74 posts from 2007

What's the best book you read this year?

I would say 'The Fountainhead'. Not because it's the best by itself, but because it came at the right time. Still reading it. It's helped seal what couldn't be closed. And for that, I am glad.

I understand now.

And it doesn't scare me as much as I thought it would.

And that is all that frightens me now...

Every time this song plays now… all I can think of is him…

And the fact that he’s gone…

It’s pretty weird actually, considering I never even knew him… but I guess… it’s jus selfishness, coz I wish I did…

Where have you gone?

Are you ever coming back?

Should we wait till its dawn?

Or shall we begin to pack?

I dunno what it’s called

But it’s a pretty place, you know

I think I must have fallen

Through the Rabbit hole…

Are you in a different land?

Aren’t you all alone?

Don’t you understand?

We never wanted you to go…

You know I had to leave…

And I am not really alone

I have so many friends

And besides I’m all grown…

But we want you to return…

Coz we miss you so…

Oh darling if not you

We’re still just so alone…

I know… and I’m sorry

But I really want to stay

I can’t just leave Mary

And Alice says Lucy’s on her way…

Come back my precious child…

You’ve gone just too far

We’ll come and get you

Just tell us where you are

The sky is full of diamonds

And the grass just so green

There are strawberries, cats and caterpillars

And mushrooms to be seen

We’re looking for you dear

And we will find you someday

Just don’t go any further

And try to find your way

Mother dear, your voice is fading

And my friends are out to play

Mary Jane’s been callin’

Alice is goin to lead the way

Come back my baby girl

They’re leading you astray

Oh, come back from your new world

Please don’t go away?

I think I finally understand

What lies down this way

I think I’m lost in Wonderland

And I want to stay…

Screaming lights, bright sounds

Stars and smokes all around.

Wooden fences, barricades

Illegal stuff in lemonades

Strange news, weird surprises

Cops and Registrars! It’s a crisis

Red Alerts, things to hide

Coast clear? Bring it back outside

Drunken laughter in the cold

Another drag… to warm the soul

Interesting people, new friends

Stop that guy who just jumped that fence!!!
Food for the sound console

Should’ve known six “coffees” are hard to hold

Brilliant judges, and in the end

You’ve made some great new friends

All that light, all that sound

Cans of beer taking rounds

Murdering brain cells can be fun

Oh a mosh pit, was that a gun?

Guitars and drums don’t make bands

Screaming crowds don’t make fans

But we have them all in sight

Strawberry Fields is here tonight!

Lots of interesting conversation

Excess of sleep deprivation

Screaming heads, angry bosses

Barely heard above the loud noises

“I said noodles, not a roll”

“You! Get back to the sound console!”

But then the rewards, what can I say?

Beats a Six point something CGPA

Nods of approval and some Vat 69

Workin has never been this fine

Requisitions one after the other

Moan FnB “Not another!”

And then the hunt for a page

Someone needs water on the stage!

On your way down, time for a break

Meet a friend with stuff to cure the ache

Duck down by the stairs, sip his beer

Hits you then, the end is near

Another sip to block that thought

Run back to see what must be brought

People with drinks they can’t identify

Pass them on with the deepest sighs

“I think that it could be whiskey

Or just maybe its rum and pepsi”

The last band takes the stage

More screaming, but not in rage

Headbang your way to certain pain

Your neck will never be the same

Smoke and noise fills the air

In your head, heart and hair

Shows ending, with goodbyes snatched

Takin down posters and pickin up trash.

Can’t believe its time to go

Strawberry Fields forever more?

Beverages allocated soon

“Leave now, drink in your room

There’s no problem, just stay alive

Our responsibility if you die!”

Heavy heart, dragging feet

One last cigarette for some needed heat

Sudden footsteps and you stop

“Stub that NOW!!! It’s the COPS!!!”

Clanking cartons, counted nine

“?????’s room, should be fine”

Trudge back to the hostel sighing

Pick up people bout to start crying

On the roof, stay the night

Passing rum in the hazy moonlight

Drunken people, take them below

Tuck them in, responsibility grows.

Now to the room, drop down with a sigh

Talk bout S.F. till its almost light

Still just can’t believe it’s over

But you know what? Strawberry Fields forever…

Strawberry Fields.

No, not the song. (Though I love it completely too)

Those of you who know what I’m talking about deserve to live; the others may please jump off the nearest roof or into the nearest well.

Now that that’s out of the way, and I have absolutely nothing to do but go to a class I’m already late for and I seem to have lost the last of my smokes (@##%!^@%@), I shall attempt to describe what these last three days have been like.

Heaven.

Hmm… that was easy.

But seriously…

I was there. All that stuff bout pretty little children in puffy white clouds who play harps and have beautiful wings… is utter NONSENSE.

Heaven is a rock concert. And not just any, Heaven is strawberry fields.

Why is it such a big deal?

Is it the incredible music? The good food? The free booze? The hope of running into a hot guitarist?

Nah, those things happen in all rock concerts. Normal, ordinary ones (if I dare call a concert that!).

The reason it’s such a big deal is hard to put down in words. Or maybe I jus ended up with too many dead brain cells which used to control the grammar section of my brain!

Either way, the things that make it a big deal start from the minute you step into law school… Actually, back up, they start from before that…

Strawberry Fields is why I got into NLS.

Three days of waking up and reporting to a dry, scorched field, clearing it of all sorts of substances, listenin to people play music you love, running around getting food from everyone for everyone, the occasional stray can of beer, the cigarettes someone always manages to have, the kind of people you meet, the interesting conversations you’re part of, the fence hopping, the headbanging…

These and so many more random little things make Strawberry Fields so special…

*sigh*

I would love to go on… and believe me I can! (Ask my poor room mate, I just can’t shut up about how much I miss SF)

I must go now...

Or I’ll miss the next hour as well!!! More importantly… I have to find my smokes.

Rock on.

Strawberry Fields FOREVER!!!

Smoking is bad for you.

Right after I make this statement, people always do one of the following things

-Stare at me pointedly

-Launch into a lecture that makes me regret making that simple factual sentence.

-Swallow hard and try not to launch into a lecture, but do so anyway.

-Shake their heads in a puzzled sort of way that reminds me of my dog on holiday mornings when I’m awake before lunch.

The first three I ignore, the last I giggle at.

I’ve tried to explain the whole situation too many times.

Yes, I know its bad for me.

No, I don’t want to be coughing up blood at 25.

And maybe it will kill me.

But look at it this way.

What if, at 24 years and 364 days, I get run over by a bus, fall off the roof, get struck by lightning, drown or get abducted by aliens and used as a case study for a research paper on Homo sapiens? All of these, being equally likely, except maybe the last one. (But then again, you never know…)

How, do you think, that would make me feel? Pointless question, if I use the assumption that dead people don’t feel, but nonetheless… How do you think I would feel?

I shall tell you. I would feel clean, healthy, and my lungs would not be screaming in agony… but most importantly, I would feel dead! And once you feel that, well, let’s just say none of the other things seem to matter much anymore.

Of course, I am not denying that it is equally likely that I do live to see my 25^th b’day. But if I do, I’ll think of something then…

Till then, do me a favour and do the puzzled-head-shake thing again… I miss my dog.

Sober.

It’s such a funny word. Where in the world has it come from?

So-ber. Ber? Now that’s a weirder word. Weird that its jus a letter short of something, which if you consume too much of, you won’t be well... sober.

I like to believe it originated from the words “so boring”, which is what I find life to sometimes be. Oh yes, life’s interesting most of the times, but every once in a while, you find yourself in your room… sooo-bored…

You have the music you love but have heard so many times you know when the guy stops to breathe right before screaming his lungs out, and you know jus how many times he says “ohhhh” in a row. Of course, the scariest being when you know what song is going to play next and its jus downright creepy when you know how many seconds will pass before it actually does!

Then you have the book. The one which you know cover to cover and people have been threatening to ship you off to Moscow if you don’t stop quoting it; particularly along with the page number. For some reason, this creeps out most people. I don’t understand why… Have they never been this bored?

Maybe it’s because we have project submissions in less than a week and everyone’s working really hard. As my friends have often pointed out, I could be doing that. I should be doing that. And I would be, were it not for the slight issue… I’m bored. Which brings us back to the word (Why does this sound like a famous line out of a famous musical?... Oh wait, never mind) - Sober.

So what do you do now you’re so-bored? Sorry… Couldn’t resist that. Anyway, at times like this, you’d do anything for any inebriating substance to flow through your system, especially your brain. But all you find when you reach out is the same music and the same book and as much as you hope and pray otherwise, the words remain the same.

Then you sigh, doodle, stare at the wall, play another game on your comp, hoping it’ll end some other way, but of course… it doesn’t. You pick up your phone and see you’re just as broke as you are “ber” and as much as you plead with it, it doesn’t ring. At times like this, there are only two things you can do. 1. Begin typing out the paper which is due in a week’s time… or 2. Go on a futile hunt for brain cell killing substances.

Here, I doodle, play another game of solitaire, sigh at my screen, stare at the wall and curse being sober.

The vicious cycle never ends.

Anyway, I’m off… The futile hunt awaits…

Note- This is all written under the influence of things I advise you strongly not to write under the influence of.

I was just reading through the stuff I have here. It’s rather depressing. Fuckin depressin, if I may say so myself (excuse the language). I try and figure out why that is.

“I think, therefore I’m depressed”

*laughs* That’s a brilliant quote. But I really am not as depressing as I come across in this blog.

Someone asked me today, what are the things I really love. Interesting question.

I love loads of things.

I love the rain,

Love walkin in it, feelin the water seep into my soul. Love feeling that somehow, for a while, Its washed away all that’s rotten within, no matter how stupid feelin that way might be…

Love reading, and looking up occasionally to see the rain falling on glass windows.

I love animals. They don’t plot and conspire. Don’t sit together and bitch about the new dog on the block. They just live. And they listen.

I love the stars. Each and every one thats out there.

I love music. Love the fact that, as someone once said, they’re often better company than real people.

I love beaches. Playing in the sand, lying about, watching jus endless nothingness and the occasional boat on the horizon.

I love windy days, watching clouds drift about in the blue sky, listening to someone play the guitar, the piano, walking around aimlessly, going on long drives ( I so need to learn how to drive), painting (though I’m horrible at it), flashes of lightning, typing away, playing solitaire, sendin anonymous flowers to ppl who need them..

But there are also so many things I hate…

Birds in cages, other people dying, being helpless, carving words in red which only I can read.. and hiding them from people who just can’t, staying awake for hours staring into the darkness, lying to people I used to care about, wondering how much I still do. More of the lying… less of the caring…

Waiting for phone calls that never come, watching someone fall apart and not bein able to do anythin but pick up pieces...