Dilemna

There was a sense of mechanical purpose about him; the kind of energy a volkswagon running at a 100mph exudes, complete with flashing headlights trying to make up for an empty soul. He looked the 'subject' in the eyes. Not that he was new to this. He had done this many times before - his precision and nerves were the stuff of folklore.

But today was different. He was struck by a sudden feeling of awe at what he saw. A miracle of nature perhaps? This was the first time he was thinking of it this way. Today he didn't see a 'subject'. He saw a living figure, the curvacious body, the smooth fingers, the heaving of the torso as every breath grew stronger. And yes, the eyes.

What was it about those eyes? The fact that they weren't blinking or asking for mercy. Had they accepted their fate? Mocking him that if he went ahead with it, he would have a guilt ridden existence for the rest of his years? Or was it the last bravado of a flame about to go off, almost saying 'There's more where I came from brother'.

Or was it him? Was the blood on his hands getting harder and harder to wipe off? Was it a tussle between conscience and occupation? Or worse still, was a it a lone battle that conscience was waging to kep itself alive? To resurrect itself within a body that had forgotten its very existence?

And then, there was what my friend Jimmy Weed would refer to as a moment of clarity. To another person, his motives may be frivolous and without merit. But he knew what he was worth and believed that redemption would finally be his. And besides, if he didn't dissect that frog, he would fail the term.

Happy!

That last post...made me real happy!

One of those times

It's one of those times when I want to write
Just want to rant
To smoke
To bike

It's one of times when I want to ponder
When I want to take stock
Of death; of life
Of wrong; of right

It's one of those times when I want to breathe
To hold your hand
And hold it tight

It's one of those times that I realize
That 90 mins is a waste of time
That the final score's what's on my mind

It's one of those times that I realize
Thats we're runnin' like crazy, at light's speed
When what needs attention, is our need for weed.

Circle

I asked God for solace and peace
That He patch the tear in my fabric.

That He give me love
And the sense to appreciate it.

That He give me sorrow
And the strength to overcome it.

That He give me wealth
And the ability to live without it.

God gave me a sign today
Sorry son, I have nothing for you.

A beggar pleaded with me yesterday
Sorry, I have nothing for you.

Drop out

Maybe you want others to suffer
Perhaps you like it
Taking solace in that you're not the only one

You like being a victim, don't you
An excuse for your malevolence

You're closest to the reflection in the wine
Coz it takes you away from yourself

What are you?
The distance between what you are and what you want to be

Get in the race, and you're a prisoner
Drop out, a bird

Howdy

It's been a real long time since I wrote anything but Technical Specs and Standard Operating Procedures, interspersed with stinkers to my bosses - which by the way are decreasing in length and growing in menace and purpose.

Had a wave of sudden realization some time ago. That work isn't everything; on the contrary it's nothing. Just a meaningless exercise we all go through because we want to be able to bite of more than we can chew - Chewtyas. All of us.

So what did I do about it? To be honest, nothing much. But I'm getting there.
And just when intent was precipitating into action, the organization goes on and makes it a 45 hour work week. Not that we've ever had a work week less than 45, but it's shitty all the same. So where does that leave me? Still coming home at 1 am, watching TV and munching on junk till 3, having a fag and hitting the sack just when the roosters begin their cockahoot. Well, all that's about to change (yea right) ; the freaking irony being that im typing these words at 2:24 AM on a Saturday night. A saturday which, by the way, I spent working.

Aah. (Nothing, just felt like sighing).

Anyone reading this post let me know if the OG is enough for the GMAT? How much time would it take someone who's not touched a text book in aeons to have the OG all done and dusted?

Little pleasures - Bunked office mid-evening for a couple and odd hours last week. Had a great time sipping cutting chai, smoking Classic Regs and playing cricket on the street with boys from the neighbouring chawl.

Want to watch good cinema? Catch Dev D
Want to catch better cinema? Catch Gulaal
Want to watch even better cinema? Go make it first.

Continuance

The human race. thankless. covetous.
Its desire for more
Fueling Godlessness
Abetting avarice.

An unholy struggle, waged against the self
A race against time
For strength. wealth. power.
An inevitable end; six feet under.

Did the elements ever desire more?
Did the earth ever want to flow?
The oceans fly?
The air rest?

Is nature doomed to permanence?
With morbid reflections of cruel existence?

Earth,
Cause of battle
And the ground for it
That for the many journeys undertaken on it
It's stillness stands preordained

Air,
Fated to invisibility.
An unseen orphan, longing to be held

Water,
Doomed to rain upon us
To be trapped within earth, to lose existence

Or is this continuance reward for natures self-denial?
And death, a result of desire?