfairly on the child during vital stages of development and the child's true potential is lost...OH MOMMY MOMMY I DON'T WANNA DO IT...PLEASE MOMMY...PLEASE!
Nope! Didn't work.I can't melt her heart like I used to when I was ten.
Since it was in my room , I had to clean the mess...she said
...like a man, she added at the end.
Yes I did it.
It was scary but I threw the mouse out after poking it several times to confirm its death.
I was a man.
Yay! (is it manly to say Yay?)
But minutes later I was screaming like a girl when Chubby carried the same dead mouse inside the house once again.
Dyscalculia is a specific learning disability in mathematics. Dyscalculia is a word you use to describe when people have significant problems with numbers - but still have a normal or above normal IQ. It seems that no dyscalculic has problems with math alone, but also struggle with problems being able to learn to tell time, left/right orientation, rules in games and much more. See the list of symptoms. Also, there are more types of dyscalculia, and all types demand specific learning methods aimed at the specific problem.
Is Dyscalculia Real? Dyscalculics say it is. Teachers say it is. WHO and DSM say it is.
Dammit, I was not lazy or stupid...I simply couldn't.
How Common Is Dyscalculia? According to UK studies done by Gross-Tsur, Manor and Shalev in 1996, 6.5% are dyscalculic. According to studies done by Lewis, Hitch and Walker in 1994, 1.3% are dyscalculic while 2.3% are dyscalculic AND dyslexic - that means that according to this study 3.6% of the World's population are dyscalculic.
That gives a total of between 3.6 and 6.5% of the World's population. And again: That means, according to these two studies, that between 216.000.000 (two hundred and sixteen million) and 390.000.000 (three hundred and ninety million) people are dyscalculic - if we say that there are 600.000.000.000 (six billion) people in the world. No international study has been done on how common it is.
I'm glad I know now.
I need others to know it too.
For more info visit: http://dyscalculiaforum.com/news.php
Let me tell you a story.It's about incisors.Yours,mine and everyone Else's.
Incisors are your friends.Don't let anyone tell you otherwise.
I realized it once I lost them.
Without my incisors, life was suddenly not so colourful, not so wonderful.
I could no longer bite onto an apple,flash my 1000 watt smile or even talk properly.
Yes,Incisors help you enunciate clearly.Without them I can no longer speak clearly.My sibilants suck and my fricatives are all f*cked up.
I was never afraid of dentists.In fact many dentists are my good friends.
There is a good reason for that.My dad had more stringent rules than Willy Wonka's.
I never got to eat chocolates till I was five.These days I have to ask for his permission before I eat one.No I didn't end up running away or befriending oompa-loompas or building a psychedelic chocolate factory.
I ended up never visiting a dentist.
Now things have changed.I have to go to the dentist regularly, and get painful procedures done such as root canals and what-nots.I'm still not afraid.
But kiddies, I'm now a social pariah.Or at least I feel that way.
I feel embarassed to go out.I feel embarassed to talk to people, to smile, to look them in the eye.
I'm so embarrassed that no one knows I'm back home.
I don't have the courage to face my friends.
I have good friends.I know that.
I also know that they will not judge me solely based on my looks.(Boy! If they ever did, I'd end up with no friends at all)
I've got great friends.One of them called up just to ask me how I was doing.She was concerned.
It felt real nice, because she didn't know that I was back, but she still tried.
Hey , who needs incisors when you've got friends like these!
You have one life to live.Marx teaches us to blame soceity for our frailities,Freud teaches us to blame our parents, and astrology teaches us to blame the universe.
But the only place to look for blame is if you didn't have the guts to bring out your full self ,if you didn't act on desires , if you didn't take advantage of what was in front of you and live the life that was your potential.
I confess(like I've done before) Every time....every single time I get afraid, very afraid But there you go expecting and get disappointed And then you expect to be disappointed Its not you , its me its true I feel unworthy , even to be next to you But you wield the power , to transmute To heal and make forget And having done all that You expect and get disappointed and then you expect to be disappointed But forgive this heart It pounds the drums of doom, wildly, shaking me up The more I think of it the weaker I get I'm afraid I can't call you...because I'm afraid Please consider my heart and what it goes through The more I think of it , the weaker I get ,
So don't wait for me to call , Because In the end, A volley of SMSs is all you get.
I've been spending most of my time avoiding all possible human contact, watching too much telivision and turning my brain into mush,taking long walks with my dog while drowining myself in alternative rock, nuzzling my cats soft furry belly and practising the art of losing myself in the realm of written words.
My currrent poison:Enchantress Of Florence by Salman Rushdie...a world where machiavelli and akbar are seduced by Qara Koz, Lady Black Eyes, a world where imaginary queens reign over the hearts of kings and where art and the artist meld and where lady love is as fickle as she must be ...I am sipping at it , slowly , and then rereading passages , and chewing on the sentences and roasting them in my head...Mmmm...I can taste the words...Can you ?
I know I haven't called you.You deserve much better.
I'm just not ready to face you .
I'm not ready to face humanity , and what it requires(and what it lacks )
George Carlin, legendary comedian, Mr. Conductor, Rufus ("Bill and Ted's Excellent Adventure"), and noted social commentator, has died of heart failure at the age of 71.
An influential comedian, his career has spanned over 60 years. He is regarded as being one of the greatest comedians to ever live, a cultural icon, and has even affected US Law See F.C.C vs Pacifica
This was the first thing that I read from George Carlin...And I was a fan forever...
We've learned how to make a living, but not a life. These are the days of quick trips, disposable diapers, throwaway morality, one- night stands, overweight bodies, and pills that do everything. It is a time when there is much in the showroom window and nothing in the stockroom. Remember, spend some time with your loved ones, because they are not going to be around forever. Give time to love, give time to speak, and give time to share the precious moment. Life is not measured by the number of breaths we take, but by the moments that take our breath away...
