Saturday, August 28, 2010

if i was a colour, it would be a mottled purple

What the fuck is the difference between house and trance and techno?

No dude, don’t get me wrong. I like the stuff. You can stomp your feet and bob your head like crazy. But it all sounds the same. Slightly trippy, and always surprising to hear lyrics.

What the fuck is an ecopolitical spiritual mentor?

Yup, he sent me a mail. And I don’t know how to reply. Do I address him as Cosmic President. Or Leader of the Union Territory of the Universe.

What the fuck is with sports?

They fine the Sri Lankans for not letting Sehwag make his hundred. What should they start doing now? Overthrowing as soon as a batsman reaches 70. And then the Chelsea team have their underwear getting cut on a regular basis. Not by lingerie models, but by a prankster. Really, can you support a team that’s racing around in holey undies?

What the fuck is with these idiots?

Today we see two snakes getting jiggy with it in the park. And there are twenty autos, and 6 school kids, and at least fifteen sundry people craning their necks to watch because it’s a good omen. Dude, you try having sex while being watched by thirty devout people.

The only good omen here is that the snakes didn’t come racing out to bite everyone’s head off.

What the fuck is with you and me?

Yes you. Are we good? Or are you avoiding me? And in case there’s any confusion, I’m talking about you A.

And finally what the fuck is with blogger meets?

90% population came because they they could meet some chicks. Or are hoping to make money off their blogs. Or get a job. Or because they probably have their parents pickled in a jam jar in their fridge. Or then because they “just love writing. It is my passion.”

Barf. What the fuck is with this week i'm having.

Tuesday, August 10, 2010


You call my name.

I toss restlessly in my sleep.

I’m sick.

I think it’s a dream.

But you stay in my head through the day

I want to ban you

To remove you.

To turn stone deaf.

To your pleading. To your calling.

But I’m sick.

And I don’t have the strength.

And the brownies in the fridge win again.

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