I woke up this morning with the lights out, I was blind
I dumped my mind in a place that I couldn't find
I soared but I stumbled so I roared and I rumbled, but then
I tripped on a cloud and I crashed all over again
I picked myself up and shouted a curse at the sky
It came back to me, and I knew that the end is nigh
No comfort here, I'd never played this game before
So I just walked on till I couldn't walk on no more
I came to a door at the end of the road, but it was guarded
I didn't say a prayer for I know the seas were never parted
I pushed through in and saw myself sitting on a bed
I asked myself, "what brings you here?", and I said
"I just dropped in to see what condition my condition was in."
(Yeah, yeah, oh yeah what condition my condition was in)
a reason to rhyme about revelations in real-time
Thursday, December 17, 2009
Monday, August 10, 2009
A matter of reality
Beneath the veil of nothingness, nothing survives. Or maybe is simply revealed to have been an illusion all along. It's a liberating realization. The only downside is that the liberation is as meaningless as the illusion. Sometimes I'm tempted to leave in search of a suitable vantage point from where I can witness the story unfold in all its grand absurdity. But then I'm struck by the thought that this was the exact purpose of many quests in the past, most of which ended in the form of one religion or another. This scares me more than most things. Is my non-belief in any kind of belief beginning to take the shape of a belief in itself?
Hahahaha, everytime I start taking myself seriously I'm reminded of these gems,
"Ve vant ze money, or ve fucks you up"
"I mean, say what you want about the tenets of National Socialism Dude, at least it's an ethos"
"He's a nihilist, he doesn't care about anything"
"That must be exhausting"
So anyway, let's end this, whatever this is, with a verse. Cos verses rhyme (unless written by Eddie Vedder), and as long as they do, nobody gives a shit about what they mean. That's the kind of comedic freedom I try to live with.
Flowing, through and over and past everything
Taking me within and with itself
It puts me on the stage, but assigns me no part
It lives inside every song I sing
And secretly smiles when I act too smart
(Does it laugh outrageously when I fart?)
It didn't create Sunday masses and sacrificial altars
It never attempts to guide me towards the light
('Cos isn't the stage where the light is?)
The set of instructions is rather sparse
Enter stage left, and exit to the right
Everything in between comes to me all at once
Every stupid smile and every seething scar
It’s all the same to me unless they kill my fucking car
There are no prophecies that can explain my being
I was born to play my part in the circus of nothing
And all that stands between the final dance
Is everything that I will ever know in this play
Fruitcakes and milkshakes and impossible distance
And then maybe some salvation one fine day
The onlyest way to find out is to find out
To be cuntinude...
Hahahaha, everytime I start taking myself seriously I'm reminded of these gems,
"Ve vant ze money, or ve fucks you up"
"I mean, say what you want about the tenets of National Socialism Dude, at least it's an ethos"
"He's a nihilist, he doesn't care about anything"
"That must be exhausting"
So anyway, let's end this, whatever this is, with a verse. Cos verses rhyme (unless written by Eddie Vedder), and as long as they do, nobody gives a shit about what they mean. That's the kind of comedic freedom I try to live with.
Flowing, through and over and past everything
Taking me within and with itself
It puts me on the stage, but assigns me no part
It lives inside every song I sing
And secretly smiles when I act too smart
(Does it laugh outrageously when I fart?)
It didn't create Sunday masses and sacrificial altars
It never attempts to guide me towards the light
('Cos isn't the stage where the light is?)
The set of instructions is rather sparse
Enter stage left, and exit to the right
Everything in between comes to me all at once
Every stupid smile and every seething scar
It’s all the same to me unless they kill my fucking car
There are no prophecies that can explain my being
I was born to play my part in the circus of nothing
And all that stands between the final dance
Is everything that I will ever know in this play
Fruitcakes and milkshakes and impossible distance
And then maybe some salvation one fine day
The onlyest way to find out is to find out
To be cuntinude...
Friday, April 24, 2009
American Dream
After half a millennium, the sun seems to be setting - not just in the west like it always does, but on the West too. This is dedicated to the double dip, which will rewrite the American Dream in many really funny ways.
Writing alternate lyrics to songs is a weird hobby for sure, but fun too. Inspiration be found here
Go dump your huddled masses on their worn-out backs
So while you run and hide your lives, they whirr and they chime
The rules of yore don’t work in this new paradigm
And all I wanna do is clean the surface of rust
For all you do and see and love is glorified dust
So smell your Pyrrhic wins before they plunge the stake
A weep-inducing sleep from which you’ll never wake, no…
(Chorus)
Sugar, sugar, on the run
Is your dream American?
Take it all in on your stride
It is sinking, falling down
Hide your heads deep in the sand,
and turn forever hand in hand
All sons of guns on the run
Is everybody in?
Your past will stain your future with a deep, deep red
The flames you fanned will burn your heart and cook your head
So realign your theories, it’s amusing to see
For all you did and saw and loved is the enemy
My leaden eyes and misty mind can barely perceive
This overrated progeny of Adam and Eve
Now make a run for it for you are happiness-bound
Ten million wracking nerves don’t make the tiniest sound
(Chorus)
Saturday, March 14, 2009
सबब-ऐ-उदासी - ८३, ८४, ८५, ८६
नज़र आये कभी यूँ ही कहीं ख़्वाबों का नामाबर
नही दो ध्यान ये बेकार की माज़ीपरस्ती है
कभी मिल जाए फुर्सत दो कदम पीछे पलटने की
तो रखो याद यहाँ मौत भी फुर्सत से सस्ती है
नही दो ध्यान ये बेकार की माज़ीपरस्ती है
कभी मिल जाए फुर्सत दो कदम पीछे पलटने की
तो रखो याद यहाँ मौत भी फुर्सत से सस्ती है
Friday, March 13, 2009
नदी पेड़ पहाड़ पत्थर - 71, 72, 73, 74
कभी सोते में जागे तो कभी जगते में सो लिए
इस ख्वाबीदा ज़िन्दगी की किस्मत में अब ख्वाब नही
पलकों से फूटता ये नूर का दरिया भी है धोखा
उफक पर डूब जायेंगे मगर हम आफताब नही
For those who are confused, the title is my favourite sher of all time. And just in case, Sudhanshu drops by with a "jitni urdu aati thi ek baar mein....", here's the disclaimer too.
Disclaimer
मौसिकी का जूनून तो था ही, अब शायरी में भी दखल रखते हैं
महफिल में कहीं रुसवा न होना पड़े, बगल में हमेशा "Best of Ghalib" की नक़ल रखते हैं
इस ख्वाबीदा ज़िन्दगी की किस्मत में अब ख्वाब नही
पलकों से फूटता ये नूर का दरिया भी है धोखा
उफक पर डूब जायेंगे मगर हम आफताब नही
For those who are confused, the title is my favourite sher of all time. And just in case, Sudhanshu drops by with a "jitni urdu aati thi ek baar mein....", here's the disclaimer too.
Disclaimer
मौसिकी का जूनून तो था ही, अब शायरी में भी दखल रखते हैं
महफिल में कहीं रुसवा न होना पड़े, बगल में हमेशा "Best of Ghalib" की नक़ल रखते हैं
Wednesday, February 25, 2009
Instrumental a-capella
Desolate in its happiness
Yet pervades the world at hand
Perked up in a lemon dress
Lonesome trail through crowded lands
Lonesome trail through crowded lands
Into the murky labyrinthine
Surrounded by some absent friends
The elements of a grand design
The elements of a grand design
That is too grand to be revealed
From up above the heavens nine
Down to the ninth orange peel
Down to the ninth orange peel
Where beats the demon's heart in sync
It rides around on high pink heels
And floats on zeppelins bound to sink
And floats on zeppelins bound to sink
It gathers moss in a vulgar dance
But who can tell what insects drink
When they stop by by happenstance
When they stop by by happenstance
To see it bounded up in chains
Salvation has an even chance
But it can't help falling in pain
Yet pervades the world at hand
Perked up in a lemon dress
Lonesome trail through crowded lands
Lonesome trail through crowded lands
Into the murky labyrinthine
Surrounded by some absent friends
The elements of a grand design
The elements of a grand design
That is too grand to be revealed
From up above the heavens nine
Down to the ninth orange peel
Down to the ninth orange peel
Where beats the demon's heart in sync
It rides around on high pink heels
And floats on zeppelins bound to sink
And floats on zeppelins bound to sink
It gathers moss in a vulgar dance
But who can tell what insects drink
When they stop by by happenstance
When they stop by by happenstance
To see it bounded up in chains
Salvation has an even chance
But it can't help falling in pain
Thursday, February 05, 2009
एक उबासी
Thanks for the title Badi ma
भैया तुम निकले गुरुघंटाल
फर्जी है तुम्हारा मायाजाल
क्या लाये क्या ले जाओगे:
ये जुमला कब तक चलाओगे?
भगवान भरोसे बैठे हो
और बिना बात के ऐंठे हो
ये नश्वर और वो क्षणभंगुर
ज्ञानी हो या गीता प्रेस गोरखपुर?
"तू एक दिन सब कुछ खोएगा
मेरे चरणों में रोयेगा
भक्ति-पथ ठुकराने वाले
तेरे बुरे दिन हैं आने वाले"
प्रायः गहन चिंतन के रोगी
"हे बच्चा सुन, है सच्चा ध्यान-
होते हैं सन्यासी योगी
पर असमंजस में पड़ जाते
मुझ जैसे विलासिता भोगी
अकस्मात् जब बीच बात में
जिह्वा पे ताले पड़ जाते
ऐसे ही टकटकी लगा कर
शून्य दिशा नैन गड़ जाते
ऐसी मुद्रा मात्र देख कर
पापी के सब व्यसन छूटते
ध्यान लगा कर, फुटेज खा कर
मुख से तब यह वचन फूटते
"हे बंधू यह जीवन क्या है?
ब्रह्मज्ञान पाने का अवसर
क्षणिक सुखों में रखा क्या है
नहीं हैं टिकते एक क्षण-भर"
बिना भूमिका जब यह सुनता
किंकर्तव्यविमूढ़ सा बनता
मन में रहता चंचल चितवन
पर कह पाता बस "सत्यवचन"
यहाँ नहीं रुकते सन्यासी
"सुन हे मूर्ख भोग विलासी,
आत्मा है ज्ञान की प्यासी"
मेरा उत्तर - एक उबासी
मेरी इस उदासीनता को
बाबा बचपना समझते हैं
और अपनी कर्कश वाणी को
अमृत से सना समझते हैं
बस इक जम्हाई के बदले
झेलेंगे ज्ञान गुरु से सब
और मुंह को हाथ से ढकने का
रखेंगे ध्यान शुरू से अब
"तेरा भाग्य क्या तेरे हाथ है,
या है कोई दैवीय योजना?
ईंट और गारे के जंगल में,
नहीं सुगम इंसान खोजना"
मैं डरा डरा सा बैठा हूँ
बस भाग निकलने की सुध में
ये भरे भरे से बैठे हैं
हैं भाग्य बदलने के मूड में
ईंट और गारे का जंगल, वाह
क्या बात कही है मान गए
पर इस अंधे से ये पूछो,
क्या बना इसे भगवान गए?
धरम ही सच्चे सुख का द्वार
है आत्मबोध निर्वाण का पथ,
अद्वैत की है महिमा अपार"
हाँ हाँ अद्वैत है सच्चा सुख
सांसारिक मोह देता बस दुःख
चलो हम भी लगायें ध्यान, मगर
पहले इतना बूझो विप्रवर
है कौन जो ध्यान लगाता है?
और निर्वाण कौन पाता है?
माँ माया, बाप भी है माया
फिर तू जग में कैसे आया?
"तू निरा मूर्ख अज्ञानी है
जीवन तो बहता पानी है
नहीं कोई कहीं से है आया
जो पाया यहीं पर है पाया"
भैया तुम निकले गुरुघंटाल
फर्जी है तुम्हारा मायाजाल
क्या लाये क्या ले जाओगे:
ये जुमला कब तक चलाओगे?
भगवान भरोसे बैठे हो
और बिना बात के ऐंठे हो
ये नश्वर और वो क्षणभंगुर
ज्ञानी हो या गीता प्रेस गोरखपुर?
"तू एक दिन सब कुछ खोएगा
मेरे चरणों में रोयेगा
भक्ति-पथ ठुकराने वाले
तेरे बुरे दिन हैं आने वाले"
सच कहते हो विप्रवर प्यारे
तुम्ही हो तारणहार हमारे
छूटेगी सब भोगासक्ति
पर न मिलेगी फिर भी भक्ति
क्षमा करो हे सर्वज्ञानी
तुम्हरा डसा न मांगे पानी
रहो घोर संलग्न मनन में
मुझे न डालो इस उलझन मेंThe Oyster is my World
Happily buried under the sands of time
In a world where sloth is hardly a crime
I see a stupid contraption descend
It flaps and traps my hapless friend
In brilliant blues and glistening greens
These primitive patchy philistines
Amateur seekers of undeserved riches
Deserving of German submarines
I dig deeper to escape attention
But I wasn't made for slick deception
It grabs me too, it breaks my house
And Adam's ale can aught but douse
The embers of this holocaust
And of a world forever lost
Bury my pride but wear me proud
I'm priceless at a heavy cost
In a world where sloth is hardly a crime
I see a stupid contraption descend
It flaps and traps my hapless friend
In brilliant blues and glistening greens
These primitive patchy philistines
Amateur seekers of undeserved riches
Deserving of German submarines
I dig deeper to escape attention
But I wasn't made for slick deception
It grabs me too, it breaks my house
And Adam's ale can aught but douse
The embers of this holocaust
And of a world forever lost
Bury my pride but wear me proud
I'm priceless at a heavy cost
Tuesday, February 03, 2009
Meridies Primus (Longus Linus)
I begin
From this point, my path disjoint
From this point, my path disjoint
Lifeless longitudes at my lonely sides
Ice Capades and frozen tides
Block my sight
The endless night gives way
To the endless day
The hammer of the Gods will drive
My ship, till I arrive
Through the epeiric locker of Davey Jones
To the Kingdom of scones
Where they hoist the colours high
But I must move on, the time is nigh
Onward, to where there's no respect
For a quondam relic, but I suspect
It's their own ghosts they fight
Still bask in the corporal's incorporeal light
Tally-ho, towards tortillas then
Spilling some salsa on Sierra Nevada
Aboard an avid hitch-hiker's armada
A hop over the waters of middle earth
A hop over the waters of middle earth
A multitude of mores marking its girth
I reach the land of a thousand suns
Where the universe is rolled into that eternal question
"What are the roots that clutch, what branches grow,
out of this stony rubbish?"
I don't see fear in a handful of dust
But if I must
This land is the nerve centre of misgivings
So I move on to greener pastures
And the battlegrounds of fallen masters
Amid ashes of an ancient Armageddon
And the battlegrounds of fallen masters
Amid ashes of an ancient Armageddon
Ashanti still rules in abandon
I jump headlong in the briniest blue
That parts the turquoise globe in two
It's parted too
By a crack, where I slip through
When I emerge in blinding white
My friends long gone appear in sight
From endless days to endless nights
From endless days to endless nights
And the dance of the southern sprites
I've been here before
Friday, January 30, 2009
Hallowed be Thy Game
It's hard to ignore a piece of plastic dancing in the wind
Even when Thy Omnipotent foot is blessing my unworthy behind
Like to play games, do You, sadistic illusionist
A false dose of psychedelia for every perverse li'l twist
When the skies are brimming with candy rain, we're watched by benevolent eyes
But macabre mystery lurks in Your ways, screw-ups are blessings in disguise
Well, I thought I would say to You "Your time is gonna come"
But then they say that isn't how works the divine system
You live "outside" of space-time eh? You woeful old fart
Some may find that humbling, but it truly soothes my heart
How You rot in eternity, while mortals happily grind Your gears
Omnipresence is overrated, 'cos Your time is always here
Oh but You already know that, there's nothing new for you to find
Omniscience is a joke, You must be bored out of Your divine mind
Something that makes me curious, is the future carved in lead?
If You already know it, can You do Ctrl+Z?
If You live outside of time, do You have a future at all?
Or are You stuck in an Indian summer that eats up the spring and fall?
It pleases me no end to think of Your monotonous season
What good is Omnipotence if everything happens for a reason?
Almighty Lord of all creation, grant yourself this favor
Don't let this blasphemy go unpunished, if only to prove Pascal's wager
Even when Thy Omnipotent foot is blessing my unworthy behind
Like to play games, do You, sadistic illusionist
A false dose of psychedelia for every perverse li'l twist
When the skies are brimming with candy rain, we're watched by benevolent eyes
But macabre mystery lurks in Your ways, screw-ups are blessings in disguise
Well, I thought I would say to You "Your time is gonna come"
But then they say that isn't how works the divine system
You live "outside" of space-time eh? You woeful old fart
Some may find that humbling, but it truly soothes my heart
How You rot in eternity, while mortals happily grind Your gears
Omnipresence is overrated, 'cos Your time is always here
Oh but You already know that, there's nothing new for you to find
Omniscience is a joke, You must be bored out of Your divine mind
Something that makes me curious, is the future carved in lead?
If You already know it, can You do Ctrl+Z?
If You live outside of time, do You have a future at all?
Or are You stuck in an Indian summer that eats up the spring and fall?
It pleases me no end to think of Your monotonous season
What good is Omnipotence if everything happens for a reason?
Almighty Lord of all creation, grant yourself this favor
Don't let this blasphemy go unpunished, if only to prove Pascal's wager
Saturday, December 06, 2008
The avatars of Batman
Time may change me...
 |
| Christian Bale reinvented the celluloid version in Christopher Nolan's Batman Begins (2005) |
A critical difference between comic book protagonists, especially superheroes, and their counterparts in literature is that the former are practically immortal. The obvious reason for this is that books are seldom serialized, while most comic books are. Therefore, it is understandable for the personalities of comic book heroes to evolve over time, and sometimes end up as the polar opposite of what they started out as. This typically happens in cases where more than one writers contribute to the comic, and more often than not one or more of them start drifting towards mediocrity. The character is then revamped to renew the waning interest of readers and/or add a new dimension to the character's makeup.
Characters like Tintin and Asterix, and their entire supporting cast, were very tightly knit by their creators and retained their essential qualities all through their "careers". Their enduring popularity is largely due to the extremely professional and well-developed "script" of the comics. While Tintin relied on the continuous success of a formula that struck a chord with the readers, Asterix surprised its audience by incorporating sci-fi/fantasy elements into the stories. But none of these witnessed a significant change in the portrayal of the leading protagonists. On the other hand, collaborative efforts such as Archie Comics tend to develop a loose outline of a character, and keep revising and revisiting it as and when the storyline demands. In case of superhero comics, it is relatively easier to add a novel hue to the character's personality. In many cases, it is as simple as adding a new superpower to his repertoire. Other than this, general revamp tactics include new origin stories, new love interests, and in cases as extreme as DC's Crisis on Infinite Earths, new universes.
The curious case of The Bat
Batman, and also his arch-nemesis Joker, are somewhat different in this regard. Batman's origin story has remained almost unchanged throughout his 80-year history. He has no superpowers, no constant love interest (Catwoman is a recurring one, but clearly not in the same vein as Lois Lane to Superman or Mary-Jane Watson to Spiderman). It would appear that his character would be tricky to revamp. Maybe it is too. Nevertheless, Batman has possibly witnessed more character revisions than most other popular superheroes. Superman has always been the big blue boy scout. The fact that he is always meant to do the "right thing" makes his character rather monochromatic. Spiderman has always been a bumbling, troubled and confused crime-fighter. His choice to become a superhero wasn't entirely a conscious one, it resulted from an accident which altered him physiologically. Although he could have chosen not to fight crime, it's hard to conceive that he would've lived a normal life.
As for Batman, one can argue that the murder of his parents was an accident that altered him psychologically, in a way similar to, though not the same as Spiderman. Be that as it may, a psychological change always leaves a lot more wiggle-room for reshaping the character. Spiderman's accident gave him superpowers, Batman's gave him nightmares.
As for Batman, one can argue that the murder of his parents was an accident that altered him psychologically, in a way similar to, though not the same as Spiderman. Be that as it may, a psychological change always leaves a lot more wiggle-room for reshaping the character. Spiderman's accident gave him superpowers, Batman's gave him nightmares.
The early era
But we're getting ahead of ourselves. To begin with, Batman was created as a typical private detective of the 1930s, with an intense hatred for criminals. He was born in the era of pulp, and the influence was clearly visible. In many ways, he was quite similar to Sandman (the original pulp detective of the 1940s, not the protagonist of the Neil Gaiman series or the Spiderman villain). He was bitter towards a world that took his parents from him at an early age, and this served to fuel his brooding persona. It is interesting to contrast the seedy surroundings of Gotham in which he operates with the dazzling skyline of Superman's home turf Metropolis. |
| Batman's first appearance in "Detective Comics" (May 1939) |
However, the problem with a character that reflects an era is that it needs to change when the era changes. And so, in the years following World War II, DC Comics "adopted a postwar editorial direction that increasingly de-emphasized social commentary in favor of lighthearted juvenile fantasy." Once his environment was changed to a more cheerful one, there was no way Batman could continue with his dark and menacing image. Instead, he too became a boy scout but with a costume that now seemed even funnier than Superman's. He got himself a teenage boy as a sidekick, and it just got worse from there on. Interest in the character waned, because the readers already had a superhero who was much better at being a goody-two-shoes. As if this wasn't enough, psychologist Frederic Wertham criticized Batman comics for their supposed homosexual overtones and argued that Batman and Robin were portrayed as lovers. By the latter half of the 1950s, female characters such as Batwoman and Batgirl were also introduced to make the comics more warm and sunny. Batman also became a part of the Justice League of America around this time (1960 to be exact), which further reinstated his image as a "regular" superhero.
The rapidly declining popularity of Batman forced DC to introduce the "New Look" Batman in 1964. The detective-oriented stories returned, and the campy sidekicks were retired or killed off. At this point, one might have thought that Batman was returning closer to his original portrayal as a superhero with dark shades. But Adam West had other ideas.
The darkly "sunny" times
The Batman television series, which debuted in 1966, is now remembered as the worst thing to ever have happened to the franchise. But it was immensely popular in its time, and this drastically impacted the image of the character in comic books too. Adam West's Batman was an unfit comic vigilante in an embarrassingly tight costume, who slid down a pole a la firemen to reach the Batcave, and the screen flashed "KAPOW" when he punched criminals. |
| The stuff of Batman fans' nightmares, Adam West as Batman in the 1966 TV series |
He was a sad sad parody of his dark brooding former self. Robin as his sidekick was even more of a joke, figuratively as well as literally, and most of his sentences started with "Holy" and ended with "Batman". Although initially successful, as most parodies are, the show as well the comics eventually lost its audience. As the comic editor Julius Schwartz himself said, "When the television show was a success, I was asked to be campy, and of course when the show faded, so did the comic books."
By the late 1960s, a conscious effort to distance the character from this comic image had started through the collaboration of writer Dennis O'Neil and artist Neal Adams. Batman once again found himself in grim surroundings, investigating dark, dirty cases, and sick criminal minds. Some of the stories had a gothic feel to them and nearly bordered on horror, as the readers were made to realize once again that the bat costume is not supposed to be funny. However, the popularity of the franchise continued to drop throughout the 1970s and early 1980s, until some lifelong fans and graphic novel veterans decided to do some damage repair.
The resurgence of the anti-hero
 |
| Death of the Joker in The Dark Knight Returns (1986) |
 |
| The epic face-off that was the highlight of The Dark Knight Falls |
Alan Moore continued this dark trend with 1988's 48-page one-shot Batman: The Killing Joke, in which the Joker, attempting to drive Commissioner Gordon insane, cripples Gordon's daughter Barbara (Batgirl), and then kidnaps and tortures the commissioner, physically and psychologically. Moore continued the theme of Batman being the reason for Joker's existence and vice-versa. In fact, the last few panels, with the two arch enemies laughing like madmen over a silly joke (the Killing Joke) exemplifies just how beautifully twisted this superhero really is.
Following this, the character has essentially stuck to its image, despite minor variations. The 1988 release A Death in the Family and 1993's Knightfall are good examples. Although the artwork was not as unconventional as DKR, the themes remained morbid. After sustained popularity throughout the 1990s, Jeph Loeb's 2003 Batman: Hush series marked the return of Batman at the top.
Movies
 |
| Jack Nicholson (Batman, 1989) and Heath Ledger (The Dark Knight, 2008) as Joker, the iconic Batman villain |
Then, following a 8-year hiatus, Christopher Nolan re-launched the character the way it was meant to be.
The rest, as they don't say, is the present.
Images: Photo Bucket, Studio Daily,Wikipedia, DC Wikia
Thursday, September 11, 2008
Us and Them
(That this post has been published on the anniversary of 9/11 doesn't really have anything to do with anything)
"Take all your overgrown infants away somewhere,
and build them a home
a little place of their own
The Fletcher Memorial Home for incurable tyrants and kings"
- The Fletcher Memorial Home by Pink Floyd (don't say "not again!" yet, the post is not about them, or the interpretation of their song lyrics)
The overgrown infants referred so affectionately to by Roger Waters in this lesser known song from one of the band's least known albums, are of course Messrs. Hitler, Mussolini, Stalin, Brezhnev, Khrushchev, Nixon, Reagan, Thatcher, and their ilk. I really like the incurable tyrants expression, which I believe fits the bill quite perfectly for someone like Stalin, who milked the seemingly idealistic theory of communism in the worst way imaginable. Nixon, despite his staunch anti-communist views couldn't prevent himself from being cast in the same mould as his arch-enemies. Unlike Stalin, he didn't slaughter his opponents for the sake of one-upmanship. He chose to do it in his own unromantic and weasly way - by planting bugs in their workplace. If an attempt is made to imagine a common forum where all the legendary figures mentioned above can exchange high-fives (or maybe throw sheep at each other), it'd have to be a community with a cool title like "Lust for power" or "My chair and why I can't live without it".
The song was written during the early 80s, at the time Maggie decided that the choice between avoiding a costly, needless war and retaining power ain't no choice at all. Even though hippie counter-culture had died out long ago, the musicians of yore were not able to let go of their protesting ways. To their credit, the politicians never stopped giving them reasons. Cut to the early 21st century, and to pseudo-hippies sitting around in Indian engineering colleges. Add a little 9/11-and-its-aftermath theme to the mix, and you have on your hands a spicy discussion between sworn capitalism fans and even more sworn idealists-who-don't-know-yet-that-they-are-actually-talking-like-communists. Needless to say, the geopolitical frenzy of profit-driven wars hasn't changed the least bit with the inevitable dissolution of the Soviet Union. The US doesn't have anybody left to fight with, so they're just doing it alone in exotic middle-eastern locations. That these locations happen to have huge deposits of some hydrocarbons that fuel every non-living thing that moves, is probably just Jo-incidence with a C. Protests are no longer cool like the good old days, when agitation was symbolized by Mary Jane and an enduring image of Bob Marley. But hey, people are still pissed off at the overgrown infant-like ways of Bush, Cheney, Medvedev & Co.
It is also very interesting (for me, at least) that a large number of authoritarian rulers have communist inclinations. This is because I believe that communism at its heart is a philosophy inspired by the most idealistic notions of an equal and just world. "From each according to his ability, to each according to his need" appears a very noble concept, at least prima facie. However, I guess what I've learned is that the world was never supposed to be an ideal place, and it can't be forced to be that way. Which is why communism doesn't work in practice, and precisely why religion does. It is impossible to make humans work against their will, unless you scare them with the power of an unknown all-powerful force. Communism discounts God, and hence appears more cruel when implemented. Because cruelty is only permissible in the name of the father, the son, and the holy ghost.
My tone may have revealed my inclinations. Yes, I have invariably been on the communist-leaning side of the debate. Probably it's because of my obsession with classic rock, or maybe it's the other way round. Whatever, I used to be throughly sold out to the belief that people like Dubya need to like 'grow up dude' and stop 'fucking everybody's shit up'! Shrewd and cunning were words I never used without negative connotations. Politics as a motive in itself was something I never understood. Then, on the insistence of the biggest proponent of capitalism I've ever come across in real life, aka dassa, I watched the documentary Commanding Heights - aka "A shameless ode to Capitalism", aka "Capitalism ka munh mein kyun nahi le lete ho?"
The self-proclaimed "unbiased" look at the trends in world markets during the 20th century is actually quite intriguing, despite its obvious bias. It starts off pretending to be an innocent story of the transition of world markets from the free trading phase to Keynesian regulated economies following WWII, and back to free markets sometime during the early 80s. It ends up a we-told-you-we-were-right kind of chest-thumping proclamation by the capitalists. My own reaction to the movie has been kind of like the world markets. At first, I was impressed immensely, thanks in no small part to the sheer art of movie-making. It is extremely well-paced for a documentary, does not support any single viewpoint in any overt way, and is peppered with sufficient masala for an economics illiterate and political imbecile like me to not be completely lost. Then, after a whole lot of wiki-ing and googling, I became thoroughly convinced that it's a desperate capitalist ploy, presumably to support US's aggressive expansionist behavior. Now that I think about it, my view is more or less ambivalent. Have I grown up?
It was this question that actually drove me to write this post. Who exactly is a grown up? What does it mean to grow up? One particuarly interesting portion of Commanding Heights is the UK episode. In the early 80s, Thatcher was apparently trying her best to break the shackles and free the UK economy from unnecessary regulatory burdens and government control. However, the short-term effect of any such action is a state of chaos, speaking very broadly. In very simple terms, when price control is lifted, the immediate impact will be a rise in prices, sometimes a drastic one. However, the free market theory, propounded by Von-Hayek, argues that free markets tend to be the most stable in the long term. The bottom line is that Thatcher was nearing the end of her term at the time she proposed economic reforms, and would not have been in power to see those through. She needed to retain power to implement her policies successfully. The Falklands War gave her a chance to do that. Inasmuch as can be determined with absolute certainty, the war was not about the British economy in any real way. However, the improbable win brought with it a euphoria drenched in nationalism and gave Thatcher the much-needed breathing space, and allowed her to usher in globalization and a free economy.
Now, Mr. Waters wrote an entire album devoted to the Falklands War, the first track of which begins with the heart-rending plea
"Should we shout? Should we scream?
What happened to the post-war dream?
Oh Maggie, Maggie what have we done?"
Of course, this wasn't the first time Waters had been disgusted by a needless war, nor was it the last. The point here is, the accusation of immaturity that each group directs towards the other.
I really, really like the lyrics of A Fletcher Memorial Home. Dictators , autocrats, and in general rulers with an iron fist are very difficult people to understand. While some like Hitler and Stalin generate almost unanimous hatred for their murderous ways, others like Thatcher have a much more divided opinion about them. Almost invariably, they say that they are driven by some alleged greater good whch requires a few sacrifices - "the whole you can't make an omelette without breaking a few eggs" routine. The idealists find this particular political philosophy unimaginably inhuman. I can say because I used to be one. My feeling was that it is not okay for even one person to suffer needlessly for any purported greater good that may well be a political tactic designed to satisfy one person's lust for power. I was all
"Us and them, and after all we're only ordianry men.
Me and you, God only knows it's not what we would choose to do."
The rebuke I often was at the receiving end of went something like this.
"It's not an ideal world."
"What you're saying seems right in theory, but it's impossible to implement in practice."
"This is your inexperience talking. You haven't seen the real world."
"You're just a starry-eyed 20-something with romantic ideas of an ideal world. Get real."
"Grow up!"
It used to bug me no end. Even now, I am fairly certain that no matter what greater interest lies at their hearts, iron-fisted rulers are a selfish breed. There's a childishness about their way of not wanting to let go of their power - the fairly simplistic analogy of a child not wanting to give up his/her toy is pretty apparent here. Their obsession is disturbingly amusing to me, and I'm pretty convinced that if this obsession is in fact real, then it is a sign of genuine mental illness - hence back to the overgrown infant theme.They are incapable of growing up!
On the other hand, let's take a look at Roger Waters himself. His father died in action during the WWII. Following this, every incident in his life became an instrument of trauma, including his mother, his teachers, his wife (All this is conjecture by the way. Very, very likely, but not necessarily true). After he took over the band, he wrote numerous songs about war, and the one major war Britain fought during his lifetime (the Falklands War) troubled him enough to write an entire album. In a way, he was never able to rid himself of his childhood demons, and got angry or scared whenever those were woken up in much the same way as an overgrown infant would.
Ironically, his continuous whining against the childish behaviour of politicians itself seemed to gather a childish hue as time passed.
But overall, my stance now is of a passive observer. There are very few things that truly appall me now. Whether it be a needless war or an needless agitation, there is a sense of wonder in my reaction as I try to figure out the motivation of the people driving those. Politics as an art is something that I still don't approve of, but I'm most definitely intrigued by it. Conspiracy theorists and activists have started to appear as self-obsessed as the people they're up in arms against. I watch the machinations of politics and protests with equal abandon. Well, maybe not really equal. I still do have idealistic traits - which leads me to wonder who really is grown up? Us or them?
"Take all your overgrown infants away somewhere,
and build them a home
a little place of their own
The Fletcher Memorial Home for incurable tyrants and kings"
- The Fletcher Memorial Home by Pink Floyd (don't say "not again!" yet, the post is not about them, or the interpretation of their song lyrics)
The overgrown infants referred so affectionately to by Roger Waters in this lesser known song from one of the band's least known albums, are of course Messrs. Hitler, Mussolini, Stalin, Brezhnev, Khrushchev, Nixon, Reagan, Thatcher, and their ilk. I really like the incurable tyrants expression, which I believe fits the bill quite perfectly for someone like Stalin, who milked the seemingly idealistic theory of communism in the worst way imaginable. Nixon, despite his staunch anti-communist views couldn't prevent himself from being cast in the same mould as his arch-enemies. Unlike Stalin, he didn't slaughter his opponents for the sake of one-upmanship. He chose to do it in his own unromantic and weasly way - by planting bugs in their workplace. If an attempt is made to imagine a common forum where all the legendary figures mentioned above can exchange high-fives (or maybe throw sheep at each other), it'd have to be a community with a cool title like "Lust for power" or "My chair and why I can't live without it".
The song was written during the early 80s, at the time Maggie decided that the choice between avoiding a costly, needless war and retaining power ain't no choice at all. Even though hippie counter-culture had died out long ago, the musicians of yore were not able to let go of their protesting ways. To their credit, the politicians never stopped giving them reasons. Cut to the early 21st century, and to pseudo-hippies sitting around in Indian engineering colleges. Add a little 9/11-and-its-aftermath theme to the mix, and you have on your hands a spicy discussion between sworn capitalism fans and even more sworn idealists-who-don't-know-yet-that-they-are-actually-talking-like-communists. Needless to say, the geopolitical frenzy of profit-driven wars hasn't changed the least bit with the inevitable dissolution of the Soviet Union. The US doesn't have anybody left to fight with, so they're just doing it alone in exotic middle-eastern locations. That these locations happen to have huge deposits of some hydrocarbons that fuel every non-living thing that moves, is probably just Jo-incidence with a C. Protests are no longer cool like the good old days, when agitation was symbolized by Mary Jane and an enduring image of Bob Marley. But hey, people are still pissed off at the overgrown infant-like ways of Bush, Cheney, Medvedev & Co.
It is also very interesting (for me, at least) that a large number of authoritarian rulers have communist inclinations. This is because I believe that communism at its heart is a philosophy inspired by the most idealistic notions of an equal and just world. "From each according to his ability, to each according to his need" appears a very noble concept, at least prima facie. However, I guess what I've learned is that the world was never supposed to be an ideal place, and it can't be forced to be that way. Which is why communism doesn't work in practice, and precisely why religion does. It is impossible to make humans work against their will, unless you scare them with the power of an unknown all-powerful force. Communism discounts God, and hence appears more cruel when implemented. Because cruelty is only permissible in the name of the father, the son, and the holy ghost.
My tone may have revealed my inclinations. Yes, I have invariably been on the communist-leaning side of the debate. Probably it's because of my obsession with classic rock, or maybe it's the other way round. Whatever, I used to be throughly sold out to the belief that people like Dubya need to like 'grow up dude' and stop 'fucking everybody's shit up'! Shrewd and cunning were words I never used without negative connotations. Politics as a motive in itself was something I never understood. Then, on the insistence of the biggest proponent of capitalism I've ever come across in real life, aka dassa, I watched the documentary Commanding Heights - aka "A shameless ode to Capitalism", aka "Capitalism ka munh mein kyun nahi le lete ho?"
The self-proclaimed "unbiased" look at the trends in world markets during the 20th century is actually quite intriguing, despite its obvious bias. It starts off pretending to be an innocent story of the transition of world markets from the free trading phase to Keynesian regulated economies following WWII, and back to free markets sometime during the early 80s. It ends up a we-told-you-we-were-right kind of chest-thumping proclamation by the capitalists. My own reaction to the movie has been kind of like the world markets. At first, I was impressed immensely, thanks in no small part to the sheer art of movie-making. It is extremely well-paced for a documentary, does not support any single viewpoint in any overt way, and is peppered with sufficient masala for an economics illiterate and political imbecile like me to not be completely lost. Then, after a whole lot of wiki-ing and googling, I became thoroughly convinced that it's a desperate capitalist ploy, presumably to support US's aggressive expansionist behavior. Now that I think about it, my view is more or less ambivalent. Have I grown up?
It was this question that actually drove me to write this post. Who exactly is a grown up? What does it mean to grow up? One particuarly interesting portion of Commanding Heights is the UK episode. In the early 80s, Thatcher was apparently trying her best to break the shackles and free the UK economy from unnecessary regulatory burdens and government control. However, the short-term effect of any such action is a state of chaos, speaking very broadly. In very simple terms, when price control is lifted, the immediate impact will be a rise in prices, sometimes a drastic one. However, the free market theory, propounded by Von-Hayek, argues that free markets tend to be the most stable in the long term. The bottom line is that Thatcher was nearing the end of her term at the time she proposed economic reforms, and would not have been in power to see those through. She needed to retain power to implement her policies successfully. The Falklands War gave her a chance to do that. Inasmuch as can be determined with absolute certainty, the war was not about the British economy in any real way. However, the improbable win brought with it a euphoria drenched in nationalism and gave Thatcher the much-needed breathing space, and allowed her to usher in globalization and a free economy.
Now, Mr. Waters wrote an entire album devoted to the Falklands War, the first track of which begins with the heart-rending plea
"Should we shout? Should we scream?
What happened to the post-war dream?
Oh Maggie, Maggie what have we done?"
Of course, this wasn't the first time Waters had been disgusted by a needless war, nor was it the last. The point here is, the accusation of immaturity that each group directs towards the other.
I really, really like the lyrics of A Fletcher Memorial Home. Dictators , autocrats, and in general rulers with an iron fist are very difficult people to understand. While some like Hitler and Stalin generate almost unanimous hatred for their murderous ways, others like Thatcher have a much more divided opinion about them. Almost invariably, they say that they are driven by some alleged greater good whch requires a few sacrifices - "the whole you can't make an omelette without breaking a few eggs" routine. The idealists find this particular political philosophy unimaginably inhuman. I can say because I used to be one. My feeling was that it is not okay for even one person to suffer needlessly for any purported greater good that may well be a political tactic designed to satisfy one person's lust for power. I was all
"Us and them, and after all we're only ordianry men.
Me and you, God only knows it's not what we would choose to do."
The rebuke I often was at the receiving end of went something like this.
"It's not an ideal world."
"What you're saying seems right in theory, but it's impossible to implement in practice."
"This is your inexperience talking. You haven't seen the real world."
"You're just a starry-eyed 20-something with romantic ideas of an ideal world. Get real."
"Grow up!"
It used to bug me no end. Even now, I am fairly certain that no matter what greater interest lies at their hearts, iron-fisted rulers are a selfish breed. There's a childishness about their way of not wanting to let go of their power - the fairly simplistic analogy of a child not wanting to give up his/her toy is pretty apparent here. Their obsession is disturbingly amusing to me, and I'm pretty convinced that if this obsession is in fact real, then it is a sign of genuine mental illness - hence back to the overgrown infant theme.They are incapable of growing up!
On the other hand, let's take a look at Roger Waters himself. His father died in action during the WWII. Following this, every incident in his life became an instrument of trauma, including his mother, his teachers, his wife (All this is conjecture by the way. Very, very likely, but not necessarily true). After he took over the band, he wrote numerous songs about war, and the one major war Britain fought during his lifetime (the Falklands War) troubled him enough to write an entire album. In a way, he was never able to rid himself of his childhood demons, and got angry or scared whenever those were woken up in much the same way as an overgrown infant would.
Ironically, his continuous whining against the childish behaviour of politicians itself seemed to gather a childish hue as time passed.
But overall, my stance now is of a passive observer. There are very few things that truly appall me now. Whether it be a needless war or an needless agitation, there is a sense of wonder in my reaction as I try to figure out the motivation of the people driving those. Politics as an art is something that I still don't approve of, but I'm most definitely intrigued by it. Conspiracy theorists and activists have started to appear as self-obsessed as the people they're up in arms against. I watch the machinations of politics and protests with equal abandon. Well, maybe not really equal. I still do have idealistic traits - which leads me to wonder who really is grown up? Us or them?
Sunday, June 29, 2008
'69
There was a time-bending game that once played me
And I learned that amusement ain't the same as ecstasy
When I think about it now, I can barely define
The fundamentals of '69
There's a thin,white veil that protects my being
A whiff of joy is a wonderful thing
I could captivate every moment in time
Riding on the waves of '69
When you can see your head brought in upon a platter
You're not a prophet, though it may seem like a great matter
A drag in time makes you want another nine
When you get the taste of '69
And I learned that amusement ain't the same as ecstasy
When I think about it now, I can barely define
The fundamentals of '69
There's a thin,white veil that protects my being
A whiff of joy is a wonderful thing
I could captivate every moment in time
Riding on the waves of '69
When you can see your head brought in upon a platter
You're not a prophet, though it may seem like a great matter
A drag in time makes you want another nine
When you get the taste of '69
Saturday, June 14, 2008
Little Boy Blue
Little boy blue, up above so high
Wake up the shepherd, the time is nigh
Check up on life, make us some bread
Lose yourself, get rid of the thread
Where is the cuckoo around your wrist?
"What good is that thing in the mist?
I traverse spacetime slice by slice,
God may not, but I do play dice,
I am what I see on the way
Just wish I could get through this day.
I can't be, I wish they were not,
unhealthy happiness besought."
Little boy blue, you are no fun
"Well, happiness is just a bad pun."
Wake up the shepherd, the time is nigh
Check up on life, make us some bread
Lose yourself, get rid of the thread
Where is the cuckoo around your wrist?
"What good is that thing in the mist?
I traverse spacetime slice by slice,
God may not, but I do play dice,
I am what I see on the way
Just wish I could get through this day.
I can't be, I wish they were not,
unhealthy happiness besought."
Little boy blue, you are no fun
"Well, happiness is just a bad pun."
Tuesday, April 29, 2008
Friday, April 25, 2008
लायी हयात आए क़ज़ा ले चली चले
ना अपनी खुशी आए ना अपनी खुशी चले
बेहतर तो है यही कि ना दुनिया से दिल लगे
पर क्या करें जो काम ना बे-दिल्लगी चले
हो उम्र-ए-खिज्र भी तो कहेंगे बा-वक़्त-ए-मर्ग
हम क्या रहे यहाँ अभी आए अभी चले
दुनिया ने किसका राह-ए-फ़ना में दिया है साथ
तुम भी चले चलो यूंही जब तक चली चले
नाज़ान ना हो खिरद पे जो होना है वो ही हो
दानिश तेरी ना कुछ मेरी दानिशवरी चले
कम होंगे इस बिसात पे हम जैसे बद-किमार
जो चाल हम चले वो निहायत बुरी चले
जाते हवा-ऐ-शौक़ में हैं इस चमन से 'ज़ौक'
अपनी बला से बाद-ए-सबा अब कहीं चले
Meaning:
Life brought me so I arrived, and I will go when death takes me
Neither my arrival nor my departure was of my own will
It's better to not get charmed by the world
But what can be done if there's no other way
Even if I get an eternal life,
on my deathbed I will rue the fact that I didn't get enough time to live
The world accompanies none on the path to destruction
You too keep moving till life goes on
Be not proud of your intellect, whatever has to happen will happen
Neither your nor my intelligence will work
There'd be few gamblers as bad as me in this game
Each and every move of mine was extremely imprudent
I leave this garden with a pining for a whiff of fresh air
The zephyr that may flow hereafter be damned
ना अपनी खुशी आए ना अपनी खुशी चले
बेहतर तो है यही कि ना दुनिया से दिल लगे
पर क्या करें जो काम ना बे-दिल्लगी चले
हो उम्र-ए-खिज्र भी तो कहेंगे बा-वक़्त-ए-मर्ग
हम क्या रहे यहाँ अभी आए अभी चले
दुनिया ने किसका राह-ए-फ़ना में दिया है साथ
तुम भी चले चलो यूंही जब तक चली चले
नाज़ान ना हो खिरद पे जो होना है वो ही हो
दानिश तेरी ना कुछ मेरी दानिशवरी चले
कम होंगे इस बिसात पे हम जैसे बद-किमार
जो चाल हम चले वो निहायत बुरी चले
जाते हवा-ऐ-शौक़ में हैं इस चमन से 'ज़ौक'
अपनी बला से बाद-ए-सबा अब कहीं चले
Meaning:
Life brought me so I arrived, and I will go when death takes me
Neither my arrival nor my departure was of my own will
It's better to not get charmed by the world
But what can be done if there's no other way
Even if I get an eternal life,
on my deathbed I will rue the fact that I didn't get enough time to live
The world accompanies none on the path to destruction
You too keep moving till life goes on
Be not proud of your intellect, whatever has to happen will happen
Neither your nor my intelligence will work
There'd be few gamblers as bad as me in this game
Each and every move of mine was extremely imprudent
I leave this garden with a pining for a whiff of fresh air
The zephyr that may flow hereafter be damned
Tuesday, April 08, 2008
For madmen only
"...Taken all in all, it had not been exactly a day of rapture. No, it had not even been a day brightened by happiness and joy. Rather, it had been just one of those days which for a long while now had fallen to my lot; the moderately pleasant, the wholly bearable and tolerable, lukewarm days of a discontented middle-aged man; days without special pains, without special cares, without particular worry, without despair; days on which the question whether the time has not come to follow the example of Adalbert Stifter and have a fatal accident while shaving should not be considered without agitation or anxiety, quietly and matter-of-factly."
- Harry Haller in Steppenwolf by Herman Hesse
"It seems to me that of all my books, Steppenwolf is the one that was more often and more violently misunderstood than any other, and frequently it is actually the affirmative and enthusiastic readers, rather than those who rejected the book, who have reacted to it oddly. Partly, but only partly, this may occur so frequently by reason of the fact that this book, written when I was fifty years old and dealing, as it does, with the problems of that age, often fell into the hands of very young readers."
- Author's note to the paperback edition of Steppenwolf
"What really knocks me out is a book that, when you're all done reading it, you wish the author that wrote it was a terrific friend of yours and you could call him up on the phone whenever you felt like it. That doesn't happen much, though."
- Holden Caulfield in The Catcher in the Rye by J.D. Salinger
"7 am on a Tuesday, in August ...
Next week I'll turn 28...I'm still young, it'll be me...
Off the wall I scrape... you...I gotta wait...
Show me Your Irate
To cause this wake, Its my fate.
They.....They...Never going to fuck
with me again... My own clean slate...
Don't fuck with me again...I just want to go straight
through you....
Irate"
- Frogs by Alice in Chains
- Harry Haller in Steppenwolf by Herman Hesse
"It seems to me that of all my books, Steppenwolf is the one that was more often and more violently misunderstood than any other, and frequently it is actually the affirmative and enthusiastic readers, rather than those who rejected the book, who have reacted to it oddly. Partly, but only partly, this may occur so frequently by reason of the fact that this book, written when I was fifty years old and dealing, as it does, with the problems of that age, often fell into the hands of very young readers."
- Author's note to the paperback edition of Steppenwolf
"What really knocks me out is a book that, when you're all done reading it, you wish the author that wrote it was a terrific friend of yours and you could call him up on the phone whenever you felt like it. That doesn't happen much, though."
- Holden Caulfield in The Catcher in the Rye by J.D. Salinger
"7 am on a Tuesday, in August ...
Next week I'll turn 28...I'm still young, it'll be me...
Off the wall I scrape... you...I gotta wait...
Show me Your Irate
To cause this wake, Its my fate.
They.....They...Never going to fuck
with me again... My own clean slate...
Don't fuck with me again...I just want to go straight
through you....
Irate"
- Frogs by Alice in Chains
Monday, April 07, 2008
Value-add (on-demand)
An advertisement I heard today on the radio went something like this:
"Wanna drop witty one-liners and become the life of a party? Subscribe to Vodafone Tashan Pack...." (followed by some specific service details that I don't remember particularly well because at this point my brain cells were about to perform their "goodbye cruel world" routine, lemming-style! Obviously I had to concentrate on pacifiying them. It was a very intimate moment, and I had to summon all my charm to convince them that I still loved them and that everything would be okay. I'm surely going to hell for duping my own brain cells.)
Anyway, so I guess the you-can-buy-happiness brand of consumerism, better understood (by pop-culture nutcases like me) as the 'IKEA nesting instinct', is scaling new heights - actually entering altogether new dimensions - even as I type. The phenomenon is beginning to transcend the boundary between objective and subjective effortlessly, although I'm not sure I want to be around to see the results. You can simply buy being funny now. I'll emphasize that again in all caps just to drive home what is to me a very weird transition, even by the standards of kaliyug!
WIT IS ON SALE NOW!
Jerry Seinfield and Chandler Bing can go to hell.
(A side thought: This completely convinces me that there really is no afterlife, because if there was, the ghosts of Mark Twain, Oscar Wilde, P.G. Wodehouse, Groucho Marx, Joseph Heller, Kurt Vonnegut, Ambrose Bierce, Douglas Adams, et al would have haunted the shit out of the Vodafone guys!)
So apparently, humour is not the bitch of those elitist fuckers anymore who think they're oh-so-ingenious. It's just another on-demand value-add to your personality.
Go to sleep, dear Cerebrum. All's well with the world.
"Wanna drop witty one-liners and become the life of a party? Subscribe to Vodafone Tashan Pack...." (followed by some specific service details that I don't remember particularly well because at this point my brain cells were about to perform their "goodbye cruel world" routine, lemming-style! Obviously I had to concentrate on pacifiying them. It was a very intimate moment, and I had to summon all my charm to convince them that I still loved them and that everything would be okay. I'm surely going to hell for duping my own brain cells.)
Anyway, so I guess the you-can-buy-happiness brand of consumerism, better understood (by pop-culture nutcases like me) as the 'IKEA nesting instinct', is scaling new heights - actually entering altogether new dimensions - even as I type. The phenomenon is beginning to transcend the boundary between objective and subjective effortlessly, although I'm not sure I want to be around to see the results. You can simply buy being funny now. I'll emphasize that again in all caps just to drive home what is to me a very weird transition, even by the standards of kaliyug!
WIT IS ON SALE NOW!
Jerry Seinfield and Chandler Bing can go to hell.
(A side thought: This completely convinces me that there really is no afterlife, because if there was, the ghosts of Mark Twain, Oscar Wilde, P.G. Wodehouse, Groucho Marx, Joseph Heller, Kurt Vonnegut, Ambrose Bierce, Douglas Adams, et al would have haunted the shit out of the Vodafone guys!)
So apparently, humour is not the bitch of those elitist fuckers anymore who think they're oh-so-ingenious. It's just another on-demand value-add to your personality.
Go to sleep, dear Cerebrum. All's well with the world.
Friday, April 04, 2008
In the rain
Do you think I’m not,
What I once used to be?
Can you sing me a song
And alleviate me?
Or maybe, buy me a shell that is thicker than this
Bid me goodbye and I’ll go amiss
Can’t stand to wait for the finish
I’ll do fine sitting in the rain
Can you give me a hand
With all this burden of lies?
Can you pass me the wand
That has me hypnotized?
I will run through the sky, like a tickled up bee
Is that a stupid analogy?
Can't remember last time I felt funny
Since you've been missing in the rain
Or should I try even more?
Try to see through the dirt
There's a castle of yore
We can build back this way, we can make it alright
You'll build the bridge, I can be dynamite
All this trouble to kill the boredom inside
It's easier sipping up the pain
Wednesday, April 02, 2008
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